"Who scratched it?" Old Baker was momentarily stunned.

William Baker: "It was already there before, even before the question appeared, I saw it."

He thought back for a moment and finally understood his brother's earlier actions.

"I get it now."

Old Baker was confused: "What do you get now?"

"My brother kept saying he was looking for a pen, but what he was rummaging through were axes and hunting gear." William Baker looked at the knife marks on the wall and said, "Didn't the proctor just say that all the rules have hints? Those knife marks are the hints."

Ink couldn't leave a mark on it, but that knife could.

So it was the designated pen.

Old Baker's eyes lit up, and he muttered, "As expected, still impressive."

William Baker: "Huh?"

"Then let's go find the knife! That counts as helping out a bit too."

Old Baker was just about to turn around and announce this news grandly, when William Baker clamped his mouth shut.

"No, no, no, don't!"

William Baker pretended to be comforting Old Baker, patting Old Baker's back hard and fast, saying, "Don't worry, don't worry, my brother will definitely be fine!"

Old Baker felt like he was about to cough up blood from the beating.

Then he whispered in a very low voice, "My brother said the knife is hidden."

……

The snow was falling even harder.

The wind was unpredictable, blowing from all directions. Everything was shrouded in mist, making it impossible to see the outlines of the mountains and trees, but there were lights in the distance.

Brian Baker walked through the snow with a cold expression.

The moment he was pushed out the door, the house behind him vanished without a trace; even if he wanted to go back, he couldn't.

But one thing could be confirmed—accompanied by the proctor, they wouldn't be smashed to pieces in the snow.

But compared to the snow, the proctor was even more annoying.

The bald guy was still wailing, making him look like a mourner. Fortunately, the road wasn't too long, and before he froze to death, he finally saw a house.

It was a small Western-style building, standing alone, surrounded by woods.

Generally speaking, horror movies love to focus on this kind of house.

"We're here." Number 154 gave Brian Baker a push into the house.

Under the light, Brian Baker's handsome face might have frozen stiff, his thin lips tightly pressed together, his skin cold and pale, exuding an air of indifference and ruthlessness.

Whoever designed the interior of this little building must have been a real character—murals and sculptures filled every corner of the first floor, big and small, so that wherever you turned, you could see a pale, stiff human face.

The bald guy sat right down on the floor as soon as he entered.

Seeing that he was about to faint into a puddle again, Number 922 unhesitatingly dragged him into the hallway.

The bald man's cries came from that direction: "What are you doing? I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I won't mess around anymore! What are you going to do?"

"Are you scared?"

A deep voice suddenly sounded right by his ear.

Mr. 001 was standing next to Brian Baker, taking off his gloves, and asked casually.

Brian Baker glanced at him, brushed past, and walked straight in.

Number 154 looked at Brian Baker, then at 001.

"Why are you looking at me?" Proctor 001 jerked his chin toward the hallway and lazily said, "Go on, someone's in a hurry."

……

The little Western-style building didn't look big, but the hallway was very long.

So long that it made you wonder if you'd run into a looping corridor, never able to get out.

Luckily, it wasn't truly endless.

A few minutes later, 922 stopped in front, opened a door, shoved the bald guy inside, and locked it.

Brian Baker finally spoke coldly, asking, "What's the punishment?"

Number 154 was taken aback and said, "Solitary confinement."

Brian Baker: "…"

He felt like these people might be addicted to playing house.

He glanced at Number 154.

154: "I'm not lying to you, it really is solitary confinement."

For some reason, even though he was a proctor, his voice was unusually tense when he said this.

"You're scared," Brian Baker said. "You've been locked in before?"

154 frowned: "What would I be scared of? You're the one who should be scared."

Just as he finished speaking, Brian Baker felt something odd under his feet—the texture of his shoe soles had changed, becoming a bit... sticky.

Right after, he heard a faint sound of water.

He looked down and saw a thick liquid seeping out from under a door.

That was the door the bald guy was locked behind.

He stared for two seconds before realizing—it was blood.

Within another two seconds, the bald guy's screams came through the door. Because the soundproofing was so good, it sounded muffled and distant. But even so, you could still hear the terror and breakdown in his voice.

"Don't worry, he won't die." 154 said, opening another door across the hall, and while Brian Baker was distracted, shoved him inside: "Make good use of your time."

With that, he slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside with a click.

Brian Baker heard his voice faintly coming through the crack in the door: "It's just the wrong stationery, it's not that serious. The solitary room will just make you relive the most terrifying moments of your life over and over. I'll come get you in three hours."

……

In a room on the second floor of the little Western-style building, Proctor 001 sat in an armchair, resting his chin on one hand.

On the table was a metal bird stand, with a pitch-black bird perched on it.