One attendant bore the corpse by its wrists, another by its feet, while the severed head was placed solemnly upon the body's abdomen. Parading unabashedly through the carriages, they drew countless horrified glances from the passengers.
Drops of blood pattered relentlessly onto the floor, trailing all the way to the dining car. After the attendants entered and closed the door behind them, Eric followed and opened it, only to find the floor immaculate, with neither corpse nor attendants in sight.
In no hurry to depart, Eric meticulously searched the dining carriage but found no trace of the treasure.
"Little lady, what are you seeking?" an elderly gentleman NPC seated quietly in a corner asked her kindly.
"I dropped something," Eric replied.
The NPC chuckled warmly. "Then take your time and look carefully."
Failing to locate anything in the dining car, Eric traversed through to the sleeper carriage, where voices buzzed with heated discussion of recent accidents, the atmosphere palpably tense.
She circled the sleeper compartment with no success. Glancing at the electronic display above the carriage door, she noted an hour had elapsed since entering the instance, with the number of fallen NPCs already exceeding double digits. There may have been other players inside, though Eric recognized none, leaving her uncertain.
She retreated to her original carriage.
Despite her prior experience, she gained little advantage here—still bewildered.
Her sole solace lay in the fact that the specter lurking behind had not fixed its gaze upon her.
Moving cautiously, probing the environment, had she truly avoided angering the lurking ghost?
Contemplating this, Eric softly murmured, "Excuse me," as she prepared to step past a passenger seated at the aisle to reach the inner seat. Suddenly, a flash of white light darted before her eyes, delivering a terrifying deathly intent.
Before she could ponder which step had triggered this lethal strike, her pupils dilated with tension. As the mortal danger drew near, Eric bent backward with lightning speed—skills honed through countless life-or-death moments now at their zenith—and deftly evaded the streak of light.
A barely audible whoosh skimmed mere millimeters from Eric's nose. Perhaps adrenaline had unlocked hidden reserves—her eyes unwavering blinkless in the instant, she even discerned the form of the white light—a slender thread!
A thread!
Narrowly dodging the razor-thin filament slicing toward her throat, Eric plunged completely into combat mode. Planting her hands firmly on the chair's backrest before her, she steadied herself and rolled fiercely into the aisle.
After tumbling several rotations beyond her original seat's confines, she rose cautiously, eyes scanning vigilantly for the thread's reappearance.
Around her, voices clamored—NPCs whispered rumors and debated her inexplicable actions, with some muttering that she had gone mad.
"I'm losing my mind—there's a murderer on this train! The attendants are like sinister ghosts. I want off! Let me off this train!"
Eric knew she was not mad. She had truly seen the thread—it was the thread that was killing.
This slender filament unraveled all her confusion, illuminating her mind with sudden clarity.
No wonder the decapitations had been so precise—the severing had been wrought by a razor-sharp thread! Indeed, on her previous run through this instance, some passengers had met their end when stabbing instant noodles with a fork into their throats—apparently manipulated by this very thread!
This thread must be wielded by the specter; when it passes judgment on a passenger's demise, the thread manifests to enact the sentence. Though her breath still trembled, Eric's gaze remained fixed, watching keenly on all sides, yet the thread had not struck again.
It seemed the deadly strike was fleeting—if the thread's assault missed, it would not return.
A wave of relief swept over Eric. If this thread pursued relentlessly, her fate would surely have been sealed.
"Are you all right?" a passenger approached to steady her.
Glancing up, Eric recognized the individual as the player who had earlier rummaged through the luggage.
Just as she was about to assure them she was fine, a realization struck her. She shook her head to decline assistance, standing upright on her own.
"My surname's Yue; just call me Auntie Yue," the person said, a woman in her early forties exuding an air of bold generosity.
Aware that Yue had likely inferred Eric's recent narrow escape from her movements and was seeking information, Eric chose not to engage further.
It was not reluctance borne of stinginess—in truth, she was usually quite willing to exchange insights with fellow players. This marked the first time she declined such interaction.
As Auntie Yue extended her hand in inquiry, Eric's mind raced to analyze why she had triggered the murderous trap.
She had traversed the compartments unharmed, yet upon returning to her seat, the lethal strike had been activated. What had she said then?
Ah, yes—the passenger seated on the aisle was somewhat corpulent, and Eric had politely uttered, "Excuse me, may I pass?" The passenger was about to swing their legs into the aisle to make room, and at that instant, the thread appeared.
Eric could not help but suspect that it was her seemingly innocuous remark that had set the trap in motion.
The phrase itself bore no inherent fault, yet within this supernatural instance, who could fathom that such words might pierce the specter's taboo, instantly summoning the lethal cutting thread upon her?
Contemplating this, Eric's mind flashed to the mother decapitated in this very carriage—she had but uttered a few words, admittedly somewhat impolite.
