In the end, the only name Liu Yitian ever heard was someone else’s.
Perhaps, in his confusion, he truly believed he was Tiantian, or else he had put himself in Tiantian’s place too many times.
That’s why his haunted house was called [Tiantian’s Haunted House].
Shen Xiaoxiao set down her phone with a sigh of emotion.
“I don’t even know what to say. Let’s just curse Liu Zhengxing—a disgusting man! Rotten to the core!!”
With that, Shen Xiaoxiao pulled out a red bean bun and took an angry, hefty bite.
She was furious, but didn’t add any commentary, nor did she utter a word about Xiao Mei or Liu Yitian.
Because she couldn’t judge.
This was a reminiscence told from Liu Yitian’s perspective. He was such an understanding child—precisely because he was so lovable and considerate, and because his fate was so tragic, those like Xiao Mei and Liu Zhengxing, who led to his outcome, end up painted entirely as abusers.
But from Xiao Mei’s point of view, maybe this wasn’t the story at all.
Was there ever a moment when she was truly lucid?
Judging by the princess dresses for human girls that filled the room, the kitten she saw was Tiantian in her mind—a toddler girl of three or five. If that was so, then what did Liu Yitian look like to her?
A human being, or a three-headed, six-armed, snarling beast with twisted features?
As a patient, her “lucidity” couldn’t possibly be compared to that of a healthy person.
Even if she could converse normally, act so gently with others, do everything a sane person could do—who could truly understand her mental condition, what her world looked like to her?
Her mental illness was never cured. Her world contained only herself and Tiantian; her emotional life was sealed off, her emotional expression warped.
Anyone could say Liu Yitian was innocent, but for Xiao Mei, the very existence of this child meant he was not.
Because his birth was rooted in “control.” To further his grip on Xiao Mei, to force her into the role of a normal wife, Liu Zhengxing assaulted her day and night, ignoring her resistance and cries, as long as she ended up giving birth to his child—chaining her with forced maternal love.
Her womb had never belonged to her.
During those agonizing days, her womb was utterly estranged from her—it belonged entirely to Liu Zhengxing. Her womb was not hers, and so the child born from it was no longer her own.
Given that, there was no way Xiao Mei could see Liu Yitian as her own child.
He was a demon.
He was the reason for Liu Zhengxing’s abuse, the tool through which she was controlled, an accomplice and enabler.
As long as that notion was entrenched in Xiao Mei’s mind, everything Liu Yitian did took on a different hue in her eyes.
——Liu Yitian once tried to kill the cat, but couldn’t go through with it, and was scratched while stroking it.
In Xiao Mei’s perspective, maybe the reality was nothing like that.
To her, Liu Yitian was truly trying to kill her daughter, scheming to steal her away in the dead of night. If not for her daughter’s fierce resistance, the child would have been skinned alive, dying miserably that night.
——Liu Yitian followed Xiao Mei and the cat around to understand how much she could love her child; he was pitiful, just longing for affection.
But in Xiao Mei’s view, his following had no warmth at all.
She could easily interpret it all as deliberate spying, intending to steal her daughter away—after all, Liu Yitian already had a history of wanting to kill her daughter.
So this could be an entirely different story.
No one knows what the story looked like through Xiao Mei’s eyes, so no one can truly understand her.
“That’s the end of this story.”
Seeing Shen Xiaoxiao’s expression growing more despondent, Jiang Yan simply concluded.
Little Jiang Yan chimed in, “Why think so much? Let’s just eat instead—can I have some more?”
At the girl’s words, Shen Xiaoxiao bounced off the bed, generously opening her suitcase to dig out more snacks for her.
“Did you finish all the stuff I gave you yesterday?” she asked as she stuffed snacks into the girl’s arms, eying her little belly at the same time. “It’s looking a bit round… When did you eat—just now?”
The little girl nodded as a matter of course.
She pointed at the trash can. “Look.”
Having never tasted snacks before, little Jiang Yan was practically a junk food demolition machine, wanting to try a bite of everything. Barely twenty minutes after returning, the trash bin was almost overflowing with plastic wrappers.
The snacks she didn’t like, she stuffed randomly into Jiang Yan’s mouth. Jiang Yan looked at a cilantro cracker with a bite taken out of it, said nothing, just frowned and swallowed.
