This is all a misunderstanding.

“Lin Zijian, you’re what they call an ability user, aren’t you?” Wen Lingyu broke the silence, her voice so soft she was likely afraid of being overheard.

“Yes.” I admitted it straightforwardly. At this point, Wen Lingyu could already be considered one of us; she had gained my trust—or perhaps my guilt toward her made me unwilling to deceive her.

She continued, “I don’t really know what an ability user is. Could you explain it to me?”

I hesitated, and Wen Lingyu quickly added, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” I hurriedly explained. “I was just thinking about how to best explain it.”

I gave her a brief account of the ability users, including my experiences with Tan Tou and Chen Hao. As for Pang Dongqiang, Sun Cheng, Lin Wan, and Lu Ling, I didn’t say much. There was no need—and besides, the three of us were enough to make the point.

“Oh, so that’s how it is. So all ability users have a playing card tattoo?” Wen Lingyu mused. “And each person’s ability is different. That’s pretty interesting.”

“Then why do they say that killing an ability user is the way to survive?”

“That, I don’t know either.” As expected, Wen Lingyu had also noticed that additional message, which meant that other ordinary people were likely searching for ability users too.

“Maybe to make this game more intense.”

“Yuyu!” Chen Hao’s booming voice echoed from afar. “I got you some milk tea!”

He handed it to Wen Lingyu, sweat pouring down his face from the run. She took it awkwardly and managed a quiet, “Thank you.”

Then, right before our eyes, Chen Hao’s nose started to bleed… I couldn’t bear it and tossed him a tissue.

“Thanks, Brother Jian,” Chen Hao quickly began wiping his face, his gaze never leaving Wen Lingyu.

I coughed a few times, hoping Chen Hao would pay attention to me for once—Wen Lingyu looked downright flustered under his stare.

At that moment, Tan Tou and Han Xue returned. Han Xue, beaming, was holding a huge slice of strawberry cake, and Tan Tou brought a pile of extra snacks for the table.

“Here, everyone, help yourselves. Extra desserts.” Tan Tou smiled, handing out the treats one by one, and then slid into the seat between Chen Hao and Wen Lingyu.

Wen Lingyu quickly turned to chat with Han Xue. Tan Tou shot me a look, as if asking, “Did you clear things up?”

All I could do was reply with an awkward smile and stuff a piece of cake into my mouth.

Back in the dorm, I climbed into my bed. Tan Tou slept on the bunk below, Chen Hao had the bed across from us.

I checked my phone. Tomorrow was the fifth challenge: a relay race between the College of Agronomy and the Medical School.

The rules were much like those in the previous two rounds. One person was chosen at random to start, and a “ghost” would begin the chase. The ghost would gradually speed up over time. The targeted student could pass the ghost’s attention to anyone else by touching them, removing themselves from the game. Each time the ghost killed someone, its speed would reset, which—in a way—gave the others more time to run.

But the outcome was the same: there was no doubt the last person would die.

Through rounds three and four, and now looking ahead to the fifth, I’d noticed a pattern.

This wasn’t a game designed to kill us all; if everyone played carefully, only one person needed to die.

If all the players worked together and followed the relay in order, only a single sacrifice was required in the end.

If I thought about it further, this round was clearly testing whether the two colleges could put aside their differences, unite, and ensure everyone’s survival with minimal loss.

If my assumption was correct, then the second round was intended to sow hatred between the colleges and force individuals to survive on their own abilities.

The first round—a series of one-on-one matches—served as an initial screening. The second round tested personal strength.

Survival, ability, teamwork. If this weren’t a deadly game, I might have treated it as a comprehensive training exercise.

But the reality before us was stark: no matter what we gained from this game, it had already claimed the lives of those around us.

The next day, Sun Cheng rushed over to me in a panic. “Brother Zijian, Wu Ziwei’s in trouble—come help me!”

Only then did I recall that Wu Ziwei had also participated in yesterday’s fourth round. My attention, along with Tan Tou’s and Chen Hao’s, had been focused on Lin Xiayue and the others. I’d forgotten Wu Ziwei was a member of the Art School as well.

“She died in yesterday’s game?”

“No! She survived with another girl, but now… Lin Xiayue has come.”

“Lin Xiayue?” I was about to follow Sun Cheng, but at the mention of her name, I stopped dead.

If I saw Lin Xiayue, I’d definitely run into Wang Yan—and if I met Wang Yan, a fight was inevitable.

“Sun Cheng, maybe—”

“Ability activated! Spatial Transfer!” Sun Cheng didn’t wait for my protest; he immediately used his power.

Sun Cheng’s power as the Six of Hearts allowed him to set a coordinate and teleport to it.

The scenery shifted in an instant, and suddenly we were in the dorm building of the Art School. I didn’t want to know how Sun Cheng had managed to set a coordinate here.

But I was certain Wang Yan would never barge into the girls’ dorms.

There were only five survivors left from the Art School: Lin Xiayue, Hu Xing’er, Chu Yuyan, Wu Ziwei, and Zhong Ling.

We were on the first floor. According to Sun Cheng, Wu Ziwei had sent him a distress message, and she should be in room 502 with the others.

Sun Cheng dashed ahead, leaving me no choice but to follow.

He kicked open the door to 502—not to find Wu Ziwei tied up, but rather, a woman stark naked, in the middle of changing clothes.

I skidded to a halt, realizing something was wrong.

She had wireless earbuds in and hadn’t noticed us barge in. If we left now, we might still get away in time.

This had to be a trap set by that little rascal Wu Ziwei. I grabbed Sun Cheng, trying to drag him out.

But I was a step too slow. Sun Cheng lunged forward and yanked out the woman’s earbud, shouting, “Where’s my girlfriend?”

The woman shrieked in alarm, spun around, and wrapped herself in a bedsheet. “Who are you?!”

At that moment, a surge of violet light erupted from her. Sun Cheng and I were both forced to our knees—damn, we’d hit a brick wall.

The naked woman was none other than the Art School’s queen bee, Lin Xiayue. Now I understood exactly how Zhou Zitong and Xia Qingqiu had felt in her presence.

My body felt as heavy as lead—I couldn’t even lift my head. Lin Xiayue’s gravity field was as fearsome as rumored.

Her chest was still heaving from the fright, but she quickly recovered, grabbing a wooden stick.

She swung it straight for Sun Cheng’s head. I shut my eyes, unwilling to witness another bloody scene.

At the same time, energy gathered in my hand, forming a blade of light that shot out instantly.

“Pervert! Go to hell!” Lin Xiayue shouted as she struck.

In that instant, Sun Cheng vanished. Lin Xiayue’s stick missed, and my light blade sliced a chunk off the wood.

“Damn it, Sun Cheng! Get back here!” He’d used his power to escape—what was I supposed to do now?

Lin Xiayue looked at me in disbelief, hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, well, you’re both ability users! Lift your head!”

I wanted to, but under her gravity field, it was impossible. Luckily, she hadn’t seen my face—there was still a chance to escape.

“Sorry!” I gathered all the light around me and flashed it straight into Lin Xiayue’s eyes.

I bore her no grudge; I wasn’t about to kill her—just dazzle her eyes for a moment.

She screamed again, the gravity field vanished in an instant, and I leapt up and ran for it.

Han Xiaoman’s furious shout echoed behind me, “Hu Xing’er! Stop that pervert!”

No way could I let myself be caught. The hallway was only two steps away. I lunged—

Bang! I slammed into an invisible barrier and blacked out…