Live Script Mystery Play

The Death of Boss Bai – Plot 1

Six weathered cards lay scattered across the antique square table.

Correspondingly, six individuals encircled the table's perimeter.

A distorted, electronically modulated voice crackled through the broadcast system: "Welcome to the scripted deduction game. In front of you lie six role cards – Murderer, Detective, Victim, and ordinary players. Please draw the card to get your assigned roles."

Gu Liang's brow furrowed slightly as he claimed the card in front of him.

The card bore two sections. The first read: "Today's victim is Boss Bai. You are a lawyer, Mr. Zhang, 32 years old, male. Your ex-girlfriend Miss Huang was r***d and forcibly kept by Boss Bai. To rescue her, you infiltrated Bai's circle posing as his legal counsel, plotting his murder."*

Forced CEO romance? What trashy melodrama is this?

Gu Liang arched an eyebrow, continuing to the second section detailing his character's timeline: "11:30 AM – Passing the unmanned kitchen, you added novel oral insulin to the chicken soup, intending to kill the non-diabetic Bai through hypoglycemic shock. Having observed Bai's rigid daily routine of consuming the soup, you're certain of success."

Oral insulin? Since when does that work?

Beneath the timeline, crimson text warned:

1. You may be the true killer – conceal your identity.*

2. This novice-level script offers entry to hell-difficulty premium scenarios upon survival. Enjoy!

"Enjoy my ass," Gu Liang muttered, fingers whitening around the card's edges.

Five minutes later, the broadcast resumed: "Rules announcement:"

"Rule one: Boss Bai is the predetermined victim. He will die per script."

As the voice faded, a bald middle-aged man opposite Gu Liang collapsed, pallid with terror.

Broadcast: "Emergency notice: Bai's player has fainted. NPCs will administer first aid. Remain calm – his scheduled demise hasn't commenced."

So even death requires punctuality here.

Gu Liang's eyes narrowed as two black-clad figures materialized, performing CPR. The revived man was carried away by these hooded NPCs whose shadowy veils obscured their faces, their chilling presence evoking underworld bailiffs.

The broadcast resumed its monotone recitation. "Rule two: During the roleplay phase, all actions must strictly adhere to scripted guidelines. Violators will face disciplinary measures."

A staticky pause followed before the voice sharpened. "Rule three: Character cards are vital to gameplay. Safeguard them at all costs. Any attempt to view another player’s card—whether through gifting, trading, snatching, theft, or other means—will result in immediate removal from the premises by black-clad enforcers."

"Rule four: The game concludes with a voting session. Each player may cast one ballot to identify the murderer. Choose wisely."

The final rule erupted with sudden, distorted fervor, the speaker’s voice warping into something grotesquely theatrical: "Rule five: The individual receiving the most votes—regardless of their true guilt—shall be executed. You monsters! Atone for the dead with your lives! How dare you commit murder! Follow the deceased straight to hell!"

A shrill feedback screech pierced the air before the broadcast cut off abruptly, leaving only the faint hum of electricity in its wake.

"Rule six: The Detective must diligently investigate and lead the group to identify the true murderer."

The broadcast’s tone shifted abruptly, laced with mock sympathy. "Should an innocent be wrongfully executed, the Detective will also face death. How tragic! But if you let the real killer escape, who will answer for the victim? Who will atone for the innocent’s blood? Detective, your incompetence demands a price!"

"Rules complete. A ten-minute question period now commences. Speak now, or…"

The voice cut off mid-threat.

—

Silence gripped the hall, thick and suffocating. No one moved.

Moments later, an 18-year-old girl raised trembling hand. She is definitely a good student in her class, as she still raised her hand before asking questions even, she was so scared.

“I…I have a question.”

Broadcast:” Good girl knows when to ask questions. Go ahead!”

"If... if I'm the killer... must I actually murder someone?"

Broadcast: "Script compliance is mandatory."

The girl trembled violently, "I... I don’t want to! Let me out! I didn’t join this game voluntarily! I don’t know why I’m here! I refuse to be the murderer!"

With those words, she immediately bolted toward the exit.

