Mo Yi was taken aback for a moment, and quickly supported the wall beside him with his hands, and stood up with difficulty.
Before he straightened up, his eyes went dark, and it was only because Wen Chen supported his arm that he didn't fall directly to the ground. He took a deep breath, stood up relying on Wen Chen's strength, and closed his mouth forcefully. Eyes, it was only then that the feeling of dizziness gradually dissipated a little.
Mo Yi patted Ai Wenchen's palm on his arm, and said in a hoarse voice: "... I'm fine."
After finishing speaking, he pushed away Wen Chen's support, and then walked out the door in the direction of the voice.
As soon as the door was opened, the noisy sound that was blocked outside the door rushed towards him in an instant. Mo Yi frowned subconsciously, stretched out his hand to press his faintly aching temple, and then walked out.
The air was filled with a strong smell of blood, and the icy air was permeated by the fine and dense smell of rust, and it fell heavily.
For a moment, Mo Yi couldn't tell whether the smell came from himself or from other directions in the corridor.
Until he saw the scene in front of him through the shoulders of everyone.
I saw a woman lying on the ground in the corridor covered in blood. Her whole body was covered in thick and turbid blood, as if blood was flowing out from every pore on her body, and the viscous dark red liquid seeped into the corridor. In the thick carpet, the soft long hairs on it are glued into strands, almost blending with the brown-red background.
Unlike the other corpses that died before, this time she was not covered with a snow-white nightgown, but was wearing her original clothes, which were soaked in layers of blood into a crumpled texture, tightly stuck to her body.
Moreover, she did not die in her own room, but in the middle of the corridor.
The faces of everyone around the corpse were solemn and gloomy. Some senior players began to ask in a low voice if anyone saw what happened, but all of them answered in the negative.
Although the player died in an open public place, no one witnessed what happened.
Mo Yi frowned tightly, staring at the corpse that looked particularly miserable, he noticed that the woman's posture was very different from the other dead.
The rest of the dead were lying in their bedrooms with their arms open like martyrs, their limbs calm and serene.
But this player is not... She seemed to have experienced painful struggles before dying, her limbs were tense and twisted, and her whole body was tightly pressed against the carpet in a strange posture.
Generally speaking, the regular death patterns in dungeons are rarely changed easily.
It's not just some simple pattern, it's a disease that's forced to circulate, a deep-rooted compulsive behavior disorder.
Now, that pattern has been broken.
It was as if disorder and chaos had been added to order and law, and this tendency made Mo Yi uneasy.
He raised his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing his brain to clear up, then turned to look at the player standing beside him, and asked, "Which room is the dead player's room?"
Everyone looked at each other for a while, and then one of the players raised his hand hesitantly, pointed in the direction of another corridor, and replied in a voice like a gnat: "It seems to be the first one there..."
Mo Yi nodded, and walked towards the direction pointed by the player together with Wen Chen.
As soon as he entered the door, Mo Yi's eyes were attracted by the oil painting hanging on the door, his heart was shocked, and he stopped subconsciously.
There was a picture of a woman lying on her back in the photo frame, her pale and naked body was lying on a dark red velvet sheet, and there was a deep wound on her slender neck.
And the woman's eyes opened blankly, the black eyeballs were covered with a layer of gray shadow, silently looking at the sky.
This is the painting hanging in Mo Yi's room.
Mo Yi took a deep breath, and slowly narrowed his eyes—it seemed that this dungeon was supposed to attack him, but he was saved by Wen Chen, so the dungeon could only hastily turn to attack another player.
He turned around and walked quickly to his room. As soon as he entered the door, he looked straight at the oil painting in his room.
I saw that the pattern on the canvas in the dark frame had quietly changed at some point—
The picture is black and red, thick black and dazzling red are intertwined and intertwined, and the broken color blocks form a strange circular pattern, which seems to be spinning when you look closely - Mo Yi can't help but think back to the one he saw before. Corridors twisted like abstract paintings.
At this moment, he heard Zhao Nan's voice from the door:
"that… "
Mo Yi was taken aback, subconsciously supported the door with his palm, and used the shadow of the door panel to block the oil painting from everyone's sight.
He turned his head and looked outside the door, only to see Zhao Nan walking towards him, frowning and saying:
"The oil paintings in the room... there is no way to get rid of them..."
