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All around was filthy, old, and thick with dust. Xia Yue jumped to her feet, frantically brushing gray powder from her clothes. Her book had transformed into a lantern, its dim glow cutting through the darkness. The fountain pen she’d borrowed just now had fallen to the ground—luckily, it wasn’t broken. She sighed in relief.
This place looked like it had once been a classroom, the architecture a mix of brick and stone, radiating the aura of a bygone era. The air was heavy with a pungent moldy odor. Broken desks and chairs were covered in dust and spider webs; every step sent little puffs of grit swirling up from the floor.
But the most confusing thing—Xin Chen Liu had drawn the arrows, so why had she been brought here too? She guessed it was because she’d been standing too close and got sucked in as well. She should never have trusted Xin Chen Liu about “the school is perfectly safe”—she really should have kept her distance.
She wanted to redraw an arrow on the table of contents to return, but her book was now a lantern, with nowhere to write.
The eerie surroundings brought to mind the horror RPG she’d played over the summer—where the protagonists performed a mysterious friendship ritual, only to be trapped in an abandoned elementary school full of murderous ghosts. The scene before her was nearly identical.
Honestly, she’d never been afraid of creepy places. As a kid, she didn’t get why friends screamed in haunted houses. Under dim lights, she’d always see the “description text” first—nylon wigs, fake blood, everything clearly spelled out, making it impossible to be scared.
But this wasn’t some prop-filled haunted house set up for tourists to scream. This was a place that felt truly, chillingly wrong.
Cautiously, Xia Yue crept through the classroom, taking everything in—the desks scribbled with curse words, broken chairs made of patched-together fir, cypress, and camphor, chairs with protruding nails, drawers full of mold, chipped teacher’s podium… everywhere, there were warning signs.
At the center of the classroom, she noticed a faint silhouette by the window. It was so still that she only realized now someone—or something—was right there, facing her.
Xia Yue instinctively clutched the charm at her chest and dared not move. Instead, she tried to “read” the figure’s description—but the more she looked, the stranger it seemed. Unlike a living person, its narrative was fixed and jagged, as if carved into stone:
Hate. Jealousy. Why. How could you. No. Don’t. Not real. End. Unfinished…
She recoiled by instinct. The figure jerked upright as if someone had pressed a switch. She spun around to escape, but her foot caught on a chair and she crashed to the ground.
The shadow was faster than she’d imagined. Its black hand reached for her from behind, covered in twisted words like abandonment, assimilation, resentment, kill, and drew closer at frightening speed.
Bang! The shadow suddenly tripped and fell. Xia Yue scrambled up and saw what had tripped it—it was that strange black thread-doll again!
The doll lunged at her, making Xia Yue yelp and kick reflexively. It flew like a ball, knocking down the shadow just as it was getting up.
There was no time to celebrate. Her heart pounded wildly. In this darkness, where the text was so easy to read, she finally noticed the thread-doll’s own description. A surge of strange, almost nostalgic familiarity rose in her chest, bringing tears to her eyes.
Before she could ponder further, the shadow rose again—sending Xia Yue sprinting in panic. Suddenly, a familiar voice sounded from outside the door: “Xia Yue?”
Lil’ Yu’s figure appeared in the doorway, a warm beacon in the middle of all this darkness.
But Xia Yue didn’t dare relax. She shouted, “Run! Now!”
Without hesitation, Lil’ Yu grabbed her hand, and they ran as fast as they could. Only after the shadow and the thread-doll were lost in the gloom did they stop, gasping for breath.
Just as Xia Yue was about to complain about how terrifying this place was, she heard Lil’ Yu say in surprise, “Why are you crying?”
“Huh?”
Xia Yue touched her face. It was wet. She hadn’t meant to cry, but her face was covered in tears, though now she had stopped. Was she really that shaken?
Emotionally, she realized she’d been affected by the thread-doll’s description—like the shadow’s, it was full of “unfinished” words, stiff and lifeless. Yet, for some reason, only the doll filled her with a sense of nostalgia and embarrassment.
“It must be an allergy to old paper. We should get out of here,” Lil’ Yu said.
“Paper? Allergy?” Xia Yue was baffled.
Seeing her confusion, Lil’ Yu added, “I saw you kicking through a pile of yellowed paper—looked like you were terrified.”
Xia Yue was stunned. So while she’d been fighting for her life, to Lil’ Yu she’d just been flailing around in a harmless pile of scrap paper?
“It wasn’t just paper! That thread-doll was there again! And something even scarier!”
