Chapter 12: “No Doubt About It—Chapter One’s Main Questline!”

In most games, the main storyline unlocked automatically once players hit a certain level. This group of players naturally assumed the same.

“Starting with a shipwreck where no one survived, the entire Heart Washing Manor is shrouded in gloom. We players act as confidantes, helping crack the case from the sidelines and easing everyone’s worries? Hmm, that’s an intriguing opener.”

“This game’s so immersive! The NPCs all look genuinely heartbroken.”

Watching this bunch of players dive into a heated discussion as if no one else was around, the chamber managers—who had still been wallowing in grief—could only stare in bewilderment. “???”

The somber mood lightened inexplicably in an instant.

That very morning, the players escorted Ruan Xuezong down the mountain in a grand procession. Some led horses, others dashed ahead with lightness skills, and they all finally assembled at the Jiangnan City docks.

The docks bustled with activity. Ships prepared to depart or freshly moored dotted the waterfront, while dockworkers hauled sacks of goods and merchants haggled over deals.

Where there were crowds, there was information—perfect for an investigation.

Stalls shaded by umbrellas lined the riverbank. At Ruan Xuezong’s subtle glance, Linghu Xiao picked a breakfast stall at random, cleared his throat, and asked, “Ma’am, have you heard about the Heart Washing Manor shipwreck?”

“Of course I have!” The stall owner was a middle-aged woman named Granny Liu. Her eyes lit up at the topic, and she launched into chatter. “This dock sees folks coming and going every day—who hasn’t heard? And while you’re here, my tofu pudding, steamed buns, and fried dough sticks are tasty and cheap. Just three coppers’ll fill you up! Travelers and dock hands alike love my spot. You young heroes should give ’em a try…”

“These past couple days, every customer at my stall’s been buzzing about it. Everyone says Heart Washing Manor’s in a bad way this time—lost a fortune, might even go bankrupt filling that hole.”

After all, those jewels, ornaments, and fine furs had been top-grade goods destined for the Capital City’s Treasure Pavilion.

Granny Liu gossiped with animated flair, blissfully unaware that the very parties involved stood right under her nose.

“Some superstitious types even muttered that Heart Washing Manor’s caravan skipped checking the almanac before setting out, picked an inauspicious day, and forgot to offer sacrifices to the River God. That’s what pissed off the River God and flipped their ships! All it would’ve taken was a fresh roasted suckling pig on an altar with three sticks of incense to avoid the disaster. Such a shame!”

Granny Liu could talk the hind leg off a donkey. The players tasked with note-taking hung on her every word, completely sidetracked. By the end, their heads were filled with “River God strikes back, capsizing the fleet” and “fresh roasted suckling pig.”

Ruan Xuezong knew the players were no match for her in chit-chat. He interjected gently, “Thank you, Granny Liu. Do you know who at the docks first spotted the bodies? After the ship sank, did anyone see floating crates from the cargo?”

Granny Liu replied, “Sure do! Old Tan the fisherman found them. He took his rickety old boat—centuries since it saw a repair—out to the riverbank for a catch. He netted one body, then another. Scared him half to death! He rushed off to report it to the officials. As for cargo crates on the river… no idea. Might’ve been valuables inside, but alas, no luck for me. Sigh…”

By now, Ruan Xuezong realized Granny Liu had no other key intel.

He should question more folks at the docks. As the manor’s lord, Ruan Xuezong’s greatest strength was this: with a single word from him, the players would run themselves ragged.

He settled leisurely into a cool-tea shop for a drink.

“Report, Young Master! I asked the other NPCs… er, passersby at the docks. Their stories match Granny Liu’s—no one saw the sunken ship’s cargo. They think it sank to the bottom.” The reporting player clutched a little notebook crammed with testimonies from over a dozen people, neatly written and thorough.

“You did well,” Ruan Xuezong said, giving him an approving look. He handed over a cup of cool tea—the unspoken message: Keep up the good work.

The player flushed with excitement, gulping down the tea like it was nectar from the gods. Everyone’s game panels featured a Ruan Xuezong favorability leaderboard, a cutthroat affair where a single point could shuffle seven or eight players.

They watched in real time as that tea-drinking player shot up from thirty-fifth place by seven spots. The others went on high alert.

Sichuan Pepper Little Bunny wasn’t about to be outdone. She stepped forward eagerly. “Report, Young Master! I’ve got a find too!” She instantly drew Ruan Xuezong’s attention.

“I spoke to Fisherman Old Tan. He said yeah, two days ago at dawn around five—er, mao hour, before sunrise—he was out fishing. ‘I cast my net, and soon something tugged hard. It was heavy. Figured it was a big one. Pulled it up and nearly pissed myself—a bloated corpse! Then another, strung like grapes on a vine. Scared me straight to the officials.'”

