Chapter 45

The window glass was extremely thick, like the blast-resistant glass on a presidential limousine, capable of withstanding automatic rifle fire. Brute force clearly couldn't smash through it.

Outside the window, the night was deep, city lights glittering; from their positions, Li Cheng's hidden room was at least in a building forty to fifty stories high.

"Didn't expect this."

He had assumed the hidden room would be in some abandoned factory or remote wilderness, "but one thing is certain now: this location isn't Cuba, and the time isn't noon."

Ding-ding-ding.

The red landline on the coffee table rang. Li Cheng walked over, first wringing the water from his sleeves, then pulling his hands inside them, picking up the blanket from the sofa through the fabric before picking up the phone.

From the drowning trap in the last hidden room, it was clear these rooms were designed to kill—perhaps using poisoned phones or electric shocks; caution was unavoidable.

The call connected successfully, and a mechanical, pleasant AI female voice emerged: "g=t, p=e, r=s, b=o, z=d."

Li Cheng nodded and spoke into the phone: "KunjinKao, KunjinKao? KunjinKao, KunjinKao!"

KunjinKao was a classic Chinese character garble, essentially the UTF-8 hexadecimal replacement symbol "??" that corrupted when converted to GBK encoding.

Li Cheng asked this partly to test the operator on the other end, and partly because if there was no operator, he might use encoding language to flirt with the AI girl on the phone, maybe get her WeChat.

"."

The phone line fell silent for a moment, then repeated: "g=t, p=e, r=s, b=o, z=d."

Tsk, no reaction, playing hard to get.

Li Cheng pursed his lips, hung up, and when he lifted it again, the same password still played—clearly, he wasn't allowed to call out for help.

Boom!

A loud crash came from outside the room; the rear wall suddenly moved, slowly advancing forward as a whole.

Tables and chairs toppled, the sofa shifted, and the glass desk lamp fell to the ground and shattered.

"The room is eight meters wide; the wall moves at about two centimeters per second—it'll fully close in just over six minutes, crushing me into pulp."

"And since only the rear wall is moving, not the side walls closing in, I can't use any hard object to pry open the right window and escape outside."

Li Cheng calmly assessed the situation, unsure whether it was from prolonged seawater exposure and loss of body temperature making his thoughts drift, or if the script's mission had unlocked his naturally lazy nature.

Part of his mind still wandered, muttering: "Crushed into pulp—is the hidden room's designer sending me to the 2D world?"

"Eh… it seems Your Honor's understanding of '2D' is riddled with errors☆～! Well, you've already lost even the most basic 'propriety, righteousness, integrity, and shame'… (laugh) Hey, I'm asking you—does a kimono like this even have the qualifications to call themselves '2D'★? fufufu—after all, aren't you already '2D-ineligible'? Naa~"

As he recited these overdose-level chuuni-deadly lines, he swiftly searched the room.

Beside the fireplace, he found an eight-digit electronic keypad lock. At the edge of the carpet, he found an old photograph.

The photo showed two teenagers, a boy and a girl, dressed in Renaissance European attire and long skirts, gazing deeply at each other on an opera stage.

The boy bore a strong resemblance to Owen Hedges, the identity Li Cheng was currently playing.

Given the photo's yellowed condition, the boy was likely not Owen's son or relative, but Owen himself in his youth.

As for the girl in the photo, she was probably Owen's deceased wife, mentioned in the mission briefing?

"The two in the photo are performing a play. A play."

He realized something, avoiding the advancing wall, and turned to the bookshelf beside the fireplace.

The bookshelf was crammed with books—on economics, law, politics; the only one related to drama was Shakespeare's Sonnets.