She babbled out the whole harrowing encounter while the two of them looked for Xin Chen Liu, sharing what they’d each seen, trying to piece together the truth—and a way out.
Lil’ Yu said this place felt like a paper maze: all around were old, yellowed sheets of paper, musty and dusty, yet sturdy as walls, impossible to tear. There were faded traces of writing that had been erased, but nothing she could make out.
From her perspective, Xia Yue had just been in a room full of paper scraps—no monsters, no thread-doll. If anything, the heap of crumpled wastepaper in the corner maybe looked a bit like a monster.
“It’s like since I can’t read the words, I only see the paper; but you can read the text, so you see what’s made of words,” Lil’ Yu mused. “It really is weird here. No phone signal, and pictures just come out blank.”
To Lil’ Yu, the lantern in Xia Yue’s hand was just a blank book. Xia Yue had been happy at first, thinking her sister could see the real form of the book—but Lil’ Yu couldn’t see any text at all, nor could she draw an arrow in the table of contents to get out.
“Useless lantern… Where’s Marelin? Wasn’t this supposed to be another form of her? Change back into a book already!” Xia Yue grumbled, banging the lantern to no effect.
As they talked and walked, Xia Yue suddenly gestured for silence.
In the hallway ahead, a group of black, blocky creatures was moving stiffly—just like the monster she’d seen before. And there was more than one!
She led Lil’ Yu in a crouch, sneaking down a stairwell. She planned to head for the ground floor, hoping there’d be a way out of this building.
They descended to the third floor and, rounding a corner, came face to face with a shadowy figure. Remembering the shadow monsters from before, Xia Yue’s first reflex was to read its description—this one flowed. It was alive!
Excitement rose in her. Maybe this was a good guy.
It was a young man, seen from behind. He had short black hair with streaks of blue and purple, wore a T-shirt and jeans, and carried a hint of casual style. He was tall and slender—Xia Yue couldn’t help wondering if he’d be as handsome from the front.
To be safe, Xia Yue had her “reality-checker” sister confirm. Lil’ Yu glanced at him and nodded—she could see him.
Whistle—
Suddenly, the boy let out a sharp whistle, startling Xia Yue. She ran forward and hissed, “You’ll attract the monsters!”
The boy spun around, clearly startled, then scowled and snapped, “Go away.”
Xia Yue was stunned. All this time, she’d thought Lil’ Yu was a cold, emotionless robot—how wrong she’d been. Now she saw what true coldness looked like: a sharp, deep-set face, every line severe, the gaze icy. Though he seemed their age, he was absolutely intimidating.
She stepped back, almost stepping on Lil’ Yu’s foot, then nudged her to turn away. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
Whistle—
The whistling sounded again.
Then came a rustling, and monsters emerged from the darkness.
Xia Yue grabbed Lil’ Yu and ducked into a nearby classroom; Lil’ Yu quickly toppled a pile of paper to block the door. In Xia Yue’s vision, the two of them piled up desks to barricade the entrance.
They peered out, watching the handsome weirdo get his comeuppance.
But as the monsters lunged at the boy, Xia Yue felt a stab of guilt. She knew logically she should mind her own business—it was his fault for being reckless. But it was still nerve-wracking to watch someone get attacked.
Instead, the boy simply hugged the monsters, spinning around with them.
Xia Yue rubbed her eyes—was she seeing this right?
The monsters swarmed him, and the boy began to emit a faint gray light. He embraced the creatures like a master joyfully greeted by his pets returning home.
She looked to Lil’ Yu, who seemed just as confused; from her perspective, the boy was just acting out a bizarre silent drama with himself.
The boy held a pen, writing in the air. Mysteriously, glowing gray text lingered where he wrote, like a jumble of ghostly sigils, impossible to read.
The gray glow gathered and swelled, then enveloped a notebook he carried. White threads like seals wound around it, but under the gray light, they unraveled, the notebook sprang open, and a tiny black creature burst out, tearing through the pages.
The little monster’s body was covered in scrawled words—just like the shadows before.
Xia Yue clutched Lil’ Yu in fright. Had she just witnessed a villain’s evil ritual for making monsters? Were they next? If this were a manga or novel, a villain this good-looking was surely the big boss, and they, as noobs, would be toast!
Maybe they were just too insignificant. The boy didn’t even glance at them, only whistled again, leading his monsters away like a Pied Piper.
Not until the whistling faded into the distance did Xia Yue relax. Together with her sister, she cleared the barricade and stepped out of the classroom.
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