There's definitely something wrong with this murder mystery game

Of course, what was more important was that the Black and White Dice were still there, meaning that if they walked past, they might too be pulled into the rules.

But this was indeed the only way forward.

"Let's wait and see," said the photographer.

"Alright," the female reporter had no objections.

They planned to wait a while—perhaps if the people who went in could figure out the rule, they could safely pass through, right?

It's just that so far, the second side mission triggered in the courtyard was still incomplete.

The desolate and dilapidated eerie orphanage, the silent and dim atmosphere, and the never-ending missions—it was hard not to feel a certain sense of oppression.

The orphanage lights were off; the only illumination came from the cool moonlight spilling from the sky.

The moon was full and bright enough that the situation in the corridor and the appearance of every person were clear, though the stairwells inside were somewhat dim.

"Speaking of which, why did we choose to visit at night?" the female reporter suddenly asked the police auxiliary curiously.

"How should I know," the police auxiliary said indifferently.

"Don't you know that characters in horror movies are always going out to court death at night? What's wrong with these people?" The reporter turned her head and whispered to the photographer beside her.

"..." the photographer.

Don't insult yourself.

He looked at the police auxiliary beside him, wearing a sky-blue uniform. The shadows on the person seemed to grow darker, his face pale and rigid under the moonlight, utterly lifeless.
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The photographer asked aloud, "When other people come to visit here, is it always you who leads them?"

"Not necessarily, it depends on who's on duty."

"So your neighborhood office is in charge of managing these places?"

"What else?" the police auxiliary looked at him coldly: "Were you born just now that you're only learning about this now?"

"..."

The photographer and the female reporter exchanged glances, hastily averting their eyes, sweating profusely.

If the characters in the script noticed an issue, the performance score could directly plummet into catastrophic negative numbers, not enough to ensure safety even after completing the main mission—directly leading to a punishment package!

But generally, the NPCs' recognition could change based on the information the players provided for themselves.

In other words, if a player molded the character to have a goofy personality, even if the original character was meant to be an unapproachable CEO, the NPCs wouldn't sense anything amiss.

So the probability of a catastrophic failure was quite low.

However, the players could only change the character's personality, not their original experiences.

The people in this world seemed to treat the strange as normal.

The female reporter laughed and said, "Well, it's because we're not familiar with the Qiming Orphanage, so we wanted to come and investigate... By the way, do you know how long the Qiming Orphanage has been established?"

As she spoke, the reporter had already taken out a small notebook and a black pen from her vest, ready to listen intently.

The photographer beside her was quick to respond, lifting the decorative camera that hung in front of his chest. The scene looked almost like a formal interview, albeit eerie and out of place in the forsaken orphanage.

The police auxiliary watched them expressionlessly.

After a long pause, he monotonously replied, "It was built in 2002, so it's been ten years now."

Reporter: "Has there been a change of directors during this time?"

Police auxiliary: "Yes, three."

Reporter: "How long has the last director been in charge?"

Police auxiliary: "About three months."

Reporter: "That's quite short. Did the orphanage become... like this after he took office?"

Police auxiliary: "He took office after it became like this."

Reporter: "Ah... oh!"

The female reporter seemed stunned for two seconds, then her eyes suddenly sparkled, her tone becoming serious, "Then do you know the reason the orphanage ended up like this?"

The police auxiliary's face was ashen, and he stared rigidly at her with an unflinching gaze: "Fire. Can't you tell?"

Signs of fire damage were everywhere in the Qiming Building.

In fact, their character information stated that the newspaper, on the verge of collapsing, sent two brave souls to investigate the true cause of the fire at the Qiming Orphanage in hopes of using this explosive news to bring the newspaper back to life!

The assumption, of course, is that the two brave souls can make it out alive.

The female reporter blinked at him, subtly stepped back half a step, and continued to probe cautiously, "Do you know what caused the fire?"

Police auxiliary slowly shook his head: "It's said that the combustible material on the third floor was the cause. I don't know the specific reasons, and it doesn't matter now."

The reporter nodded in agreement, then tentatively asked further, "That director you were talking about, who took the position after the incident, is he still at the orphanage now?"

At her words, the police auxiliary suddenly turned to stare at her.

His face, pale in the moonlight, seemed as lifeless as a zombie—stiff, dull, devoid of any vividness. For a moment, it looked as though the whites of his eyes had turned pitch black, sending chills down one's spine.

The female reporter gripped her black pen tightly, nearly making a throwing gesture.

But the next moment, the police auxiliary responded in a flat tone, "He should still be here."

"...Should... should be?"

