Squatting by the sliding door, Song Cheng wavered for a moment, then said with a solemn expression: “I’m sorry… I really want to win.”
Qin Wuyan: “……”
Knew it.
Song Cheng pushed the sliding door open; Qin Wuyan crawled out of the cramped cabinet—surprisingly, he could fit in such a tiny space without discomfort.
Raising his wristbanded hand, Qin Wuyan added, “If you pretended not to see me, you’d earn three points instead of just one.”
Song Cheng lifted his own hand, placing the sensor against his wristband. When Qin Wuyan’s light went out, he said: “Confidence is good.”
Qin Wuyan: “……”
Earning this single point from Qin Wuyan, Song Cheng hurried out, sharing some advice on the way:
“Never hide in front of doors. People instinctively check doors first, even drawers, let alone such a big cabinet. And the safest place is often the most dangerous—there’s truth in that. Next time, hide in a visual blind spot.”
Qin Wuyan: “Look at me.”
Song Cheng froze for a moment and turned to look at him.
Qin Wuyan pointed at his eyes. “Look at these eyes of mine. Do you see anything unique?”
Song Cheng blinked, a little confused.
“Look closely,” Qin Wuyan continued, “there has to be something—or you wouldn’t think I can see visual blind spots that others can’t.”
Song Cheng: “…………”
He was so frustrated he wanted to bite someone. “Only two minutes left, and you still have time to tease me!”
Qin Wuyan gave no reply. He muttered two more words to Song Cheng, then leisurely walked away.
This castle was a brand-new attraction in the theme park, never before open to the public. The show was just borrowing its exposure for promotion. After filming, the park planned to turn it into an immersive escape room, sold separately from the regular ticket, aiming to make a tidy profit from wealthy visitors.
The castle was four stories high with a basement. Before filming, scouts had noted some hallways were too narrow and some rooms too small for cameras and guests to move freely. So no cameramen followed the guests this time; the production team installed cameras in every room beforehand to capture all angles.
The director, sitting at the back, heard Qin Wuyan’s words to Song Cheng through his earpiece and marveled, “How does Qin Wuyan even have a mouth like that?”
Turning to the assistant director, he asked seriously, “Could it be that his mom swallowed two machine guns while pregnant?”
Assistant director: “Possible. Other kids cry ‘wah wah wah’ at birth, but Qin Wuyan? rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—”
Everyone else: “……”
Absurd, yes, but actually makes some sense.
Unaware of how the production had framed him, Qin Wuyan moved up a floor. He initially considered hiding behind the shower curtain, but remembering Song Cheng’s advice, he paused, then dragged a box of ocean balls from the bed over, pouring them into the tub and climbed in himself, leaving just the balls on the surface.
Hiding beneath the balls, he held his breath. Three footsteps passed outside, but those searching didn’t check underneath the pile.
A small smirk formed on Qin Wuyan’s face as he silently praised his own cleverness—until new footsteps sounded, and a hand poked his abs.
Song Cheng laughed heartily: “Come on out—you’ve been found!”
After two silent seconds, Qin Wuyan sat up expressionless from the ocean balls.
Song Cheng: “……”
Qin Wuyan: “……”
Lü Ruosi, hearing Song Cheng, peeked over curiously. Seeing the two of them staring at each other, she burst out laughing, and then laughed again and again. Even after leaving, Song Cheng could faintly hear her shrill but melodic laughter.
Embarrassed, Song Cheng turned to Qin Wuyan: “Why are you hiding in such an obvious spot again?”
Qin Wuyan was impressed: “The last three people who came in didn’t find me!”
Song Cheng blinked, thinking he might apologize. Instead, his cheeks slowly flushed as he waved modestly: “I’m not that good.”
Qin Wuyan: “……”
Who’s complimenting you???
With that, Song Cheng scored another point off Qin Wuyan. He was about to speak when he noticed his own wristband went dark—and Qin Wuyan’s had turned green.
Both lowered their eyes, taking in the change. Then, Qin Wuyan slowly flashed a wicked, triumphant grin.
“Song Cheng, looks like the tables have turned.”
Song Cheng: “…………”
After a second of silence, he spun on his heel and bolted. Qin Wuyan chuckled twice, wearing a full villainous expression as he strolled out.
The two had finally matched wits. Qin Wuyan wasn’t interested in finding anyone else—his target was Song Cheng, to reclaim a previous slight.
During the search, he crossed paths with other guests: Liu Yanchu seemed similarly confident, Yang Qing was frantically hunting, flustered because she’d been found immediately when hiding, and couldn’t locate anyone when seeking in turn.
The castle that once impressed her now only made her furious. She wanted to burn the place down.
Still agitated, Yang Qing didn’t stop searching. The room she was in—the largest in the castle—was on the third floor, just beneath a pointed attic. She had just descended from there.