Likewise, in the adjacent carriage, a passenger likewise found beheaded—folks nearby said he frequently kicked the seat before him and possessed a questionable demeanor. Might he too have spoken words ill-suited before his demise?
Considering her own brush with death, could it be that neither impoliteness nor politeness was safe? Such a paradox!
The notion that their words invoked the murderous presence compelled Eric to resolve henceforth to guard her speech carefully.
"What troubles you?" Auntie Yue's gaze hardened upon Eric's silence, growing ever more convinced that Eric had uncovered crucial clues. "Have you gleaned anything? We might share information."
"You proceed first," Eric replied.
"Very well... I shall speak first," Auntie Yue beckoned Eric to follow her through the clamorous throng to the smoking area bridging two carriages.
"I possess a clue regarding the ticket. I spoke with an attendant—they can issue replacement tickets!" Auntie Yue began, eyes fixed on Eric.
"I have knowledge of the killing mechanism—evade it once and you may survive," Eric countered.
Auntie Yue's expression shifted; clearly, this one was no mere survivor but one who had directly confronted the peril.
"I also witnessed the instrument of murder," Eric added.
After a moment's thought, Auntie Yue judged the information valuable enough to warrant exchange, revealing the remainder: "Those who evade fare must be handed over to the attendants to obtain a ticket."
Eric's heart sounded a sharp alarm.
Softly, Auntie Yue cautioned, "You are my daughter's age; be cautious. The number of players aboard this train is uncertain. Others may likewise exploit the ticket replacement."
Eric nodded slowly. "Understood."
In other words, she must guard not only against the ghost but players as well.
From her experience, NPC passengers all possessed tickets; those without were invariably outsiders—players. And how could players entrust another to claim their ticket? Only the dead held silent submission.
Foreseeing the imminent deadly struggle at the next station, Eric's spirits sank. Reluctant to kill unless forced, she must find the treasure swiftly and strike a bargain with "it."
"My insight is this: the murderer is a thread; certain words cannot be spoken lest they trigger the killing intent."
Auntie Yue mused over the word "thread" and, upon hearing Eric's completion, asked, "What did you say just now?"
Eric shook her head, unwilling to utter those words again.
"It was my fault," Auntie Yue smiled awkwardly, glancing around. "Let me find a pen—"
"I have one." Eric produced from her pocket—indeed, pilfered from the supermarket—a pen and a piece of cardboard torn from a crate. She inscribed the very phrase she had uttered. Auntie Yue cast a swift glance, pupils contracting. Was this some spectral curse? What was wrong with the words?
Meeting her doubtful gaze, Eric nodded solemnly. "These were my words."
Auntie Yue assented. "Very well."
They parted ways.
The carriage door opened as a man entered, producing a cigarette and lighter to indulge in smoke. Eric, averse to secondhand smoke, skirted past him into the carriage.
A woman approached, her countenance grim. Eric glanced back and saw her snatch the cigarette from the man's hand.
"Smoke, smoke, smoke! Why don't you just smoke yourself to death! There's something wrong with this train. If you don't act soon, you'll just keep smoking!" the woman spat.
It was the bickering of NPC spouses. Eric withdrew her gaze and pressed onward; her quest for the treasure remained paramount.
"You never listen! Did you even hear me?"
The man exhaled smoke impatiently toward the woman's face, causing her to cough violently. "You—you bastard! Go smoke yourself to death! Ah!"
From behind came a blood-curdling scream of terror. Eric turned swiftly.
The smoking man collapsed three meters behind her; his head rolled several laps before resting near her feet.
Passengers screamed in panic, crowding toward the windows and away from the aisle. Eric's gaze shifted from the severed head to the blood trail on the floor, leading to the man's body three meters distant.
His wife sat stunned on the floor, speechless, tears cascading in torrents.
Eric scanned the corpse for clues but found none, save for a lighter near his hand. Bending down, she noticed a cigarette clenched between the severed head's teeth, still alight despite the victim's demise.
The deceased's wife had scolded him for smoking, yet she had heard no words. Why then had he perished?
Gazing upon the severed head, flashes of insight stirred within Eric's mind, moments before the panicked cries of passengers shattered her concentration.
"Heavens! Another dead one! The train is haunted! Only a ghost could kill like this!"
"I want off! I want off!"
"The desert is outside—how can we leave?"
"Better to be in the desert than die by a ghost's hand! This train is cursed!"
The NPCs' resolve teetered under the relentless string of bizarre decapitations. One snatched the safety hammer from the wall and madly began smashing the windows.
The fleeting spark of clarity darted past Eric's grasp too swiftly. Resigned, she stepped back a few paces and, spotting attendants rushing from the front carriage to collect the corpse, she returned to her seat.