Chapter 10: Continuing to Capture the Truth

"Did this guy get in? When? How?"

Zhou Ke’s head, along with the string of question marks hovering above it, was violently twisted by the ghostly hand. His cheek was pressed against the door panel, distorting his face, while his eye was forced to align with the peephole.

Looking was bad enough, but what he saw caused his fear to surge. Outside the peephole, directly in front of the main door, a blurry, human-sized shadow swayed back and forth in rhythm with the ringing of the doorbell. Simultaneously, the deadbolt began to slide back bit by bit, and the doorknob twisted violently, as if it would be forced open the very next second.

"Damn it. If this continues, I'm guaranteed a death ending." Zhou Ke tried to brace himself against the door, but he couldn't shake the suppression of the spectral hand behind his head.

Since human strength was clearly insufficient, it was time to bring out some "inhuman" talent.

"The Wolf is Coming!"

A silver-gray book manifested in mid-air, its pages turning slowly and reflecting a dusty, aged light. The light in Zhou Ke's eyes shifted continuously, mapping out height, weight, scent, expression, movement, and the texture of hair—piecing together materials, perfecting the form.

As the "Truth" was activated, a figure identical to Zhou Ke in appearance and attire appeared at the door. "He" flashed a provocative grin, turned, and ran into the dark corridor, the patter of footsteps sounding exceptionally loud.

At that moment, the death-knell doorbell finally stopped.

The pressure behind Zhou Ke’s head eased just enough. Without hesitation, he pushed off the door and leaped backward, willing to bruise his backside if it meant distancing himself from the entrance. Almost the instant he landed, he felt the phantom created by his "Truth" being torn to shreds.

A moment later, the doorbell rang again. This time, the ringing carried a faint, resentful undertone of being deceived.

"Good thing I reacted fast, or I really would have fallen into your trap."

[The Wolf is Coming: Consumes a minimal amount of aether to create a phantom of a monster previously seen. Used to deceive or intimidate others. Limited to two uses every twenty-four hours.]

Zhou Ke had just created a phantom of himself to serve as bait for the Doorbell Ghost. The concept of a "monster" was vague; poisonous insects could be monsters, bloodthirsty beasts could be monsters. By that logic, a human could also be defined as a monster by Zhou Ke.

"This trick of passing off fish eyes as pearls is useful, but it’s a shame there’s a limit. Better to be stingy with it, and there's no telling if the opponent will fall for the same trick twice."

Zhou Ke touched the back of his head, which was wet with foul-smelling fluid. His expression shifted from contemplation to disgust. "Disgusting bastard. Watch it, or I’ll butcher you."

Ding-dong!

Seeming to realize that nothing more could be gained from Zhou Ke, the doorbell rang elsewhere. It appeared the Doorbell Ghost had left Room 7, but Zhou Ke was in no mood to risk confirming it. He turned and walked into the bathroom. He needed extreme clarity of thought right now.

Pushing open the frosted glass door, he was greeted by a bathroom as cheap as the hotel itself.

In the narrow, cramped space, every corner was filthy. The area around the toilet was stained with large, dark brown marks; under the sickly yellow glow of the old light bulb, it looked like a mixture of blood and feces. The so-called "dry-wet separation" was a pipe dream; a showerhead that had clearly been hanging on for years lay on the mottled, damp floor, with a few cockroaches scurrying behind it.

"This place isn't even fit for ghosts," Zhou Ke pinched his nose and walked to the relatively clean sink. He turned the faucet, but only the sound of air rushing through the pipes emerged—not a single drop of water.

"No water. That’s not good."

Zhou Ke’s expression turned grave. Without knowing how long this "knocking game" would last, basic physiological needs became the top priority. Common sense dictated that an ordinary person would enter the danger zone of potential death within three weeks without food. Without water, they would die in three to seven days—and that was under ideal conditions of minimal exertion. To survive, they had to find a way to clear the [Gate of the Ghost-Gold Sheep], which would inevitably consume a vast amount of energy, spiking the need for food and water.

"I'll look for water and snacks in the room later." Though he said this, he didn't hold much hope. A heartless hotel that cut off the tap water wouldn't be that considerate. "If I can't find any, I'll drag the corpse from Room 1 back here tomorrow."