This room likely belonged to the castle’s owner, Dorala. It was filled with countless little-girl items and plush toys—double the usual number. Her instincts were right: someone was here.
Meanwhile, Song Cheng pressed his ear against the hidden door, listening carefully to identify who was outside.
Clang-clatter… was it Qin Wuyan?
Earlier, Song Cheng had hidden in the second-floor greenhouse. Thinking it unsafe, he waited until the searchers had passed, then snuck up to the master bedroom on the third floor. The large room offered plenty of hiding spots. As he inspected, he accidentally touched a wall—it felt different.
Cooler.
Song Cheng’s eyes lit up as if a 200-watt light bulb had switched on. Examining more closely, he discovered a resin toy bear attached to the desk acted as a hidden switch. Twisting its head made the otherwise plain wall swing open, revealing a metal door painted to match the wall.
Without hesitation, Song Cheng slipped inside. He had just settled when Yang Qing arrived—and hadn’t left since.
Song Cheng pressed himself against the door for several minutes, waiting for Yang Qing to finally give up and leave. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and couldn’t help but smile.
This spot was safe for now—no one would find him immediately. He could wait here until his wristband color changed before moving.
With time on his side, he turned to sit for a moment, taking in the room. The sight made him exclaim softly:
So many… so many dresses!
Rows upon rows of elaborate, puffy dresses hung along the walls. The floor was scattered with various coat racks in pink, brown, and purple—everywhere, European-style little dresses. This was basically a Lolita paradise.
Unfortunately, the first person to discover it was a young man with little sense for fashion. Song Cheng walked to the nearest coat rack, curiously examining a red dress. Once he understood its structure, he obediently returned to the door and waited for his wristband to change color.
The wristband changes were unpredictable: first after ten minutes, then fifteen, then ten again. By the fourth time, it hadn’t changed even after twenty minutes.
Round after round, everyone knew where hiding spots had been used. Once someone had been found there, it couldn’t be reused the next round. The competition heated up. Song Cheng scored the most points, but his unhelpful partner, Qin Wuyan, wasn’t great at hiding—or catching others—managing only two captures, and both against the comparatively weaker Yang Qing.
While others were blinded by old grudges and fresh rivalries, the calm “couples team” quietly surged forward, gradually evening out the scores.
Upstairs, a silent battle was underway. In the basement, another team ran into trouble.
Yue Yuran grabbed Su Yu, pushing him from a camera-monitored room into an equipment room without cameras.
The equipment room sat beside the basement. A “No Entry” sign hung outside, but Yue Yuran ignored it, only wanting a space away from prying eyes to talk properly with Su Yu.
All the castle rooms had bright, high-saturation lighting, but the equipment room had a single dim yellow bulb overhead.
Inside, there was a chair and a computer desk littered with leftover takeout boxes and milk tea cups, likely forgotten by staff. Across the room stood a high-end equipment wall with rows of unknown switches and exposed wires. Su Yu frowned, taking in the surroundings.
“What are you doing now? Losing your mind again?” he asked.
“Losing my mind?” Yue Yuran shot back. “You’ve been giving me attitude all these days!”
“I don’t want to discuss this here,” Su Yu said.
“Then when do you want to talk?” Yue Yuran demanded. “Su Yu, I’m not you—I can’t fight and pretend everything’s fine at the same time.”
Su Yu stared at him, incredulous. “You think I’m doing this for myself? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have joined this show from the start!”
Yue Yuran laughed bitterly. “Ha! You mean you’re sacrificing for me? Then why didn’t you say anything earlier? When I asked if you wanted to participate, why didn’t you say you didn’t want to come?”
Su Yu, equally frustrated, shot back: “Because you wanted to come!”
“I wanted to come to be with you!” Yue Yuran yelled. “You always say we don’t have enough time together, so I skipped other activities to join this show. The album can be promoted elsewhere. If it weren’t for you, why would I bother with this program?”
Su Yu was exasperated but laughed bitterly, clapping sarcastically. “Wow, what a great Bodhisattva—doing everything for me.”
Then he spun around and slammed the door behind him. Even inside the camera frame, he made no effort to hide his expression. Yue Yuran’s own face was darker than Su Yu’s—having to maintain a façade for the cameras all these days had worn him down. Frustrated, he grabbed a milk tea cup from the desk and flung it at the wall.
He noticed it felt oddly light, but his actions were faster than his thoughts. The cup hit the exposed switches and wires with a sizzling sound, causing the castle lights to flicker.
The other guests paused, but didn’t think much of it. Song Cheng, meanwhile, had his wristband on red again. Just as he dodged other players’ lines of sight and entered the wardrobe room, he had carefully covered the toy bear to prevent anyone from noticing the hidden mechanism.
