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"I…" The man in the white coat appeared far calmer than the others. Even the corpse lying on the table failed to unsettle him. "My name is Zhao Haibo. I'm a doctor. I'm sure you could tell from what I'm wearing."
He tugged at his stained lab coat, then continued, "Before I came here, I was performing surgery on a woman. She had an intraventricular tumor that had been growing rapidly over the past six months, causing mild hydrocephalus. Without immediate cranial surgery, her life was in grave danger."
"I opted for a frontal approach, using CT guidance to puncture directly into the ventricle. This type of procedure carries significant risks every time, but the woman chose to take the chance. She wanted to be there for her young son."
"Operating rooms are designed to be completely stable environments, where even a breeze is unacceptable. But no one expected something far more devastating to arrive."
"When the earthquake struck, I had just removed her skull and was cutting through the dura mater—a step that, if mishandled, could lead to traumatic brain injury and irreversible consequences."
"I made the immediate decision to halt the surgery and place the bone flap back over her brain. If I didn't, the dust and debris would endanger her life."
"But it was harder than I expected. I could barely stand, so how could I possibly place a small piece of bone back perfectly?"
"The nurse beside me stumbled into me, throwing me off balance. None of us could stay upright. In the chaos, I covered the woman's head with a sterile drape and turned to lead the evacuation, only for a medical cart to crash into my leg, sending me sprawling."
"Before I could get up, a crack split the ceiling of the operating room, and everything went black."
As Zhao finished, everyone wore uneasy expressions. His story was filled with medical terminology, none of which anyone could easily dispute.
"Dr. Zhao, where are you from?" the muscular man asked nonchalantly.
"I don't feel obligated to answer that," Zhao said coolly. "My story is complete."
The muscular man opened his mouth, hesitated, then stayed silent.
"Is… is it my turn?" A young man with glasses shifted nervously, eyes darting around. "My name is Han Yimo, and I'm a—"
"Hold on." The goat-headed figure abruptly interrupted.
Han Yimo flinched, confused, and turned to look at it. "W-what is it?"
"It's time for an 'intermission,'" the goat-headed figure said with a sly grin. "Twenty minutes of rest."
Everyone exchanged puzzled glances.
An intermission at a time like this?
Qi Xia glanced at the clock in the center of the table. It had been half an hour since they'd woken up. It was now twelve-thirty.
"So this 'break' is mandatory," Qi Xia thought. "At exactly twelve-thirty, no matter who's speaking, the intermission begins…"
The game had only been going for thirty minutes, yet they had to pause for twenty?
Qi Xia frowned. This wasn't a detail worth dwelling on. Whoever created this game was clearly deranged. Applying conventional logic was pointless.
He mentally repeated a phrase over and over: "My name is Li Ming, and I'm from Shandong."
He needed to ingrain it so he could say it automatically when it was his turn.
Everyone waited tensely, looking unsure. Despite being called a "break," the room's atmosphere grew heavier.
"May we… speak?" the muscular man asked the goat-headed figure.
"Oh, certainly. This is your free time. I have no authority to interfere."
The muscular man nodded and turned to Zhao. "Dr. Zhao, where are you really from?"
Zhao's expression darkened. "You seem to have taken issue with me from the start. Why should I tell you where I'm from?"
"Don't misunderstand. I mean no harm," the man said in a steady voice. "The more details you provide, the more credible your story becomes. Everyone else has shared their origins; there's no need for you to hide yours."
"The more details, the more credible?" Zhao smirked. "I only know that 'the more you say, the more mistakes you make.' If the rules are absolute, my account has no issues. Besides, I don't trust any of you."
"That's a bit unfair," the man responded. "There are nine of us, but only one enemy. If you'd cooperate, we could work together to identify the liar. The more you conceal, the more suspicious you seem. This is the second time I'm asking—will you keep hiding?"
The muscular man was clearly skilled at interrogation, forcing Zhao into a logical corner with just a few sentences.
His implication was clear: only the liar had no need to trust others since they already knew their own identity. By staying guarded, Zhao risked becoming a target.
But Zhao, a neurosurgeon, was no ordinary person. He scoffed and countered, "Why don't you answer first? Who are you, and what do you do?"
"Me?" The muscular man looked momentarily taken aback.
"Yes. Since you pressed me after my story, I can ask you before yours." Zhao smirked. "Fair, isn't it?"
After a moment's thought, the muscular man nodded. "You're right. I have nothing to hide. My name is Li Shangwu, and I'm a detective."
A collective murmur swept through the group.
At that moment, the word "detective" brought an unexpected sense of reassurance.
"You're a police officer?!" Zhao's eyes widened.
No wonder this man had been probing since the beginning. He was also the first to propose the idea of getting everyone out alive. Maybe he truly intended to save them all.
Zhao's demeanor softened. "If that's the case, I apologize for my earlier attitude. I'm from Jiangsu."
The man with the floral tattoos, Qiao Jiajin, looked troubled. "Dr. Zhao, do you really trust this Officer Li?"
"Hm?" Zhao turned to him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Qiao tapped the table lightly. "This isn't 'storytime.' That means… anyone can lie right now."
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