Ten Day Ultimatum

"You lying sack of shit!" Qiao Jiajin barked at the cop.
"Hmph, I figured you’d say that," Officer Li replied coolly. "But what proof do you have? Just because someone attacked me?"
"Not just that," Qiao Jiajin smirked. "I don’t know the full picture yet, but all the other stories—there’s a pattern. They all feel like they fit. Different places, sure, but the roles, the themes—there’s overlap."

"So?" Officer Li narrowed his eyes.
"That’s exactly the problem," Qiao Jiajin said, jabbing a finger toward Zhang Chenze. "You and the lawyer both talked about a {swindler who scammed two million}, but your stories contradict each other. One of you is full of shit."
Li frowned. "Where’s the contradiction?"

Qiao Jiajin’s grin widened. "Lawyer Zhang said she was preparing for court. That means in her version, the swindler’s already been caught. But you said you were still staking him out. So in your story, the guy hasn’t been caught yet. Can’t both be true, can they?"
Li paused. His voice dropped a little. "You make a good point. But you’re letting this {game} get into your head. First, let’s establish something—everyone here is from different cities. That’s fact. So even if stories sound similar, they’re probably not talking about the same event. Different cities, different people, different endings."
Qi Xia didn’t step in. He watched them fight, and silently hoped it would escalate.

Yes. Keep arguing. The deeper the divide, the better.
Because if one of them voted for the other, and they were wrong, the rest would burn for it. The rules were absolute.
Only the {Liar} could vote wrong and survive. Everyone else? Dead weight.
Still, Qiao Jiajin had gotten under everyone’s skin.

It was the first time someone had pointed out a hard contradiction.
Qi Xia glanced at him again. For a loan shark, Qiao Jiajin was sharper than he looked.
"Uh... I guess it’s my turn..." the next woman said hesitantly.

Everyone turned to look at her. She was the one who had completely lost it when the first person got slaughtered. She was quieter now, more reserved—but her eyes darted like she didn’t want to see the corpse again.
"Hello, I’m Lin Qin, and I’m a counseling psychologist."
Qi Xia blinked. That name—{Lin Qin}—was rare. Before the Tang Dynasty, it meant apple. Elegant and poetic. The name stuck.

Too unique.
Bad idea in a game like this. It made her too memorable. Among this group—an author, a cop, a lawyer, a doctor, and a teacher—someone was bound to catch the etymology. Once they did, her story would never be forgotten.
When no one responded, she covered her mouth and nose and went on, "I’m from Ningxia. Before all this, I was waiting for a client. A kindergarten teacher."
Everyone instinctively glanced at Xiao Ran—the woman who had said she was a teacher. The overlap was immediate.

"The client said kindergarten teaching is brutal. No punishment, no harsh words. Parents treat teachers like babysitters. Kids see them as servants. Every classroom has a surveillance system, and parents can log in and watch live. If a teacher even raises her voice, parents complain to the principal."
"But aren’t parents supposed to send kids to kindergarten to learn basic discipline?"
"If teachers can't lay down the law, how are kids supposed to learn?"

"She felt trapped. Helpless."
"So I planned a month-long therapy program for her."
"But... for some reason, she never showed up. I kept waiting in my studio."

"Then the earthquake hit. I was stuck—I work on the 26th floor."
"The higher up you are, the worse the shaking. It felt like the whole damn building was gonna rip apart."
"I never thought I’d experience an earthquake in Ningxia. It was unreal."

"I remember the ceiling falling. Then... nothing. Just black."
When she finished, the mood shifted again.
Qiao Jiajin leaned in. "Two questions."

"What?" Lin Qin asked, still covering her face.
"What exactly did you mean when you said every classroom ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ had a {surveillance system}?"
No one expected that question. But Lin Qin stayed calm, her tone steady. "I mean that parents can monitor the classroom in real time through cameras. It’s supposed to make them feel secure."

"So it’s basically a {CCTV feed}... fancy kindergarten..." Qiao muttered, then added, "The client you were waiting for—was it Xiao Ran?"
"I don’t know," Lin Qin said, shaking her head. "We only connected through WeChat. We never got to meet."
"WeChat?" Qiao Jiajin muttered, as if puzzled by the detail.

Officer Li groaned. "There you go again. Xiao Ran’s from Yunnan. Lin Qin’s in Ningxia. Who travels that far for therapy?"
Qiao Jiajin held firm. "I’m just saying—it’s fishy. It’s the first time someone directly mentioned another participant."
Doctor Zhao nodded, visibly intrigued. "Xiao Ran, does what she said match your reasons for seeking help?"

"Well..." Xiao Ran fidgeted. "Not exactly. I wasn’t overwhelmed by the kids... more like, there was this one parent who kept hounding me with complaints... I was getting really discouraged."
"In that case, it’s probably just a coincidence," Doctor Zhao said, giving a half-shrug. "Different provinces, similar professions. Doesn’t mean there’s a real connection."
A quiet pause followed.

Then Zhang Chenze spoke up, voice sharp. "Ms. Lin. Half your story was about the {kindergarten teacher}. Doesn’t that break the rules?"
"Huh?" Lin Qin blinked, caught off guard. "I only brought her up to explain what I do..."
"Don’t get me wrong," Zhang said, smiling with teeth. "I’m not accusing you—yet. But if you fabricated that teacher, it would explain why her story doesn’t line up with Xiao Ran’s. Which could mean you’re lying."

"You...!" Lin Qin froze under the attention. She turned defensive, desperate. "But Doctor Zhao and Officer Li said it—we’re all from different provinces. It’s just a coincidence!"
"A coincidence? You sure about that?" Zhang’s tone didn’t change. Arms crossed. Cold stare.
"Think hard. Why us? Why these nine people? We don’t know each other. So how are we supposed to find the {Liar}?"

"There have to be clues. And those clues are buried in the way our stories connect."
"After hearing everyone’s accounts, I’m convinced: we weren’t picked at random."
"This is curated. A hand-picked set. Just enough overlap, just enough contrast."

"That’s the only way we’d even have a shot at finding the liar."
"Otherwise, this whole game would be rigged—stacked way too hard in the {Liar}’s favor."