Zhou Ke said this with startling nonchalance. A normal person might struggle with the moral dilemma of cannibalism, but Mr. Zhou had never been a normal person. He lacked both the respect for the dead and the moral condemnation of humanity. Of course, he wasn't a raving lunatic either. He would simply be grateful, and with the respect one gives a generous benefactor, he would make good use of every part of the corpse—heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys, blood, and even bones—to ensure nothing went to waste.

After a fleeting moment of piety, Zhou Ke looked down at the puddle of water remaining in the sink. It had been sitting there for who knows how long; it was definitely not drinkable.

"Under these conditions, I can't be picky." He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it roughly onto his face.

Some might say, "But isn't Mr. Zhou a germaphobe? Isn't this out of character?" Not at all. His germaphobia only applied to things touched by others or having his own body touched by someone else. Sewage, filth, or even corpses—he wasn't afraid of those in the slightest.

*Drip, drip.*

The murky, cold water coalesced into droplets, falling from his jawline. Zhou Ke stared at his reflection in the mirror, hooking his index fingers into the corners of his mouth and stretching them into a fake, wide grin. It was a habit, or rather a quirk; it helped him maintain a smile and remain calm for the rest of the day.

"So far, there are these points." After a moment of thought, Zhou Ke wet his finger and traced several short sentences onto the dirty mirror surface:

1. Do not peek.
2. Do not go near the door.
3. Do not react to the doorbell.
4. Do not retreat.

These four hypothetical rules were summarized based on his recent experience. They were easy to accidentally violate, making them quite persuasive. Beyond these, there were common horror movie tropes like "don't breathe" or "don't be afraid," but since those couldn't be consciously controlled, he didn't write them down. While he couldn't be certain these were the exact triggers for the Doorbell Ghost, they were better than blindly trusting the unverifiable tips in the "Guest Guidelines."

Sticking to experience gained through practice would maximize his chances of avoiding danger.

"It seems locking the door really has nothing to do with being attacked. The next step is to find more clues to corroborate this." Zhou Ke muttered, walking out of the bathroom and sitting back on the bed. He didn't sleep—not out of fear of ghosts, but because he still had work to do.

"The Wolf is Coming," Zhou Ke whispered, and the "Truth" flipped open.

He read the nonsensical, fragmented fairy tale from start to finish again, then retrieved a ballpoint pen from the nightstand. He pressed the ink-black tip onto the "Truth," which should have been intangible, but to his surprise, the ink bled into the pages, leaving a mark!

"Just as I thought, this fairy tale isn't finished." Zhou Ke had expected as much. When he first read the "Truth," he felt a deep, itching sense of incompleteness, like reading a book that had been abandoned by its author. Despite loathing the content, he craved a satisfying conclusion.

"After all, I wrote this 'Truth' myself. It's only natural that I can finish it."

Zhou Ke stated the obvious, though his inner confusion only grew. "If I finish it, will the ability of the 'Truth' change?" Truth be told, his current "Truth" wasn't very impressive; it lacked any offensive capability. Compared to his self-proclaimed status as the protagonist, it was somewhat underwhelming.

Having experienced many strange events recently, he felt a surge of inspiration. With a sense of anticipation, he began to write furiously.

Meanwhile, in Room 5, the furniture and cleanliness were several notches higher than in Room 7. If Zhou Ke saw it, he would definitely have cheekily tried to crash there. And with Hero Linghu’s temperament, she would certainly have kicked his uniform to ribbons with a single jade foot.

"How could this be..."

Right now, Linghu Shiyu had no mind for anything else. She knelt on the floor, her cold, elegant demeanor gone, her pupils trembling violently. "How could this be?"

An overturned trash can rolled on the floor. A crumpled piece of paper had fallen out, which Linghu Shiyu clutched as if it were her own life. The bold heading on the paper read: "Tenant List."

The names and gender information were all scribbled out, making it impossible to distinguish the specific strokes. But that wasn't what truly concerned Linghu Shiyu.

What bothered her was that the list only had six lines, and only six lines had been blacked out.

"How can there be only six lines? Impossible, impossible... unless..."

Just as a horrifying guess surfaced in her mind, the doorbell outside rang abruptly.

*Ding, dong!*