Though the heavy door opened surprisingly easily, an eerie wind howled beyond the threshold.

The moment she stepped outside, the gale-force winds snatched her into the air like a ragdoll. Utterly helpless, her body spiraled through the air like a withered leaf caught in a whirlwind before plummeting straight downward.

Her body struck the ground with a sickening crunch. Her neck twisted at an unnatural angle as she lay motionless, a pool of warm blood silently spreading from the back of her skull to stain the earth crimson.

Now Gu Liang understood — leaving the villa during the designated scripted game period meant instant death.

Earlier, regarding the violation of peeking at others’ character cards, the broadcast had stated that offenders would be forcibly removed from the game area by black-clad enforcers. In this scenario, "game area" unequivocally meant the villa itself.

Evidently, directly examining another player’s card was suicidal.

Of course, if players freely shared card details to expose the true murderer, it would utterly defeat the purpose of the game.

"Well, a casualty before the game even properly begins—what a waste!" The broadcast sighed theatrically. "With one player missing, we’ll have to deploy an NPC replacement. This irresponsible resource mismanagement will incur penalty deductions from your final rewards!"

As the announcement faded, an NPC materialized.

She descended the stairs, her demeanor eerily mirroring the dead girl’s—as if the system had cynically recycled the same character model with minor adjustments.

The NPC stepped forward with a rehearsed smile. "Greetings. I am Boss Bai’s maid! You may call me Maid Liu!"

The broadcast crackled back to life. "The ten-minute Q&A period remains active. Any further inquiries?"

Gu Liang raised his hand.

"State your question."

Gu Liang’s voice remained flat, almost clinical. “Are we to treat all scripted elements as absolute reality, regardless of real-world logic?"

— Like oral insulin, which doesn’t exist in reality but here can be weaponized for murder?

"All deductions must adhere to the script's internal logic."

A beat of silence. Then Gu Liang asked, "Can the Detective be killed?"

Broadcast: “...”

The other players exchanged bewildered glances.???

The broadcast’s voice deepened, its artificial cadence warping into something unnervingly sentient. "Unscripted actions are permissible—provided they align with your character’s established persona."

"This is a low-difficulty introductory scenario. Immersive roleplay is not mandatory. Poor acting or ad-libbed dialogue will not trigger OOC penalties. However…"A metallic screech punctuated the pause. "…any behavior that critically disrupts the narrative will be individually evaluated. Players deemed Out of Character will face consequences."

Gu Liang absorbed the warning. The rules were clear: he could push boundaries, but not break them. For now, he’d have to navigate this twisted game one step at a time.

"The question period has concluded," the broadcast declared. Proceed with scripted roleplay. Following the acting phase, the game will advance to group discussion and voting. Await further instructions."

"The following communal scene will now commence. The time is 9:00 a.m. All players are to return to their assigned rooms on the second floor. Compliance with the script is mandatory. Violators will face penalties!"

The broadcast fell silent.

For a moment, the lobby remained frozen. Some players stood paralyzed, haunted by the visceral memory of the girl’s violent death. Others stared blankly at their character cards, as though the ink on them had suddenly become illegible.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

A harsh, metallic alarm shattered the stillness. The broadcast erupted again, its synthetic voice sharpened to a blade’s edge: "Immediate compliance required! Failure to act in accordance with the communal scene will trigger punitive measures for all participants!"

Gu Liang was the first to move.

With the girl's death, only five players remained including himself. His gaze swept across the other four — a quick assessment of their shell-shocked faces — before he strode decisively from the hall.

Like the initial domino in a lethal chain reaction, his movement broke the paralysis. Others began shuffling forward, their footsteps echoing hollowly through the villa's oppressive silence.

Beyond the card-drawing hall stretched a corridor. Doors labeled [Group Discussion Room] lined one side, followed by restrooms and a kitchen at the far end. The passage opened into a spacious living room overlooking a garden balcony through floor-to-ceiling windows. Opposite the balcony, a dining area and bar counter stood adjacent to the ornate spiral staircase leading upstairs.

Gu Liang ascended to the second floor.

