There's definitely something wrong with this murder mystery game

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It is said that many people play scripted murder games not only to enjoy the process of deduction and solving cases but also to relish in acting themselves.

Thus, some offline scripted murder games even offer an immersive experience similar to certain shows, where everything from the environment to the costumes aligns perfectly with the script, all for the sake of giving customers the thrill of time-traveling through acting.

Even though their acting might be awkward, this doesn't hinder their enjoyment.

Xu Shuo opened the script for "Rainy Night Villa." Then, the interface turned into a loading screen like that of a video player, followed by the title of the play, and the introduction of characters to the background of music.

The post-production special effects and craftsmanship appeared surprisingly professional.

Seeing his own chef character's illustration, Xu Shuo felt a somewhat embarrassed.

After the opening sequence, the manor located halfway up the mountain appeared on screen. In the stormy, dark night, the villa in the deep mountains stood isolated, its lights flickering on and off through the darkness.

Then, the camera zoomed in, entering the villa.

Six individuals sat in the villa's hall: the Mysticist, the Photographer, the Painter, the Lost Couple, and the Chef.

These few, who had a rather eerie atmosphere about them, sat on the sofa, their faces stern as they talked about something. As the sound drew nearer, it became clear that what they were discussing was this very scripted murder game.

Was this really the game they had played?

Xu Shuo was a bit surprised. Though watching himself act seemed a bit embarrassing, it was still acceptable to him.

The camera captured everyone's performance from all angles, from the players gathering to Mr. Guo's death at the dining table. Whether it was the camera cuts or the background music and atmospheric rendering, everything exuded a professional and sophisticated air.

A group of amateurs with exaggerated yet nervous acting was somehow made to feel like a blockbuster film.

Post-production must have been tough!

Xu Shuo, feeling embarrassed, turned his attention from the video playback window and suddenly noticed that the player had all the usual functions and even a bullet screen feature.

Bullet screen?

Xu Shuo tentatively clicked on the bullet screen, and suddenly several dense comments shot across the right side of the screen. From the language and tone of their comments, it seemed as if real people were watching.

Not robots?

[Coming to see Little White Sister!]

[Little White Sister's character is so cute this time~]

[Haha, everyone is being duplicitous, only the mysticist sister is diligently following the script.]

Several comments like these passed by. A small portion discussed the plot, but almost all of them flattered "Little White," as if they were there just for her, much like obsessive fans in real life.

Xu Shuo narrowed his eyes slightly. Were there veteran players in this scripted murder game?

That painter girl!

After the game ended, when Xu Shuo had reviewed the entire script, there was always something that felt strange.

The Photographer's task seemed to be to find the killer, which likely opposed his own; while the Mysticist was to uncover the villa's secrets, possibly relating to Madame Guo; the couple's task seemed to be to find something hidden in the villa, like the video Yang Ming had shown him earlier.

So, what could the Painter's task have been?

What was her purpose for being there?

Xu Shuo thought about the whole process and realized that the Painter always seemed to be a bystander. Apart from providing a couple of inconsequential clues, she was even more detached than himself, watching coldly as the other players ran around investigating; she remained calm and collected.

It looked as though she had no purpose at all and was just there for a trip.

As Xu Shuo watched the play while looking at the fans' frenzied comments in the bullet screen, the star rating window appeared at the end of the play.

He casually awarded it a five-star rating.

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Your own scripted performance, good or bad, deserves a perfect score!

Soon after, Xu Shuo continued exploring this new personal panel, opening the square feature, whereupon a strong forum vibe hit him smack in the face.

There were all sorts of messy threads, some discussing scripts, others about props and skills, and yet others simply focusing on a very popular player.

Xu Shuo was taken aback for a moment as he saw some familiar terms within the trending threads.

"Breaking News! 'The Fifth Hospital' script experiences a bug, all performances have been completely withdrawn!"

"Certain script gets shelved, I have the mysterious resources! Those in the know, know!"

"Seasoned players reveal the mystery behind the withdrawal of the hospital script!"

These people really missed their calling not working for some browser company—Xu Shuo thought after glimpsing the titles, then clicked on the first thread.

The poster was fairly serious, reporting the event in a news-like manner: someone had just discovered the mysterious disappearance of 'The Fifth Hospital', a script once performed by a great player, and after inquiries, everyone found that this script had vanished for all players.

And this situation here is known as "being withdrawn".

Once a script is completely withdrawn, it will no longer be available for other players to perform, and it will also become "locked" and unviewable in one's personal list of performed scripts.

But obviously, this isn't the first time something like this has happened in the square, so people were less surprised about a script being withdrawn and more curious about the question of "why was this particular script withdrawn?"

The thread had already built up to several thousand comments, which showed the high level of everyone's enthusiasm.

Xu Shuo casually flipped through a few pages, but as he was still half-clueless about the Script Space and the Player's Handbook, his reading was equally half-baked.

However, he understood two things: the Scripted Murder Game he had just entered had experienced some problems.

Second, even though there were issues, he still passed it.

Then there's no problem!

Xu Shuo hung around the square for a good while longer before he finally remembered that he should get up and out of bed.

He didn't find any option to exit the game in the Player's Handbook, so he thought for a moment and silently chanted "leave" in his mind; the next moment, the white space before his eyes gradually darkened until everything went black.

…

When Xu Shuo opened his eyes again, he was met with an off-white ceiling, its corners marred with some grey and black stains.

He paused, detecting the scent of something burnt in the air.

Xu Shuo sat up from the sofa and glanced at the thin blanket covering him, then turned to look toward the kitchen, where a girl with low twin ponytails was managing a pan with her back to him.

The kitchen was filled with a waft of blue smoke, which the range hood couldn't disperse.

"You know, you could have ordered takeout," Xu Shuo said.

"…"

The girl's figure stiffened for a moment, then she turned around with a blank expression and said, "Takeout isn't healthy."

Xu Shuo glanced at the time—it was almost one in the afternoon. He pushed aside the thin blanket, got up, and offered, "Let me do it."

Xu Xi decisively handed over the kitchen to him, including the burnt pan, which had some strange, blackened stuff stuck to the bottom, looking like something from a crematorium.

The faint whiff of potato—did she turn potato strips into scorched rice?

Xu Shuo poked at the mysterious charred mass on the bottom, scraped off the potato mash lumped together with a putty knife, revealing a layer of what resembled coal.

Xu Xi sat up straight on the sofa, deep in thought, hesitant to interrupt the clanging and banging from the kitchen. She originally wanted to ask something, but now she didn't dare to.

Never mind, she'll ask next time.