He took down the book, opened it, but found no password—only vast, repeated pages of English garble.

kbspwrhrwdtgthgrgwormnrxbvp

wgwrgtpnmowawpzrnhovwqgtpkbsporpipr

wgwrgtpuhsprrgwoopzmnilgtpkbsporgphor

wgwrgtpuwrprgaboxbaxhzqprr

gtpiwggpoghrgpwqbqprgtobhg

hqzgtptbqplgthgopxhwqrbmgbaophft

Every page was filled with this.

Crackling—

The space kept shrinking; curtain hooks were all crushed off, and the seemingly sturdy leather sofa was easily crushed and shredded under the hydraulic force.

Li Cheng stepped over the wood shavings, thinking rapidly; the only eight-digit word in the garble was nmowawpz—he entered it into the fireplace's keypad. Failed.

"g=t, p=e, r=s, b=o, z=d"

The phone on the coffee table kept repeating the password until the advancing wall crushed it, snapping the cord and silencing the loop.

"Got it. g=t, p=e—that's the clue to decrypting the garble. The most frequent word in the garble, gtp, is actually t*e; most likely 'tie' or 'the.' Since 'the' appears far more frequently in English, assume t=h; then the fourth word in the last line, gthg, becomes 'that,' so h=a."

Decrypted this fast, the entire garble translated to: "Love is a sigh raised by a puff of smoke; in lovers' eyes, it purifies the sparks; lovers' tears are the waves it stirs. It is the wisest madness, the choking bitterness, the honey never tasted."

The eight-digit code nmowawpz meant "purified."

He entered the password. The fireplace hummed and slowly slid aside, revealing a passage just wide enough for one person.

Li Cheng squeezed through sideways, stepping forward thoughtfully.

These two hidden rooms weren't just rooms—the latitude and longitude coordinates in the first, the photo and cipher in the second—both seemed tied to Owen's life.

As he thought this, he reached the third room.

This one was even smaller; the entire room was empty, save for a metal door in the corner with no lock, bearing the words: "Only One of Two Can Live."

In the center of the floor stood a liquid crystal screen and a device.

The device consisted of a transparent glass cylinder, a syringe, and tubing.

The cylinder's base was welded firmly to the floor, immovable. The top was sealed and connected to the tubing. Its exterior bore milliliter markings; inside, four metal discs were pasted—two on top, two on bottom.

Two sets of power cables ran along the floor, extending all the way to the metal door.

Combined with the blood-drawing syringe and tubing, it seemed he had to draw at least 800 milliliters of blood, pour it into the cylinder, and use the blood's conductivity to bridge the metal disc electrodes and open the sealed metal door.

But the sealed top of the cylinder meant he couldn't fill it with seawater from his clothes—or even his own urine.

Zzzt.

Just as he felt regret over this, the LCD screen lit up, projecting a scene like a surveillance feed.

The screen showed a middle-aged man in a shirt and trousers, his expression exhausted, lips cracked, body showing signs of dehydration, staggering through the scorching desert under the blazing sun until he reached a phone booth, inserted coins, and dialed "001212*******".

From the ceiling of the secret room, a telephone descended at that moment, automatically connecting without Li Cheng needing to pick it up; from it came the pained voice of the man in the surveillance footage: "Owen, it's Mike. Listen, don't go to London for the meeting—this escape room is a trap. They tricked me, left me stranded in the Mexican desert—I can't get out."

"Wait, you're in Mexico?"

Li Cheng shouted loudly, but the man on the other end seemed to slip into dehydration-induced shock, stumbling dazedly out of the phone booth and collapsing before the door of a small wooden cabin.

The cabin's door was the exact same type as the secret room's entrance.

Judging by this, this Mike was the close friend mentioned in the mission briefing—the one who persuaded Owen to join the escape room.

Li Cheng considered for a moment, picked up the syringe, and inserted it into his own arm. Blood flowed through the tubing into the cylindrical glass container, slowly accumulating to 800ml.

When the blood connected to the electrodes, the metal door of the secret room opened, revealing an elevator.

In the corner of the elevator sat a black bag, its zipper open, revealing stacks of U. S. dollars.