Seven doors greeted him. Six bore character names in stark black characters: [Boss Bai], [Lawyer Zhang], [Girlfriend Miss Huang], [Maid Liu], plus two new roles — [Junior Bai] and [Bai’s Elder Brother]. The seventh door simply read [Storage Room].

The naming convention revealed the script's crude logic: Junior Bai was clearly the deceased Boss Bai's offspring, while Bai’s Elder Brother represented an older male relative. Every role orbited around the central corpse of Boss Bai like planets trapped by a dead star's gravity.

Gu Liang processed this information swiftly and strode directly to the room labeled "Lawyer Zhang"—his assigned role. He pushed open the door and locked it immediately behind him.

The room’s decor matched the villa’s overall 19th-century European opulence: a carved four-poster bed, velvet-upholstered armchairs, an ornate Persian rug, and a mahogany side table holding a delicate porcelain tea set and a silver tray of petit fours. Had this been mere theater, the production value would have been staggering.

But Gu Liang had no time to admire the set design. He began methodically searching the room.

According to the script, his character—Lawyer Zhang—was supposed to administer insulin-laced poison in the kitchen at 11:30 a.m. Yet no NPC had provided him with the "prop." That meant he had to find it himself.

He yanked open the bedside drawer.

There it was: a white pharmaceutical box labeled “Insulin” in bold red characters. Inside lay a syringe and a vial of clear liquid. The label’s fine print read: Oral fast-acting formula. Lethal dosage: 10ml.

A knock interrupted his search.

"Who is it?" Gu Liang called; the insulin vial still clenched in his hand.

A man’s voice answered from the hallway, deep and improbably amused. "Your girlfriend."

Gu Liang frowned at the door. "I don’t have a girlfriend."

The stranger chuckled. "Ah, my mistake. Ex-girlfriend."

"I don’t have an ex-girlfriend either."

A beat of silence, then the voice softened into something almost conspiratorial. "I’m Girlfriend Miss Huang. Drew a female role. Not my preference, but here we are."

Gu Liang stared at the door, momentarily speechless.

So, this resolved his earlier confusion. The script listed two female roles—Maid Liu and Girlfriend Miss Huang—but among the surviving players, only one was biologically female. Evidently, gender-blind casting was part of the game’s sadistic whimsy.

Gu Liang hesitated. Was this man acting out scripted interactions, or pursuing his own agenda? If the latter—what motive drove him?

Closing the drawer with deliberate calm, Gu Liang moved to the door.

The man leaning against the hallway wall stood a full head taller than him. Impeccably tailored suit, silver half-rim glasses, features sharp enough to cut glass—he exuded polished refinement at first glance.

The illusion shattered upon closer inspection. His suit jacket hung open; the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone to reveal a glimpse of collarbone. His posture—one shoulder propped lazily against the doorframe—radiated calculated irreverence.

Not someone to trust, Gu Liang assessed. He kept himself framed in the doorway, blocking entry.

The man sidestepped Gu Liang with infuriating ease, strolling into the room as if he owned it. His gaze swept over the lavish decor before settling back on Gu Liang. “When and how do you plan to act?”

The blunt question, paired with the intrusion, tightened Gu Liang’s jaw. He leveled a frosty stare at the man. “Ah. Girlfriend Miss Huang. You’re the one r***d by Boss Bai in the script, correct?”

The man’s smile didn’t falter. He tilted his head, amusement glinting behind his glasses. “A crude simplification. That’s the character’s backstory. Do I strike you as someone who’d be victimized?”

Gu Liang’s expression remained impassively skeptical.

Leaning casually against the bedpost, the man raised an eyebrow. “If anyone’s doing the raping, it’d be me.”

Gu Liang recalled the middle-aged, balding Boss Bai NPC from the card hall. “You have… unique tastes.”

“Miss Huang”: “…”

Though wary of the man's intentions, curiosity about his motives kept Gu Liang from ejecting him outright. He shut the door and took a seat on the sofa, his posture rigid.

"If you want to talk, talk. But don’t touch anything in here." His tone was arctic, his expression a fortress.

