Chapter 448: Stop Acting Dumb

The boy's crying stops abruptly, his face erupts with post‑disaster joy, and he stammers thanks: "Th‑thank you! Thank you, director! I… I won't dare again!"

Cheng Shuili looks at him, saying nothing.

She knows the ending was already predetermined.

Sure enough, the Puppeteer's next words make the boy's complexion fade cleanly.

"But," the Puppeteer's voice cools, "those who enter without invitation have no right to sit in the VIP seats. Since you have acted contrary to your status, you must pay for your deeds."

Her raised hand snaps its five fingers inward!

"No!!!" The boy's hoarse scream only half‑emerges.

In the fourth box, the dark‑red veins appear faster and more violently than ever before!

They sprout like countless red‑hot iron spikes from the walls, floor, ceiling, even from the seat beneath the boy!

Puff! Puff!

A hair‑raising piercing sound rings out.

The boy's body is instantly turned into a sieve, blood gushing like a fountain, splashing the whole box and turning the clear glass a blinding crimson.

His eyes remain wide open, still holding the final moment's extreme terror and incomprehension.

Why does he have to die after he already confessed?

The dark‑red veins in the box slowly recede, leaving a riddled corpse and a mess.

Crimson blood snakes down the inner side of the glass like streams of blood‑tears.

The whole theatre… dead silent, even breathing sounds have almost vanished.

The players' faces show only numbness and deep fear.

They understand: this is not a trial, not a selection, but a one‑sided purge.

Coming from the corridor and still sitting in a VIP box is the original sin.

Whether they admit it or not, resist or not, the ending was already predetermined.

The Puppeteer seems only to have swept away a few eye‑catching insects; she even slightly moves her stiff neck, producing a faint click.

Then, her gaze, unhurried, turns to the fifth box.

Cheng Shuili also squints; she knows this is Qing Qing's "kiss" box. This foolishly bold box's glass is broken, and the person has long been exposed to all eyes.

The players' gazes unconsciously fall on Qing Qing's "kiss". The person being stared at breathes a little heavier, gripping the armrest tighter.

While everyone expects the Puppeteer to comment on the shattered glass or simply punish Qing Qing's "kiss" for breaking it, the Puppeteer's eyes linger in the box only briefly, without any action.

Her sight pauses on the empty chair inside the box, then unexpectedly jumps, landing on the sixth box.

The slaughter… starts again.

Cheng Shuili withdraws her gaze, landing on Qing Qing's "kiss".

That person seems to sigh in relief, but quickly tenses again, because the Puppeteer's purge continues.

The single‑sided glass of the sixth box silently dissolves, revealing a man in a grey trench coat inside.

His face is pallid, lips pressed tight; the moment the box becomes transparent, he leaps up from his seat, already gripping a strangely shaped short blade whose blade emits a faint blue glow.

He offers no plea, no defense; before the Puppeteer speaks, he lets out a low growl and, like a leopard, lunges at the box's glass.

Cheng Shuili instantly understands: he saw that Qing Qing's "kiss" was still alive and wanted to smash the glass himself!

Under everyone's stare, as soon as he moves, the Puppeteer's pale finger already slices through the air.

The air around the man seems to solidify into amber instantly.

His forward thrust freezes mid‑air, his face still set with resolve and ferocity, but his eyes quickly fill with terror.

Dark‑red veins appear in the box, not violently piercing but gently, like a lover's caress, winding around his limbs and neck, then… slowly tightening.

"Clack... clack..."

A tooth‑aching bone‑rubbing sound rings especially clear in the dead‑silent theatre.

The short blade in the man's hand "Clang"s to the floor, the blue glow extinguishes.

His protruding eyeballs stare dead at the Puppeteer on stage, a huff‑huff breath escaping his throat; at the instant the veins fully tighten, his head tilts and silence falls.

The players haven't yet discerned whether the man is dead, when the next box's glass shatters again.

The next player awaiting judgment can no longer wait; seeing Qing Qing's "kiss" safe on the audience seats, they think jumping through broken glass now will let them survive.

But why would the Puppeteer give them that chance?

His body just left the box's bounds, as if hitting an extremely resilient wall, and is violently bounced back, crashing onto the box's floor.

Before he can scramble up, the dark‑red veins that spontaneously arise in the box, like long‑awaited poisonous vines, instantly coil him tightly and snap shut!

He doesn't even manage a full wail; under the veins' strangulation he becomes a skeleton‑shattered corpse.

The Puppeteer's gaze doesn't linger a second longer in that box, turning to the last, the eighth box.

The glass of the eighth box becomes transparent.

Inside sits a tiny, curled figure on the chair, looking like a young girl.

She seems utterly broken, hugging her head, burying her face deep in her knees, trembling violently, deaf to everything around her.

The Puppeteer looks at her, in that oddly steady voice asks, "Honored guest?"

The girl trembles all over, jerks her head up, revealing a swollen, tear‑streaked, childish face.

Her gaze is scattered, filled with extreme terror and despair; her lips quiver, unable to form any meaningful syllable, only shaking her head repeatedly.

The Puppeteer seems to have lost her final patience, or rather, this purge of the VIP boxes should end here.

She says nothing further, only raises her hand, points toward the eighth box, and gently squeezes her five fingers.

Inside the box, the crimson veins, like a living tide, surge from every crack, instantly engulfing the girl and the seat beneath her, wrapping them into a continuously writhing dark‑red cocoon.

No scream, no struggle, only a chilling, sticky sound from within the cocoon.

After a few seconds, the dark red cocoon silently melts away, disappearing like seepage into the ground.

Inside the private room, the seats remained as spotless as new, as if no one had ever sat in them.

Cheng Shuili watched the scene and was silent for a while.

Until someone Qing Qing lightly tapped the glass outside the private room, she heard Qing Qing's kiss‑like voice: "Wuya Lao Da, stop being dazed, she seems to have set her sights on you, huh."