The system issued Bai Liu his first quest, but his attention was caught not by the task itself, but by the words "avoid being hatched."
…Hatched?
Tsk, could those wax figures actually hatch people?
Bai Liu made a mental note. As he turned, he saw a life-sized mermaid wax statue standing across from the bed—the largest in the room.
This mermaid statue was exquisitely crafted, holding a full-length, gleaming mirror in her hands, the frame embedded in wax, her elegant arms forming the mirror's stand.
It was the only statue in the room not staring at Bai Liu.
She smiled serenely at the mirror, and Bai Liu's reflection was caught within, her arms encircling the glass as if embracing the Bai Liu inside. The sight unsettled him.
The mermaid's gaze fell upon the mirror, brows drawn, eyes downcast, her tail limp upon the floor. Her expression was lifelike and joyful, as if welcoming the arrival of the one in the glass.
Bai Liu looked into the mirror. The "self" within smiled back with a waxen, sinister grin.
Unmoved, Bai Liu draped a white cloth over the mirror.
Such horror scenes were wasted on him. In the real world, he designed horror games, often working alone into the small hours, conjuring up all manner of terrifying images. The sight of a reflection grinning back was so routine it barely registered.
He suspected the tourists who vanished without a trace in the hotel, whose bodies were never found, had been "hatched" by these mermaid wax figures.
Though he didn't yet know what "hatching" entailed, it was certainly nothing good.
Erring on the side of caution, Bai Liu covered every mermaid statue in the room with bedsheets and white cloth, including the enormous mirror, to block out those omnipresent, unsettling stares. It might not help, but it was better than nothing.
Most importantly, with so many statues watching, Bai Liu couldn't sleep.
While covering the mirror, his hand brushed the mermaid's tail. Instead of smooth wax, it felt slick and clammy, like a real fish.
He even thought he felt the scales flex beneath his fingers.
He paused, sniffed his hand, and caught a strong whiff of fish. Yet when he leaned in to smell the statue itself, there was only the hotel's incense.
Maybe the smell had clung to him from the car…
Or perhaps, more disturbingly, he himself was beginning to emit that fishy odor. Remembering the statues could "hatch" guests, Bai Liu frowned, uneasy.
What could a mermaid wax statue possibly hatch?
Most likely something grotesque and piscine.
The word "hatch" reminded him of a film called "The Mermaid in the Sewer," which he'd watched several times for research. Since then, he'd harbored no romantic notions about mermaids.
After a long night's journey, Bai Liu was exhausted. He washed up quickly and collapsed into bed, falling into a deep sleep. His stamina was depleted; he needed to rest while it was still relatively safe.
In the middle of the night, a strange, muffled dragging sound woke him.
He opened his eyes to find that the cloths covering the statues had slipped, leaving only a few scraps draped over them.
Some statues, half-shrouded, peered out with a single exposed eye, their expressions subtly changed—from divine compassion to resentment and malice. They stared at Bai Liu, as if blaming him for covering them.
He realized the statues were closer than before, like diners gathering around a table, hands raised, slowly converging on his bed.
Especially the one holding the giant mirror—when Bai Liu awoke, his feet were nearly touching the glass.
The mirror, once across the room, now pressed against his bed.
He drew his feet back and sat up, catching his reflection.
The "Bai Liu" in the mirror had skin as pale as stone, eyes devoid of pupils, marbled with gray-black veins. He smiled with a stiff, unnatural grin, but in the next instant, the image flickered back to normal, as if it had all been a hallucination.
Bai Liu composed himself, rose from bed, and methodically wrapped the statues in white cloth once more.
To keep them from breaking free, he lashed them with rope, bundled the smaller ones and locked them in the wardrobe, and shoved the larger ones into the bathroom, locking the door—a kidnapper's efficiency in every move.
It seemed these things were limited in their movements. Before he slept, they couldn't move; even after, they needed to shed the cloth and see him before approaching.
Some smaller statues, still covered, scurried about beneath the sheets, scattering rather than converging.