Little Jiang Yan opened a pack of fruit gummies—brightly colored, each dusted with sugar.
“These are super, super sour,” Shen Xiaoxiao warned.
Little Jiang Yan replied, “I don’t mind.”
Jiang Yan glanced at her, then turned her back at once, facing away.
Little Jiang Yan followed closely after.
Just as Jiang Yan suspected, the moment after saying she didn’t mind, the girl clearly did mind—she held a candy up to Jiang Yan’s lips, Jiang Yan looked down without changing her expression; the little girl made no move either, just tipped her face up, staring, clearly wanting her to try it first.
“How can you be so bold?” Jiang Yan asked.
Little Jiang Yan pretended not to hear.
So Jiang Yan pretended not to notice.
She stood up slowly: “I’m going to look for clues. The other kids will be here soon, Shen Xiaoxiao keep them company.”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “Got it!”
The door clicked shut, and Jiang Yan left without a backward glance.
Little Jiang Yan: “…”
After a long silence, she looked up at Shen Xiaoxiao, who gave her an encouraging look. The little girl cautiously licked the sugar, which melted sweetly and stickily in her mouth.
She visibly breathed in relief, fearlessly popped the rest of the candy in, smacking her lips. Yet, within seconds, her face went rigid and her pupils visibly quivered.
“Ugh!” She spat the candy out at once.
Shen Xiaoxiao doubled over laughing, little Xiaoxiao’s mouth even curved up a bit. Humiliated, little Jiang Yan wanted to threaten the two—something like dragging them out for execution or laughing them to death—but seeing all the snacks in Shen Xiaoxiao’s suitcase, she grew soft-hearted and left the threats unsaid.
Half a minute later, she burrowed beneath the covers, “I’m not brushing my teeth tonight.”
Shen Xiaoxiao quickly asked, “Why not?”
Little Jiang Yan replied coolly, “Tomorrow morning I’ll blow my breath at you and choke you both out.”
A long row of [……] flooded past in the livestream chat.
Hearing her, Shen Xiaoxiao’s smile grew even wider. In the end, she couldn’t help but dive over and kiss the little girl several times, then darted back to her own bed, leaving little Jiang Yan frozen as if struck by lightning.
Jiang Yan, out in the hallway, had no idea her younger self was under such an onslaught.
She moved steadily along the corridor.
The ceiling was still lined with those shattered giant dolls. Though Jiang Yan had searched them all yesterday, it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be new clues there today, so Yu Renwan was now going through them quickly.
Minutes later, the elevator on the third floor opened with a soft hum—Mu Wang stepped out.
He handed Jiang Yan a stack of key cards, murmuring, “I’ve given the cards for the second floor to Shen Huanhuan and Zhao Kepu.”
Jiang Yan acknowledged with a sound.
She glanced around at the tightly closed doors all around.
Each room required a card to enter—there had to be clues inside, since these rooms were the only places left that could offer leads about the main spirit.
Right now, they knew next to nothing about the main spirit.
Every clue spelled out clearly so far was just to fill in the storylines for the children of each day. There was hardly anything on Yangzhou or the main spirit; they didn’t know the relationship between Yangzhou and the main spirit, nor why the swallow appeared in the childhood photo of Yangzhou and his mother, and even less why, after Yangzhou died, the swallow showed up at the scene.
They had none of these answers—not even the basic chain of clues.
Most crucial of all, her theory about the main spirit being the mayfly in its first life was just a hypothesis—it wasn’t something gleaned from the energy field, but a deduction Jiang Yan made based on her understanding of the main spirit’s abilities.
But it shouldn’t be that way. If the main spirit really was connected to the mayfly, there ought to be a clue, with details about the nine-life mayfly cycle. Otherwise, how could ordinary people passing through possibly clear the stage? The energy field’s rules allowed even those without psychic abilities to escape—if only their skills and intellect were strong enough.
So there had to be a clue somewhere.
Without a storyline for the main spirit, there would be no way to guess the name of the sixth animated feature, and thus no way to clear the level.
Jiang Yan took the cards and unlocked every room, then they all split up to search room by room.
