Infinite flow, but I submit myself

At first, Tang Mo Bai thought that after the first hallucination, the ghostly figures disappearing and leaving them some time to rest was rather considerate.

But now, he suddenly realized—what rest time? This was their chance to backstab each other!

The ghosts and hallucinations forced them to light the oil lamp, and the obviously insufficient oil supply and limited range of illumination served as the first push toward conflict.

Judging by the current situation, it was extremely effective.

And this soundproofing—which was about as reliable as a politician’s conscience—helpfully reminded everyone:

It’s time to make a move~

Damn it.

Tang Mo Bai instinctively looked at DeVille—just in time to meet his gaze.

It was the first time he had ever seen his eyes—a dull, dried-blood red.

There was nothing in them. No killing intent, no desire to survive, and certainly no kindness.

He recalled what the bullet comments had said. Now, he was starting to believe it.

This man might really be insane.

But a simple madman couldn’t have survived here.

At that moment, DeVille suddenly moved.

He raised his arm—and somehow, his entire hand had transformed into a sharp dagger.

Tang Mo Bai flinched, instinctively raising his own wrist in response.

A flash of silver.

DeVille didn’t even glance at him. His wrist flicked, and the dagger sank deep into the floor.

A piercing scream echoed through the air.

Only then did Tang Mo Bai notice—at some point, the icy wind had returned, filling the room.

The once-vanished bloody handprints were creeping toward him again.

The bone-chilling cold seeped into his skin, his soul—it spread until his limbs were frozen stiff.

For a split second, when DeVille had raised his dagger, Tang Mo Bai’s mind had flashed back to what the bullet comments had said.

His first instinct had been—

Strike first!

But when DeVille’s dagger stabbed into the floor instead, he snapped back to reality.

His other hand—clutching the gun in his palm—slowly relaxed.

He let out a breath.

Sweat had already formed on his forehead—but not because of the encroaching handprints.

Ding—

The next second, a chilling cold swept across his lower back.

At the same time, he heard the soft click of a triggered mechanism.

He immediately turned his head.

A gray-blue-skinned ghostly figure had just touched his back—

And in that instant, a thin silver needle—only three or four centimeters long—pierced through its throat.

Black blood splattered onto the floor.

It’s not… a hallucination?

Tang Mo Bai’s pupils shrank.

The ghost let out a shriek and swiftly retreated into the darkness, leaving only the dark bloodstains on the floor.

And a sinking feeling in Tang Mo Bai’s heart.

This attack was like a signal—the curtain had been drawn back.

The silence of the night shattered.

Screams erupted from the surrounding rooms.

And with them—

More backstabbing. More bloodshed.

When people lit the oil lamp—realizing it barely illuminated a single person, that the oil was running dangerously low—

They didn’t need any further provocation.

They turned on each other naturally.

Inside Tang Mo Bai’s room, the stench of blood thickened.

At the same time, the ghosts appeared more frequently, in greater numbers.

His hastily set traps had bought some time—but his resources were running out.

The ghosts couldn’t be killed.

And medicine was useless.

The thin layer of powder he had spread on the floor proved that much.

But—

The powder wasn’t completely useless.

When the ghosts became corporeal, they left marks on the ground.

After several rounds of testing, Tang Mo Bai discovered something.

The ghosts only became solid when they actively attacked.

Otherwise, they were illusions—or perhaps a mix of illusions and real entities.

“Hee-hee… hee-hee-hee-hee…”

The twisted-limbed “people” emerged endlessly from the darkness.

Tang Mo Bai was forced to retreat toward the wooden table.

Now—

Aside from the gun on his wrist and a collection of medicines useless against ghosts, he had nothing left.

All of his traps—were spent.

There’s no choice.

I’ve held out this long—I’m at my limit. He let out a bitter laugh.

His gaze drifted toward the oil lamp.

At that moment, he noticed DeVille was looking at it too.