"Girlfriend Miss Huang” beamed like spring sunshine incarnate, the contrast between them almost comical. He approached Gu Liang, bent at the waist with exaggerated courtesy, and extended his hand. "My name’s Yang Ye. And your name, sir?"

The performance of gentlemanly manners was flawless.

Gu Liang's right eyebrow twitched upward a fraction. "Gu Liang, a law-abiding citizen.”

Yang Ye’s smile deepened, sharp as a blade.“A ‘law-abiding citizen’? Do such people end up in places like this?”

The question should have felt confrontational, but his glasses softened the edges of his gaze, and his tone remained deceptively mild. Still, Gu Liang sensed the underlying aggression—a predator’s poise masked by cultured charm.

“What’s your point?” Gu Liang’s voice stayed flat, though his eyes narrowed imperceptibly. He sank deeper into the sofa, feigning nonchalance.

Yang Ye tilted his head, the light catching his silver frames. “Merely philosophical musings. I dabble in Buddhism. Karma, cause and effect… Why else would I be here? Last I recall, I was chairing a board meeting before blacking out. Woke up in that card-drawing farce downstairs.”

“Ah.” Gu Liang crossed his arms. “So you believe you’re here as punishment for past sins? How… introspective.”

Yang Ye raised a finger to his lips, the gesture equal parts playful and dangerous. “Trade secrets, I’m afraid.”

“Irrelevant and I don’t need to know.” Gu Liang adjusted his cufflinks with deliberate calm. “Unlike you, I actually am a model citizen. Last year’s Top Ten Outstanding Youths in our city—I made the list.”

A beat. Then, deadpan: “This morning, I helped an old lady cross the street before losing consciousness. Until arriving here, I thought she’d scammed me.”

Yang Ye studied him for a long moment before exhaling sharply. "Speculating why we're here is pointless. Let's focus on the script. From my character's perspective, I know you have motive to kill Boss Bai—to 'save' me."

Gu Liang didn't blink. "I'm saving Girlfriend Miss Huang, not you."

"I am Girlfriend Miss Huang."

"Then I'm saving whoever Bai Lao-Da raped."

Yang Ye opened his mouth, closed it, then laughed in surrender. "Two rounds to you."

Seemingly mollified by this small victory, Gu Liang relented slightly. "Ever played scripted murder mystery games? Allow me to explain."

He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Multiple players may hold 'killer cards' with motives and methods. Player A poisons, Player B stabs. The true culprit depends on forensic clues and timelines. So yes—" His gaze sharpened. "—I intend to poison Boss Bai. But the type of toxin, administration time, latency period, and whether it killed him? That's for you to uncover."

Yang Ye dipped his chin. "Understood. Appreciate the intel."

Gu Liang turned away, sinking deeper into the sofa until his head rested against its back. His eyes drifted upward—not truly seeing the ornate ceiling plasterwork, but the intangible weight of what hung unsaid.

Minutes stretched like decades before he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper: "The girl downstairs... Her scripted task might’ve been to stab Boss Bai. She refused. So..."

The unspoken conclusion thickened the air: So, she chose death over complicity.

Gu Liang’s fingers tightened on the armrest, knuckles whitening as faint veins surfaced beneath his skin. The image of her body contorted on the marble floor—the warm blood, the twisted neck—flashed behind his eyelids.

Yang Ye stilled, all traces of levity evaporating. He observed Gu Liang with newfound intensity—the tension in his jawline, the controlled rise and fall of his chest.

Gu Liang sat motionless in the sofa, his beige trench coat blending with the upholstery. One arm draped languidly over the armrest, revealing a vivid red string bracelet around his wrist.

The overhead light caught his upturned face, illuminating eyes the translucent amber of maple leaves held against autumn sun—a fleeting, ethereal gold that clashed starkly with his vampiric pallor amidst the Victorian decor.

"You seem... invested in this game," he said abruptly, turning that otherworldly gaze on Yang Ye. "Which makes me wonder—"

A clock ticked three times somewhere in the walls before he finished the thought.

"—are you the Detective?"