These dollars were the clear-the-stage reward—meaning Li Cheng would complete his mission as soon as he stepped out of the secret room.

Without hesitation, he pulled out the syringe, grabbed the sextant, and strode forward.

"Ugh… ugh…"

The room's speakers suddenly amplified—Mike's gasping, shock-induced breaths, as he lay sprawled on the desert floor, writhing in agony.

"Oh? Amplify the sound? You want me to feel pity, to stay behind, risk hypovolemic shock, and draw 1600ml of blood to open the metal door on Mike's side so he can escape too?"

Li Cheng turned, staring at the surveillance camera, and sneered: "It's meaningless. Of the two, only one can survive."

Never mind that players executing the script have no emotion, duty, or obligation toward the characters they portray.

More importantly—it's meaningless.

Mike is already dead.

Li Cheng stepped into the elevator car, glanced at the indicator lights, and realized the building stood seventy stories tall—his current floor was the fifty-fifth. As the elevator doors closed automatically, the light for the first floor lit up.

The elevator descended automatically, but Li Cheng raised his head, staring directly into the surveillance camera, and said calmly: "Take me to you. The operators of this game."

Nothing happened. Li Cheng smashed the sextant against the elevator ceiling, forcibly breaking open the ventilation panel, and continued: "If you don't come to me, I'll come to you."

This time, the elevator finally slowed, paused briefly, then began ascending.

The floors rose higher and higher; inside the car, Li Cheng calmly adjusted his clothes and idly flipped through the bundle of dollars.

Fifty thousand U. S. dollars—nearly 360,000 RMB—when had he ever seen so much cash?!

It could buy one-twentieth of a house in Yin City!

Ding dong.

The elevator reached the top floor; the doors opened, and Li Cheng was met by a group of armed security personnel.

"Don't move!"

"Don't move!"

"Raise your hands!"

The security personnel shouted at Li Cheng, who squinted and muttered: "One guy tells me not to move, another tells me to raise my hands—do all you American gun guys operate like this, baiting people into traps?"

"Hehehe, boys, show some manners."

An elderly white man, clearly of high rank, stepped forward, ordered the armed guards to stand down, and pointed at Li Cheng: "Mr. Owen is tonight's ultimate dark horse in the gambling match—treat him with respect!"

The suited elder held immense authority; the armed guards exchanged glances and lowered their guns.

Beyond the security team, Li Cheng now saw the top floor clearly.

A grand banquet was underway; male and female guests wore masks and formal suits, clinking glasses and chatting merrily.

They were not here for drinking or dancing, but to attend a special gambling event—high above the opulent hall, screens displayed surveillance feeds from various escape rooms, showing contestants struggling to survive.

Some died from spike traps, others were sliced into chunks by sharp cables, some inhaled poison and collapsed with cyanotic faces, others were burned alive into charred corpses.

Whenever a contestant died, their screen turned gray and displayed the words 【ELIMINATED】.

On the screens of remaining survivors, numbers kept climbing.

Accumulated stakes: six million.

Nine million.

Fifteen million.

Twenty-seven million.

Unit: U. S. dollars.

These elites were placing bets on which of the dozens of contestants in the building's escape rooms would die—and who would survive.

Winners laughed heartily; losers didn't wail or cry—they merely looked regretful.

Millions of U. S. dollars and human lives meant nothing more to them than chips.

"Hah. Just as I thought—leading beasts to devour men."

Li Cheng shook his head with a bitter laugh and asked the suited elder: "You let me come up here, let me see this—aren't you afraid I'll tell the media after I leave?"

"Mr. Owen, you're a smart man—you understand the rules. Besides, most news media you know are owned by people in this banquet. Even if you release the information, no outlet will broadcast it."

"It's just a private pastime, held every few years. Only those who've participated in games like this are considered insiders—and only insiders gain access to the circle's resources."

