Let the Audience Die Instead

The little e-bike sped through the night. The black cat plushie dangling from it swayed its head and tail, its crooked eyes radiating an indescribable joy, enjoying the ride just as much as the driver, Su Lai.

Five minutes later, the little e-bike arrived at the Tianlong Hotel. As the berserk residents approached, they consciously slowed down, clearly wary of the warning sign outside: “Isolation Zone. Unauthorized Personnel Strictly Prohibited.”

They were all born and raised here, naturally afraid of its taboos.

The janitor lifted his eyelids, his murky eyes sweeping over the densely packed crowd outside. Without a word, he turned to the trio and the cocoon pushing through the door.
“What are you doing? Didn’t you see the warning sign?”

Perhaps it was the deep night, but the dead had also shed their disguises, revealing their original, lifeless appearance. The old janitor’s withered face was covered in large patches of corpse spots. His bark-like skin could rot at any moment, and a faint, lingering smell of decay hung around him.

Bai Ke’s stomach churned, but he still kindly reminded him:
“Old man, you should move around more. It’s good for your health. If you keep sitting still like this, you’ll rot away.”

The relaxed vibe was contagious. Having just ridden behind Lai-ge and circled with a bunch of “zombies,” his taut nerves had loosened a bit. Seeing the corpse-spot-covered old man, he couldn’t help but offer some advice.

The old janitor glared sideways at Bai Ke. Surprisingly, Bai Ke’s mental stability didn’t drop. It seemed mental contamination was like a virus—get infected enough times, and you develop resistance.

Su Lai was concise.
“Here to deliver a person.”

Old janitor: “Deliver who?”

Su Lai: “Bringing back someone who slipped out of here.”

The old janitor widened his eyes, which were only whites.
“Nonsense! No one can leave the ward! And even if they did, they wouldn’t escape my eyes!”

Su Lai shook the human-shaped cocoon on his shoulder.
“No one can leave the ward. But a cocoon can.”
“Besides, Grandpa, you doze off here often. I saw you.” Su Lai lowered his voice, leaning close despite the smell.

“Impossible! Nonsense!” The old janitor’s murky eyeballs rolled. He was deeply shaken, falling into self-doubt.

Su Lai sighed softly, took out his phone, opened the photo album, and shoved the picture he’d taken of the dozing janitor in his face.
“Grandpa, I won’t tell anyone you accidentally let an isolated patient escape because you were sleeping on the job.”

He said it loudly, describing the incident clearly. Su Lai did it on purpose.

“How can this be… you’re slandering me… fabricating fake evidence to frame me…” The old janitor panicked, waving his arms and emitting a strong rotting smell.

“Grandpa, calm down first.” Su Lai looked very reasonable.
“I’m curious. You’re also an original resident of the community. Why haven’t you gone berserk like them?”

Their reported list was complete. They couldn’t have missed the janitor’s name. And the answer was correct, meaning the janitor was also on the reported list.

The old janitor had a bit of pride.
“I have an important duty! I have to guard the isolated infected! No time to go berserk!”

Su Lai gave a flat “Oh,” pointing at the restless berserk residents outside.
“Now that I’ve caught you making a mistake, you might lose your job. It’s not too late to join them now.”

The old janitor’s corpse spots spread in anger. If he weren’t already dead, Su Lai worried he might actually kill the old man.

“No… I won’t be like those youngsters… easily controlled by emotions… I have my own career as a janitor…” The old janitor’s stubbornness surfaced. He wanted to keep his job, not join the berserk masses.

Su Lai curled his lips.
“I know. That’s why I brought the isolated patient back. We’ll all pretend nothing happened.”
“You’re old. Dozing off a bit is normal. Don’t take it to heart.”

The old janitor finally focused on the human-shaped cocoon.
“What exactly is this cocoon thing?”

Su Lai stopped beating around the bush.
“Huo Lang. The one you guys grabbed a couple of days ago. Suspected social phobia virus carrier.”

Bai Ke and Bei Yao, unaware of the situation, were stunned. After a brief silence, Huo Lang inside the cocoon finally spoke through the tape recorder: “It’s me.”

Good grief. Huo Lang finally understood. The delivery guy had gone through all this trouble transporting him, not just out of professional ethics, but because he was the bargaining chip to get into the hotel.

The old janitor panicked, corpse spots spreading. He quickly waved his hand.
“Quick, quick! Take him back to the isolation ward!”

