Byrne spread his hands wide.
"Actually, I'm quite the chatterbox. I want to talk to everyone I meet. If it weren't for the rule restrictions, I would have already gone several rounds of conversation with everyone present."
His voice came through the silver mask, carrying a hint of nonchalant banter.
As soon as these words were uttered, everyone present froze. After a moment, the man in the formal suit on stage shook his head and chuckled.
"Heh, using 'chatterbox' as an out... valid answer. Next question: Did you ride the Route 307 bus yesterday?"
Byrne was momentarily stunned by this question. This query had absolutely nothing to do with identity.
In the three questions posed to the previous two invitees, no matter how tricky the angle, the focus was always centered on identity information. But the question about the Route 307 bus involved no name, address, or profession—it was purely an inquiry into past experience.
As the saying goes, when things are out of the ordinary, there must be a catch.
In Byrne's view, this abrupt question was by no means a random one; it was likely a deliberate probe. He had personally witnessed the gruesome transformation of the young girl on that bus—the second time he had seen a victim of the Rules. That event was no secret; dozens of passengers were there, the driver was present throughout, and it had even been reported to the Rules Regulatory Bureau.
Why was this man asking about that specific event? Was he trying to confirm Byrne's experience, or testing his reaction through the question?
Countless thoughts intertwined in Byrne's mind. After thinking for a moment, he replied, "Yes."
Since this question was unrelated to identity, Byrne had no need to worry about the attendance guidelines; he only needed to tell the truth.
"A very concise reply. Valid answer. Now, for the final question."
Just as Byrne thought the man would ask something different, three items materialized out of nowhere before him.
"Come, choose one item and explain why."
It seemed that only the first two of the man's three questions would change. Realizing this, Byrne turned his gaze toward the three floating objects: a coffee cup, a sketching pencil, and a coil of thin steel wire.
From a professional standpoint, the sketching pencil was undoubtedly the most relevant item. In his daily work, whether drawing manual blueprints or recording inspiration, a sketching pencil was an essential tool. However, if he chose it, even if he masked it with a lifestyle-based reason, it would inevitably leave professional traces. After all, a sketching pencil was not a common household item.
As for the coil of steel wire, it had nothing to do with his life or career; choosing it would be counterproductive and might even lead the man to judge the answer as invalid.
To Byrne, only the coffee cup was both safe and allowed for enough creative room.
"I choose the coffee cup. I'm in the habit of drinking a cup of coffee every morning. If I'm missing it, I'm afraid I won't be able to stay focused all day. Much like right now—if I could have a cup of hot coffee, perhaps I could face this gathering with more composure."
Byrne deliberately controlled his phrasing to ensure it did not exceed one hundred words. Furthermore, he believed the answer fit the item's attributes and used a lifestyle habit to downplay any professional connections. It met the requirement of answering truthfully without exposing his identity—it was perfect.
The man on stage fell silent for a moment before clapping. "Very well. Valid answer. It seems Mr. Nine is also quick-witted. Now, the turntable continues. Who will the next lucky one be?"
Following his words, the items in front of Byrne vanished, and the spotlight enveloping him extinguished immediately. Byrne leaned back in his chair and breathed a small sigh of relief.
Nearly an hour passed without anyone noticing. The eighteen invitees had each completed their three answers, and not a single person had violated the rules.
"Congratulations to the invitees for successfully completing the test of the first segment. Next, we shall enter the second segment: Who is Lying?"
The man in the suit snapped his fingers again. Once the turntable disappeared, a lectern appeared on the stage. He then raised his right hand, revealing a stack of cards in his palm.
"Invitees, please come forward in order of your seat numbers to draw an identity card from my hand. The card will display either 'Truth' or 'Lie.' Remember, among the eighteen cards, only one says 'Lie.'"
"The ones who draw a 'Truth' card must state one true fact related to their identity, while the one who draws the 'Lie' card must tell a lie."
"After every invitee has spoken, a vote will be held to determine who the liar is. The person who receives the most votes will be eliminated. If the eliminated person is not the liar, those who voted for them will also be eliminated."
The atmosphere in the auditorium dropped to freezing point as the rules were announced. In Byrne's eyes, this second segment was far more treacherous than the first. Those with 'Truth' cards had to speak without exposing themselves, while the one with the 'Lie' card had to deceive everyone without being caught. More fatally, the voting stage tied everyone together; suspicion and calculation would wrap around everyone like vines, and a single slip-up could lead to utter destruction.
"Alright, the rules have been stated. Now, starting with Number One, come forward in sequence to draw your card and speak."
As soon as he finished, the invitee in Seat One slowly stood up. It was an elderly man with a slightly hunched figure. He walked slowly to the stage with a cane and drew a card from the man's right hand.
Number One looked down at the face of the card. He handed it back to the man in the suit, turned toward the lectern, and spoke into the microphone: "I wake up early every day for a walk, and I pass by Cuiyun Street on my route."
The old man finished and slowly walked off the stage, returning to his seat without any extra movement.
"Next, Invitee Number Two, please come to the stage."
The man's voice rang out again, and the spotlight moved to Seat Two. It was a young man in a tracksuit. Due to nervousness, his footsteps were unsteady, and his fingertips trembled slightly as he drew his card.
After looking at the card, Number Two walked to the lectern: "I... I have to deal with basketballs every day."
One by one, the invitees went up to speak. Soon, it was Byrne's turn.
"Next, Invitee Number Nine, please come to the stage."
Byrne stood up and walked onto the stage at a measured pace. Standing before the man in the suit, he drew a card and looked down: the word "Truth" was written on it.
Heh, at least it isn't a lie.
Byrne handed the card back, turned, and stepped up to the lectern. He had to state a true fact related to his identity without exposing himself...
Recalling the words the man in the suit had spoken earlier, Byrne thought for a moment and then spoke:
"I really hate clients who have 'ideas'."