He took a deep breath, summoning the last shred of his strength to quickly piece everything together.
The Pig-faced Mask Man had said after the first rock-paper-scissors game that it was merely an example—a demonstration emphasizing the punishment for failure. He promised the subsequent games would be more thrilling.
Clearly, the design of these games wasn't as straightforward as it seemed. If the goal were simply to test physical endurance, what would be the point?
Take, for instance, the games that followed: "One-Two-Three, Wooden Man" and the "Zodiac Deathmatch." They were undeniably more "exciting and engaging."
Moreover, there was a crucial detail he had previously overlooked: the Pig-faced Mask Man seemed to avoid eliminating players too quickly or in large numbers.
In the first game, rock-paper-scissors, he could have set the rule so that only the last survivor would win, which would have eliminated two players. Instead, he chose to remove just one, Zhou Qingqing, as an example.
In the second game, "One-Two-Three, Wooden Man," with 48 players left, 66 iron balls were provided. This ensured almost everyone had a chance to grab one, and only two players were eliminated.
The third game, "Zodiac Deathmatch," involved only four participants, and even then, only one was eliminated.
Even the use of the Stay of Execution card by Player 34 delayed the punishment for failure, further reflecting the Pig-faced Mask Man's intent to avoid swift eliminations.
Why?
From his perspective, it seemed the Pig-faced Mask Man wanted players to die slowly, relishing the spectacle of their struggles like a predator savoring its prey's final desperate moments.
Now came the fourth game: The Hundred-Meter Abyss. This time, ten players were participating. If nine were eliminated in one go, there wouldn't be enough players left for subsequent games.
This was the first contradiction that unsettled Jiang Yu, hinting at something deeper.
The second issue was the vagueness of the rules. In previous games, the rules were always crystal clear:
For rock-paper-scissors, the Pig-faced Mask Man declared, "The last loser among the three will be eliminated."For One-Two-Three, Wooden Man, he said, "When the countdown ends, anyone without an iron ball will be eliminated."For Zodiac Deathmatch, he stated, "The two players with the lowest scores will be eliminated."
Each rule left no room for ambiguity. Victory hinged on specific, straightforward objectives.
But for The Hundred-Meter Abyss, the Pig-faced Mask Man only said: "The one who persists until the end will emerge victorious."
Unlike the previous games, the rule here was notably vague. Worse, he emphasized it multiple times:
"Remember, only those who persist until the very end will win."
Such insistence was unprecedented. The misleading nature of this statement was profound. Everyone naturally assumed that "persisting until the end" meant holding onto the bar until they could hold no more. Below them loomed the hundred-meter abyss, and letting go meant plunging to certain death.
But was it really a hundred-meter abyss?
The Pig-faced Mask Man had demonstrated it at the start by throwing a stone into the void. It took roughly five seconds before they heard the impact, reinforcing the perception of the drop's deadly height.
Or was even that a calculated deception? Was the stone meant to mislead them into believing the abyss was fatal?
A chilling thought seized Jiang Yu. Had he been completely misled from the very start?
If the abyss wasn't truly what it seemed, how could he explain the time it took for the stone to hit the bottom? That detail stubbornly defied logic.
Jiang Yu mentally retraced his steps. After the Zodiac Deathmatch, the Pig-faced Mask Man had offered a seemingly benign reminder:
"Tomorrow's game will test your physical endurance, so make sure to rest well!"
Endurance.
That was the first layer of deception, planting the idea that this was a game of physical stamina. The second came with his repeated emphasis:
"Only those who persist until the end will win."
If the rule had been stated correctly, it would have sounded more like this:
"The player who stays on the bar the longest will win the game. All others will be eliminated."
The omission of the word "bar" was deliberate, yet no one seemed to notice.
That was the second unsettling inconsistency Jiang Yu pieced together.
The third involved the A-grade item card. Its description was straightforward: it allowed the user to spray any player—including themselves—with a high-pressure water jet for one minute.
A-grade items were designed to provide advantages, yet why would anyone need to spray themselves with high-pressure water?
The contradiction nagged at him. The Pig-faced Mask Man wasn't careless; on the contrary, he was highly meticulous. Such items always had their intended purpose. So why this odd design?
The answer could only lie beneath the abyss.
The fourth point crystallized in his mind: the eight players who had already fallen into the abyss hadn't made a sound. When the stone had fallen, they heard the impact clearly. But when the players fell, there was only silence.
Where had the sound gone?
In the chaos of players clinging to the bars and hurling stones at one another, few had noticed this eerie anomaly.
A cold sweat broke out across Jiang Yu's back. The implications of what he had missed were staggering, but now all the pieces were coming together.
The fifth point: the Pig-faced Mask Man had introduced the rule of throwing stones at others. Ostensibly, this was to disrupt players' grip on the bars. But its true purpose was more sinister: to distract them from thinking critically.
Why was he so determined to keep them from thinking? What truth was he hiding?
The sixth point: the Pig-faced Mask Man had never gagged players in previous games. This time, however, he taped everyone's mouths shut, claiming he valued silence. Given his prior behavior, this seemed plausible—but was it really?
He feared something. Specifically, the sound of falling players.
The seventh point: Jiang Yu recalled Dr. Luo Jun's expression during the game—a mix of surprise and hope, not the resignation of someone facing certain death. Before letting go of the bar, Luo Jun had nodded toward Jiang Yu and glanced meaningfully at the abyss.
It wasn't an act of surrender. It was a message.
Finally, the eighth point: the arrangement of the bars felt… off.
A daring thought took shape in Jiang Yu's mind. It was just a hypothesis, but it was enough.
The answer lay below.
His eyes widened as he stared into the abyss beneath him. Despite the icy dread creeping up his spine, he steadied his resolve.
"To be reborn, one must first embrace death."
All this had taken no more than a few seconds of rapid deduction in Jiang Yu's mind.
Player 14, still clinging firmly to his bar, sneered at Jiang Yu, believing his opponent couldn't last much longer. Victory seemed within his grasp.
But then Jiang Yu did something shocking.
He raised his head and looked directly at Player 14. Though his mouth was taped shut, a faint, unnerving smile spread across his face.
And then he let go.
Releasing the bar with both hands, Jiang Yu fell backward into the abyss, his body relaxed as if lying down, the same enigmatic smile frozen on his face.
Player 14 stared in disbelief, a chill crawling up his spine. What was that smile? Why had Jiang Yu let go when he could have lasted longer?
He glanced at the other empty bars, still struggling to comprehend.
Did he… win? Was he truly the last one standing?
Victory seemed certain—yet something felt profoundly wrong.