“Got it. Just waiting for you to say that.” With that, Su Lai carried the cocoon upstairs. Bai Ke and Bei Yao followed, still shaken from the chase and the shock that Huo Lang wasn’t dead.

After a few steps, Su Lai handed the cocoon to Bai Ke, signaling him to take it up. He himself turned back to the reception desk.

The old janitor now looked at Su Lai like a plague that could cost him his job.

Su Lai: “Grandpa, do you have…”

Su Lai was concise.
“A megaphone.”

The old man didn’t want to interact anymore. He pulled one from a drawer and gestured for him to leave quickly, stop lingering, lest he get him in trouble again.

Su Lai hefted the megaphone, very satisfied, and addressed the vast crowd downstairs.
“The Tianlong Hotel is a community isolation zone! The social phobia virus is highly contagious! Do not enter without permission! You are responsible for the consequences of infection!”

Sure enough, the moment the megaphone sounded, the noisy crowd quieted and took a few steps back. Su Lai was satisfied and continued his announcements.

They hadn’t expected to run into acquaintances here. The Qi siblings, through their own methods, had found the hotel entrance before the riot and used props to disguise themselves and take refuge.

Qi Mu greeted the bedraggled Bei Yao and Bai Ke as if nothing had happened.
“You guys got here earlier than we expected. Impressive.”

Bei Yao: “…”
Bai Ke: “When did you guys know we could hide here?”

Qi Mu shrugged.
“The most dangerous place is the safest. Isolation zones are usually a good bet.”

“The difference is whether you’re forcibly sent in, or you sneak in yourself,” Qi Mao added.

Qi Mu sized up Bai Ke and the cocoon on his shoulder.
“Where’s your cousin?”

Bai Ke pointed downstairs, where deafening shouts could be heard.
“The social phobia virus is highly contagious! Do not enter without permission! You are responsible for the consequences of infection!”
“…Busy with epidemic prevention,” Bai Ke muttered.

Qi Mu paused, then laughed. In a confidential tone, she said:
“Did you know your cousin isn’t human?”

Bai Ke looked at her warily.
“What do you mean?”

Qi Mu stared at him for a moment, then shrugged casually.
“Just joking. Don’t mind me.”

Bai Ke was confused but didn’t pursue it. Compared to these shady top players, he naturally trusted his cousin Lai-ge, who had been with him all this time.

“But you’re pretty generous, sharing the prop rewards you just got with your other two companions,” Qi Mu’s gaze shifted to the cocoon.
“Or rather, three other companions.”

Bai Ke: “Lai-ge was the one finding clues behind the scenes. I couldn’t have found all the peepers without him. Of course, he gets a share of the rewards. I’m happy for him to use them however he wants.”

“Not bad, not bad.” Qi Mu pursed her lips meaningfully. She checked the time. It was only 8 PM.
“The system’s new task: revel until dawn. Wonder if the sun will actually rise, and if this revelry can stop.”

Qi Mao: “Another possibility: this night of revelry is very long. The players might not live to see dawn.”

After all, in the world of the dead, tomorrow’s sun might not rise as usual.

Their words sent a chill down Bai Ke’s spine. He suddenly realized he had oversimplified the system. The main quest was “Entertain to Death! Revel Until Dawn!”
But the system hadn’t said they could leave once dawn came…

“If we can’t leave after dawn, what then?” Bai Ke broke out in a cold sweat, wiping his damp forehead.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The Qi siblings looked toward the stairwell. The first thing they saw were those distinctive pink flip-flops.

“Ask your cousin. Your cousin will have a way,” Qi Mu said.

The cocooned Huo Lang was sent back to room 501. With more players in the hotel now, he was even less willing to come out of his cocoon.

Bei Yao, kind-hearted, crouched by the cocoon and patiently coaxed him.
“That mob doesn’t dare set foot in the hotel for now. We won’t stare at you and make you uncomfortable. You’ve got survival time now. You should come out and get some air.”

Bei Yao had a sister who was also socially phobic. She never thought social phobia was a bad thing—just didn’t like dealing with irrelevant people. If others wanted to deal with them, let them. What was the big deal?

Huo Lang, traumatized by the staff member’s forced treatment, was still stressed. He stayed curled in his cocoon, talking to the outside world through the tape recorder.

