One in ten chance of disappearance

It was precisely because of this that the city had created the role of "Caretaker of Old Houses"—a position that sounded bizarre but was, in fact, necessary.

After all, when an entire family perished at the hands of some unnatural force, how could there not be lingering resentment left behind? While not every soul would necessarily become a ghost, any house where such deaths had occurred would inevitably be tainted, attracting misfortune. There were tales of travelers who, lost in the night, accidentally took shelter in these places—only to be found at dawn, raving mad.

Even though the senior officials at the Constabulary repeatedly insisted that no one had ever died directly because of these old houses, the assignment was universally dreaded among the officers. If ten policemen were sent to guard such a house, nine would resign on the spot. The tenth, more often than not, was someone transferred from another city—either out of favor or simply deceived.

Why was this so? Because everyone in Upper Sanjiang City knew that the words of the Constabulary’s leadership were meant to fool only the dead.

When Chen Sheng first gleaned these fragments of lore from other trainee officers, he wasn’t much concerned. None of this fazed him. After all, in a game, what player would ever fear a quest?

In fact, he was eager to take up the role—after all, the Constabulary had only one “save-point NPC” and one “Constabulary Chief NPC” whose sole purpose seemed to be tricking players. There was really no reason to linger there.

Who knew? Perhaps taking on the old house would unlock a rewarding side quest.

But after his recent experience with the Constabulary’s assignments, Chen Sheng had learned his lesson: this so-called healing game was filled with traps for the unwary! You could complete a quest and not receive so much as a scrap of reward.

He resolved never again to take on a task before first asking what the reward would be.

Still feeling a bit indignant, Chen Sheng raised his middle finger skyward in the most heartfelt gesture he could muster. “Damn you, game designers!”

Feeling much better afterward, he set out for the old Li family residence with nothing but his own determination.

Li was a common surname in Upper Sanjiang—one in every ten citizens bore it. The house in question had once been the villa of a wealthy merchant.

Then something dreadful had occurred, and the entire Li family met a mysterious and violent end.

From the forensic report at the time, it appeared that the head of the Li family had killed his son, who in turn had murdered his own mother. The merchant’s wife had then killed her daughter-in-law, and finally, the daughter-in-law killed the patriarch. In short: the father killed the son, the son killed the mother, the mother killed the daughter-in-law, and the daughter-in-law killed the father.

The sequence of events was hopelessly tangled, impossible to reconstruct. When the Constabulary realized something was amiss, they didn’t dare delve deeper. The case was hastily closed.

After the family’s slaughter, the villa naturally became one of the city’s infamous “old houses”—and the most notorious among the dozen or so scattered across Upper Sanjiang.

In the other old houses, those who entered usually went mad, became delirious, or fell into a coma. Only in the Li family’s villa did people outright vanish.

Admittedly, not everyone disappeared—if that were the case, it would have been declared off-limits, cordoned off and forbidden to all. According to the Constabulary’s records, for every ten people who entered, one would vanish without a trace, while the other nine emerged unscathed.

A ten percent disappearance rate was alarming, but not catastrophic.

No one knew exactly how this probability was calculated—not something a trainee officer had access to.

Trainee officers at the Constabulary were a tight-knit group, always sharing news as soon as it broke. For instance, Chen Sheng hadn’t even needed to ask; officers he barely knew told him everything they’d heard.

If he hadn’t known this world was just a game, he might have been moved to tears. This healing game was truly healing for the soul! Not only did it allow you to vent your frustrations, it could move you to genuine emotion. Perfection!

Chen Sheng couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration for the game’s designers—though they loved to make things difficult, their attention to this kind of detail was impeccable. If he ever ran into them at the bathhouse, he’d be sure to offer his sincerest, most dramatic compliments on their thoroughness—thoroughness beyond compare.

As the police car rolled to a stop, Chen Sheng stepped out and gazed at the villa looming darkly amidst the tall trees. A shiver ran down his spine.

Behind him, he heard the rapid departure of the patrol car—the rubber tires biting into the road. Yet, for some reason, it sounded to Chen Sheng less like a routine exit and more like a hasty retreat. The sense of unease gripped him.

“The atmosphere here is perfect!” he couldn’t help but exclaim, taking a deep breath. The gold-rimmed glasses he wore helped, but the oppressive mood felt all too real—like a true haunted place.

He twirled his baton and strode purposefully into the woods ahead.

A narrow path, strewn with dead leaves, cut through the trees. As Chen Sheng walked, his steps echoed, and soon he noticed something strange—the footsteps overlapped, as if someone was walking in perfect time with him, just a step behind.

He stopped abruptly, his gaze sharp as he peered around. He knew he hadn’t imagined it.

“So it begins? I must be lucky—ten percent odds and I’m already the chosen one. But I’m a player; triggering events like this is only natural.”

His face was impassive, utterly calm. This was exactly what he’d expected. What kind of player would he be if he came to such a place and didn’t trigger a “game event”? That would be the real horror.

So Chen Sheng pressed on.

The double footsteps continued, but after a while, he grew accustomed to them. Soon, he caught sight of the villa’s grand entrance.

The doors stood wide open, as if in welcome.

He approached and peered inside. The villa’s interior was spotless, as if someone had just finished cleaning.

And indeed, someone had.

A man in his thirties, with a scruffy beard and a haggard look, was tidying up.

The man stared at Chen Sheng for a moment, surprised to see anyone there. When he noticed Chen Sheng’s trainee uniform, understanding dawned.

“You shouldn’t risk your life for a mere bowl of rice,” the man said.