"I..." The man in the white coat appeared calmer than others, unaffected even by the corpse on the table. "I'm Zhao Haibo, a doctor. You can probably tell from my clothes." He tugged at his dirty white coat and continued, "Before coming here, I was operating on a woman with a rapidly growing intraventricular tumor. It had caused mild hydrocephalus in half a year—craniotomy was urgent to save her life."
"I chose a frontal lobe approach, puncturing the ventricle under CT guidance. Such surgeries carry huge risks, but she risked it to stay with her young son. Normally, operating rooms must be utterly stable, but then came something worse than wind."
"When the earthquake hit, I'd just removed her skull and was cutting the dura mater. A mistake here could cause brain contusion and irreversible damage. I decided to terminate the surgery and replace the skull temporarily—otherwise, she'd be at risk in the dusty chaos."
"But it was harder than I thought. I could barely stand, let alone replace a small skull fragment accurately. Nurses jostled me; no one could balance. In a panic, I covered her head with a sterile sheet and tried to evacuate, but a medical cart hit my leg, knocking me down. Before I could stand, the ceiling cracked, and I blacked out."
After his story, everyone looked uneasy. He'd used so many medical terms—if any were fabricated, no one could tell.
"Dr. Zhao, where are you from?" the burly man asked casually.
"I don't owe you an answer," Zhao replied. "My story is done."
The burly man opened his mouth, but said nothing.
"Is... it my turn?" A bespectacled boy hesitated. "I'm Han Yimo, I'm a—"
"Wait," the goat-headed man interrupted, startling Han Yimo. "It's 'half-time.' Take a 20-minute break."
Everyone was confused—how could there be a break now? Qi Xia glanced at the table clock: half an hour had passed since they woke. It was 12:30.
"So the break is mandatory," Qi Xia thought. "At 12:30, no matter who's speaking, we rest for 20 minutes..." But the game had only run 30 minutes, and now a 20-minute break? Qi Xia frowned—he shouldn't overthink. The organizer was a lunatic, after all.
He began repeating to himself: "I'm Li Ming, from Shandong." Only by drilling this in could he say it fluently when his turn came.
Everyone waited awkwardly. Despite the "break," the atmosphere grew more oppressive.
"Can we talk?" the burly man asked the goat-headed man.
"Of course—free time. I can't interfere."
The burly man nodded and turned to Dr. Zhao: "Where are you really from?"
Zhao's face darkened. "You've seemed hostile since the start. Why must I tell you?"
"Don't misinterpret me. No malice," the burly man said calmly. "The more you share, the more credible you seem. Since others told their hometowns, no need to hide."
"More sharing means more credibility?" Zhao shook his head. "I know 'more words, more mistakes.' If rules are absolute, my story has no flaws. And I trust none of you."
"Unfair," the burly man said. "Nine of us, one enemy. If you cooperate, we can find the liar. Hiding makes you suspicious. I've asked twice—will you still hide?"
The burly man was skilled at cross-examination, trapping Zhao in a logical corner. His point was clear: only the liar doesn't need to trust others, knowing their own identity. Hiding would make Zhao a target.
But a brain surgeon isn't ordinary. Zhao sneered: "Answer me first—who are you? What do you do?"
"Me?" The burly man didn't expect the反问 (counterquestion), looking flustered. "Right—since you grilled me after my story, I can ask before yours. Fair, right?"
The burly man thought, then nodded: "You're right. No secrets. I'm Li Shangwu, a刑警 (police detective)."
At "police detective," everyone looked at him. The title brought unexpected reassurance.
"A cop?!" Zhao was stunned. No wonder the man had probed so much—he'd even proposed saving everyone. Maybe he truly wanted to help. Zhao's attitude softened: "My apologies for earlier. I'm from Jiangsu."
Qiao Jiajing, the tattooed man, looked unhappy: "Dr. Zhao, trust this officer?"
"Hm?" Zhao looked at Qiao Jiajing. "What do you mean?"
Qiao rapped the table: "It's not 'storytelling time'—which means... everyone can lie now."