Doll Survival Game

The three-minute countdown ended, and everyone voted for themselves.

Tang Bai’s face turned ashen, completely devoid of his earlier composure.

The instance he had created was, in truth, exceptionally challenging-and excruciatingly tormenting.

In “World Human”, the bosses were all unique.

Some bosses created vast spaces, like Little Red in the Fairy Tale Forest. Her instance encompassed an entire forest, and she had a penchant for violence, designing all sorts of bizarre NPCs. Her instances were typically cleared through brute force, though they often branched out into numerous sub-instances.

Idia’s instance, on the other hand, spanned the entirety of Water City. However, he disliked incorporating too many branches. While his instance covered a large area, the number of sub-instances was relatively few.

Everything depended on the boss’s preferences. The difficulty level, type, and structure of an instance were all dictated by the boss. Some bosses, however, lacked the ability to manage large spaces or simply had no interest in creating multiple sub-instances.

Tang Bai was one of those bosses.

He disliked expansive spaces, so he confined his instance to this single house. Moreover, he had only designed this one instance so far.

But the difficulty of his instance was extraordinarily high. When the game initially approved his design, it was rarely assigned to players due to its punishing nature. Eventually, it was classified as a punishment instance.

Few players ever made it out alive; most ended up completely wiped out. Even though the instance had been run several times, its contents remained largely unknown to players, allowing it to continue operating.

But this time was different.

Although it might not seem so at first glance, his instance was genuinely difficult-not because of numerous death triggers, but because it was nearly impossible to clear.

In the fictional space, there was only one death trigger: if the players failed to escape before Lin Na woke up, they would die. However, Tang Bai had a pocket watch. As long as he set the time to midnight and initiated task four, he could guide the people in the real space to wake Lin Na.

In other words, he could trap many people in the fictional space if he wanted to. Many had perished this way before.

But this time…

Tang Bai glanced at Xia Lang and the others. This time, too many people had died before midnight. That wasn’t the main issue, though-it had happened before. The real problem was that the players who had passed on hadn’t woken Lin Na. Instead, they had left behind clues, telling the others how to reach the real space.

Players cooperating with each other? Aside from Lei Jing, did no one else realize that the more players who died in an instance, the lower the difficulty became?

In the end, he had no choice but to drag Cheng Chen to his death in the fictional space. By that point, Tang Bai was already furious.

Because Luo Yiran had chosen to set the place on fire, leading to a collective death. Tang Bai’s body was no longer the same as a human’s; as the boss of his own instance, he couldn’t truly die.

He could only choose not to “die” in front of them, though this might arouse suspicion. But that didn’t matter-there was still Lin Na’s voting round. The core of this instance was Lin Na’s voting round.

No one could escape this vote. Tang Bai had deliberately set up a death trap here. When the task was issued, the game had vaguely stated that if the vote was incorrect, players could keep voting, planting the idea that the voting round would have multiple iterations.

Then, he had made himself the first target. When the vote was wrong, players would discover that the task hadn’t failed and that there was indeed another round.

This reinforced the impression.

And so, the stage was set for Lin Na’s voting round.

They would undoubtedly be at a loss. In order to choose someone who aligned with Lin Na’s wishes, they would vote based on the severity of the crimes. The first to be voted out would inevitably be Lin Na’s sister, as she was the ringleader of the bullying.

And then the task would fail.

Because in Lin Na’s round, as long as the players voted for anyone other than themselves, the task would be deemed a failure.

Technically, they could proceed to the next round of voting, but by then, they wouldn’t have the chance to continue.

Moreover, players would never vote for themselves in the first round. This essentially created a deadlock. Even if some players managed to discern Lin Na’s personality and guessed that perhaps showing “remorse” was the key to clearing the instance, they still wouldn’t vote for themselves in the first round. Their reasoning was influenced by one key impression: they believed there were multiple rounds of voting.

This assumption would lead them to test the waters by voting for others first, only considering themselves if that failed.

But unfortunately, Lin Na’s round allowed for only one chance. It was the sole opportunity she gave to “forgive” them.

This instance was designed to be malicious. Tang Bai never intended for anyone to walk out alive.

But Luo Yiran had disrupted his instance.

From the moment Luo Yiran, with a face full of feigned sincerity, expressed his regret and declared he would vote for himself, Tang Bai had a sinking feeling.

When Lin Luo began explaining on Luo Yiran’s behalf, Tang Bai knew his instance was ruined.

It wasn’t just that they would clear the instance-it was that too many people would survive this time. His instance would be rendered useless.

Lin Na lifted her head from his embrace, her eyes red and swollen. She said softly, “Just this once, I forgive you all…”

Tang Bai kicked away the chair behind him, his gaze icy as he stared at Luo Yiran.

The system’s voice rang out, reverting to its gender-neutral electronic tone: [System Notification: The voting result is valid and correct.]

[Since no one received the highest number of votes, no one is eliminated. Determination: No deaths.]

Before anyone could celebrate, the system’s voice sounded again-

[However, all players who received votes this round will face punishments just shy of death.]

Everyone froze.

This was Tang Bai’s contingency plan. He despised all humans, so even if someone managed to clear Lin Na’s voting round, they would still suffer.

Tang Bai placed Lin Na on the table, his expression blank as he looked at the group. “One hand, one eye. For the slanderers, cut their mouths.”

The room fell silent. Then, everyone felt a cold sensation on their arms and eyes. Blood sprayed, and the searing pain surged through them.

