Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Conductor pressed the hole punch into my backpack strap, as if stamping a ticket that didn’t exist. A second later, seat thirteen collapsed entirely, revealing a section of pitch-black stairs.

The System’s notification rang out immediately after:

“Hidden safe point triggered.”

“Congratulations to player Lin Zhaowan for obtaining one-time temporary guidance rights.”

The moment those words were spoken, the way the people in the carriage looked at me completely changed.

Suspicion remained, but fear had already overtaken it. The burly man who had been the most aggressive earlier was the first to squeeze over, his voice trembling. “Do you know what to do next?”

“A little.” I looked at the stairs leading downward. “The prerequisite for survival is: don’t push.”

The “Last Train” newbie Dungeon was originally meant to be a filter. Back then, to emphasize a sense of despair, I had written most of the death traps out in the open, while the only path to survival was hidden between the lines of the rules. As long as seat thirteen was occupied by a “non-human,” the maintenance passage beneath the seat would open. If you could endure the fifteen minutes while the train was stopped, the train would deliver the survivors to the actual Dungeon entrance.

But back then, I was the author, not a passenger.

Standing at the mouth of the passage now, I only felt my throat tighten.

Because I was starting to suspect that these Dungeons didn’t just “resemble” what I wrote-they were running exactly according to my novels.

“Who the hell are you?” the short-haired woman asked me. “A streamer? A shill? Or one of the System’s people?”

“A webnovel writer,” I said.

She clearly didn’t believe me.

I didn’t bother explaining and pointed to the hand straps on the ceiling. “The first blackout will happen in two minutes. When the lights go out, don’t leave your seat no matter what you hear. After the lights come back on for the second time, go down the stairs. Also, someone will be handing out candy at the end of the carriage. Do not eat it under any circumstances.”

“Why should we listen to you?”

“Because the two who looked back are already dead.”

No one spoke again.

The first blackout came even faster than I remembered. The entire carriage felt like it had been swallowed in one gulp, turning so dark that only the sound of breathing remained. Someone was crying in the darkness, someone was chanting Buddhist prayers, and others were gripping their seatbacks so hard their knuckles turned white.

I heard a familiar male voice in my ear.

“Zhaowan, aren’t you already dead?”

The voice pierced through me like a knife.

It was my ex-boyfriend. To be precise, it was his voice from the last phone call I never picked up before I died.

I closed my eyes, my palms slick with cold sweat.

This was something I hadn’t written.

The train was growing its own new content.

After the lights came on for the second time, an old woman with a cart really did appear at the end of the aisle. The cart was piled high with candy wrapped in red paper. She smiled and asked everyone if they wanted something sweet, like an elder coaxing a child during the New Year. A middle-aged man, his mental state on the verge of collapse from terror, reached out and snatched a piece, shoving it into his mouth.

I didn’t stop him.

Because it was too late.

The moment the candy wrapper broke, his entire body collapsed like melting wax, half a plea for help still caught in his mouth: “Save m-” By the time the others reacted, nothing was left on the seat but a puddle of red liquid with a sickly sweet, metallic scent.

This time, no one dared to move.

I was the first to slip into the passage under seat thirteen. The short-haired woman gritted her teeth and followed, and six others came down after her. The burly man originally wanted to push past me, but when he saw the Conductor looking down at him with a smile at the top of the stairs, he immediately behaved himself.

At the end of the passage was an iron door.

A single line of text was written on the door:

“The real Dungeon begins after disembarking.”

Before the door opened, the short-haired woman suddenly spoke. “My name is Xu Zhibai. If you really can lead me out of here alive, I’ll follow your lead from now on.”

I nodded.

The iron door slid inward slowly, revealing a damp, dim corridor.

The doorplate on the wall bore four mottled characters.

Fog Harbor Apartments.

My heart sank abruptly.

This was the first official Dungeon of my second book, and out of all the Dungeons I had ever written, it was the one that loved to disguise itself as a “safe house” the most.