Chapter 1: The Empty Room
An old tungsten bulb hung from the center of the ceiling by a black wire, casting a weak, flickering light.
Silence permeated the room, heavy and suffocating, like ink bleeding into clear water.
A large, round table sat in the center, its surface mottled and worn. An intricate clock rested at its center, its rhythmic ticking the only sound breaking the stillness.
Ten people sat around the table in tattered clothes, their faces coated with dust. Some slumped forward onto the tabletop while others leaned back in their chairs, all fast asleep.
Beside them stood a man in a black suit wearing a goat-head mask. His gaze pierced through the eyeholes, studying the group with unnerving intensity.
The table clock chimed. Both hands pointed to twelve.
From somewhere far outside, a deep bell tolled in response.
At that exact moment, the ten people stirred awake.
They blinked in confusion, glancing at one another with bewildered expressions. None remembered how they'd arrived.
"Good morning, The Nine," Goat-Mask said. "I am pleased to meet you all. You have been sleeping before me for twelve hours."
His bizarre appearance startled everyone in the dim light.
The mask appeared to be a real goat head—yellowed, black, and matted fur with jagged holes gouged out for eyes. Behind them shone a pair of cunning pupils. Every movement released the gamey stench of goat mixed with a faint, rotting odor.
A tattooed man froze for several seconds before finding his voice. "Who... are you?"
"I trust you all have that question," Goat-Mask waved his hands happily, as if he'd rehearsed this moment. "Allow me to introduce myself to The Nine."
Qi Xia, sitting furthest from Goat-Mask, scanned the room. His expression turned grim.
'This room is truly strange.'
No doors. Just walls on all four sides. The space was completely enclosed—walls, ceiling, and floor—yet they sat at a table in the center. How had they gotten here? Were they brought in before the walls were built?
He looked again. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all covered in intersecting lines that divided surfaces into large squares.
Another detail troubled him: "The Nine." No matter how he counted, there were ten people at the table. Including Goat-Mask, eleven people occupied the room. What did "The Nine" mean?
He reached into his pocket. As expected, his phone was gone.
"There's no need for introductions," a cold-voiced woman interrupted. "I advise you to stop this immediately. Suspected illegal detention exceeding twenty-four hours. Anything you say will be recorded as testimony."
As she spoke, she brushed dust from her arms with visible disgust, seeming more bothered by the dirt than her imprisonment.
Her words snapped the others to attention. Whoever this kidnapper was, abducting ten people had crossed a serious line.
"Wait..." A middle-aged man in a white coat interrupted. He studied the woman carefully. "We just woke up. How do you know we've been imprisoned for twenty-four hours?"
His tone was steady and forceful.
The woman pointed calmly at the clock. "It points to twelve. I stay up late—last time I checked my clock at home, it was already midnight. That means we've been here at least twelve hours."
She gestured at the windowless walls. "No doors. Our captor went to great lengths to bring us here. He said we've slept twelve hours, and now the clock points to twelve again—meaning it's completed at least two full cycles. So I suspect it's been over twenty-four hours. Problem?"
The man in white gave her a cold, suspicious look. In this terrifying situation, the woman was far too composed. Would any normal kidnapping victim remain so analytical?
Just then, a sturdy young man in a black T-shirt asked, "Goat-Mask, why are there ten people here when you said there were nine?"
Goat-Mask remained silent.
"Damn it, I don't care about numbers..." the tattooed man cursed. He pushed against the table, trying to stand, but his legs felt limp and useless. He pointed a shaking finger at Goat-Mask. "You idiot, you don't know who you're messing with. There will be serious consequences. I'll take your life."
The expressions of the men around the table turned deadly serious.