INSIDER Chapter 133

Overnight, were they all… killed?

Hearing this, Lu Chu should have been startled, but he felt only heartache.

His beloved must have been driven to such a desperate corner for survival that he forgot his name, forgot time, and even forgot the meaning of living. Numbly killing, wandering in confusion, swinging his sword and knife like a killing machine time and time again.

And then one day, he came before me, bearing all his loneliness and desolation.

.

Lu Chu took a step forward, embracing 7 with a firm tone: “We will survive.”

“Yes,” 7 held him, his cold eyes softening, “You and me, we will leave here.”

His Lu Chu should have led a peaceful and happy life.

He was gentle, loved the movement and colors of all living things; he didn’t need to experience blindness but still had a loyal dog like Radish who was sometimes obedient, sometimes mischievous; he was surrounded by kind and talkative neighbors, familiar shopkeepers on the street who admired his modesty and talent; he would go to work and come home on time, greet people on the road with a smile, walk his dog on weekends, and live leisurely; he was happiest when the sun came out, feeling the warmth of the sunlight on his face, just enjoying the day…

He shouldn’t have had to endure such cruelty and bloodshed, witness so many different kinds of darkness, and encounter those obscure, festering evils.

So, 7 would take him away from here.

7 touched Lu Chu’s cheek: “In the next few days, the number of people dying on the ship will increase geometrically— from a few, to dozens, to hundreds each day. You don’t have to do anything, just let the ‘rules’ control your body while you’re asleep to complete the tasks.”

Lu Chu nodded: “Okay.”

.

In the following days, just as 7 said, the number of deaths on the ship increased severalfold each day—from single digits to tens, and then hundreds. At first, Lu Chu didn’t know how the ‘rules’ managed this, but as time went on, he gradually discovered that as the number of deaths grew, so did the number of enslaved ‘ghost servants.’ Often, those who died were not directly killed by ‘Lu Chu,’ but as a ‘tiger,’ he lured out the dark sides of the ‘ghost servants,’ guiding them to kill the people around them.

Of course, the next day, those corresponding ghost servants would also die in various ways.

Thus, on the seventh day after Lu Chu discovered the truth, there were only four people left on the ship—him, 7, the detective, and the doctor.

Lu Chu could guess why the ‘rules’ left the doctor and the detective until the end.

It was just its twisted amusement—watching as those around them gradually died, the killer never being caught, only to discover at the end that the real culprit was the partner they had been working with all along.

On the desolate and lonely deck, the doctor clutched his backpack, both shocked and scared, trembling as he spoke: “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Lu Chu nodded, calmly admitting: “Yes.”

The detective, hearing this, erupted in rage: “You monstrous killer, are you toying with us?!”

7 stepped in front of Lu Chu, his cold eyes staring down the detective, who immediately fell silent, his spine chilling.

Lu Chu didn’t know what to say, so he just spoke the truth: “It wasn’t my intention.” The doctor seemed resigned, just giving a bitter smile: “Could you give me a dignified death? I want to leave an intact body.”

The detective, already in despair, jumped up in anger again: “What do you mean?! Are you giving up just like that? There are only two of them and two of us, why not fight back?!”

“Fight back? Against what…” The doctor’s expression was dazed, “You know, since boarding this ship, I’ve had a feeling that we were all doomed to die…”

The detective thought the doctor had been scared out of his wits and was about to question him when he saw a look in the doctor’s eyes that he couldn’t understand, and he hesitated: “W-what?”

“It’s strange,” the doctor muttered, “Why does it feel like we are doomed to die?”

Saying this, he staggered towards the edge of the ship, pointing to the horizon where the sea met the sky, and said to the others: “There, right there, I always felt it was fake… the horizon is fake, the coastline is fake, and the return trip is also fake…”

The detective, looking at the now almost mad doctor, had a complicated expression: “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I do,” the doctor seemed confused, but his mind had never been so clear, clear like he was truly alive for the first time, he continued, “I always felt that the life before boarding this ship was… it seemed like it was fake. They never existed, and thinking carefully about those ‘experiences’ that were supposed to be mine, felt like watching someone else’s life. You know what ‘happened’ to yourself, yet you’re detached from it. It’s like being a puppet manipulated by gods or demons, playing out an interesting game called ‘life’ according to ‘its’ script.”

