Everyone sat down anxiously, gathering around the stove in a daze.

John Baker supported her back and carefully moved over. She watched Brian Baker for a while; the firelight outlined his profile, making him look a bit gentler than usual, but his lowered brows and eyes still carried a hint of indifference.

With a face full of guilt, she said, "I'm sorry."

Brian Baker looked up at her.

John Baker said softly, "That ink... I was the one who wrote it, but you got punished for it. I wanted to apologize to you before, but before I could, you were taken away by the proctor."

Brian Baker: "..."

John Baker said, "I know an apology doesn't help, but if something like this happens again, I'll take your place."

Brian Baker: "..."

He glanced at John Baker with his eyelids lowered, then looked away and continued warming himself by the fire. "No need."

John Baker opened her mouth, wanting to say something more, but in the end, she said nothing.

She sat there in a daze for a while, then suddenly asked Brian Baker, "Aren't you afraid?"

Brian Baker stretched out one leg. The stove was so warm that it made him feel sleepy again.

After a moment of silence, he spoke lazily, "Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of dying, afraid of breaking the rules... or anything, really. Everyone's curious. You seem so impressive, like you're not afraid of anything."

"Is being afraid useful?"

John Baker nodded and said softly, "That's true, but it's hard to control. I'm really scared..."

Brian Baker didn't even look up and said, "You're not that timid. You even dared to write on the wall with ink whose ingredients you didn't even know."

He spoke effortlessly, as if he couldn't even be bothered to move his lips. His voice was low, with a cold texture to it. But warmed by the fire, there was no trace of blame in his tone.

John Baker lowered her head, still too guilty to know what to say.

She held it in for a long time before finally squeezing out, "Actually, I..."

But before she could finish, she noticed that Brian Baker had one leg propped on the edge of the chair, his elbow resting on his knee, and seemed about to fall asleep again.

She froze for a moment, then swallowed her words. She didn't wake Brian Baker, and slowly moved back to sit beside the two old ladies.

"Why did he fall asleep again?" one of the old ladies whispered. "Did he not sleep before he came?"

William Baker vaguely heard this and glanced at Brian Baker, thinking, No, my brother is always this sleepy, even after sleeping.

But John Baker didn't say much. She leaned against the old lady, her gaze falling on a distant corner of the wall, seemingly lost in thought again.

...

No one knew how much time had passed when the clock on the cupboard ticked softly.

Beijing time, exactly four in the morning.

A sudden rooster crow startled everyone awake.

They sat up abruptly, looking at each other in confusion, only then realizing that they had dozed off without noticing.

William Baker slapped himself twice, feeling a bit more awake.

As soon as he put his hands down, he heard a strange sound.

"Shh—"

He raised his hand to signal, and asked softly, "Did you guys hear that?"

"What?" Old Baker stared at his son, confused by the ghostly talk.

"You didn't hear it?" William Baker said. "It's... a kind of creaking sound."

The room instantly fell silent; no one dared to move.

Everyone looked suspicious and tense, holding their breath to listen.

Sure enough, after a few seconds,

The creaking sound started up again, and this time, everyone heard it.

It was as if... something was dragging a heavy object through the snow outside.

That sickly, bamboo-pole-like guy suddenly made a gesture, pointing outside the window, mouthing, "Over here."

Before he could even close his mouth, the door creaked open.

A pitch-black shadow was cast from the doorway.

Then, a pale-faced man dragged a hemp rope into the room.

He had a broad frame but wasn't tall. His face looked like overexposed paper, and his eyes were strange—the black pupils were so large that there was barely any white left.

He hunched his back, slowly coiling the rope, the wide-backed knife and small trap rings at his waist clinking together.

No one in the room spoke; everyone watched as he dragged a burlap sack inside and then closed the door.

Only then did he turn to look at the fire, his pitch-black eyes blinking twice. "Ah... how nice, guests have arrived."

Everyone: "..."

...

The one causing all this commotion was the hunter A they had been waiting for.

He slowly rubbed his hands together and said, "With the mountain sealed off by snow these past two days, I knew there would be more fo—uh, more guests coming."

Guests: "..."

"It's really cold outside," he said slowly and softly. "The snow is piled so high that everyone is hiding away, and it's almost impossible to find any prey. It took me a very, very long time to dig one out."

He kicked the burlap sack and grinned at everyone, his mouth almost splitting to his ears. "You guys are really lucky, just in time for my mealtime."

He sighed again and explained, "There's nothing I can do. There’s so little on the snowy mountain, and it’s always a long time before a group comes by. I have to tighten my belt just to survive. So I only eat two meals a day."