The beam of an ordinary civilian flashlight wavered. The surroundings reminded Zhang Anzai a little of the Mountain Peddler Supermarket from back then: a maze of aisles and countless shelves.
This place was even more complicated. The shelves were taller than the ones over there, and when they weren't packed full, you could see through the gaps to the other side.
As he walked through the pitch-black factory, the surroundings appeared and disappeared between the props stacked on the shelves.
"The patrol route is to go along the left side of the factory first and check those prop halls, then circle through the inside of the factory and head to the right, toward the workshop."
Zhang Anzai recalled the route.
Although it was pitch-black all around him, he could still tell where he was.
Still, the prop warehouse at night really was a little strange. He hadn't seen the anomaly at the heart of this instance yet, but walking around here was already making him uncomfortable.
Countless mismatched props were piled on the shelves, making everything look chaotic and making it hard to assess the situation at a glance.
Numerous red-and-white paper lanterns hung several meters overhead, their light shining through them only faintly.
Antiqued bronze swords and glinting blades with fake bloodstains were piled densely on the shelves nearby.
Standing beside the shelves, Zhang Anzai thought, Since this instance is bound to be dangerous, maybe I should take some equipment...
The shelves in front of him were filled with knives and swords of all sizes. They were probably all blunt, and since they were mass-produced, their craftsmanship was likely even worse than the Longquan swords sold on Taobao.
"But at least they're metal. Even if I use one like an iron bar, that's better than going empty-handed..."
Most instances were strange, but not all of them were impossible to beat head-on. Play enough, and sooner or later you ran into a monster with a health bar.
So he held the flashlight in his mouth and rummaged through the shelves, making the props clatter.
Zhang Anzai pulled out a long-tailed taiji sword that looked like it belonged in an old martial arts movie.
Then... the blade swung before his eyes like a pendulum.
"Couldn't they at least make it heavier? I could beat an enemy to death with it." Zhang Anzai helplessly pinched the prop sword between two fingers and tossed it back.
Then he took down a sword that looked well made, with the elegant style of a xianxia weapon.
Then, for the first time in his life, he found himself wishing young male actors would work out more. "Plastic? This is even lighter than the last one."
That was how props were. Real, heavier swords were beyond his strength anyway, but these ones made for filming were just too light.
Zhang Anzai helplessly rummaged through the pile again.
"Hiss..." The moment he touched one of them, Zhang Anzai instinctively pulled his hand back.
Perhaps thanks to the dexterity granted by his Dexterous talent, his fingers hadn't been cut.
It was buried beneath a pile of knives and swords: a very dull little knife. A little longer than his palm, with a thin, curved blade covered in rust.
No matter how worn it was, it was still a real knife. The edge retained a little sharpness, enough to cut his finger if he wasn't careful.
"How did a real one get mixed in here..." Zhang Anzai stared at it in alarm. The rust had a reddish tinge. Though he couldn't smell blood, the blood-colored rust still looked unnervingly real and suspicious.
Zhang Anzai glanced around. The one-sided beam of light left the things on the shelves as nothing but irregular outlines in his eyes.
At a glance, it was impossible to tell whether the shelves were piled with props or whether some bizarre creature was crouched in the shadows.
The surroundings were completely silent, without a sound. Perhaps because of that, Zhang Anzai felt that his breathing was especially loud.
Zhang Anzai had a bad feeling. "This knife is probably connected to the instance boss. Could it be... a weapon that was used until it broke?"
He still remembered the name of this instance: Flaying Labyrinth. It practically spelled things out. There probably weren't many twists and turns here; it was the kind of bloody survival game where people were hunted down.
Whatever the case, he didn't touch the knife again. Instead, he put the pile of blades back where it had been.
The knife was too small and too dull; it could only cut through skin. It had probably been sharpened countless times, and felt so thin it could break at any moment.
It was still covered in rust, but he couldn't exactly bet on the boss dying of tetanus.
He hurriedly rummaged through another pile of knives and swords and found a bronze prop sword weighing about a pound. It had no edge, but it was heavy enough, and the hilt was wrapped in cord.
"Phew..." Zhang Anzai took a deep breath, then raised the flashlight, gripped the sword, and continued farther inside.
"Click, click..." Only the keys jingled at the entrance to the dim inner hall. Zhang Anzai opened the door and immediately jumped in fright.
Inside the hall, which was about the size of two ordinary bedrooms, two neat rows of mannequin figures stood on either side, dressed in all kinds of period costumes.
Behind them stood rows of long clothing racks like those in a clothing store, packed full of outfits, each a complete costume.
Under normal circumstances, even in a dimly lit place, this should feel like walking through a clothing store. There shouldn't be much to fear.
But as soon as he raised the flashlight and took a couple of steps inside, the mass-produced period costumes hanging on the racks around him suddenly began to flutter.
"?" Zhang Anzai swung the flashlight toward them, the Bronze Sword in his other hand nearly coming down on them.
But when he turned back, a night breeze suddenly brushed across his face, as if an invisible hand had gently stroked it.
In the stillness, every sound seemed amplified. Though it was only a faint breeze, Zhang Anzai could almost hear it blowing.
Only then did he realize that the ventilation window in the inner hall hadn't been closed.
He walked over to the outer wall and reached up to pull shut the long, narrow window, which was a little higher than his head.
"Click..." The air in the room suddenly felt stuffy. The dirty, unwashed window blocked what little moonlight there was.
Zhang Anzai turned around. To close the window, he'd walked all the way to the back of the inner hall. Now, countless mannequins stood between him and the door.
He tightened his grip on the Bronze Sword without realizing it and hurried toward the exit.
Maybe it was because he was nervous and his pupils had constricted, but he felt as though the mannequins around him were drawing closer. By the time he reached the door, the figures on either side seemed about to brush against his shoulders.
Their faces were completely blank. None of them seemed to have turned to look at him, yet the sight still sent a chill down his spine.
Zhang Anzai didn't risk turning around to check. He locked the door and left.
He swung the flashlight behind him, sweeping its beam across the countless shelves in the factory. Nothing seemed to have changed.
He walked along the shelves and came to the entrance of the next inner hall.
"Click, click, click..." Zhang Anzai turned the key and opened the heavy lock.
He had just pushed open the door, heavier than the one on the other side, when a chill suddenly swept over him.
"This side holds props that are harder to preserve, things like famille rose porcelain, so it should be kept at a constant temperature and humidity. That's not unusual..."
Zhang Anzai was still trying to reassure himself when he saw a wide pool of viscous, scarlet liquid spread across the floor.
Beneath the flashlight beam, it slowly flowed through the doorway and reached his feet.
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