Hearing this, Lu Chu frowned. The doctor had clearly realized something.

They were all part of the game, their life trajectories completely different. At this moment, Lu Chu actually hoped the doctor would fight back.

The doctor was silent for a moment, then suddenly muttered to himself: “Dying with dignity? Never mind, I’ll do it myself…”

Saying this, he sat on the edge of the ship, sighed softly, and repeated quietly: “Yes, I’ll do it myself.”

Then he leaped over the edge, jumping into the sea.

Lu Chu closed his eyes briefly.

Over these many days, the original dark clouds had cleared, the storm had ceased, and the sun quietly hung in the blue sky, white sea birds occasionally flying across, lively and steady. The sea was calm, the occasional sea breeze creating shimmering waves that sparkled under the sunlight, dazzling the eyes.

The ripples from the doctor’s death were so faint, they quickly subsided.

The detective, witnessing the doctor’s suicide, was in shock for a long time.

From the confession of the truth to the doctor’s death, only a few minutes had passed. The detective seemed to have aged decades, his once straight back now hunched, his voice hoarse: “A game? Perhaps, otherwise, how could one person silently kill thousands over a few nights?”

No answer.

The detective wiped his face and looked at Lu Chu: “If possible, stop these games.”

Lu Chu was silent, then looked at the detective with clear eyes, nodding firmly: “If I can.”

If possible, who wouldn’t want all the survival and killing to be just a dream, everyone living peacefully in the world.

The detective fumbled in his coat pocket, finally pulling out a pack of cigarettes with trembling hands, taking one and lighting it. He took a deep drag, then coughed uncontrollably from the smoke, his whole body shaking, eyes watering as he calmed down.

“That’s it then,” the detective said, “See you if we have the chance.”

He then walked calmly to the edge of the ship, extinguished his cigarette, and, with one hand on the railing, made his last graceful jump.

Gone.

In this game, Lu Chu understood so clearly that someone had to die—either the participants or the players.

——————

When this round ended, Lu Chu returned to the ‘rules,’ sitting on the ground for a long time.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he finally came to his senses, looking at the time on his wristband—209′59″.

As expected, ten minutes.

He exhaled lightly, thinking that these ten minutes of life were truly turbulent.

He sat in the white space for a long time until the door to the illusion appeared before him, and the time on his wristband changed to “205′59″.” He stood up and walked towards the door.

As he stepped through the door, he, as usual, first looked around to confirm the type of illusion this time.

White walls, winding corridors, beautiful and meaningful paintings…

Lu Chu was puzzled, murmuring: “Is this an art exhibition?”

“Yes, trust your eyes, you are indeed in an art exhibition.”

A voice sounded behind him, and Lu Chu turned to see Song Gui standing behind him, hands behind his back, smiling.

Song Gui looked at the paintings around them, shook his head, and with a tone of disapproval, said: “This illusion is an art exhibition, such a small place, bound to encounter those players I don’t like, no rare things, no delicious food… I’m very disappointed with this illusion.”

He seemed like a scholar professor, though his words were anything but academic.

Lu Chu laughed at this; he really liked these worlds outlined in different colors.

Song Gui also laughed.

But suddenly, Song Gui’s smile faded, and he stepped closer to Lu Chu, looking directly into his eyes.

Lu Chu was puzzled but did not retreat, letting him scrutinize.

After a moment, Song Gui sighed: “Lu Xiao Chu, was your last task difficult?”

Lu Chu was surprised by his observation: “Why do you say that?”

Song Gui answered: “There’s a bit of fatigue in your eyes.” And a touch of snow-like desolation.

Then Song Gui said: “Lu Xiao Chu, I don’t know what you encountered in the last game, but fortunately, the feeling you give off hasn’t changed.”

Lu Chu looked at him: “What feeling?”

“A gentle aura,” Song Gui smiled, “Warm, soft, not intense, but full of hope.”

Lu Chu himself didn’t feel it.

“Lu Xiao Chu, have you thought about it? When we leave here, stop all these games, and even help others escape death and fate, what would your wish be?”

My… wish?

Lu Chu’s eyes turned distant.

He hoped that the one he loved would never again bear the burden of killing.