The male ant convulsed on the ground, emitting painful howls.
The spot on its back where Xiao Cheng had just kicked it was deeply dented in its hard black carapace, revealing fine cracks.
"Impossible...it's already dying! You can't..."
"Impossible?" Xiao Cheng interrupted it calmly. "Normally, there's no possibility of bringing the dead back to life. But now..."
She paused slightly, then turned to look at the doorway: "Shall we continue to hide here? The master of this place, the great creator, dear novelist?"
A low laugh came from the shadows, and Player Number Three slowly walked out, looking at Xiao Cheng with gentle eyes.
His skin peeled off like shards of porcelain, breaking into large and small fragments on the ground.
"I knew it. How could you possibly not have recognized me?" The novelist's smile grew even more unrestrained. He nonchalantly stepped over the broken body of the queen ant on the ground and spread his hands in feigned innocence.
"But unfortunately, I won't do as you wish. After all... the fate of all the creatures I create can only be decided by myself!"
Xiao Cheng looked at his arrogant expression with a mocking smile and asked indifferently, "Is that so? Is it you... or another version of you?"
Before he could finish speaking...
Everything around him began to tremble violently, and the novelist's expression froze instantly, a mixture of astonishment and barely perceptible panic.
“You…” He pointed at Xiao Cheng with trembling hands. A pen with a broken nib fell out of his pocket, rolled all the way to the queen ant, and burst out with a blinding light the moment it touched her.
The light almost tore apart everything in sight, and the novelist's face instantly became incredibly distorted, just like the hand-drawn half-crying, half-laughing expression that Xiao Cheng had seen at the end of the book.
A faint shadow slowly emerged from the pen, so blurred that only a vague human figure could be barely discerned.
It nodded to Xiao Cheng, then squatted down and gently wrote something on the queen ant.
A cracking sound echoed from the void, and chaos gradually encroached upon this place. The dying ant queen suddenly let out a sharp roar, and her enormous mandibles tore the mist apart from the middle.
Xiao Cheng felt a blur before her eyes.
When she came to her senses, everything in the anthill had disappeared. She stood alone at the entrance of the building, facing a half-open steel door.
The light from the hall shone into the darkness outside the door, illuminating most of her body.
The novelist and five others sat on the sofa, their eyes all fixed on her.
"Come here," the novelist said to her in a gentle, warm tone, holding the transparent thermos containing the eyeball. "We're just one person away from starting our seminar."
Xiao Cheng walked over without saying a word and sat down in the empty seat next to Fang He.
She glanced at every player here, including Fang He, out of the corner of her eye. In fact, she had no way of knowing whether this was a real instance or just another work by a novelist.
The second woman remained limp, leaning against the first player's chest like a snake.
Number Three remained silent, his true intentions unreadable.
Number Four huddled somewhat timidly at the back of the sofa, as if trying to sink himself completely into it.
Then there's Fang He.
He clearly noticed Xiao Cheng's unusual behavior and silently looked at her, his gaze carrying a subtle hint of inquiry and worry.
"It's just the right time." The novelist slammed down his water glass, a rather pleased smile spreading across his face.
He looked around at everyone meaningfully, then emphasized, "This seminar has taken a lot of my effort! So I hope everyone will participate seriously! Don't get distracted, okay? Please don't get distracted!"
Xiao Cheng subtly withdrew her gaze, leaned back on the sofa, and a faint hint of weariness appeared in her eyes.
The novelist pulled his notepad from his pocket and continued enthusiastically, "The theme of this seminar is my new book! And what is the theme of the new book?"
He deliberately softened his tone, building suspense and building rapport, then, when the atmosphere was just right, he burst into exaggerated laughter: "Of course—it's not confirmed yet! Hahahaha, otherwise, wouldn't this seminar be completely unnecessary?"
Xiao Cheng: "..." To be honest, it was completely unnecessary.
"Then let's use keywords and a one-person-one-segment relay method! We'll go by each person's number, okay? Come on, relax and treat this like a regular storytelling session."
The novelist gave himself a big round of applause, then tossed a crumpled note onto the coffee table.
He pondered for a moment, then solemnly drew one of the cards, obtaining the first keyword: "apple".
He didn't rush to start the next paragraph, but instead warned in a serious tone: "Please be sure to pay attention and focus your attention on the story! Words have life, you know? Watch carefully, I'm guiding you through creation and creation."
Xiao Cheng had no interest in creation or creation.
But the current situation leaves her no choice but to accept it.
The novelist began with dramatic intonation: "There was an apple tree in the yard, but it didn't bear any fruit. Every day, Mom would say, 'Let's cut it down, it's useless anyway,' but Dad always disagreed, instead taking even better care of the tree. Until one day..."
He deliberately lowered his voice, a strange smile appearing on his face: "The apple tree bore a fruit. But it wasn't an apple, but rather their son's head, just like that."
As he spoke, he pointed to a corner.
Xiao Cheng turned her head and was instantly chilled to the bone.
In the corner of the hall, an apple tree rose from the ground, its branches bare of leaves, the tips of which hung heavily, each bearing a fluffy head.
He was a boy bleeding from all seven orifices, who grinned menacingly, revealing his fine, shark-like teeth as he sneered at them.
"So who should be next?"
The novelist admired everyone's expressions, rhythmically tapping his fingertips on the notepad, then turned to look at Number One with expectant eyes.
Under his gaze, Player One silently drew the second note.
"Mature."
It's a perfectly normal word, but it's quite inappropriate in this context.
Number One frowned slightly, thought for a while, and then carefully spoke: "These apples... these apples will take a very long time to ripen. Dad can't bear to pick them and would rather let them rot on the tree."
Meanwhile, on the apple tree in the corner, heads of all sizes began to slowly rot, their flesh and skin dripping down, and a strong stench of decay wafted over, filling everyone's nostrils.
It's disgusting.
Number Two covered his mouth and nose with some disgust, then got up and pulled out the third note.
"kill."
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