All the hotel rooms were identical in layout. Once inside, Jiang Yan efficiently searched through each—opening wardrobes, feeling around for hidden compartments, looking beneath beds and on balconies, finally making a circuit of the bathroom.
The first room yielded nothing.
Jiang Yan wasn’t discouraged; if they found two or three clues spread across all the rooms, that would be excellent. Halfway through, Yu Renwan came to join her, shaking her head at Jiang Yan, “Nothing in the dolls.”
“No matter.”
Jiang Yan set down the bedspread she was checking. “Nothing here either. Let’s move on.”
In this way, the two searched six more rooms, and in the seventh they ran into Mu Wang.
Mu Wang: “I haven’t found anything either.”
He and Jiang Yan had started at opposite ends, so meeting in the middle meant all the third-floor rooms had been searched.
Not a clue to be found.
Jiang Yan frowned almost imperceptibly. Just then, Shen Huanhuan and Zhao Kepu came upstairs, both looking grave; Jiang Yan’s brows knit deeper.
“Nothing on the second floor,” said Shen Huanhuan.
Mu Wang offered, “I’ll check the ground floor.”
He was about to head down when Jiang Yan suddenly stopped him.
Mu Wang turned around quickly.
Ignoring the bright look in his eyes, Jiang Yan asked, “When you picked up the keys at the front desk earlier, was anyone there?”
Mu Wang looked a little disappointed, but nodded. “Yes.”
“You threatened him?”
“Didn’t threaten—just asked if there were any room cards, and he gave them to me.”
Yesterday, everyone had seen how resistant the front desk attendant was to giving out clues; today’s eagerness was completely unnatural. At Mu Wang’s words, everyone fell into thoughtful silence.
Except Mu Wang, who was entirely unfazed.
He ruffled his soft black hair obediently, watching Jiang Yan, waiting for her next word.
After a moment, Jiang Yan exhaled.
She said directly, “No point searching the rooms.”
“I need to organize my thoughts. You guys go check downstairs—if there’s nothing, just come back.”
Everyone followed instructions without hesitation; as soon as Jiang Yan finished speaking, they went down together.
Jiang Yan leaned against the wall, seriously combing through the clues.
Right now it seemed the main spirit was a swallow, with the power to trace things back. Its range was the villages and towns around the amusement park. Because its innate ability exceeded what such a young creature should possess, Jiang Yan guessed it might be one of those rare cases in the yao race: the nine-life mayfly.
But half this information came from outside the simulation.
External info could be useful, but must not direct the solution—the sixth project had to be deduced solely from within.
Tomorrow was the last day; they’d have to finish all remaining events during daylight, and there’d be no more nights at the hotel for clues. So tonight was the last chance to gather them.
Jiang Yan combed rapidly through all the data, her index finger tapping unconsciously with a crisp click.
Just as her eyes grew brighter with understanding, the elevator rose slowly and stopped at the third floor.
Jiang Yan looked up. Shen Huanhuan stepped out and shook her head slightly at Jiang Yan.
But Jiang Yan didn’t look disappointed.
Facing the group, she announced, “We’ve all been thinking about this the wrong way.”
“This scenario never meant to show us the main spirit’s story line.”
Shen Huanhuan was taken aback. “What?”
Jiang Yan explained, “What the main spirit’s past life was, whether it’s a mayfly, its range, its relationship with Yangzhou—none of these have anything to do with our ability to guess the sixth event.”
“That’s why the main spirit never gave us those clues.”
Zhao Kepu was puzzled. “But if there are no hints for us… how can we guess the sixth event? We can’t just make wild guesses about the last project, can we?”
Jiang Yan said, “Exactly.”
“So our thinking was flawed from the start.”
She looked around at the others and said slowly, “Everyone’s assumed the sixth event represented the main spirit’s experience, but it never said so. That was just our guess—and guesses can be wrong.”
“Looking at things now, the first four storylines gave us far too much detail, way more than normal. That suggests the sixth event is very likely tied closely to those four stories, possibly even connected to tomorrow’s fifth story. So closely, in fact, that even without knowing the main spirit’s history, if we analyze the situations of the first five children, we should be able to deduce what kind of animated film the sixth game event represents.”
“What we need to focus on tonight is digging out the commonalities among those first four stories.”
“The sixth event absolutely isn’t just about the main spirit. It’s about all the children.”