Seeing the lights flicker, Song Cheng felt a vague unease. Before he could pinpoint the cause of the sudden anxiety, the lights went out completely.
The wardrobe was plunged into darkness.
With the power out, most cameras were down; only a few battery-operated ones continued recording. The director panicked, calling the crew to fix the issue and informing the guests to stay put.
Even without lights, the castle remained fairly bright since it was daytime. Only small-windowed rooms were affected. Thinking it was a power fault, no one suspected Yue Yuran had caused it.
Everyone waited in place for the cameras to come back online. After five minutes with no change, the director’s voice came through the earpiece:
“The crew says it will take half an hour to an hour to fix. Their technician had to go back for parts. Please come out in the meantime.”
Yang Qing complained: “How are we supposed to keep the shots coherent? What century is this that circuits can fail?”
Qin Wuyan came down the stairs, scanning the group. “Where’s Song Cheng?”
Everyone exchanged glances. “Don’t know… wasn’t he with you?”
Of course he wasn’t, otherwise Qin Wuyan wouldn’t be asking. After another half minute with no sign of Song Cheng, everyone began to sense something was off.
…
After contacting the production team, they realized that Song Cheng had been trapped in the master bedroom’s wardrobe before the power went out. The wardrobe was essentially a darkroom, and the switch was electric—so now, with the power off, he couldn’t get out.
The crew felt immediately guilty. Earlier, they had been focused solely on repairs and had completely forgotten about Song Cheng.
Inside the wardrobe, the cameras had already stopped working. Even if they hadn’t, it was too dark to see anything.
Song Cheng sat by the door, hearing hurried footsteps approaching. He blinked, turned his head, and then heard Qin Wuyan’s voice through the door.
“Song Cheng, are you in there?”
Song Cheng mumbled an “mm,” but Qin Wuyan didn’t catch it. He repeated more loudly: “…I’m in here.”
He thought he was speaking as loud as he could, but it still came out soft, like a tiny mew—barely audible.
Qin Wuyan heard it, and his chest tightened. He pressed a hand against the door, as if that could somehow ease Song Cheng’s anxiety.
His tone was calm, almost too calm for his expression.
“They’re already fixing it. It’ll be done soon. How are you in there? Are you having trouble breathing?”
Song Cheng leaned the back of his head against the wardrobe, his eyes still adjusted to the darkness. Even in the dimness, he could make out faint outlines of the coat racks.
“I’m fine. I can breathe,” he replied.
Qin Wuyan said, “I didn’t even realize you were hiding here the whole time. No wonder I couldn’t find you.”
Song Cheng smiled faintly. “Am I… clever?”
Qin Wuyan’s lips quirked slightly. “A little. Smarter than me, maybe.”
Outside, it wasn’t just Qin Wuyan—Yang Qing, Zhao Feifei, Liu Yanchu, and Lü Ruosi were all nearby. Su Yu, realizing he couldn’t help from below, had come upstairs. From outside, he’d sensed the room’s unusual quiet, as if only one person were speaking to themselves. Once inside, he understood why everyone remained silent.
Qin Wuyan sat at one side of the door, speaking gently to Song Cheng. He said several sentences; Song Cheng responded each time.
His voice was warm, coaxing the person inside to focus on him, to ignore the darkness and not dwell on any frightening thoughts.
For everyone else, it was the first time seeing Qin Wuyan show this kind of expression. In the tense atmosphere, they dared not make a sound. They almost felt as if Song Cheng weren’t in a well-ventilated, harmless room, but trapped in a dark prison, clinging to the hope offered through Qin Wuyan’s presence.
This tense moment didn’t last long. After about twenty minutes, Song Cheng, who had already been slow to respond, suddenly fell silent. Qin Wuyan called his name repeatedly, but there was no answer. He stood abruptly.
Liu Yanchu, startled, rushed over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Wait! The director said the repair will be done in a few minutes. Don’t act impulsively…”
Qin Wuyan didn’t know what his own expression looked like, but Liu Yanchu treated him with extreme caution. He himself felt reasonably calm, though his eyes never left the door.
Yang Qing held her breath, anxious for both the person inside and Qin Wuyan outside. The air seemed frozen; even the faint buzz of electrical current through the wires felt like a divine sign of hope.
Finally, the power returned. Lü Ruosi, guarding the switch, quickly turned the bear’s head, and the hidden door opened smoothly.
Qin Wuyan had assumed Song Cheng was sitting behind the door, but somehow he had curled up in a corner of the wardrobe, legs drawn in, head resting on his knees.
Qin Wuyan’s chest tightened. He hurried over, shaking Song Cheng gently. “Song Cheng!”
Startled awake, Song Cheng mumbled, “I know… I know…”
His voice was weak, unclear. Qin Wuyan leaned closer. “What did you say?”