Xia Lang was the first to scream. He clutched his wrist in agony, pressing down with all his strength.

The living room was filled with severed limbs and faces twisted in pain, but Tang Bai’s gaze was fixed on Luo Yiran, his expression dark.

Luo Yiran, however, calmly picked up the red eyeball that had fallen from his face. The blood of those around him had splattered onto his body, staining him crimson.

Yet he raised his eyes and said, “My hand didn’t fall off.”

Lin Na looked at him and whispered, “Because your apology was sincere.”

The doll: “…” Miscalculated. The punishment turned out to be lighter for him.

As a doll, he didn’t even need those parts.

But still…

Luo Yiran looked up at Tang Bai, whose eyes burned with a desire to tear him apart. A smile spread across Luo Yiran’s face. “Looks like there’s a bug. You should account for special species better.”

Tang Bai: “…” All the other special species are living beings. Who could’ve guessed the game would include a non-living special species!

Lin Ye covered one of his eyes. His remaining eye had turned a reddish-brown, and not only was one of his arms severed, but the crimson feathered wing that had suddenly sprouted from his back was now broken as well.

“Never thought…” His voice was laced with pain. “This instance would give me the chance to… to end up like this.”

He was a special species of bird, but ever since entering this instance, he had been unable to use his special form.

That was normal. Some instances were designed to restrict abilities that exceeded the boundaries of their setting.

Everyone was on the brink of collapse. Duan Miaomiao had already fainted.

Xia Lang was barely holding on. A long gash split his mouth, and blood dripped steadily from it.

Lei Jing, having broken free from her bonds by severing her hand, had no time for theatrics. She quickly tore off a piece of clothing to press against her injured hand and eye.

Via gritted his teeth, casting a worried glance at Li Qi Feng.

[System notification: The third round of voting has begun. Starting with player Lin Luo, each participant will speak for five minutes in a clockwise order. After everyone has spoken, there will be a 15-minute group discussion, followed by the third round of voting.]

Everyone: “…”

Via: “Damn it, hang in there, everyone.”

Tang Bai sneered. “If more of you just died, we wouldn’t have to wait so long, would we?”

Lei Jing froze at his words. She looked up, her gaze burning. “Right now, there’s no rule against killing each other, is there?”

The atmosphere in the living room grew tense. Tang Bai smiled. “None at all.”

Luo Yiran stood up, clutching his own eyeball. His soft hair fell over his forehead, but his right hand lifted, pointing directly at Lei Jing. Lin Luo mirrored his movements.

The doll tilted its head, the hollow of its eye sockets intersecting with a crimson glow. “What are you planning to do?”

Lei Jing didn’t understand the doll’s gesture, but a sense of foreboding washed over her. “You…”

The doll glanced at his fingertips, his tone gentle. “Do you really want to make a move in this situation? No one will stand by your side, you know.”

Lei Jing’s eyes locked onto Luo Yiran’s hand, which was covered in ball joints. She shifted her foot slightly, only to feel a sharp sting. Startled, she quickly used her uninjured hand to lift the tablecloth.

Beneath the dark fabric of the table, a dense web of silver threads was wound tightly around the legs of every table and chair.

And on the floor… were those tiny pieces of paper?

Lei Jing squinted. No, they were playing cards.

“What did you do?”

Lin Ye let out a sigh.

“I mean no harm,” the doll said sincerely. “I was just a little worried that the voting might not proceed smoothly… so I did something to help bring everyone together.”

This statement left Wang Xing and the others momentarily stunned. Then, as if struck by inspiration, they also lifted the tablecloths, revealing the same intricate web of silver threads beneath.

Everyone froze.

“I was almost disappointed I didn’t get to use them earlier,” the doll continued, his voice calm. “After all, I’ve been busy during the voting process. But Lei Jing seems to be giving me the perfect opportunity to put them to use.”

Lei Jing recognized the silver threads from a previous live broadcast. They were the same ones used to scrape the soles of the mermaid’s feet. She wasn’t overly afraid, knowing that once the game ended, her body would return to normal.

But it wasn’t worth the risk. Feeling the icy chill against her calves, Lei Jing pressed her lips tightly together. Without her legs, she wouldn’t be able to harm anyone.

Lin Luo was one of the only two players who hadn’t reacted when his eye and hand were injured. However, his remaining hand was now covered in scars-marks left by the silver threads when he had mirrored Luo Yiran’s movements earlier.

“Good boy,” the doll casually praised, then shifted his gaze from the barely-breathing Xia Lang to Tang Bai. He raised an eyebrow slightly before turning away.

Lin Luo extended his uninjured hand, placing it flat on the table.

Luo Yiran noticed the wounds on Lin Luo’s hand, as well as the blood-red cracks that seemed to have formed independently of the silver threads.

The doll paused for a moment but said nothing. He stepped onto Lin Luo’s arm and slowly climbed onto his shoulder.

Tang Bai’s pupils flickered with intense emotion, reminiscent of the way the little girl in the Fairy Tale Forest had once looked at him.

But Luo Yiran showed no fear. Sitting on Lin Luo’s shoulder, he crossed one leg over the other and revealed a mocking smile identical to the one Tang Bai had worn earlier.

“Your boss,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “is really kind and so easily satisfied. Letting so many of us go free-how generous.”

“…” Tang Bai slammed his hand on the table, causing cracks to spread across its surface. His eyes burned red with fury. “Luo Yiran! If I ever meet you again, I’ll make sure you wish you were dead!”