Zhang Chenze’s words struck like a match.The liar’s odds are too high.Qi Xia’s brow furrowed. Why is my chance so great?To lie among strangers, with no ties—any fabrication would go unnoticed.Is this fate? A rigged game?“Something’s wrong,” Qi Xia thought. If the card decides your fate, why bother with an hour of storytelling?A dissonance gnawed at him.Qiao Jiajing snapped him back to reality. “Your turn.”Qi Xia steadied himself.“I’m Qi Xia, a con artist from Shandong. I was undering two million yuan before the quake.”The room erupted.“Con artist?!”The thread, Qi Xia realized. My story weaves through all of theirs.The Man-Goat stepped forward. “Twenty minutes to discuss. Then write the liar’s name.”Of course. Qi Xia’s mind clicked.The room’s grid pattern—walls, floor, ceiling—each square a meter.He scribbled furiously.4m × 4m × 3m = 48m3.But his calcutions faltered.54.6. 49.14.A cold truth dawned.“Guys,” Qi Xia’s voice trembled, “I have to tell you. I drew the ‘Liar’ card.”He flipped it over. The word gred back.