The scene shifted. Erik found herself standing on a mountain path.
A wave of familiarity washed over her, and she immediately surmised that this was yet another supernatural instance. She checked her belongings and discovered a hiking backpack. Inside were a change of clothes, a few bread rolls, a bottle of water, some candy, a pen, a notebook, and a camera. She also found a work ID bearing her name—the employer listed as a magazine company.
This time, her designated identity was that of a magazine employee.
Seven players had arrived before her. Erik asked if they were all from the same magazine.
After a short wait, another thirteen players trickled in.
In total, twenty-one players had gathered, all dressed like mountaineers.
There were newcomers among them—one of whom was a man in his thirties named Kai. He adapted quickly to the situation and, once he understood the rules, quietly followed the group's lead. A few others looked visibly unsettled, evidently unaccustomed to supernatural instances. It seemed they had simply been unfortunate enough to be randomly assigned to this one.
With so many people, introductions on the narrow mountain path felt unnecessary.
Erik had already surveyed the surroundings. Through the trees higher up, she glimpsed what appeared to be structures—likely the location where the instance would unfold.
There was no NPC to guide them, so the players decided to hike up the mountain themselves, heading toward the faintly visible village nestled in the woods.
Though it appeared nearby, the climb still took them nearly an hour.
At the entrance to the village, a large black dog lay motionless. As soon as the group came into view, the dog sprang to its feet, barking furiously with gleaming black eyes, poised to attack.
The players instinctively stepped back. At that moment, a prompt echoed in Erik's mind:
**\[The chief editor has tasked you with exploring the mysterious Wooden Men Village. The village is home to an intangible cultural heritage—your mission is to conduct interviews, master the craft, and produce a finished piece. Only then will the village chief send you back to the city.]**
The instance had officially begun.
"Hey now, Black Dragon! Stop that! They're our guests!"
An elderly village chief, leaning on a cane, emerged to calm the dog. With a warm smile, he addressed the players, "You're the ones who came to do the interview, right? Come on in!"
Entry to the village went smoothly—so seamlessly, in fact, that it seemed scripted. The chief welcomed them eagerly, needing no prompting.
The players murmured polite thanks and followed him inside.
The black dog settled back down, its tail lazily swaying.
The village appeared unremarkable at first glance—scattered houses, most detached and private. Nothing seemed particularly off to Erik for now.
What exactly was this ancient craft? Wooden Men Village? Could it be Puppet Village instead? Was the heritage they spoke of puppet theater?
Deep in thought, Erik passed an open courtyard.
*Click. Click. Click.*
A middle-aged woman sat cross-legged on the ground, cutting through a block of wood. Piles of timber were stacked beside her.
Intrigued, Erik pricked up her ears. She soon noticed that similar sounds echoed from other courtyards with closed doors.
It seemed the instance's hinted skill was indeed related to puppetry.
Continuing on, she saw a child walk by, grinning and holding a polished wooden rod.
The village chief's expression darkened. "Kid! What are you carrying?!"
Startled, the boy froze, his smile vanishing. He clutched the stick tightly and shrank back against the wall.
"Take that back home this instant," the chief scolded, "or I'll be speaking to your father!"
The boy nodded tearfully and ran off.
"Chief," Erik asked, "when may we begin the interviews? Our editor has assigned us numerous tasks. We're to thoroughly document the secrets of Wooden Men Village." She pulled out a voice recorder. "May I record your words for accuracy?"
As Erik took the lead, the others turned their attention to the chief.
Puffing his chest with pride, the old man's hunched posture straightened slightly.
"Why, of course! Record as much as you like. Our village has passed down the Wooden Men Theatre from generation to generation. Within a ten-mile radius, no one holds a candle to our craftsmanship! Legend says our ancestors even created living wooden men—figures that moved without strings, as if alive!"
The players responded with enthusiasm, clearly encouraging the chief, who grew increasingly animated.
When they reached an old courtyard, the chief was still eagerly talking. Veteran player Gavin invited him inside to continue the conversation.