The suited elder smiled faintly: "I'd like to know why you so readily abandoned Mike Garcia in the third escape room. From what I know, he's been your closest childhood friend, your best man, your confidant."

"Because Mike is already dead."

Li Cheng said coldly: "Remember the surveillance footage? He said he was in New Mexico. But here is New York—the time zones differ by only one hour. It's impossible for it to be night here while noon there."

The only explanation is that the surveillance footage was pre-recorded, deliberately released to mislead me. Mike has been dead for a long time."

The suited elder stared in utter shock: "Wait—how do you know this is New York? We injected you with anesthetic and transported you from London to New York—you shouldn't know your location."

"Very simple—the way Mike dialed the number."

Li Cheng said calmly: "When dialing an international call, 001 is the U. S. country code, and 212 is New York's area code. You moved the surveillance camera to hide the phone booth's dial—but you didn't realize I could deduce the number from the movement of Mike's arm."

As for your mention of "shipping it back to New York," that's interesting—it seems this Owen Hedges was originally from New York.

And the Cuban coordinates in the first hidden room—let me think—20 degrees north latitude, 75.9 degrees west longitude—that must be the Guantanamo Bay U. S. military base.

Combined with Owen's identity as a human rights lawyer, all the clues now connect—Owen investigated U. S. military base torture cases, suffered secret retaliation, his family was burned to death, and Owen himself sank into despair and lost his job.

You killed Owen's family, and you killed his best friend; you clearly won't let Owen walk away—you'll have to send him off too.

When he dies, it'll just be one more obituary no one cares about, like the leaders of Occupy Wall Street years ago, or the Boeing plane accident whistleblower from recent times.

Remember, the goal of this mission is to 【remain alive until escaping the dark room】.

Not to 【escape the dark room and remain alive】.

The system subtly hinted at this in the mission objective.

Li Cheng's cold, detached tone made the white elder's brow twitch involuntarily.

The anesthetic injected into Owen Hedges only induces sleep—it doesn't alter personality or memory.

"You—you're not Owen?"

"Me? Of course not. I'm Justice Partner, Crime Nemesis, Night Walker, Protector of the Weak, Professional Mercenary, Perfect Attendance Star of Red Star Kindergarten, Little Handsome, Kobe Hater, Shenyang Tiger Brother, Gaming Master."

At the mention of this, Li Cheng suddenly perked up and rattled off a long list of nicknames—too bad the white elder wasn't a fan of Da Bing, so he didn't get the jokes; otherwise, he could've retorted: "Sorry, there isn't room for this many people."

【Mission Objective Completed】

【Player Restrictions Lifted】

【Script Mission "Escape to Life" Completed. 5 Minutes Until Teleportation】

In his mind, the system's voice echoed. Li Cheng smiled faintly, rolled his neck, and said: "In 1974, I won the championship in my first Muay Thai fight in Southeast Asia. In 1980, I defeated Japan's heavy cannon, Lei Long. Then, for three consecutive years, I beat every karate master and claimed the All-Japan Muay Thai Championship. I master ancient Chinese martial arts and am known as the nemesis of Japanese karate—my nickname is Devil Muscle Man."

The elder could no longer suppress his growing unease and shouted at the armed guards: "Grab him!"

The armed personnel surged forward and seized Li Cheng's arms.

Clang!

Li Cheng's arm suddenly sprouted a mantis-arm bone blade, severing the ten fingers gripping his arms.

Blood sprayed wildly, soaking the expensive Persian rug.

The guards' screams echoed through the grand, opulent lobby.

The wealthy guests, mid-laughter and clinking glasses, fell silent and turned their heads in unison.

Amid their terrified stares, black scales slowly spread across Li Cheng's cheeks, chest, and back; black horns grew from his forehead. He casually slashed the elevator call button, severing the escape route.

He turned his head and smiled faintly at the assembled elite: "The game begins."

(End of Chapter)