Cocoon: “No! If I come out, I’ll be stared at! I hate being stared at!”
“…They’re watching us… amusing themselves with our fear and despair…”

Whenever the topic of coming out came up, the usually silent Huo Lang would start rambling incoherently.

Su Lai glanced at the TV, still showing static, then at the cocoon illuminated by its light. He simply walked over and clicked it off.

“What about now? Are they still watching?” Su Lai asked.

Cocoon: “Wherever electricity flows… wherever there’s a screen… They are everywhere…”

Intrigued, Su Lai crouched by the cocoon.
“You’ve been in your cocoon all this time. How do you know?”

Cocoon: “Intuition.”
“I have gaze sensitivity. Wherever I am, I’m especially sensitive to other people’s stares.”

Su Lai nodded.
“A social phobe’s intuition. I believe it.”

He said it casually, and everyone listened casually. After all, the reported answer was correct. Probably nothing more to dig into regarding “peeping.”

Bai Ke: “You might not believe it, but before I graduated college, I was also a social phobe. After a few years as a beast of burden, I’m not afraid of anything except being poor.”

Su Lai glanced at Bai Ke.
“Honestly, I really don’t believe that.”
As he spoke, he looked around, finally settling on the shaky lock on the door.

He grabbed the handle, gave it a hard pull, and easily yanked the lock off.

No one knew what Su Lai was doing. He unplugged the TV, grabbed the lock, and started smashing the screen.

“Holy shit?”
Screen fragments scattered everywhere. Bai Ke stood frozen.
“Lai-ge, you…”

“Going berserk a bit. Loosening up the muscles.”
As he spoke, Su Lai had already gone into the hallway to find the main switch and cut the floor’s power.

Now there was no screen, and no electricity flowing.

Su Lai asked Huo Lang again.
“Is there still peeping now?”

After a moment, Cocoon: “There is. But not nearby.”

Su Lai asked again.
“If I pull out all the wires and smash all the screens, will the peeping disappear?”

Cocoon: “All of them?”

Su Lai nodded.
“All of Spring Breeze Community.”

The cocoon got scared. Its words became vague.
“I’m not sure… I don’t know about things that haven’t happened…”

Su Lai was concise.
“Answer with your intuition.”

Cocoon: “Maybe.”
With a jolt, Huo Lang accidentally gave a positive answer. Afraid his subconscious response would mislead others, he quickly tried to backtrack.
“No wait! That was a slip of the tongue, didn’t think it through… I don’t know…”

“Got it. The essence of intuition is not thinking.”
Su Lai shook the screen fragments off his flip-flops and stood up.

He mulled over Huo Lang’s intuition: TV, antenna, places with electricity, places with screens—they are everywhere, watching us, amusing themselves with our fear and despair.

Huo Lang’s intuition was abstract. The words covered a very broad range.
But peeping itself was abstract. A bit of ambiguity might be appropriate.

Perhaps “all residents are peepers” was only the truth at the village committee level. Uncovering this truth made the neighbors berserk, throwing the outside players into danger and chaos.

Because finding the core of “peeping” also meant tearing apart everyone’s facade.

Speaking frankly, with no one caring about face anymore, why follow rules? Naturally, grievances would be aired, revenge sought. The reporter who tore off everyone’s mask became the target of public anger.

But the village committee’s truth might only be the narrow truth. Beyond their identity as outside tenants, their true identity was as dungeon players.

The latest main quest emphasized “Entertain to Death.” Who was the audience if not the viewers watching the players clear the dungeon?

Su Lai didn’t know who these viewers were, but they were definitely closely related to the contamination.

So the second layer of “peeping” was from the players’ perspective. The peepers would naturally be the audience watching the livestream.

“They amuse themselves with our fear and despair”—Huo Lang’s intuition confirmed Su Lai’s guess.

But if he messed up the dungeon livestream and offended the viewers, would it affect the players’ ability to make money?

Who cared? The system hadn’t responded to Su Lai’s request to livestream anyway. He hadn’t made any money from it. Now, through his own hard work as a delivery guy, he’d earned enough. He also missed his cat. It was time to get out of this weird place.

Seeing Su Lai charge downstairs with the lock, Bai Ke panicked.
“What’s wrong? Another emergency?”

Su Lai: “The emergencies never stopped.”

Bai Ke, confused, shouted toward the stairwell.
“Lai-ge, what are you going to do?”

Su Lai didn’t look back.
“Entertain to death.”
“Make the ones using us for entertainment die instead—”