Gradually, Song Cheng regained clarity. Seeing Qin Wuyan in front of him, he hesitated, then threw his arms around Qin Wuyan’s neck.
In that instant, he felt like a stranded fish finally returning to the deep water. He buried his face in Qin Wuyan’s shoulder, breathing heavily. His breaths trembled, his hands shook slightly, sending a ripple of alarm through Qin Wuyan’s chest.
Qin Wuyan held him tightly, rubbing his back, whispering, “It’s okay. It’s all okay now. Don’t be afraid. It’s okay.”
The game couldn’t continue after that.
Once Song Cheng calmed slightly, Qin Wuyan took him straight back to the hotel. Even the director didn’t insist they finish filming; any attempts to do so would have been unreasonable.
Elsewhere, Yue Yuran, having caused his own mishap, was equally unfit to continue filming. Su Yu sighed and escorted him away.
Only the “couples team” and the “friends team” remained. They exchanged glances, said goodbye to the director, and went to check on Song Cheng.
Once awake, Song Cheng was comforted by Qin Wuyan and soon felt better. When asked later by others what had happened inside, he couldn’t explain clearly.
His memory of the room was hazy—he only remembered sitting while Qin Wuyan spoke, and gradually falling asleep. Why he could sleep in such a situation, he could not explain.
Yang Qing assured him, “It’s just a fear of confined spaces. I have it too. Don’t worry, sleep well tonight and think of happy things—you’ll recover quickly.”
Zhao Feifei added, “Is little Song afraid of the dark?”
Lü Ruosi said, “That’s possible. Little Song even mentioned before that he was afraid of ghosts—being afraid of the dark is almost the same as being afraid of ghosts. I thought you were joking before… well, I was wrong.”
Liu Yanchu exclaimed, “My goodness, even Lü Ruosi is apologizing! Little Song, you’ve achieved something I haven’t managed in over ten years.”
Song Cheng couldn’t help but laugh. After a moment, he asked, “So… what about the competition?”
Lü Ruosi smiled at him. “Don’t worry. The director said the final round will be canceled. They’ll rank based on the first three rounds. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll reshoot the ending scenes. You won’t have to go back to that room again. The post-production team will handle the rest.”
Song Cheng nodded, hesitating a moment before asking, “What about Su Yu and Yue Yuran…”
Qin Wuyan, who had been listening quietly, immediately went cold at the mention of those two names. “What exactly are they doing?! Are they even capable of taking responsibility if something happens?!”
Song Cheng, embarrassed, said, “I… I’m fine now…”
Qin Wuyan snapped, “Shut up! You say that to everyone!”
Song Cheng: “….”
The four visitors were stunned, and when Qin Wuyan realized what he’d just said, he froze, then slumped back down. “I didn’t mean it like that…”
The visitors left the room, exchanging glances and sighs, shaking their heads.
With Qin Wuyan acting like that, no one could understand why Little Song insisted on trusting him so completely.
Lunch was delivered, and Qin Wuyan stayed by Song Cheng’s side the whole time. In the afternoon, Qin Wuyan initially forbade him from participating in the next activity, but Song Cheng insisted. On camera, he looked slightly pale but otherwise seemed fine.
The director, cautious, kept a close eye on Song Cheng. What was supposed to be a three-hour event was condensed into two hours. After it ended, Song Cheng skipped the buffet and returned directly to the hotel to rest.
Wherever he went, Qin Wuyan followed like a devoted spouse.
He had even instructed the staff to buy some calming and heart-soothing pills. Song Cheng took the pills quietly, reluctant to swallow them, but seeing Qin Wuyan’s expression, he steeled himself and did.
Handing him a cup of water, Qin Wuyan picked through the fruit platter, eventually choosing a perfectly shaped apple. He began peeling it.
Song Cheng watched him, noting the unsteady grip, clearly inexperienced, but Qin Wuyan continued carefully.
Sitting on the bed, propping up his head, Song Cheng let his eyes droop. The room was silent except for the hum of the central air conditioning. Then he asked, “Does this mean we’re… reconciled?”
Qin Wuyan’s hand jolted mid-peel, almost cutting himself. After a pause, he continued and gave a slow, quiet “hm” in acknowledgment.
He didn’t lift his head to look at Song Cheng. Song Cheng didn’t care about such small details; he smiled silently and whispered, “That’s great.”
His voice was soft, drained from fatigue. Qin Wuyan finally lifted his head, and Song Cheng met his gaze, resting his head on his hand. Lazily, he said, “When we get home, I want to tell you a secret—but you can’t get angry.”
A brief pause, then he added, “A little anger is fine… but no backing out.”
Two seconds of silence. Qin Wuyan returned his focus to peeling the last of the apple skin, then handed the rather misshapen fruit to Song Cheng. “If you can do that, I can too.”