……

In that instant, as he locked eyes with this seemingly deranged man, he was absolutely certain if he lit the oil lamp now, DeVille would attack him immediately.

DeVille was crazy.

But not stupid.

It was only a theory—but he believed it.

The only reason DeVille hadn’t attacked him yet was because he hadn’t lit the oil lamp.

After all, the oil lamp was the only weapon they had against the darkness and the ghosts.

And from the looks of it—

These things couldn’t be killed.

Even if they could be hurt for a brief moment when they attacked.

It was unclear if the damage even mattered.

Which left only one solution.

Tang Mo Bai silently observed DeVille—

And began counting in his head.

Two and a half minutes.

DeVille’s movements suddenly paused.

For a few seconds, he froze—like a malfunctioning machine.

His arm hung limp at his side.

He slowly lifted his head.

And looked at Tang Mo Bai.

The drug had taken effect.

Tang Mo Bai remained calm.

The powder he had spread on the floor had no effect on the ghosts but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t affect the other person in the room.

From start to finish, DeVille had ignored everything he did.

Or rather—

He acted like an autistic patient.

Unresponsive to anything that didn’t directly threaten him.

Even when Tang Mo Bai deliberately moved toward the oil lamp he hadn’t reacted.

And that was exactly what he had been watching for.

And now, it was time to reap the rewards.

He finally stood up, reaching out to grasp the oil lamp.

Before the ghostly figures could strike again, he decisively lit it.

As expected—

The moment the lamp was lit, the ghostly figures inside the room let out wretched screams and shrank back into the darkness.

Tang Mo Bai studied the lamp’s illumination range.

Just as the bullet comments had said, it was limited.

And he didn’t have enough sedative powder—

So from the start, there had only ever been one choice…

He turned toward Deville.

Deville looked up at him, his expression unchanged.

Even as he approached, he didn’t attack.

It was as if he had long grown accustomed to betrayal.

Darkness remained as ever.

Betrayal was the norm.

Here, the only inevitable things were battle and death.

This was a junkyard of humanity—the final resting place of discarded souls.

Expecting to find a conscience here was harder than finding a diamond. The ghostly figures were blocked by the oil lamp’s glow but still lurked restlessly in the shadows.

This time, however, they weren’t targeting Tang Mo Bai.

They couldn’t break through the light’s protection, so they had no choice but to go after the other unfortunate soul in the room.

Just as the ghosts were about to lunge forward—

Tang Mo Bai strode toward Deville.

Deville tensed his muscles, trying to awaken whatever neural responses he could still control. The clinking of metal rang out as he moved slightly. He lifted his gaze and saw Tang Mo Bai throwing away the last of his weapons—the gun and the remaining pills.

Tang Mo Bai bit down on the iron wire handle of the oil lamp and spread his arms, signaling that he had no intention of attacking. Then, he slowly approached.

His voice was muffled by the metal handle as he spoke:

“The light only covers one person, but you’re a lot taller than me.”

The bullet comments had said that the oil lamp could only protect one person.

But thinking back—

That was what the bullet comments had said.

From the beginning, the hooded figures had never said anything like that.

Before entering the room, the rules were announced clearly:

Two people per room.
No leaving the room at night.

They never said the lamp couldn’t be shared.

Tang Mo Bai had thought about it before.

Everyone’s body size was different.

If this trial were purely about fighting over the oil lamp, how could they ensure that the lamp’s range was precisely limited to just one person?

Would the lamp’s range adjust according to each individual’s body size?

And now, after lighting the lamp, he confirmed his suspicion.

Deville was a head taller than him and far bulkier—and yet, the lamp’s glow still covered him.

Of course, the light wasn’t strong. The closer to the edges, the weaker it became.

In moments of stress, fear, and desperation, people could easily overlook this detail.

And with the bullet comments deliberately manipulating their thinking…

Under fear, the choices people made were predictable.

