Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Seeing the door open, Feng Bu Jue exhaled in relief. Instead of rushing out immediately, they used the artificial light spilling in from the corridor to approach the cage holding the monkey. They unlatched the cage, lifted the heavy gate, and carefully carried out the unconscious animal.
[Name: Sleeping Tibetan Macaque]
[Type: Plot-Related]
[Quality: Common]
[Function: Unknown]
[Can Be Taken from Scenario: Yes]
[Notes: A lively and courageous monkey species now on the brink of extinction.]
"A plot item that can be taken out of the scenario… interesting", Feng Bu Jue murmured, successfully stuffing the monkey into their satchel. They then strode out of the room.
The corridor beyond was lined with metal walls, its ceiling stretching four to five meters high. Lighting was normal, but no windows existed. Side doors and branching paths either refused to budge or were blocked by debris. The true path was clear—red spray-painted arrows marked the way forward. After several futile attempts to explore side routes, Feng Bu Jue sped up, following the arrows. Seven or eight minutes later, they reached a dead-end with a red-marked metal door.
The door lacked a handle, featuring only a central wheel valve. Grasping it, Feng Bu Jue found the resistance immense, requiring significant effort to turn. As the wheel rotated halfway, the door shuddered, and icy air seeped through the crack. A chill of foreboding ran through them. Pushing the thick door open unleashed a blast of frigid air—the room was a sealed freezer.
Inside, frost and snow blanketed the floor. Icicles clung to the walls, and three large pipes, each about a meter wide, hung from the ceiling corners. Snow drifted lazily from the pipes, though sparse.
Feng Bu Jue inhaled sharply, blew warmth into their palms, and rubbed their hands together before stepping in. Crossing the threshold, they immediately sank knee-deep into snow—the floor was lower than the corridor, the "thin layer" of frost a deceptive trap. They hopped briefly, but the soft snow swallowed their feet. To avoid sinking, they dropped to their knees and crawled.
Leaving the door open, they reached the opposite wall, where another door awaited. This one bore an electronic keypad requiring a four-digit code. Beside it, a movable square metal plate (ten centimeters per side) featured a small handle. When Feng Bu Jue pulled the plate, the entrance door slammed shut.
Behind the plate lay a small space holding a cassette tape. The next step was clear.
Feng Bu Jue retrieved the cassette and their Walkman. Swapping the existing tape with this new one, they pressed play.
"Merry Christmas, Arthur. A day for family reunions, yet the true Christmas spirit means selfless giving and blessings..."
As the recording played, Feng Bu Jue scrutinized the room again. Earlier, they’d noticed a fresh newspaper plastered on the metal wall. The area around it showed less frost, and the paper’s text remained legible despite the snowfall. The headline article, titled "They Are No Different From Us", featured a photo of homeless people huddled around a burning oil drum under a snowy sky. The author? Arthur Sieger.
"You attend charity galas, smiling for cameras, yet never donate to causes. You preach against discrimination toward the homeless but never respect those beneath your social standing. Your cruelty and snobbery disgust everyone around you. You’ve advocated for the elderly, claiming they deserve care, yet use work as an excuse to avoid your own parents every Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Arthur, you’ve repeatedly lectured humanity on indifference and injustice, yet your actions prove you’ve no idea what you’re saying.
Now, you’ll learn how the helpless survive. In this snowy room lies a paper slip with the lock code. Reach into the snow beneath you and find it.
Like those freezing on snowy streets, clinging to faint hope, you face no time limit. Yet even if you find something, the best outcome is merely surviving until dawn..."
The recording ended. Feng Bu Jue shivered violently. The game’s clothing regulated body temperature in environments around 20°C, but here, below freezing, the cold bit through. Snow thickened slowly from the ceiling pipes.
To keep their fingers nimble, Feng Bu Jue exhaled into their hands, replaying the message. "Like those freezing... finding 'something' lets you survive until dawn..." A cryptic clue, but meaningful.
They staggered upright, legs numb from the cold. Kneeling in snow no longer mattered—feeling was gone. They shuffled to the newspaper, scanning for clues.
This was the optimal moment to search. Diving hands-first into snow could cost them—frostbite or hypothermia would dull their mind, making puzzle-solving impossible.
"What helps the homeless survive until dawn?" Feng Bu Jue muttered, focusing. "A few people huddled around a trash-burning drum? No... Wait—Madao’s three street survival tools: cardboard boxes, dogs, and radios."
They acted. The newspaper, taped at four corners, was carefully peeled off, its center intact. Corners torn, but functionality preserved.
The paper’s folds were sharp—clearly creased multiple times. Despite missing corners, Feng Bu Jue followed the creases, forming a small paper box.
Examining it, they spotted overlapping edges revealing a sequence of identical-sized uppercase letters and numbers scattered across the paper when unfolded. Folded, they aligned into:
FM27.3MHZ
"An amateur radio band?" Feng Bu Jue adjusted the Walkman to receive broadcasts.
Static filled all frequencies. At FM27.3, noise reigned—until, after forty seconds, a raspy voice announced, "Nine... five... two... seven..." Then silence.
Feng Bu Jue scrambled to the door, grumbling as they entered the code: "What a lousy password—'no entry for lowlifes and dogs'?"
The door clicked open. They tumbled out, rolling on the corridor floor to restore circulation, then did dozens of push-ups. Their vitality dropped to 67%, but the "frozen" status faded in the warmer environment.
This exit beat digging through snow blindly—a futile effort their luck would’ve doomed. The scenario likely didn’t track Arthur’s post-escape hospital journey. The initial recording warned of a toxin killing them in forty minutes, yet no "poisoned" status appeared. The vitality loss was likely a mix of cold and the toxin’s slow effect. Either way, the rule was clear: escape within forty minutes or die.
Twenty minutes spent—swift for the second trial. Adding the first room’s five minutes and travel time, fifteen remained. The system likely penalized slower players who dug snow, so the next challenge was likely the final one.
Feng Bu Jue kept the Walkman on. At FM27.3, the code repeated every minute. Other frequencies stayed silent.
Body warmed, they pressed forward.
(End of Chapter)
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