As the group drifted off into a daze, they heard the girl speak, her voice seemingly tinged with a gentle smile:
"I told you, I won't kill you."
"I'd rather let the ghosts here finish you off; that would be more painful. Of course, if you're incredibly lucky and survive until the mission is almost complete, then I'll come looking for you."
The girl smiled, finished speaking, and then looked away from him.
The crimson liquid that dripped onto the front desk, now gradually drying and congealing, resembled several bewitching eyes, telling a terrifying story.
The girl slowly turned around.
A murderous aura surged from her body, almost materializing into a blade. Her bright eyes were covered with the coldness of a winter's day.
She didn't speak, but her gaze swept over them all. Everyone felt as if their blood had frozen, and even their breathing slowed down.
Yuan Qingli gracefully moved forward, facing the pale-faced "chicken claw" contestant, and beckoned him over.
The trembling boy dared not disobey and went over to get close to her.
Looking at it this way, this violent woman is actually quite beautiful, like one of those big stars online.
"Hello, handsome. May I ask your name?" Yuan Qingli put away her cold expression.
It makes one think that everything that just happened was an illusion.
If we ignore the Golden Retriever's occasional pitiful howls.
"Hello. My name is Xia Tianyou." Whether from confusion or pain, the other person stammered.
Before the other party could reach out, Yuan Qingli grabbed the broken chicken claw.
"Ouch, that hurts!"
Yuan Qingli ignored him and directly placed his hand on the register, writing down the three words "Xia Tianyou".
The broken wound, which was already congealing, burst open again, tearing off a piece of flesh that remained on the register, twisting in protest.
Even with words written in blood, the book is still drained dry.
However, a red light flashed at the front desk, and a rectangular card appeared out of thin air with several shimmering black numbers on it: 1808.
Looks like I'll have to write a petition in blood.
"You're welcome." Yuan Qingli casually slapped the room key into the other person's hand. Xia Tianyou was left unsure whether to be angry or grateful.
Touching my room key, it was cold and slightly stinging, a lingering effect of biting my finger earlier.
What era are we living in? People still have to write letters in blood!
Yuan Qingli stood alone in the elevator. She had politely declined the friendly invitations from several "players" and had chosen an elevator by herself.
The numbers kept increasing. Yuan Qingli lived on the 13th floor, apartment 1305. Compared to the 18th floor where Jizhao had just lived, she thought it was pretty good.
Anyway, I'm Chinese, so I don't care about foreign ways of doing things.
But why do I always feel a cold wind behind me?
Turn around boldly.
There was nothing there except for the empty surveillance footage.
Yuan Qingli closed her eyes and carefully sensed the situation. In the blink of an eye, another person appeared in front of her.
To be precise, it was a human head.
This is a head with long, flowing hair, falling from the sky.
Yuan Qingli stared at the other person's nostrils—there was no way around it, the other person was hanging upside down, so seeing their nostrils from this angle was always a novel experience.
After realizing that there were no nose hairs, Yuan Qingli felt it was impolite, so she examined the entire face.
She has a classic oval face, long eyelashes, double eyelids, and a hint of melancholy in her eyes.
Her complexion was slightly bluish with an unusual sheen, and her lips were a true purple. With her long, flowing hair, it was impossible to tell whether she was male or female.
"Hello." Yuan Qingli gave a friendly smile.
The other person did not answer, but floated down lightly, drawing a graceful semicircle in mid-air with their entire face as the center and their height as the radius.
For some reason, Yuan Qingli remembered a song: "Draw a dragon with me on the left, and a rainbow on your right."
The rainbow and the dragon were not drawn, but Yuan Qingli could see them clearly. The figure became more and more blurred as the person moved down to their lower body.
The hem of the long robe was slightly rotten, with several holes from moths.
Below the wormhole, amidst some illusions, one could vaguely make out ankles and the floor that had been seen through.
Yuan Qingli knew perfectly well that this was a ghost.
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