There were two kinds of ghosts in this room.

The real ghosts—

And the ghosts in people’s hearts.

Tang Mo Bai held the oil lamp in his mouth and approached Deville.

“We have to stay very close. But relax, okay? I don’t have any means to harm you anymore.”

The light flickered in Deville’s eyes.

It had been a long time since he looked up at a light like this.

For a brief moment, his mind flashed back to a distant memory—

What was it again?

Tang Mo Bai kept a sharp eye on Deville’s movements.

Good. The sedative was still working.

He had thought about self-preservation countless times.

But a mutual survival strategy?

He had only considered it once.

Even so, he decided to try.

Because unless he exhausted every possible option, he couldn’t justify killing another person—even if that person was an enemy.

If this plan failed… then at least he had tried.

The shadows around them still swarmed hungrily in the darkness.

Tang Mo Bai didn’t dare waste another second.

He bit down on the oil lamp’s handle and curled himself into Deville’s embrace.

Just as he had said—

The lamp’s range was small.

They had to stay close.

His head rested against Deville’s chest.

He could hear the heartbeat inside.

At the same time, he lowered his head, completely exposing his vulnerable neck.

All Deville had to do was bend down, and he could tear open his throat.

Warm. Bright.

Deville tried to remember.

Somewhere deep in his fragmented memories, he searched for something that matched those words.

But his mind was too chaotic to think clearly.

The only word that surfaced was—

The sun.

In the few memories he had, he recalled—

Climbing over a wall.

A lawn.

An afternoon, with sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground.

He had laid there, savoring the only peaceful moment of the day.

…Yeah.

He relaxed his muscles.

He let Tang Mo Bai hold onto him and thought to himself—

This feels like the sun.

The ghostly figures shrieked in frustration, trying to inch closer—

But the oil lamp’s glow forced them back.

They curled into the darkness, seething, waiting for an opportunity.

Outside, the screams and wails from other rooms continued.

Some people had lit their oil lamps too early.

Some had betrayed their teammates halfway through.

Some had been devoured by the ghosts.

The sound of furious shouting and desperate cries echoed like a lament from the depths of hell.

Tang Mo Bai’s ears twitched.

He curled even tighter into Deville’s arms.

He wanted to stick as close as possible—closer, closer.

Fortunately, even though Deville looked rough around the edges, his body temperature was low.

He also didn’t have the strong smell one might expect.

Instead, there was a faint, odd scent of dried blood.

Tang Mo Bai didn’t care about shame or the eerie implications.

Right now, he just wanted to survive.

If that meant merging into Deville’s shadow, becoming one person instead of two, then so be it.

That way, they wouldn’t have to kill each other to live.

So, he buried his entire face in Deville’s chest.

His muscles, now relaxed, were firm yet oddly comfortable.

The steady heartbeat echoed in his ears.

For some reason, it was… reassuring.

Drowsily, he thought—

Is this what the upperclassmen joked about?

Is this what they call a “man’s chest as a pillow” experience?

How does a guy even train his chest to be this big?

So jealous.

His thoughts drifted between exhaustion and survival instinct.

At the same time, he remained vigilant, watching the ghostly figures and monitoring the oil lamp’s glow.

Good.

Just as he predicted.

The oil lamp wasn’t so precisely limited that only one person could fit within its range.

It had loopholes.

As long as two people could overcome their doubts and trust each other enough to expose their weaknesses…

Then, they could both survive.

After all, doing this had no benefits whatsoever. Surviving tonight only meant becoming an opponent in the arena tomorrow.

Who would be foolish enough to risk death by trusting a stranger, only to turn into each other’s mortal enemy the next day?

Listening to the heartbeat beside his ear, a sudden wave of drowsiness crept over him.

He tried his best to suppress the urge to sleep, but perhaps because he had also inhaled some of the drug earlier, his consciousness was quickly pulled into a dark dreamscape.