...They are calling out to me.
Su Ming'an's steps paused momentarily, with black water rippling beneath his feet. At some point, a liquid resembling rain began to fall from the void star sea, yet it did not wet his clothes, nor could its source be discerned.
The next moment, he opened his eyes, beholding before him—
"Welcome to the checkpoint, contestants of group 1732, number 003: Who is the Mole. This is your ninth round of the game, and I am the host for this checkpoint..."
It was as if he was looking at a classical portrait from the late 19th century.
This was a glass house within a garden, outside of which flourished vibrant flowers. The dense golden afternoon light sliced diagonally over the brim of a hat, soaking half of a young man's body in a warm amber hue. A velvet hat was pressed low, from which strands of curly golden hair escaped like sunlight sneaking out.
