Replica 07

"Is that man Fang Zhiyi's boss?"

"He must know something."

"How heartless—knowing there's danger but still sending his subordinate in."

"Grab him and make him talk!"

"You think Brother Fang doesn’t know? He definitely knows."

They discussed among themselves, the screen before them radiating an air of oppression and despair.

Suddenly, Fang Zhiyi laughed. That single chuckle sent an inexplicable shiver down the spines of every viewer. The eerie livestream chat exploded with bewildered exclamations.

"The devil is smiling again!"

"He laughed like this last time too!"

"Scary scary scary scary!"

"Ahhhhhhhhh!"

Fang Zhiyi wasted no time in showing them what true villainy looked like.

Standing on a bustling street, he raised a sign and announced to the passing NPCs that a nearby house was hosting a promotional event—their manager’s wife was celebrating her 80th birthday, and anyone who visited the house and registered their name would be entered into a prize draw!

Even though these were just NPCs in the game’s dungeon, the dungeon had endowed them with human emotions—and a penchant for petty greed was no exception.

Hidden in the shadows of the decrepit house, a female ghost lurked in the crawlspace between the ceiling and roof, her throat emitting a raspy, unsettling "cough-cough-cough." Earlier, she had killed an unfortunate intruder, and the scent of death still intoxicated her.

But then she froze. Another visitor?

Every movement in the house was under her watch. Anyone who entered would be marked by her "brand," doomed to experience endless terror.

Wait—why were there more people coming?

Twisting her body unnaturally, she slithered toward a small window and pressed her face against the glass.

Her eyes widened. The front door of her home was wide open, and a steady stream of people was pouring in. The street outside was packed!

Rumors were spreading like wildfire.

"Did you hear? There’s an old house giving away prizes!"

"No, no—I heard there’s treasure hidden inside!"

"You’re both wrong! My idol is supposedly there right now!"

"Word is, the owner is filthy rich—just walking in gets you cash!"

Absurd rumors multiplied rapidly. Meanwhile, Fang Zhiyi, back in his office, casually dragged the mangled, terror-stricken corpse of the manager into a storage room before settling down to brew himself a leisurely cup of tea.

"!!!!!!!! What kind of logic is this?!"

"Didn’t they say entering means death? Can that ghost even handle this many?"

"...Fang Zhiyi is a rumor-mongering mastermind."

"There must be hundreds already inside!"

"Correction—that was just the beginning. Now even more are swarming in, drawn by the crowd."

In the ghostly livestream chat:

"Oh god, this is brutal."

"The rule 'enter and die' is fine, but killing this many people...?"

"That human is downright malicious."

"That female ghost is in for a nightmare."

"Terrifying terrifying terrifying!"

By the time Fang Zhiyi finished his tea and took a nap, he finally strolled out of his shop, unhurried.

Pushing through the crowd, he spotted a beggar frantically waving his arms, trying to stop people from entering the courtyard. Fang Zhiyi strode over, grabbed the beggar by the collar, and—drawing the attention of onlookers—shouted, "You greedy rat! Trying to hog it all for yourself? I just went in, and the owner handed me a fat stack of cash!"

The crowd erupted into chaos.

The beggar gaped at Fang Zhiyi, who then dragged him away.

"Anyone who denies others happiness deserves a lesson!"

Some even nodded at Fang Zhiyi in gratitude.

Back in the office, Fang Zhiyi tossed the beggar into the storage room and left without a second glance.

After three more trips, he repeated the trick and hauled back four more people.

When he finally released them from the storage room, they were nearly catatonic with fear—thanks to the horrifying corpse inside.

"Alright, talk. What do you know?" Fang Zhiyi demanded. Of course, he already knew the truth, but for the sake of procedure, he had to put in the effort.

When the group remained silent, trembling, he pointed at the storage room. "That guy? I put him there. I can just as easily toss you into that house."

Their terror deepened.

"First, he floods the haunted house with cannon fodder. The ghost’s activity would naturally draw the attention of those in the know—who’d either try to stop others or watch from a distance..." mused an analyst. "Fang Zhiyi’s approach is unconventional. He used this chaos to filter out the informants."

"Wish he hadn’t resorted to threats, though."

When Fang Zhiyi returned to the house, even he had to whistle at the sight.

"What a mess."

The once-quiet courtyard now looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Impatient visitors had torn down the walls for easier access, and the constant foot traffic had trampled the garden into oblivion.

The house itself fared worse—doors hung broken, furniture looted.

"...Doesn’t seem so scary anymore."

"Am I the only one still hung up on the backstory? That mother and son suffered so much!"

"That girl’s tip was right—help the ghost find her son’s remains hidden in the house, and her grudge will vanish."

"Whoa, Brother Fang’s going in."

This time, Fang Zhiyi strode straight into the courtyard, then stepped inside without hesitation.

The interior was just as ravaged—walls smashed, belongings stolen.

"The power of the masses," Fang Zhiyi remarked dryly.

Meanwhile, the ghost hiding in the ceiling was at her wit’s end. She had already killed seven people. According to the rules of the copy, she needed to kill... 18,641 more.

Just now, another entered. Make that 18,642.

The ghost felt like crying. For the first time, she realized killing could be so exhausting.

In the ghostly livestream, countless specters sympathized with her plight.

18,642 targets to hunt down? The mere thought was despairing.

And it wasn’t over. Some of the scammed, unwilling to suffer alone, kept spreading the rumors.