The last person in line was Manager Wu Dahai.

  Among the group, he was the oldest and the heaviest—a middle-aged man with a protruding belly, his physical fitness naturally lacking.

  But whether intentionally or not, in his frantic escape, Wu Dahai suddenly grabbed the person in front of him and yanked them backward, using the momentum to propel himself forward.

  The person he pulled stumbled, nearly falling, and instantly became the new last in line.

  Swish!

  A flash of silver light.

  The person Wu Dahai had dragged back was decapitated before they could even scream.

  Fang Xiu watched this unfold, paused briefly to grope the ghost’s thigh twice more, then continued running without worry. Young, strong, and physically fit, he was in his prime.

  He didn’t know how to quickly ignite his spiritual insight, so he could only make these attempts—whether meaningful or not.

  The right corridor was long. The group ran for a full minute before reaching the end, where the space suddenly opened up.

  A cafeteria.

  The room was large, empty, filled with old tables and chairs. In the corner stood stoves and several large black cooking pots.

  Prince Teng’s face lit up. "Cafeterias usually have exits leading outside!"

  The others, hearing this, grew excited. Ignoring the eerie surroundings, they scanned the room and immediately spotted a door on the far left. They rushed toward it.

  Fang Xiu, meanwhile, maintained his second-to-last position, running calmly while observing the environment.

  Beyond the door was another dim, narrow hallway—this one even darker, the ceiling lights flickering as if on the verge of dying.

  No one cared about the surroundings. They just wanted to escape.

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  Soon, they reached the end of the corridor. Prince Teng’s face twisted in frustration. "Dead end!"

  The hallway led nowhere.

  This made no sense. In Prince Teng’s understanding, crowded places like cafeterias always had emergency exits or passages to the outside. How could this be a dead end?

  Was the entire hospital sealed off, designed to trap people inside?

  "Look! There’s a door here!" a colleague suddenly shouted.

  On the right side of the dead end was a narrow wooden door—so small only one person could pass through at a time. Its paint was peeling, and it had a small glass window.

  Without hesitation, the group shoved the door open and rushed inside. Whatever lay beyond, it had to be better than the ghost outside.

  Fortunately, there was no ghost inside.

  The room was cramped, cluttered with brooms, mops, and broken furniture, leaving little space for the five of them to stand.

  "Damn it! It’s a storage room! There’s no way out!" Prince Teng cursed, his composure crumbling.

  The others looked equally despairing.

  A dead end.

  They were trapped—cornered by the supernatural.

  Wrong choice?

  Fang Xiu thought calmly. Next time, he’d take the left path.

  He wasn’t panicked. For him, this was just trial and error.

  He considered rewinding time to try the left path instead.

  But turning back now was impossible. Two minutes had already passed. The female doctor would strike again in one. If they ran back now, they’d be delivering themselves to her.

  They could sacrifice someone to buy time, but Fang Xiu doubted it would help.

  Only five people remained, including himself. No one knew how much farther they had to run—or how many more lives would be needed to pave the way.

  Just as Fang Xiu prepared to step out and die to reset time, Prince Teng’s furious voice cut through the air.

  "This is all your fault, Fang Xiu! If you hadn’t picked the wrong path, we wouldn’t be trapped here!"

  "If you didn’t know which way to go, why didn’t you discuss it with us?" Wu Dahai snapped. "You had to make the call yourself and choose wrong!"

  The remaining person (aside from Zhao Hao) didn’t speak, but their eyes held clear blame.

  Fang Xiu’s lips twitched, threatening to curl into a smile. These days, he rarely smiled—unless he was facing the supernatural in a state of exhilaration.

  But for some reason, facing Prince Teng and the others now, he felt like laughing.

  Zhao Hao stepped forward, defending him fiercely. "No one forced you to follow! You asked for his help, and now you blame him for picking wrong? If you’re so capable, why didn’t you choose yourselves?"

  "We’re not capable, but at least we wouldn’t act so recklessly!" Wu Dahai shot back. "If he didn’t know, he should’ve discussed it with the group! We trusted him, and he betrayed that trust—leading us to our deaths!"

  Wu Dahai, ever the manager, knew how to argue. Zhao Hao, less articulate, fell silent.

  "Enough!" Prince Teng barked. "Right now, our priority is surviving.

  "From what I’ve seen, this ghost only attacks one person at a time. After each kill, there’s a two-to-three-minute window of safety. So our only option is to pick someone to lure the ghost away while the rest of us escape."

  The atmosphere in the room turned icy.

  Anyone could see this wasn’t about "luring"—it was a death sentence. Trading one life for the others.

  Prince Teng observed their expressions, his mind already made up.

  His earlier accusations against Fang Xiu were deliberate. If everyone blamed Fang Xiu, who else would be chosen to die?

  He knew he had to act first. In moments of panic, people followed the crowd without thinking.

  If someone else had suggested Prince Teng—the spoiled rich kid—should die first, it might’ve actually happened.

  As tension thickened, Prince Teng made his move.

  He suddenly shoved Fang Xiu, shouting, "Fang Xiu got us into this mess—he’s the one who should pay! Help me hold him down!"

  The others hesitated. They didn’t want to die, but actively sacrificing someone else was another matter.

  "Let him go!" Zhao Hao roared, lunging at Prince Teng.

  Prince Teng, startled, yelled, "Wu Dahai! Get over here and help!"

  When asking for help, it was always most effective to single someone out by name.

  Don’t say, "Can someone help me?"

  Say, "Wu Dahai, help me now."

  A simple psychological trick—one Prince Teng, despite his playboy lifestyle, had mastered through elite upbringing.