Chapter 140: The Game Begins

Page (1/3)

Inside a room, Feng Tianlin, still in his doll-like state, listened in shock to their conversation. The thought processes of these people far exceeded anything he could have imagined. He had simply believed that if someone from the Sunset Kingdom’s officials ran into trouble at his place, it would just cause a bigger stir. What on earth were these people thinking?

The next day, Fernanda finally brought those wealthy elites to the manor. These usually aloof and high-ranking tycoons, upon seeing the manor’s luxury, couldn’t help but marvel. But when their eyes fell upon the castle, each of them gasped sharply.

The famed Mr. Westford truly had unique taste; this style of decoration was not something ordinary people could achieve. Yet they were somewhat puzzled—according to rumors, Westford’s castle wasn’t supposed to look like this. Many of them had even seen photos online. But with the reality before their eyes, they could only conclude that everything on the internet was virtual and unreliable.

Fernanda said nothing more and directly led them to the dining room. Surprisingly, Westford (Feng Tianlin) hadn’t received any notice that Fernanda had brought guests back, yet he had prepared a table full of dishes. Six people were already seated at the table: Westford, Long Mengting, and six agents.

The six agents were stunned into silence. They recognized these wealthy elites—after all, these individuals wielded considerable local influence. Why was Westford inviting these tycoons to dine? From what they knew, the Westford family never mingled with common folk.

Exactly; in Westford’s social class, these tycoons were just common people.

So there was only one possibility: Westford was truly plotting rebellion!

“No, we must find a way to leave and inform King Hill,” the four agents thought simultaneously, exchanging glances to confirm their shared resolve.

Fernanda approached Westford’s side and whispered in his ear. “These are the most famous local tycoons. Their influence is immense. I lied to them, saying you have a plan and need their help to get them here.”

Hearing this, Westford nodded with satisfaction and patted Fernanda on the shoulder. “Good job. Stick with me, and you won’t lack benefits in the future.”

Fernanda smiled like a loyal simpleton and then stepped back. Benefits? He already possessed wealth beyond what he had ever dared to dream. He had no desires left.

Westford continued standing, looking at the tycoons Fernanda had brought. “These dishes are prepared for you. Please, sit and dine together.”

Though these tycoons were socialites, they wouldn’t lose face. Each bowed politely and then sat elegantly, their expressions unreadable. In truth, each suppressed wild excitement. They never imagined dining with the legendary Westford—it was truly an honor.

Around the table, smiles adorned everyone’s faces, except for the four agents.

Page (2/3)

They chatted here and there, gradually relaxing. They had expected Westford to be rigid, but he was surprisingly approachable. Yet as they ate, an odd feeling crept over them—was this how the super-elite ate? The taste was strange.

Though puzzled, out of respect for Westford, none dared voice their doubts. One by one, they pretended to savor the meal, glancing at others eating heartily, convincing themselves their own taste buds were to blame.

After the meal, Westford did not rise but instructed servants to clear the dishes. Once the table was bare, he spoke.

“I know you are all powerful figures here, and I’m sure you’re curious why I gathered you.”

No one answered, but their eyes betrayed their eagerness to know.

Westford smiled. “It’s alright; you can guess.”

Hearing this, a portly man stroked his double chin with a smile. “Could it be that Mr. Westford wants to make money with us?”

“Oh? How would I do that with you?” Westford appeared intrigued.

“Of course by exploiting the poor!” The portly man said matter-of-factly.

At this, the room erupted with the capitalists’ laughter, their ugly greed fully exposed.

Westford struck the table to silence them. “Your idea is clever, but I have no interest in the poor’s money.”

“Oh? Then what does Mr. Westford want?” curiosity filled the room.

The four agents tensed, a thought forming in their minds—here it comes, the talk of rebellion!

But what Westford said next surprised everyone.

“I want to play a game with you.”

“A game?” Everyone was confused.

“Yes, a game.” Feng Tianlin’s lips curled into a smile, eyes narrowing slightly.

“The rules are simple. The entire castle will be locked down, and you will see its true nature. Among you hides a killer who will murder at irregular intervals. I hope you can find this killer.”

“Mr. Westford, I still don’t understand,” the portly man spoke again.

Westford smiled at him. “That’s alright; you will soon see.”

Page (3/3)

As soon as he finished speaking, Westford turned to one of the agents beside him. “Lend me your gun.”

The agent hesitated for a moment, then glanced at Coro, who showed no reaction. He then drew his pistol from his waist and handed it over.

Westford politely thanked him, then looked back at everyone.

Spinning the gun in his hands, his movements showed he was a seasoned shooter.

Stopping, he gazed at the firearm and slowly said, “Then... the game begins.”

With that, he pressed the gun to his mouth and fired.

At the gunshot, Westford collapsed immediately.

Before anyone could react, the surroundings instantly shifted into a dark crimson hue. Everything around them changed.

The once luxurious interior became dilapidated and ruined, while the bloodstains on the table made everyone nauseous.

“Ugh! What is going on?” Coro roared angrily.

He couldn’t accept that they had been eating human flesh!

If an agent couldn’t bear it, how could ordinary people?

The dining room descended into chaos.

Some tried to escape but realized that, as Westford had said, the entire castle was locked down.

Windows, doors—even the chimney—offered no escape.

The enclosed space triggered a deep-seated human fear.

Entering the castle had been suffocating enough; now, trapped, no one could bear it.

Some had already begun despairingly banging their heads against the walls, but to no avail.

In this dire situation, the four agents remained calmest. Their first thought was: Westford shot himself, so what about his adopted daughter?

They searched everywhere but found no trace—not even Westford’s body.

Recalling Westford’s previous abilities, they concluded he hadn’t committed suicide but likely hid somewhere with his daughter.

They gathered everyone and shared their thoughts.

Among the tycoons, no fools dwelled; hearing the agents’ words, they calmed down.

If this was a game designed by Westford, then they just had to play it well.

But what did the killer mean?

Just as everyone pondered, a woman screamed.

All turned toward the sound.

The portly man lay on the ground, a large, bloody hole in his abdomen—gruesome and chilling.