"The rule you see now was transmitted by him."

The police auxiliary nodded towards the small booklet in the pocket of her vest, adding, "He was one of the first SOA Investigators to enter the Qiming Orphanage. Although he managed to transmit the information, he seems to have become trapped here."

The female reporter let out a slight sigh of relief and seized the moment to ask, "Then where will he usually be?"

"I don't know," the police assistant said in a low voice.

"Huh?"

"Who knows... He might not even be alive anymore because nobody can survive in here, and if he's still alive, he's probably no longer normal."

The police assistant's voice suddenly became erratic, and as he spoke, a very strange and sinister smile appeared on his face.

"I see, that's really a pity."

The female reporter chuckled awkwardly, took two silent steps back, and surreptitiously prodded the photographer beside her with the black pen she was holding.

The photographer looked at her, and the female reporter discreetly signaled at the police assistant with her eyes.

But the photographer slightly shook his head.

It wasn't the time to act yet. Although the police assistant's mental state was visibly becoming stranger, as long as he hadn't turned completely insane, they could still make use of him!

If possible, they needed him to lead the way to the corridor on the third floor, and they were still counting on him to open the door to the archive room.

So the photographer unwrapped a pack of candy and handed one to the police assistant, saying, "It's pretty boring, want some candy?"

The police assistant glanced at it without any reaction.

The photographer pushed the candy into his hand and then ate one himself, saying, "Don't be shy, I brought plenty."

With the candy in his hand, the police assistant casually popped it into his mouth and chewed dispassionately, moving his jaws.

...

The three of them stood in the second-floor corridor, interviewing, eating candy, and chatting. At least ten minutes had passed.

But the second sub-quest had not been completed yet.

The female reporter glanced anxiously at the direction of the courtyard; the corridor on this side was open, facing the yard and the gate, providing a clear view of the scenery below.

However, there was no sign of the first group, and the swing by the flower bed was still slowly swaying.

The female reporter withdrew her gaze and quickly scanned the black and white dice on the floor.

"Are we going to wait here indefinitely?" she asked her teammate quietly.

"..."

The photographer frowned and pondered.

After a long while, he hesitated and said, "Maybe there is another passage within the rules. We should have a chance to go up to the third floor, as long as we pass this rule, right?"

The female reporter looked up at the ceiling. "I'm thinking, why can't we just climb up from the hallway?"

The building wasn't very tall, and the distance between the second and third-floor corridors was only about three meters. If one stood on the railing of the corridor, a person with decent agility could probably climb up directly.

What was more important was that the handbook only mentioned that unconventional methods were prohibited for entering the orphanage, it didn't say anything about using unconventional methods to go upstairs inside the orphanage!

The female reporter looked at her teammate with sparkling eyes.

The photographer looked at the police assistant, "Can we climb the wall up to the third floor?"

"I guess so. The rules didn't forbid it, but I can't climb up," the police assistant glanced at the corridor's railing.

"No problem, I'll pull you up after I get there!" the female reporter said.

"..." The police assistant didn't refuse.

The photographer then looked at the one who had proposed the plan.

The female reporter waved her hand, "Alright, since it was my idea, I'll go up first."

As she spoke, the female reporter stuffed her notebook back into her vest pocket, but she bit down on the black pen, then loosened her limbs, jumped onto the wall, and looked up at the smooth and scorched wall of the third-floor corridor.

There was nothing on the wall to grab hold of, but she slightly bent her knees, forcefully stepped on the railing, and leaped lightly upwards.

The female reporter's hands firmly grasped the three-floor railing, which was twenty centimeters wide. Then, pulling herself up with an arm curl, she managed to prop her upper body onto it.

She immediately raised her head to scan the third floor's situation.

And then she saw, right in front of her...

A young man dressed in black was leaning his body, lounging lazily against the wall near the stairs. One hand held a thin notebook while the other held a pen, jotting down something with his head bowed.

As her gaze met his, he also lifted his head to look at her.

They locked eyes.

The atmosphere turned icy.

The young man quietly watched her, his eyes pitch black, as if oozing black mist, void of any emotion.

The female reporter: "... hi...hi~?"

After a moment of thought, the female reporter awkwardly raised one hand to greet him.

But the moment she subconsciously opened her mouth, the black pen she had been holding in her lips suddenly dropped, spinning towards the floor of the third-floor corridor!

The female reporter realized what was happening and her eyes widened as she hastily reached out to grab it.

But she was half a beat too slow.

The black pen ultimately landed on the ground with a "clatter".

The next moment—

"BOOM!"

...