An old tungsten-filament bulb hung from the center of the room by a black wire, flickering with a dim glow.

The silence in the room spread like ink dropped into clear water, slowly seeping and expanding.

In the very center of the room stood a large, weathered round table. At its heart sat a small, ornate clock, its intricate patterns gleaming faintly in the faint light as it ticked steadily.

Around the table sat ten people, each dressed in different, somewhat tattered clothing. Their faces bore smudges of dirt, and their expressions seemed lost in deep sleep.

Some slumped over the table, others leaned back in their chairs, all sound asleep.

Standing silently among them was a man wearing a black suit and a goat-headed mask.

His gaze, sharp and curious, pierced through the hollowed-out eyes of the weathered mask as he studied the ten individuals before him.

The clock on the table began to chime as its hands aligned at "twelve." From somewhere far beyond the room, a deep, resonant toll echoed faintly.

At that exact moment, the ten men and women seated around the table began to stir.

As they gradually regained consciousness, their eyes wandered about the room in confusion, then to each other with growing suspicion.

It was clear that none of them remembered how they had come to be here.

"Good morning, my nine guests," the goat-headed man said, breaking the silence. "I'm delighted to meet you all. You've been asleep before me for twelve hours now."

The sight of the man, with his strange and grotesque mask, was enough to send a chill through the group under the dim flicker of the bulb.

The mask appeared to be crafted from a real goat's head, its fur matted and discolored, clumped together in tangled knots.

The hollowed-out eyes of the mask revealed a pair of cunning, almost mocking eyes.

Every movement he made carried a faint, musky goat-like odor, mixed with an unsettling whiff of decay.

A man with tattooed arms froze for a moment before the absurdity of the situation dawned on him. Hesitantly, he spoke to the goat-headed figure, "You… who are you?"

"I'm sure that's a question on all your minds," the goat-headed man replied with a flourish of his hands, his voice brimming with delight, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Seated furthest from the goat-headed figure was a young man named Qi Xia. He quickly scanned the room, his expression growing more solemn with every passing second.

How strange—this room was utterly bizarre.

There were no doors, only walls on all four sides.

In other words, the room was completely sealed, with its walls, ceiling, and floor enclosing them entirely. And yet, in the very center of this confined space stood a table.

If that was the case, how had they gotten here? Could it be that they were brought inside first, and then the walls were built around them afterward?

Qi Xia scrutinized the surroundings again. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all marked with intersecting lines that divided the surfaces into large squares.

Another thing that caught Qi Xia's attention was the goat-headed man's use of the phrase "nine guests."

No matter how he counted, there were ten people seated around the table. Including the goat-headed figure himself, there were eleven people in total.

What did "nine" mean?

Qi Xia reached into his pocket, only to confirm what he had suspected—his phone was gone.

"There's no need for introductions," a cold, sharp woman suddenly said to the goat-headed man. "I suggest you stop whatever it is you're doing. I suspect you've been holding us here for over twenty-four hours already, which constitutes illegal detention. Every word you say will be recorded and used against you as evidence."

She spoke with a detached calmness, brushing the dust from her sleeves with visible disdain, as if being dirty was more offensive to her than the fact of her captivity.

Her words snapped the others back to reality. Regardless of who this person was, the fact that he had managed to detain ten people was already a serious crime.

"Wait a minute," a middle-aged man in a white coat interrupted, his gaze turning toward the cold woman. "We've only just woken up. How do you know we've been held here for twenty-four hours?"

His tone was steady but piercing, his question cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

Unbothered, the cold woman gestured toward the clock on the table. "Look at the clock. The hands point to twelve. I have a habit of staying up late, and the last time I checked the clock at home, it was already midnight. That means we've been unconscious for at least twelve hours."

She then pointed toward the walls. "And look around. This room has no doors. It must have taken some effort to get us inside. Since he claims we've been asleep for twelve hours, and the clock's hands have already gone around twice, it's reasonable to suspect that we've been here for more than twenty-four hours. Do you have a problem with that?"

The man in the white coat cast a cold glance at her, suspicion lingering in his eyes. Her composure in such a situation was unsettling.

Would a normal person remain so calm and logical in the face of such an abduction?

At that moment, a burly young man in a black T-shirt asked, "Goat-head, why are there ten people here when you said there were nine?"

The goat-headed man didn't answer immediately, maintaining a silent, ominous stance.

"I don't care how many people are here," the tattooed man snarled, slamming his hand against the table as he tried to stand. But his legs gave out beneath him, leaving him unable to rise. Frustrated, he pointed a shaking finger at the goat-headed man and barked, "You're messing with the wrong guy. I'll kill you for this."

His outburst sobered the others, who realized that subduing the goat-headed figure might be their only way out.

But as they attempted to stand, they found their legs equally weak and unresponsive, as if something had been injected into them.

With no other choice, the tattooed man resorted to shouting curses, his voice echoing through the room.

Qi Xia, however, remained silent. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he stared at the clock on the table, his mind racing.

Things were more complicated than they seemed.

The goat-headed man had mentioned "nine participants." If there were ten people here, then one of them must not be a participant.

Who were they?

Among the six men and four women, was one of them the perpetrator?

The goat-headed man moved slowly, stepping behind a young man seated nearby. The others followed his gaze and noticed something strange—the young man was smiling.

Despite the dirt on his face, there was an unsettling happiness in his expression.

The goat-headed man raised his hand, resting it on the back of the young man's head.

The young man's smile grew wider, almost euphoric, as if he knew exactly what was coming.

With a sickening thud, the goat-headed man slammed the young man's head onto the table.

A spray of pink and white matter erupted like spilled paint, splattering across the table and onto the faces of everyone present.

The young man's skull had been shattered completely against the table's surface.

From far outside the room, the deep toll of a bell echoed once more.

Qi Xia, sitting closest to the body, felt something warm and sticky land on his face. He reached up to touch it, his fingers coming away slick with an unidentifiable substance.

Though he prided himself on his strong nerves, his hands began to tremble involuntarily.

A young woman sitting to the victim's right froze for three seconds before letting out a bloodcurdling scream, her face contorted in terror.

The scream shattered whatever composure the others had left.

How could someone break a human skull—one of the hardest bones in the body—against a table with their bare hands?

Was this goat-headed man even human?

And how did such a frail-looking figure possess such terrifying strength?

The goat-headed man's voice broke through the chaos.

"The reason there are ten of you," he said coldly, "is because I needed one of you to quiet the rest."