Chapter 95 | Screenwriter of a Reviving World

After discussing it, Zhao Weilai and Weng Yang decided to set off again and head closer to the safe zone.

A person might survive for seven days without eating.

But without water for three days, they would surely die of thirst.

Zhao Weilai suppressed the anxiety rising in her heart.

Before the Instance descended, she was just like countless other ordinary people, unable to even bring herself to slaughter a chicken.

Even though she had received short-term training afterward, in terms of mindset and combat skills, she still couldn't compare to the special operations team led by Chen Xi.

But Zhao Weilai knew that waiting around to die was not an option.

Trapped in a closed train with unclear rules, every extra minute spent here brought another layer of unknown risk.

“Alright.”

She nodded and put the pig-slaying knife back into her inventory. “I'll go let everyone know and see how many are willing to come with us.”

Although the two of them spoke in very low, hushed voices, the carriage was so quiet that even the sound of breathing could be heard clearly.

A few rows behind them, Mu Xiao pricked up her ears to listen. Beside her was a group of British folks who didn't understand Chinese, eagerly waiting for her to translate.

“How is it? What did they say?”

“Oh God, are they going to leave us behind?”

“What should we do...”

Mu Xiao whispered the two women's plan to continue moving backward. Half of the group let out sighs of relief, while a few began to protest in low voices:

“Moving forward is too terrifying. What if we run into that invisible monster from last night?”

“Those people whose heads exploded... will we end up just like them? Oh God, I still can't get it out of my head.”

“My God.”

“Shut up, you cowards. There isn't even a single biscuit crumb left here. If we stay, we'll only starve to death.”

“Can't they go look for food and bring it back to share with us?”

Someone muttered in dissatisfaction, but quickly shut their mouth.

Zhao Weilai and Weng Yang walked over and announced their decision.

The Eastern Orthodox priest didn't express any opinion. He simply stood up, smoothed down his cassock, and took his place behind the two of them.

His meaning was clear.

Following two experienced and kind Asians was far more reliable than staying with a bunch of cowards who did nothing but complain.

After a moment of thought, the others slowly followed suit.

Since the Instance prompt stated that the dining car was a safe zone, perhaps they would find a way to leave once they got there.

A rustling commotion immediately broke out in the carriage.

The people who had been huddled in various corners looked on with mixed expressions.

Some hesitated, some were terrified, but there was also an unmistakable spark of hope.

Within just a few seconds, people began gathering around one after another.

“Count me in, kind ladies. I'm willing to go with you.”

“I'm going too.”

“Please take me with you. I-I can help carry things.”

That was just how human nature worked. Once the first person stepped forward, the majority of the rest would follow the crowd.

No one dared to stay behind in this carriage filled with corpses, nor did anyone dare to venture into the unknown next carriage alone.

Thus, following two people who seemed highly capable became the safest and most sensible choice at the moment.

Of course, many of them harbored other motives: Zhao Weilai had a weapon, so if they really ran into a monster, there would be someone to protect them.

Zhao Weilai counted heads one by one, keeping a silent tally in her mind.

Sixteen people, plus her and Weng Yang, made exactly eighteen.

Herself, the Orthodox priest, and the international student Mu Xiao—there were three players with a class in total.

She turned to meet Weng Yang's gaze.

Both of them saw the exact same sentiment in each other's eyes:

With so many people, there would be too many voices and too many variables.

If things truly went sideways, they would absolutely prioritize saving their own lives and those of their teammates.

...

“You can follow us, but on one condition,”

Weng Yang spoke up, gesturing for Mu Xiao to translate beside her:

“Everyone must listen to the leader. Don't touch things blindly, don't ask unnecessary questions, and certainly don't expect us to sacrifice our own lives to save yours.”

Her tone was far from polite, even carrying a hint of coldness.

Yet, this actually put everyone at ease.

After all, if she had stood there with a warm smile, practically radiating holy light as she beat her chest and promised to get them out safely, it would have been far more unnerving.

Everyone nodded frantically, terrified of being left behind if they hesitated.

In the face of death, dignity was the cheapest thing of all.

Naturally, the voice that had just suggested Zhao Weilai go look for food had completely vanished.

...

Approaching the door to the third carriage, Weng Yang suddenly stopped in her tracks.

The handle of the metal door hung loose, and a sliver of light leaked through the gap—the door was slightly ajar.

“What's wrong?”

Zhao Weilai leaned in and followed her gaze to the gap. “Wasn't it locked before?”

“It must have just been opened.”

Weng Yang lowered her voice even further. “Yesterday, I tried knocking, but no one answered.”

“So that knocking sound I heard was actually you.”

Zhao Weilai felt a brief wave of embarrassment. Then, she watched as Weng Yang pulled the door open—the light in the third carriage was dimmer than in the second.

Splattered blood had burned hole after hole into the ceiling, and the fluorescent lights had turned into hanging, dim hurricane lamps.

The weak light cast long shadows of the survivors.

“Who is it?! Don't come any closer!”

“We have weapons! Get out of here right now!”

“Are they here to rescue us...?”

Four white men were huddled in the corner at the far end of the carriage, clutching various “weapons” in their hands:

a folded black umbrella with a sharpened tip, a rusty crowbar, a pocketknife, and a viola with broken strings.

Seeing a massive crowd of people pouring in, the tall man leading them immediately stood up.

He slammed the crowbar in his hand against the floor, letting out a loud clang.

“Stop right there!”

