The road in the center of town was a slanted strip of yellow dirt. The buildings lining it were all the same—low, squat houses made of old wood and mud bricks. As Shen Yan walked, he scanned his surroundings in silence.
The townspeople were strange.
They weren't noisy, nor were they quiet. It was a kind of stillness—as if their souls had been plucked out.
Some smiled, but never showed their teeth.
Some wept, but made no sound.
The most unsettling thing was their eyes—they were always watching others, rarely making direct eye contact.
It was as if... everyone was watching everyone else, yet terrified of being watched themselves.
Shen Yan didn't dare move too fast. He played the part of a wandering drifter just entering the town, head down and steps light—until he saw a tavern with its lights still on.
A sign hung above the door:
["The House of the Polite."]
He pushed the door open. The air inside smelled of wood, tobacco, and a faint hint of burnt caramel. A waitress in a white shirt stood behind the counter, mechanically polishing a glass. Her brown hair hung by her shoulders. She glanced at him—calm, emotionless—as if waiting for him to speak first.
Shen Yan paused, then offered a faint smile.
"...Could I have a glass of water?"
The waitress nodded and placed a cup in front of him.
Shen Yan kept his eyes moving—two townsfolk sat in a corner, saying nothing, only tapping their glasses with their fingers, rhythmically, like they were counting something.
An old man sat by the fireplace, staring into the flames, murmuring, "Who's tomorrow? Who's tomorrow?"
Shen Yan asked nothing. He sat down and pretended to drink.
[Instance Info Update: You have successfully avoided an "Attention Drawn" check.]
A chill ran down his spine.
—Even your tone of voice can trigger a check?
He kept up the act of a nobody, a man invisible to the world. When the waitress came back toward the bar, he leaned in and whispered,
"I saw the train... near the town's edge yesterday."
Her hand froze.
"Don't talk about that," she whispered, barely audible. "Don't draw their gaze."
"You know what it is, don't you?" Shen Yan probed. "That train... it comes to take someone away?"
She looked up at him, and this time there was a flicker of humanity in her gaze.
"To take the one who should never have stayed. Every day, all of us are gambling with our lives, waiting to see who slips up."
Shen Yan: "Who decides what counts as a slip?"
"Everyone."
She paused, then added softly,
"Even you."
Shen Yan said nothing.
He had realized something far more terrifying:
—In this place, the moment you stop believing you deserve to live, they will stop believing it too.
He lowered his head and drained the cup of water.
[System Notification: You have entered "Night One." Townwide gaze monitoring has begun. Reminder: Do not become the focal point.]
And Shen Yan knew—
His second death might not come quickly.
But it would hurt more.