The old troupe leader didn't know, nor had he heard of, the consequences of deceiving a ghost. After all, any troupe capable of such a thing likely wouldn't get a chance to speak again.

The other members of the troupe, aware that they had violated a taboo, had no choice but to kneel down with the old troupe leader and kowtow to the four sides of the stage, muttering apologies for unintentionally breaking their promise, begging not to be blamed.

The man's face showed no surprise at this scene.

Once everything was arranged, the old troupe leader gathered everyone together for a very serious meeting.

The old troupe leader had never performed a ghost opera, but his master had. In a drunken stupor, his master had once inadvertently mentioned the experience.

The old troupe leader emphasized that no one performing on stage could wear red. Any red parts of the costumes and props had to be wrapped in white linen.

Moreover, whether singing or performing fight scenes, the tips of the spears, blades, and swords were not to be pointed at the audience, nor were they to gaze down at them.

If... if they saw something truly terrifying, they had to remember not to panic or scream. Most importantly, no matter what happened, they couldn't stop.

Stopping a ghost opera midway was a major taboo. Legend had it that ghosts listened to operas to soothe their resentment. If the performance stopped, the ghost's resentment would explode, causing great misfortune!

The percussionists accompanying the performance had the same rules, but with one addition: they had to cover their eyes with white cloth before the ghost opera began and were absolutely forbidden from removing it, no matter what happened.

"Old troupe leader, what... what will happen?" someone from the percussion section asked softly.

"I don't know," the old troupe leader said, slowly shaking his head. "But from what I've heard, you might feel a cold breath on the back of your neck while you're playing, or something might join you, and you'll hear instruments that aren't part of our troupe."

Upon hearing this, everyone's faces turned grim.

"As long as... as long as we don't break these taboos, nothing will happen, right?" someone pressed, a sense of desolate resignation filling the entire troupe.

Before the old troupe leader could speak, the man interjected, "That's right. As long as you cooperate diligently, once this opera is finished, the onlookers nearby will disperse and never cross paths with you again."

But now, even if they were unwilling, they had no choice but to believe the man's words and do their best to perform this ghost opera well tonight.

"What time does the opera start?" someone demanded of the man, their tone harsh.

The man didn't seem to mind, nodding and replying calmly, "Midnight. The transition between yin and yang. The gong will signal the start. The ghost opera begins. The dead appease their grudges, and the living seek survival."

...

The newspaper article went on and on, and everyone read it for a long time. But the story ended abruptly there. Du Moyu snatched the newspaper, flipping it over and searching for more, but there was no continuation.

"Don't bother," Jiang Cheng said, patting him. "There's nothing below."

"That's it? This is a rip-off!" Du Moyu's emotions were fraying. The current situation was strikingly similar to what the newspaper described. Before them was a stage, and the setup matched perfectly.

It was certain that this stage was the one built by those people back then, and the final path to survival for this mission was related to this ghost opera.

If they could learn the rest of the story, they would have a better direction for finding clues.

Unfortunately, there were no ifs.

"Huh? Look, the words on the newspaper... the words on the newspaper are disappearing!" Du Moyu exclaimed.

Actually, he wasn't quite accurate. It wasn't that the words were disappearing, but that they were becoming very blurry, as if they had been soaked in water. In short, they were no longer legible.

"This newspaper is strange. It seems to be a clue guiding us," Xia Meng analyzed. "Think about how much information we just got from the newspaper. Could a single newspaper really record so much?"

Xia Qiang chimed in, "That's right. And haven't you noticed that the narrative angle of the story in the newspaper is a bit odd? The sources are very broad, and some... some even seem to be from the perspective of the victims. People are dead, how could they possibly..."

Xia Qiang didn't finish his sentence, but everyone here was smart enough to understand the implication.

Turning their heads to look at the stage, with the story as a foundation, Jiang Cheng found the stage even more eerie. "Midnight. The transition between yin and yang. The gong will signal the start... The ghost opera begins. The dead appease their grudges, and the living seek survival."

He savored these words, especially the last two sentences.

Appeasing the grudges of the dead was easy to understand. They had already confirmed through their own experiences that there were many wronged souls who had been burned to death here, and there were even wronged souls impersonating teammates, lurking among them.

The survival of the living was important. It was clearly directed at the living among them, meaning that when the ghost opera began, that was when the path to survival would appear.

But Jiang Cheng couldn't figure out that at midnight, the ghosts would also appear around the stage, coming to watch the opera. If they, the living, also came, wouldn't they run into the ghosts? How could there be a path to survival then?

His thoughts were a mess, and the surrounding scenery made him uneasy.

Suddenly, a chime rang out, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

Following the sound, they found a grandfather clock, about the height of a person, in a place that resembled a hotel front desk.

The clock's hands were pointing directly at the 9.

"Nine o'clock," someone blurted out.

Out of habit, Jiang Cheng immediately took out his phone to check the time.

It seemed that this was the time in this world, and most likely it was 9 p.m. after all, they had been in this world for a while, and when they looked out the window, the time on the street seemed to be afternoon, approaching evening.

"Come look at this!" Zhou Tong stood up from behind the long desk at the hotel front desk. Judging by her expression, she had made a new discovery.

When Jiang Cheng walked over, he saw a wooden board embedded in the wall behind the long desk. Some nails were evenly spaced on the board, and some keys were scattered on the nails.

The keys were copper-colored, and gave the impression of having been hung there recently.

Looking closely, he could see numbers written on the wooden board in black pen. Each key had a corresponding number, presumably the room number the key belonged to.

Jiang Cheng's expression remained normal, but his suspicion of Zhou Tong deepened. The location where the keys were kept was quite hidden, and it was difficult to notice without careful observation.

If Zhou Tong was a ghost, she must have her own purpose for doing this.

This was a trap.