Qin Nan furrowed his brow and asked, “How many points do you have now?”

“2200. I’ve been through seven worlds. The one with the highest points among us is Xia Zeqin; he probably has close to 6000 points, but I don’t know how he used them,” Jian Fan replied without hesitation.

Accumulating points was slow, but spending them was fast. Ten thousand points seemed like a lot, but gathering them was challenging.

Qin Nan quickly processed this information. “So I’m the only new player this time?”

Jian Fan nodded. “Xia Zeqin and I were the earliest players in the same world. Many died in between, and new players joined later. The people around him, including the two who died, are from later worlds. The other four were matched to this world; they haven’t revealed their information, but I suspect they were together in their last world.”

So besides Jian Fan, who seemed to have a grudge against Xia Zeqin and chose to go solo, everyone else had formed groups, and now there was a newcomer like him. Even so, Jian Fan was still his most suitable choice; having a reliable teammate was essential.

“Only after clearing a level can the point system be triggered. This is quite unfriendly to new players; there must be other settings, right?” Qin Nan said with certainty.

Hearing this, Jian Fan laughed. “You’re clever.” He extended his hand. “Welcome to be my partner.”

Qin Nan reached out and lightly grasped Jian Fan’s fingertips.

After Jian Fan withdrew his hand, his expression quickly turned serious. “New players don’t have a point system, but they receive some crucial information before entering the world. The clues are likely hidden in that information.”

Jian Fan’s words made Qin Nan’s expression shift.

Could the gruesome body he saw falling from a height be an important clue? Or was it his death forecast? Qin Nan’s face turned strange as he recounted everything from the moment he received the private message to Jian Fan.

“Not likely,” Jian Fan denied his guess. “The game doesn’t explicitly set the methods or order of player deaths. You might die, but the method of death and the order will depend on your choices.” He glanced at the script in his hand.

At that moment, a connection clicked in Qin Nan’s mind. “If today’s death has a forecast, then what about yesterday’s on set? If what I saw is also one of the death forecasts…”

The answer lay within that script.

As long as they didn’t trigger the death settings, they could at least survive longer, buying themselves some time. Thus, the death forecasts in the script became crucial clues.

The timeline in the script was jumbled, with scenes shot together. Their task was to finish reading the script and restore the original timeline of the story.

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Though it took some time, it wasn’t particularly difficult.

Jian Fan returned to his room to grab the script, and the two began to flip through it, dividing the sections for a collaborative effort.

In this world, they needed to act according to the rules, meaning they would soon have to return to the set, with limited time left. A film script was not small; they decided to first focus on the earlier parts, gathering as much as they could.

Following the script’s timeline, the story began on set.

Everyone was busy preparing for the upcoming shoot. Suddenly, a mishap occurred: an employee tripped while carrying a vase and, as he fell, his neck got caught on a wire, causing his head to be severed by the force of the fall.

The accident threw the crew into chaos. They called the police and dealt with the incident. By evening, everyone returned to the hotel, exhausted, and went back to their respective rooms.

Then came the scene Qin Nan first read in the script: Room 3909, where the lampshade exploded, severing an artery and causing death from blood loss.

Another accident cast a shadow over the crew, but filming still had to continue. Qin Nan quickly skipped over the mundane dialogues and found the third death.

The next incident occurred on set.

The third victim died suddenly from a heart attack, gasping for breath in mere seconds.

This should foreshadow the next death, indicating that someone else would die today. Qin Nan wanted to continue flipping through the script, but a knock at the door interrupted him, followed by the voice of the stage manager, Old Wang: “Stop dawdling; it’s time to change scenes.”

Qin Nan looked at Jian Fan.

“Let’s go for now. In the Realm of Death, the methods of dying are completely unpredictable. I’ve encountered players who were directly eliminated for not following NPC instructions. Until we understand the rules, it’s best to follow their directions,” Jian Fan advised.

Upon hearing this, Qin Nan felt all his thoughts dissipate, obediently leaving the hotel with Jian Fan.

On their way to the set, Qin Nan remained at the back with Jian Fan.

“What do you think triggered the heart attack?” Qin Nan asked.

Jian Fan glanced at him and replied, “The first victim was carrying a vase, the second was in Room 3909, and the third…” He paused, then asked Qin Nan, “Do you remember what the third victim was doing when he had the heart attack?”

Qin Nan had a good memory, especially for crucial details.

“He was moving props,” Qin Nan quickly answered. “Moving props is a stagehand’s job. Excluding the chubby guy who died yesterday, there are three of us left. Only one of us died, so the trigger for death shouldn’t be that action.”

At this point, Qin Nan felt a bit anxious. If the role was based on yesterday’s choices, then the third victim would be among the three stagehands, which was definitely not good news for him. Right now, he could only hope that today’s role selection would change.

Jian Fan didn’t deny it. “There’s one more thing: the cause of death.”

The third victim died from a heart attack.

What could be associated with a heart attack? Qin Nan couldn’t think of anything, and at that moment, they had already arrived at the filming location.

The role selection remained the same.

Qin Nan cursed inwardly. At the beginning, before any death forecasts, the choices were purely based on luck. From the moment he got off the bus, the game had begun, and every choice would have significant consequences.

Clearly, his luck wasn’t very good.

“Take care.” This was the only kindness Jian Fan could offer at the moment. After saying this, he headed to the makeup room. For now, he was safe, and he didn’t seem too concerned about Qin Nan’s life or death.

The crew quickly got into motion.

Stagehands essentially did a variety of tasks, not just moving props. All Qin Nan could do was avoid as much prop-moving as possible.

Currently, there were three stagehands, including him. The other two were men who weren’t part of Xia Zeqin’s small team; they were other players.

They were both experienced players, and Qin Nan noticed that they were also trying to avoid prop-moving tasks.

However, setting up the scene was an essential part of filming.