Chapter Seventy-Two: The Number

Chapter Seventy-Two: Number

On the first day, there were actually a few people who, by luck, managed to find others whose numbers, when added to their own, equaled one hundred.

However, their path was blocked by a burly man in his thirties who was smoking. He was occupying the elevator, squatting there as if waiting for someone, but making no move to leave.

For the moment, no one had the courage to make a move; instead, they gathered at the elevator doors, trying to persuade or curse at the rather fierce-looking man.

The man said nothing, simply sitting there.

Du Ziming pointed in that direction. “If it were you, what would you do?”

“Well… if he’s number ninety-nine, then sitting there is actually a pretty good choice—provided he lets others know his number. That way, as long as number one is still alive, or if there’s some other special reason, he’ll leave together with them,” Wu Hui replied.

“What does your glasses say about his intelligence?”

“Seven points.”

“That’s fairly clever, but it’s still a gamble. Of course, with such disadvantaged numbers as ninety-nine and ninety-eight, you have no choice but to take risks.”

Wu Hui understood Du Ziming’s implication: if this guy kept this up, those he’d offended during the day might very well vote him out at night.

But as for number one—who knew whether he was just being foolish or already dead? In any case, he hadn’t shown up. And come to think of it, the smoking man had never actually claimed to be ninety-nine, had he?

Du Ziming suddenly changed the topic. “But what if he’s not ninety-nine or ninety-eight? What then?”

“…Then he’s basically digging his own grave,” Wu Hui replied.

“So how do you know he’s not doing just that?” Du Ziming smiled.

After a moment’s thought, Wu Hui said, “If you’re just using this as an example to demonstrate the uncertainty of human thinking, I get your point. Let’s get back to the matter at hand.”

Speaking with a clever person was always a relief.

Wu Hui decided to let Du Ziming take the lead in this round, as long as he kept his guard up and didn’t let himself be set up.

“When players think with emotion rather than reason, do you know what becomes most important in a game like this?” Du Ziming looked at Wu Hui. “It’s forming alliances. Whoever controls more people holds the initiative.”

In Wu Hui’s view, emotions exist to help animals conserve energy and mental effort. If one had to think through every single thing, it would be exhausting and probably not very efficient.

A large group gives people a strange sense of security. The leader of most will eventually hold the power of life and death over others.

“So alliances require a common enemy or a shared interest,” Wu Hui guessed at what Du Ziming intended to do next. Most likely, he would force one or two people into being the group’s adversaries, then step in to help everyone defeat them.

The mental link now included Du Ziming as well. Ren Yin pointed out the risks in Du Ziming’s plan: by putting himself in the leader’s role, if nothing changed by the deadline, he could easily become the target of a backlash.

Du Ziming replied, “Ah, don’t worry. We’ll probably be out of here before that happens. Just watch how I operate. By the way, Xiaoyue, can you read the numbers of those people?”

Li Xiaoyue answered, “Not really. I can only pick up on some emotional fluctuations and immediate memories. Most people are just thinking, ‘Damn it, I’ve forgotten my number from before.’ But if you give me some time, I can hypnotize them one by one.”

Given what happened yesterday, it was understandable that many hadn’t taken their numbers seriously at first, and after seeing someone die, had been so frightened they forgot.

“I’ll go with you to see Huang Limin. He’s calling himself Liu Ming, isn’t he?” It seemed Du Ziming had found a suitable target to serve as the group’s enemy. “We can use him for now. Ren Yin and Li Xiaoyue shouldn’t reveal their identities yet.”

It wasn’t really Wu Hui’s fault for setting up Huang Limin—Huang Limin had shown no intention of genuine cooperation from the start. He was probably thinking along the same lines as Du Ziming. From here on, it would be every man for himself.

Huang Limin and Wu Hui met again, this time with Wu Hui bringing just one player, while Huang Limin brought two.

He introduced them to Wu Hui, claiming to have just met them in this game. But Wu Hui narrowed his eyes—he’d seen the three check into the hotel together.

Pot calling the kettle black, Du Ziming also introduced himself as a first-level player, supposedly just recruited by Wu Hui.

People simply can’t be honest with each other, especially when they’re still strangers. Li Xiaoyue and Ren Yin stood not far away, pretending to discuss something, but ready to assist at any moment.

“Keep in mind, this is a level three difficulty game. So far, in each round, we’ve been able to find some bonus rewards in the scenario through exploration and similar means,” Wu Hui said through the mental link. “Keep an eye out for that, but if it conflicts with our main goal of leaving, don’t bother.”

Meanwhile, Du Ziming was chatting away with the others, skillfully probing for information. Huang Limin frowned, sensing something was off, but unable to pinpoint what.

Wu Hui just watched quietly, speaking only occasionally.

Suddenly, he frowned and strode quickly to the window at the end of the corridor. Although the glass was sealed tight and unbreakable, he could still see outside.

The sun was already tilting westward. It was about two in the afternoon. Yet after getting up and having breakfast, Wu Hui still didn’t feel hungry.

This meant that the day was not twenty-four hours long; night would come quickly, and so would the voting. Their original plan now seemed a bit too slow.

When he’d checked the sun that morning, it was around eight o’clock. Now, it felt like only two hours had passed, but outside it was already two in the afternoon. He estimated that time was passing about three times faster than normal; what would happen at night remained unknown.

After learning this, Huang Limin was silent for a moment. “We probably won’t have enough time today. We’ll have to wait until next morning to put our plan into action.”

Wu Hui said nothing. He could guess that this was the game master’s way of limiting brute-force solutions.

With only three hours of daylight, it would be nearly impossible to question all ninety-some people scattered throughout the building. Unless you had a large team—but with more people came all sorts of trust issues.

If their current group could unite and stay organized, perhaps next round, with enough daylight, they could force everyone to reveal their numbers.

Unfortunately, even if Wu Hui wanted to cooperate—well, he actually did want to cooperate, and what he’d said at first was true—but after realizing Huang Limin was holding something back, he’d gone to find Du Ziming.

Now that the scheming had begun, it couldn’t be stopped halfway.

And Huang Limin probably couldn’t trust him either.

As the opening line of the game stated: people are separated by squares, and trust has long since disappeared.

But the human heart is not like a grid, neat and regular, orderly and predictable. The human heart is a tangled mess, giving Wu Hui a constant headache.

PS: Forgot to set the time, so this is a bit late.

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