"We're planning a special feature on the Wooden Men craft," Gavin explained, "to promote its legacy and raise awareness. Perhaps even secure some government funding for its preservation."
The old man beamed. "Wonderful! I'd be happy to chat some more."
The atmosphere remained calm—almost heartwarming—lacking the eerie undertone typical of supernatural instances. But Erik remained alert. She knew the true danger would surface during the puppet-making process. These were not ordinary puppets.
The village chief delighted in sharing tales of the Wooden Men. When the players expressed interest in learning, he agreed without hesitation.
"Of course! Take a rest for now. I'll send someone over to teach you soon."
Satisfied, he slowly hobbled away, promising to bring food later.
The courtyard was old and long abandoned, but spacious. In addition to the main house, there were two side wings—three rooms in total, enough to accommodate all twenty-one players.
Gavin suggested that the larger main room house the nine female players, while the remaining twelve men split between the two side rooms.
Newcomer Kai, still unfamiliar with the setup, asked, "Why bother assigning rooms? Are we staying here that long?"
A veteran replied, "When a supernatural instance provides accommodations, it usually means a longer duration. And since we have to master a craft this time, we'll definitely be here a while."
Kai nodded thoughtfully. "You said this is a supernatural instance… but we haven't seen any ghosts yet." His nerves hadn't settled. In the horror films he'd seen, remote mountain villages were prime locations for terrifying tales. But so far, everything seemed surprisingly normal. Even the village chief was friendly.
Player Brielle laughed. "That's because it hasn't *started* yet. Just wait until sunset."
Kai shuddered at her ominous tone.
Erik followed the female players into the main house.
Inside was a hall with an Eight Immortals table and four chairs, all coated in dust. The walls were worn and peeling. A broken clock hung lifelessly, rusted and unmoving.
Doors flanked both sides of the hall. One led to a collapsed kitchen, the other to a bedroom.
The room contained an old canopy bed, a dresser without a mirror, and a wooden cabinet that stood empty.
"Looks like someone will be sleeping on the floor tonight. Let's draw lots later to see who gets the bed first, and rotate afterward," said Brielle. With nine girls, it was obvious the room wouldn't have nine beds. Drawing lots was the fairest way.
"Alright. Let's look for paper, or use twigs if we can't find any," Erik said, sitting down to remove her shoes and catch her breath. An hour-long hike was no small feat.
The players found seats—those who couldn't sit on the bed settled on the floor, unconcerned about the dirt.
First-timer Aurora asked curiously, "So we just wait here?"
"Pretty much. The chief said he'd send someone with food and to teach us puppetry. Let's rest first," Brielle replied.
The girls introduced themselves, exchanging names for easier communication later.
After a short break, Erik put her shoes back on and stepped outside. She didn't stray far, merely crouched at the courtyard gate to observe the village.
Villagers returning from work glanced curiously at the unfamiliar guests.
Erik looked up—the sun had sunk beyond the horizon. The light had vanished, and dusk cloaked the surroundings.
Night was falling.
Some players moved about, but most stayed put, unwilling to trigger death flags in unfamiliar territory.
Scouting players returned, but they kept their findings to themselves. Erik didn't press them.
Among the women, a player named Ximena had also gone out. Erik said nothing, but others did. When Ximena refused to share, two players pressed her until an argument broke out.
Erik, noticing villagers approaching with food, reentered the courtyard to defuse the tension.
"Dinner's here. Let's go eat. We can ask the villagers about the puppets while we're at it," she announced calmly.
Ximena scoffed, flipping her hair as she followed.
"Look at her! So selfish!"
"She even cursed at us—"
Brielle interjected, "Enough. If you want information, go find it yourselves. She doesn't owe you anything." She, too, walked out.
While they argued, the villagers entered.
"Dinner's here! If it's not enough, just let me know. I live next door—the chief asked us to deliver your meals these few days," said a friendly young couple with a child.
Each adult carried a steaming bucket—two of rice, one of stir-fried chicken with green peppers, and another of spicy tofu.
The child shyly held a bucket filled with clean bowls and chopsticks. After placing it down, she scampered to the doorway and peeked in timidly.