Chapter Twelve: This Joke Has Gone Too Far

After a long period of operation and evolution, the Soul Hunting Grounds gradually developed a myriad of rules. The lifespan of a newly launched hunting ground, from its debut to its demise, depends entirely on how long it takes someone to clear it for the first time.

Once someone obtains the key to clear the game, others who can copy that key will soon emerge. The news spreads rapidly; as more and more people pass, the operators of the hunting ground stop making money, and naturally, the theme loses its reason to exist.

From this, intelligence trading became a core rule of the Soul Hunting Grounds. Why are so many people eager to challenge a new theme? Why would they spend more money on information and tools than the first-clear reward itself? Is it truly just for the prize or the fame?

Of course not... The greatest temptation lies in the strategy guides that come after clearing the game. If you possess a walkthrough for a hunting ground, wealth will naturally follow—whether it comes from other hunters or even the operators themselves.

And aside from perfect walkthroughs, even incomplete intelligence has its uses. After all, knowing a bit about what's inside before entering is always beneficial.

On the way to Jin’s Hunting Grounds.

"Xiaoyu, how about it? Any luck?"

Xia Moxu shook his head, a little disappointed. "I've checked all the intelligence-trading forums. Every single link selling information about 'Fatal ID' has been blocked. There’s not a single clue leaked."

Fang Nian nodded—he hadn’t held out much hope anyway. It was a newly released theme, after all; the operator locking down information was only to be expected.

"Hey, brother-in-law, there’s no intel, but here’s a post mentioning 'Fatal ID.'"

"Let me see."

"Everyone, whatever you do, don’t go to 'Fatal ID.' It will… kill you, believe me, you can’t escape, the killer is there… always… ah, he’ll always be behind you, ah… don’t kill me…"

Xia Moxu pointed at the poster’s name. "The Explorer… seems like a marketing account? Probably a gimmick cooked up by the Jin family."

Fang Nian said nothing, his brow furrowing—he didn’t think so.

...

Perhaps because of the cash giveaways at Xia’s Hunting Grounds, Jin’s Hunting Grounds seemed unusually deserted today. The combined number of hunters and spectators in the viewing hall barely reached a hundred; even a few vagrants had wandered in and were sprawled on the benches, dozing.

At the registration desk, Fang Nian glanced at the signboard. Today, Jin’s Hunting Grounds had two open themes: a solo hunt called "Scream," and the suspense-themed "Fatal ID."

"Hello, would you like to participate in a hunt?"

The staff at the registration desk greeted Fang Nian with enthusiasm.

"Yes, I'd like to sign up for 'Fatal ID.'"

"Oh, sure. But you'll need to wait a bit, sir—the game requires at least ten participants, and including you, there are only nine—"

Before the staff could finish, an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old youth rushed over. He wore a red backpack and a dull blue tracksuit.

"Hello, signing up for 'Fatal ID.'"

The staff paused, then smiled at Fang Nian. "Perfect, that makes ten. Once you’ve both registered, you can proceed directly to the prep area."

It was Fang Nian’s first time entering a hunting ground with so many others, and he couldn’t help feeling a surge of excitement. When he entered the prep area, eight people were already waiting.

As the staff explained the safety protocols, Fang Nian noticed the red-backpacked youth scratching his left hand with his right thumb from time to time.

"So this is the power of insight? Even the subtlest gestures that would usually go unnoticed become clear."

Finding the familiar black chair, Fang Nian took a deep breath and sat down. Another round of the hunt was about to begin.

...

When darkness enveloped everything, Fang Nian found himself once again in the hunting ground’s armory. This time, however, in addition to the dazzling array of tools, the pitch-black wall bore a new inscription—a kind of mission briefing.

"Death descends quietly with the rain, the cage of desire binds humanity. When dawn’s first light breaks upon the earth, can you overcome death and escape this place alive?"

Four lines, laden with meaning—this must be the key to clearing the game. It seemed to suggest surviving until dawn amid some peril. Having experienced psychological traps before, Fang Nian dared not take it at face value.

"Never mind, just remember it for now."

As usual, Fang Nian went to the free section and searched, but found not even a fruit knife. In the end, he could only pick up a length of wire and a pen before heading into the hunting ground.

As the darkness receded, Fang Nian heard the roar of an engine and the drumming of rain. When his sight returned, he realized he was sitting in the driver’s seat of a Hasan sedan, speeding down the highway. Outside, heavy rain lashed the world; the wipers were set to maximum, but it was still impossible to see the road ahead.

"Good thing I have insight on my side—at least I can make out the outline of the road. Didn’t expect to land in such a predicament right away. I’d better slow down, or I’ll be finished before I even start."

But when Fang Nian stepped on the brake, he was stunned.

...

"What the hell—are you kidding me? No brakes?"

He glanced at the speedometer. The car was racing at 120 kilometers per hour. In this weather, at that speed, it was suicide.

"This is insane—who came up with this setup?"

He had no time to curse. Looking around and seeing no other cars nearby, he clenched his teeth and steered the car onto the right guardrail. Metal shrieked against metal, sparks flying everywhere, the violent impact making the whole car shudder.

Moments later, the right tire burst from the friction. The front of the car smashed hard into the ground, the rim dragging a trail of fire as the car hurtled forward. Soon the tire caught fire, burning fiercely.

"Damn it, just stop already!"

The increasing friction gradually slowed the car, and the shaking subsided. Just when Fang Nian thought he’d finally come to a halt, the left front wheel hit a massive boulder.

"This is bad."

In an instant, he lost control. The car lifted off, rolled over twice, then landed hard on its roof. Carried by momentum, it skidded another hundred meters, trailing a line of fire before finally coming to a halt.

Dazed, Fang Nian remained curled up in the driver’s seat. Luckily, he’d tucked his legs up just as the car took off—otherwise, the impact would have snapped them clean in half.

The car had stopped, but flames from the wheels were spreading fast, devouring the vehicle. With his acute hearing, Fang Nian could tell the fuel tank at the back had ruptured, gasoline mixing with rainwater as it poured out.

He had to get out immediately; otherwise, whether by fire or explosion, he’d be dead. But the seatbelt buckle was bent out of shape—he was trapped and couldn’t move.

"No way, there’s no opening this."

The windshield was already shattered. Fang Nian grabbed a shard of glass and, using his internal energy, quickly sliced through the seatbelt. He kicked open the warped door and bolted, running with all his might. By now, the whole car was ablaze, ready to explode at any moment.

But just then, he heard a faint whimper, mingled with the sound of something heavy striking metal. Turning around, he saw—through a gap in the mangled trunk—a bloodstained hand reaching out.

"There’s… someone else in the car?"