Having deduced the rules, Bai Liu immediately exploited them to the fullest.
Just as he finished, ready to sleep again, he heard a door open next door, followed by stealthy footsteps.
He froze. All four rooms he'd booked were adjacent; Andre and Jelf were in the rooms to either side.
The sound came from the left—Jelf's room. Bai Liu climbed out of bed and peered through the peephole.
Jelf stood in the corridor, glancing around before sneaking down the stairs.
Bai Liu frowned. What was Jelf doing up at this hour?
He was about to follow when he saw Jelf's door handle begin to turn again, as if someone else was about to exit.
Each room was single occupancy. Lucy wouldn't visit Jelf at night, and Andre, who despised him, certainly wouldn't. Bai Liu himself was in his own room.
So who—or what—was coming out of Jelf's room?
A chill ran through him. He edged away from the peephole.
It wasn't a person.
The handle turned with a click, and the door slowly opened. That same dragging sound he'd heard in his half-sleep returned, as if something was being hauled across the floor on its knees.
But this time, Bai Liu knew what it was.
A life-sized mermaid wax statue emerged from Jelf's room, its face frozen, expressionless, eyes blank and white, its tail scraping along the floor, leaving a greasy trail on the old red carpet. It moved with the rigid, jerky gait of a zombie.
So these things could leave their rooms—could even open doors.
At the stairwell, the statue seemed to sense something. Its head twisted 180 degrees, staring back.
Wax dripped from its face, revealing a flesh-like sheen beneath.
Then it changed direction, heading straight for Bai Liu's room.
He double-checked the lock, backed away, and held his breath, waiting to see what it would do.
He soon saw the peephole go white, spinning as the statue pressed its eye to the door, searching for someone inside.
Its eyes could see through the one-way peephole.
The white orb kept turning. Bai Liu, holding his breath, slid aside and reached for a cloth, ready to cover himself.
This chilling scene was broadcast on Bai Liu's mini-screen, and the audience held their breath, gnawing their knuckles in suspense.
"Shit, shit, shit, this is terrifying. My sanity would be zero if I were in the game…"
"Hold on! Hold on! The rookie death rate here is insane!"
"The monsters in Siren Town are disgusting. It's so hard for newcomers to keep calm and find their weakness…"
On the screens around Bai Liu, other new players had reached the same point—mermaid statues at their doors. Some, playing faster, had statues pounding on their doors.
One player, sobbing, huddled by the shaking door, clutching a stick for defense. Each time the statue struck, he screamed, but no one came to help. After a few shakes, the door stilled, and the statue seemed to leave.
The player, weeping with relief, stood up, hands trembling.
But he didn't notice the peephole was still white—a stone eye staring in.
The statue hadn't left; it was only pretending.
As the player stood, the statue's face twisted into a grotesque, satisfied smile, as if it had found its prey.
The door crashed open, pinning the player beneath it before he could react.
The mermaid statue dragged its tail into the room, its smile both pure and monstrous. It reached out, and as it touched the player, he seemed to be enveloped, his eyes rolling back, limbs curling and twitching like a fish doused in boiling water, his skin turning stiff and pale.
Wax melted from the statue, flowing over the player.
Gray-black marbling spread around his eyes, his pupils vanished, and his mouth twisted into a rigid grin.
He was encased in wax, transformed into a mermaid statue.
[Player Yi Zhong: Sanity reduced to zero, fully assimilated by the mermaid wax statue. Game over.]
[Player Liu Xiaohong: Sanity reduced to zero, assimilated by the mermaid wax statue… Game over.]
[Player Zou Mingri… Game over.]
The failed players' screens flickered and went dark, and the onlookers sighed.
"Knew it. This one's nearly impossible. Siren Town is brutal…"
It was only the first night, only the first encounter with a monster, and already a fifth of the newcomer screens had gone dark.
All the screens around Bai Liu's were black, leaving him alone in a sea of darkness, calmly watching the door.