She recounted the terrified old fisherman’s statement verbatim, then continued, “Old Tan rallied folks from the shore to help haul bodies. They pulled up over ten in total—escorts and caravan bosses among them. Everyone involved, Old Tan included, said they only saw corpses, no valuables.”

The players had pooled their statements beforehand, racking their brains but finding nothing suspicious.

Five-Colored Mottled Black even thought “Tales of the Water Ghost’s Vengeance” could make a killer topic for the next serialized post—water weeds seeking substitutes, sunken crates claimed by the River God, and all that jazz.

Ruan Xuezong had no idea about the players’ wild imaginations.

After she finished, he didn’t skimp on praise. “You’re impressive too.” He boosted Sichuan Pepper Little Bunny’s favorability by two points, propelling her past Linghu Xiao to the top of the leaderboard.

“Holy shit, I’m number one!” She clenched her fists in glee, barely resisting a victory jig.

The investigation shook up everyone’s rankings. Those bumped down panicked.

Considering the others’ efforts even without standout results, Ruan Xuezong tossed a token point of favorability to every player who’d gathered intel. Amid the cheers, he announced they’d follow the leads to the wreck itself.

The wreck was the ship they’d salvaged, hauled up with tools and the labor of over a hundred dockworkers.

It now sat in a corner of the docks, taking up space. Officials planned to burn it soon, just as Manager Cao had said. Sure enough, there was a hole in the hull.

Ruan Xuezong traced the splintered gash, vividly imagining the water flooding in, the raging current drowning the escorts and merchants.

The players poked around in fascination.

“Whoa, this dampness is next-level. Feels like I stepped into a freshly salvaged wreck.”

The freighter was mid-sized, just two decks. The river had swept most things away, leaving only soggy clothes and water weeds—no real clues.

Dusk was falling.

Seeing Ruan Xuezong standing with hands clasped behind his back, the players figured the inspection was over. But he turned and said coolly, “Tonight, I’m heading to a creepy, eerie spot. No limit on company—just one rule: the braver, the better.”

The players shrugged it off, thumping their chests. “What spot? Don’t worry, Zongzong—we’re players! We’ve had pro training. Nothing scares us!”

“The mortuary,” Ruan Xuezong replied calmly.

The word dropped like a stone, but to his surprise, the players showed no reaction—just blank stares.

Ruan Xuezong sighed, realizing he’d overestimated their grasp of rivers-and-lakes lore.

“I’m here! Just checked the interstellar wiki. Mortuary: a place to stash unburied bodies and coffins. Ancient Earth had a three-day wake tradition—safer than leaving corpses out for stray cats, dogs, or body-snatchers up to no good.”

Linghu Xiao finished reading. For the first minute, the players barely reacted.

In the second, eyes widened one by one. “Holy shit, that’s creepy!”

“Isn’t an ancient Earth mortuary just a morgue?” They huddled instinctively, shuddering off goosebumps.

“Morgue?” The slow ones finally got it and slapped their thighs. “Holy shit, that’s intense! Count me in! We cleared Giant Mountain Asylum—no sweat!”

Some sat on the fence—thrilled yet terrified, torn between skipping the next task and missing plot. Exhibit A: Five-Colored Mottled Black.

Ruan Xuezong: “…”

Rice really fattened all kinds.

Low, unbroken clouds hung in the sky. Beneath the pitch-black night, the wilds stretched empty. A compound draped in white banners stood outside Jiangnan City. What should have been a still, windless night echoed with distant howling dogs.

From the weeds emerged the players, right on time. Ruan Xuezong counted heads—not a single no-show, even those who’d sobbed “the cabinet moved, I’m out!” before dark.

The mortuary had limited space. He couldn’t stop the bold ones, but the timid would just drag things down. Better to distract them, give ’em a role so they wouldn’t quake like tag-alongs.

With that in mind, he pointed. “Look over there.”

A living figure in coarse hemp stood tall, his shadow flickering through an oil lamp onto the banners.

Ruan Xuezong explained, “That’s the night watchman—aka the guard. Agile fellow, second-rate expert back in his days—not your average joe. He watches the bodies like a hawk. No one gets in, not even officials. Passing him to check the corpses won’t be easy.”

He paused. Savvy players caught on, eyes lighting up. “Got it! Zongzong, you want us to distract him!”

Ruan Xuezong nodded. “Any method works. The longer you keep him busy, the better our odds of cracking the case while we inspect.”

One player was target practice for a second-rater, but a horde of unkillable players? They’d tie him up plenty.

The group split into teams and sprang the lure-the-tiger-from-its-mountain ploy.