The faces of the other players became solemn and gloomy, and they nodded one after another, apparently having the same experience as Zhao Nan.
Hearing this, Mo Yi turned around and walked out without changing his expression. While closing the door of his room behind him, he replied: "Yes, I found out too."
Zhao Nan's expression was serious: "Then what should we do now? Now that Red has died two people, what's next?"
Mo Yi knew that the metaphorical color on his note was white.
Maybe that's why he's so anxious now, after all, if both red and black are over, then the white player should die next.
Mo Yi didn't seem to be listening carefully to Zhao Nan's words, but was immersed in his own thoughts. He said absently, "I have a question... I need to confirm it."
After finishing speaking, before the others could catch up with his thoughts, Mo Yi quickly walked through the crowd and ran down the stairs in a hurry. It seemed that the direction was the side hall where the portraits were hung. Everyone looked at each other blankly for a while, but they saw the same bewilderment on each other's faces. After a few seconds, they finally regained their senses, and hurriedly followed behind Mo Yi to Run to the side hall.
A few minutes later, a group of people poured into the cold and dark side hall again, and several flashlights were lit together, making the room covered in white cloth look more like a morgue.
Mo Yi walked forward slowly and tore off the white cloth covering the oil painting. The dry and cracked oil painting was revealed to everyone again. The woman in the painting had black hair and eyes, and her lips were dark red on her faded face. , a handful of bright blooming roses held in both hands with blurred outlines, looks as delicate and dazzling as blood in the dim room.
He leaned forward and carefully looked at every scene on the canvas, frowning.
Whether it is the three-color sketch in the prompt or the hint behind the oil painting in each player's room, there are only three colors of red, white and black, but the problem is that the portrait hanging in the side hall is an oil painting, and the required colors are far away. More than red, white and black.
Mo Yi's previous guess was that if a player dies, as long as it is of the same color system as the relevant color, it can be filled into the oil painting, which might make sense.
However, now it seems that this is not the case.
It wasn’t very obvious when there was only one color in the picture before, but now that there is one more color, the law finally emerges—no matter whether the color corresponding to the dead player is black or red, what is filled in the oil painting will always be the same. Only the corresponding primary colors: black eyes and black hair, bright red lips and roses, all pure colors without impurities.
So... Logically speaking, if the current law has always been followed.
This oil painting can never be completed - because it is not a three-color sketch, it needs far more than three colors.
Mo Yi's eyebrows were carved with deep vertical marks, and his brows were furrowed as if he had encountered some insurmountable problem. He rubbed the white cloth tightly between his fingertips a little anxiously. wrinkled.
The room was filled with deep silence, Mo Yi was staring at the weird portrait pensively, while other people in the room were staring at Mo Yi who was in deep thought with inexplicable faces.
Zhao Nan finally couldn't bear it any longer, he took a step forward impatiently, his voice was sharp and sharp, as if his throat was choked by some invisible force:
"Hey, we didn't follow you here to watch you stare at a painting! Do you know—"
The rest of his words were stuck in his throat.
Wen Chen withdrew his gaze lightly, his brows and eyes looked a bit hostile under the deep light and shadow, making people afraid to look at him.
Mo Yi seemed to have just been awakened from his own thoughts. He blinked, turned his head to look at Zhao Nan who was standing behind him, and asked belatedly, "... why are you here?"
On Zhao Nan's face, resentment and cowardice were intertwined into a complex expression. He took a deep breath, finally adjusted his emotions, and then asked with some gritted teeth: "—Do you know, what kind of person will die next? player?"
Mo Yi was stunned: "Oh, this one."
He turned his head and glanced at the portrait, and his eyes turned around—the remaining black and red primary colors on it had been filled—he looked at Zhao Nan again, with a calm expression, and said lightly:
"It should be white."
Mo Yi's tone irritated Zhao Nan who had just calmed down, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and a single syllable was forcefully forced out of his throat: "—You!"
At this moment, the familiar bell rang, interrupting Zhao Nan's words. Mo Yi was startled, and subconsciously looked down at the watch on his wrist:
It's already one o'clock in the afternoon.
—From this morning until now, neither the housekeeper nor the maid has appeared once.