The man's voice was hoarse, carrying a thick East London accent, and profanities slipped easily from his mouth:

“What the hell! How the f*** did you lot get in?! Or are you accomplices of that invisible devil?”

Zhao Weilai realized they were probably referring to the 【Invisible Ticket Conductor】.

The other three men stood up as well.

They were all heavily built, with hostile glares and large black tattoos covering their bare forearms.

The carriage fell dead silent.

The players instinctively took half a step back, hiding in unison behind Weng Yang and Zhao Weilai.

“Sorry, we don't mean any harm.”

Zhao Weilai stepped forward half a pace, keeping her tone as calm as possible:

“We are players trapped on this train just like you. We only want to pass through to reach the fourth carriage. Excuse me, have you seen any other Asians? Or rather, Huaxia people like me?”

Hearing the word “Huaxia,” the expressions of the four men changed in unison.

The tall man and the bearded man next to him shifted their gazes guiltily.

That fleeting moment of guilt was caught precisely by Weng Yang.

...

“What are you talking about, babe?”

The bearded man scoffed and spat on the floor:

“There's only the four of us here now. Those bizarre words and prompts are all a load of crap, a trick of the devil! Get the hell out. This carriage is our turf—”

“Yeah! Clear off!”

The tall, thin man chimed in, brandishing his pocketknife with a show of false bravado. “We don't want to get violent, so don't push us! You won't like what happens if you do!”

The youngest lad didn't speak, merely raising the viola in his hands.

Zhao Weilai was not deterred by their bluster.

She glanced at Weng Yang, then turned sideways and began walking slowly down the narrow aisle, keeping her footsteps very light:

“We are only passing through. We won't take your space.”

“F***! Dammit, I told you to stop!”

The tall man took a step forward, pointing the crowbar at her with a ferocious expression. “No one's passing through here. What if you draw that bloody devil over—”

Before he could finish, the expression on his face froze.

Weng Yang was standing half a step behind Zhao Weilai. With a cold expression, she slightly shifted to reveal the holster at her waist.

A gun?

Bloody hell.

The tall man felt intimidated under Weng Yang's stare. He instinctively backed away, muttering curses under his breath, but didn't actually step forward to stop them.

...

Zhao Weilai continued walking inward.

The seats in the carriage were askew, and scattered luggage, broken glass, and corpses littered the floor.

She counted seven bodies in total, of all ages and genders. Their deaths looked identical to those in the previous two carriages—

their necks were stretched long and thin, as if an invisible hand had grabbed them by the chin and yanked them upward, the skin pulled nearly translucent.

Red and white brain matter and blood splattered everywhere.

There were also those who hadn't even left a corpse behind, likely eaten by the 【Ticket Conductor】.

Holding her breath, Zhao Weilai squatted down to examine the faces of the deceased one by one.

They were all deep-set, high-bridged foreign faces. There were no familiar East Asian features, and none of her teammates.

And definitely no Deng Ziwen.

She let out a slight sigh of relief, but her heart quickly tightened again.

If they weren't in the third carriage, they were highly likely in the carriages further back.

She quickly walked to the end of the carriage and pushed against the metal door leading to the fourth carriage.

The door didn't budge at all, locked tight.

She turned back to Weng Yang and lowered her voice. “No teammates inside. Also, the door to the fourth carriage is locked. I can't open it.”

“Ladies.”

Father Koleva heard their conversation and, guessing some of it, drew a cross over his chest:

“I suspect we might have to wait until after tonight for the next door to open.”

“What makes you so sure, Father?”

Zhao Weilai turned to ask.

“The door leading from the first carriage to the second only unlocked automatically after we survived the first night.”

The dark-haired man's gaze swept over the locked door of the fourth carriage. His expression was solemn, with a hint of Russian stiffness:

“‘Strive to enter through the narrow door. For many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able.’ (Gospel of Matthew)

In many myths and legends, doors are symbolic and do not open easily.

I believe that only after surviving each night's anomaly will the path to the next carriage open, much like clearing stages in a video game.”

Hearing a priest use a video game analogy to describe the Instance—

Zhao Weilai was slightly surprised, but she quickly relayed his words to Weng Yang. Both of them agreed that it likely had to do with the nightly anomalies.

In the crowd, some were already growing irritable from hunger.

Everyone's lips were dry and cracked.

The feeling of starvation was truly unbearable.

Zhao Weilai instinctively wanted to take out her 【Thousand-Mile Hunger-Free Pill】. A single tiny pill could stave off the need for food and water for three days.

Every veteran player entering an Instance had five of them on hand.

Weng Yang seemed to anticipate Zhao Weilai's intention and lightly nudged her arm.

Zhao Weilai immediately came to her senses.

There were over a dozen starving, desperate strangers around them.

Just moments ago, someone had suggested they go look for food alone. If these people found out they possessed special pills,

it would be no different from writing “EASY TARGET” across their foreheads.

Forget about sharing; it was highly uncertain whether this mob would swarm them, tie them up, and rob them blind.

Weng Yang's intent was clear:

Only by keeping them hungry would these people remain obedient, absolutely resolved to follow them to the dining car.

If they were fed, it would only breed ulterior motives.

In an Instance, ghosts and rules were never the only dangers.

Zhao Weilai felt a heavy tightness in her chest, forcing herself to look away.

...

The four tattooed men saw that they were not leaving but had instead settled in the carriage, the expressions on their faces growing increasingly furious.