I Play the Horror World as a Simulation Game

The bloodstains in the hallway made Qin Nuo uncomfortable. To avoid encountering that monster, he chose to walk in the opposite direction.

The entire campus was shrouded in a thick black fog, severely obstructing visibility to less than two meters.

Fear stems from the unknown.

Walking in such an environment was like a blind person groping along a wall, moving in the dark. No one knew what kind of terrifying thing might emerge from the black fog in front of them the next second.

This was an extreme test of one's heart and courage.

Qin Nuo was no exception, but he had the Blood-Eyed Ghost, which could sense the surge of Ghost Aura from ten meters away, allowing him to foresee danger, which made him feel much more at ease.

"Looking for a piece of candy in such a dim environment feels utterly absurd."

Walking along the corridor of the complex building, Qin Nuo muttered to himself while glancing at the nameplates of the classrooms he passed.

He couldn't remember which floor he was on or where in the corridor he was. He just searched wherever he went.

"After the black fog covered the school, the classrooms and corridors seemed to have changed significantly. They felt more dilapidated, more aged."

Qin Nuo observed the moss-cracked railings, with weeds growing through the cracks.

Inside the classroom, the chairs and desks seemed almost weathered into wood dust.

He didn't know if it was an illusion, but he always felt that those seats had shifted, as if something had left them.

From the podium, there was a faint sound of chalk tapping on the blackboard...

Qin Nuo paused, considering whether to take a look inside, when suddenly he heard some sounds near his ear.

"A child's voice?"

The sound was very close. Qin Nuo followed the source and soon arrived at the door of a classroom.

The windows were sealed, and the door was closed.

Inside, there were occasional sounds of terror, followed by some unknown horrific tearing noises.

Creak!

The wooden door suddenly opened a crack, and a woman's voice came from inside: "Student, are you looking for candy?"

"Come in, and you can get the candy you want."

Qin Nuo was taken aback.

An adult's voice, a teacher?

Wasn't the teacher a cat, responsible for handing out candy?

"Go in and take a look, don't worry, I'm here," said the Blood-Eyed Ghost.

Since the Blood-Eyed Ghost said so, Qin Nuo naturally couldn't back down. He pushed the door open and entered.

The moment he stepped into the room, his vision cleared, and the appearance of the classroom was revealed before him.

It was an art studio, with canvases neatly arranged, and several students sitting at their desks.

They were focused on their painting, not even glancing away when Qin Nuo entered, their eyes constantly switching between the canvas and the model on the podium.

But upon closer inspection, their eyes were bloodshot, their faces stiff, and beads of sweat as large as beans were seeping from their foreheads, as if they were under immense pressure and fear.

On the floor, there were several pools of rotten flesh, emitting a foul stench that was suffocating.

On the podium, the model being painted was a man as dry as a stick, with sunken eye sockets and protruding cheekbones, like a dying addict, ready to collapse at any moment.

Beside the podium, there was a wicker chair that moved on its own without wind.

But Qin Nuo clearly felt a presence of Ghost Aura there.

"An Invisible Ghost," Qin Nuo immediately identified. This type of ghost was mysterious and terrifying, and as long as it didn't reveal itself, it was hard to gauge its strength.

"Don't worry, the teacher isn't a cat, just responsible for giving out candy."

"The canvas is a sacred object. It can present a person's infinite inner world of imagination, and it can also show the true beauty of all things in the world."

"The teacher likes students who paint well, especially those who paint excellently. Good painting is rewarded with candy, bad painting gets a little punishment."

A voice with the tone of an elegant lady came from the podium.

"Even bad painting gets punishment, how is that different from a cat?"

Qin Nuo looked at the rotten flesh and blood on the ground and shook his head.

Is this the so-called little punishment?

Qin Nuo glanced back, and the door was already tightly closed, like a trap waiting for someone to fall into.

Qin Nuo looked at the students painting, each of them sweating profusely, their expressions tense, their hands trembling as they held their sketching pencils.

They were all trying their hardest to paint that emaciated man.

Clearly, these students were players, unlike Qin Nuo, they probably stumbled in by accident.

And once inside this art studio, it seemed they had to complete their painting and gain the approval of the invisible teacher on the podium to leave the classroom.

At this moment, as the clock on the wall ticked away.

The swaying wicker chair on the podium suddenly stopped.

"Student number 8, your time is up."

When the voice came down, it was like a death sentence.

The player sitting in seat number 8, however, was unusually calm, turning his canvas around with a composed expression.

On the canvas, the emaciated man was curled up in a corner, vividly and expressively painted, conveying emotions of loneliness, fear, and desolation.

It was even more vivid and expressive than the real person!

This player appeared confident, calmly saying, "Teacher, I hope my candy won't be less."

The previous players had painted terribly, even abstractly to the point of absurdity, and collapsed halfway through, trying to forcibly leave the classroom.

Strangely, the moment they left their seats, their bodies seemed to be cut, with dense blood lines appearing all over their skin.

As soon as they took a step, their bodies fell apart like components, scattering on the ground, countless pieces of flesh emitting heat, blood flowing out, staining the canvas red.

The remaining players' pupils contracted sharply.

This was definitely a ghost above the Horror Level!

In that instant, they all understood.

They had fallen into a trap.

Either paint or die!

There was no other choice.

The other two players who were killed were because their paintings were unsatisfactory, and they were brutally killed as well.

For players without painting talent, this was no different from waiting for death.

But now, the player who turned the canvas happened to be a well-known painter in the real world, someone who could bring a plain vase or an ordinary person to life with his brush, giving them another layer of meaning, making them more profound and unforgettable.

To ensure his work was flawless, he completed the painting in ten minutes and spent twenty minutes correcting imperfections.

At this moment, as he turned the canvas, the player also showed a hint of nervousness, but his eyes were bright, fixed on the candies on the podium.

A chill swept over him, and he knew the female teacher had come down.

Then, a handprint clearly appeared on his canvas.

The fingers were slender, gently sliding as if caressing and appreciating.

"Very well painted."

"Loneliness, fear, confinement, desolation... you've vividly captured everything that should be seen. You are an excellent student."

The simple evaluation made the player breathe a sigh of relief, but the next words made his face stiffen again.

"However, what you painted is not what I wanted."

"You can't see his heart at all, only what is visible on the surface. It's too naive."

The female teacher's voice carried disappointment and a strange sadness.

The player frowned, retorting in a deep voice, "Surface? The eyes are the windows to the soul. In his eyes, there's not even a glimmer of light. This is a man who has experienced despair, withdrawn to the extreme."

"This is his inner world, which I have perfectly presented with a sketching pencil, yet you say it's superficial. What reason do you have to question my work?"

The player's voice was filled with anger, as if his artwork was being trampled by others.

At this moment, he didn't even care about playing the role of a student, but argued fiercely as a renowned and respected painter.

The art studio fell silent.

The other party seemed to be at a loss for words.

The player snorted coldly, feeling he had won the argument.

But the next second, a woman's reply came from the air: "It's simple, because he is my husband."

Immediately, a piercing scream echoed in the art studio!

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