kill.

The second woman glanced at the first woman with some difficulty and spoke slowly in a helpless tone.

"The stench of rotting apples enraged the neighbor, who warned his parents that he would kill them if they didn't get rid of the apples soon."

Player number three was lucky; the word they drew was "dig," which fits perfectly with Player number two's storyline.

At least the apple trees can be disposed of.

Everyone breathed a slight sigh of relief as they watched the tree being uprooted bit by bit and then completely burned, leaving only a small handful of black ash.

Now the pressure is on player number four.

He nervously rubbed his hands together, cautiously reaching for the note on the coffee table. Before he could even open it, the novelist asked softly, "Are you sure?"

"Wh...what?" Number Four froze on the spot, looking around helplessly, trying to find the answer on the faces of the other players.

"Make sure you don't get distracted, and of course you can't interrupt other people's turns. That's against the rules, you should know that, right?" the novelist warned righteously.

"But...but..." Number Four was being targeted by the Boss alone for the first time, and he instantly broke out in a cold sweat, standing there dumbfounded and at a loss.

The novelist slowly unscrewed the lid of the thermos, sipping the water. His bloodshot, deathly white eyes bobbed up and down in the cup, but Tong Ren always faced Number Four, like a stare that never closed its eyes in death.

"Of course, these rules can't bind me. As the final creator, I certainly have the right to decide whether to adopt your suggestions, right?" The novelist casually crossed his legs.

"Of course, the previous sections were quite satisfactory. So you... number four? Guest number four, are you really sure you've figured out how to continue?"

"I...I..." Player number four took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm as he retrieved the crumpled paper. "I'm sure."

He opened the paper with utmost care, and there were two words written on it.

fireworks.

Player number four's expression visibly relaxed.

Fireworks, they can't be scary no matter what, right? As long as you avoid words like ghosts and corpses...

Number Four suddenly froze. He turned to look at the others with a blank expression and noticed that their expressions seemed a little off.

……What's wrong?

He felt his head become light and floaty, slowly rising upwards, his field of vision also increasing, until finally it was almost completely touching the ceiling.

Number Four belatedly lowered his gaze.

He saw his headless body still in the same position, huddled in the corner of the sofa.

"Huh? Did I say it? I said it...fireworks?"

The words fell.

His entire head exploded silently and completely, splattering blood and flesh everywhere, with a ridiculous halo effect, looking just like fireworks.

The novelist, completely absorbed in the pervasive smell of blood, even cheerfully provided voice-over for it.

"Whoosh—pop!" He turned his palm upward, clenched his fist and then suddenly opened it, making a gesture as if setting off fireworks.

"He actually chose this method to give us such a spectacular halftime break! Let's celebrate his magnificent exit!"

The novelist's enthusiastic applause echoed throughout the hall.

Fang He calmly reached out and touched the fifth note.

Xiao Cheng tilted her head slightly and looked in his direction.

blank.

This is a completely blank piece of paper.

"Huh? It's an unbelievable bye? That's such a shame. I was really looking forward to your work."

The novelist looked regretful, shrugged helplessly, and continued, "Since that's how it is... then there's nothing I can do. According to the rules—after all, newly established rules are still rules—I, the final creator, will fill in this gap!"

He stared at the notepad in his hand, racking his brains. After a long time, he finally managed to squeeze out a sentence: "To make Mom happy, Dad set off fireworks for her himself. The fireworks were beautiful, and they could also awaken... the sleeping, wronged souls."

The temperature in the hall plummeted, the lights began to flicker, and the atmosphere instantly became exceptionally cold and eerie.

Countless blurry ghostly figures emerged, drifting and gathering towards them. Xiao Cheng heard a howling wind in his ears, as if someone was approaching and whispering their grievances.

The novelist's lips curled upwards, revealing a confident smile of certainty: "The vengeful spirits always possess immense power. They hate every living person equally. As long as they occupy a new body... they can come back to life. This is what God warned them."

One by one, the ghostly figures gradually solidified, each ghost's death appearance uniquely ugly, practically a form of mental pollution.

But when all this mental pollution comes rushing in at once, it turns into physical harm.

The novelist, satisfied with his masterpiece, nodded to Xiao Cheng, who was surrounded by ghostly figures, and said, "Please continue." He pointed to a note on the coffee table, "Give me a surprising ending."

What a load of bullshit!

With a gloomy face and the chilling aura emanating from the ghostly figure, Xiao Cheng quickly reached out to touch the note on the table.

The novelist's smile grew increasingly ambiguous, and it was easy to imagine that what followed were not pleasant words.

Xiao Cheng cursed under his breath, then decided not to bother choosing anymore, randomly picked up a card, and opened it to take a look.

die.

All the ghostly figures froze instantly, but this was clearly the calm before the storm, just waiting for Xiao Cheng to utter those two words.

"Death...it's impossible to die!" Xiao Cheng said rapidly, looking at the novelist's undisguised sinister expression. "Is the apple delicious?" the mother asked. The son nodded happily, and then the mother immediately gave him an even more delicious slap!

In the silent hall, a crisp slapping sound suddenly rang out.

The novelist, somewhat bewildered, covered his rapidly swelling cheek: "You..."

"Don't interrupt your mother," Xiao Cheng said in a loving tone. "Do you understand the true essence of Chinese horror? Child, I've told you not to get too involved. Look at you, you've become obsessed with writing, you're even hallucinating after you finish writing, aren't you?"

Under the astonished gazes of the crowd, all the ghostly figures, along with the corpse of Player Number Four, vanished without a trace.

"Impossible..." The novelist stared blankly at the newly published book in his hands, his face filled with disbelief.

"This book? It's such a simple matter." Xiao Cheng breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed onto the sofa in a lazy manner.

"Now that the book is finished, shouldn't you, the great novelist, send your guests home?"