The shadow shrank, but Li Xin seemed uninterested in this little performance.
He stared at the child-like shadow for a long while without reaction, eventually shifting his gaze back to Yu Suheng. Under the camera’s lens, the man’s expression remained indifferent, but for some reason, Li Xin could just tell he was in a foul mood.
“See anything?” the Principal asked.
Li Xin murmured an acknowledgment, answering internally: I see a beauty in a bad mood.
He didn’t say it aloud, though; otherwise, the Principal might fly into a rage, pull out a chainsaw, and lop his head off.
The surveillance footage remained locked on the shadow until Yu Suheng quickly exited the frame. Recalling his focus with a touch of regret, Li Xin tried his best to appear earnest. “It’s a shadow. Is there a problem with it?”
“A shadow?” The Principal whispered upon hearing his question. In the next second, he finally shed the skin of the persuasive elder. He stood up, back straight, and walked to the television with an air of pride. He leaned almost entirely against the screen, speaking in a tone that was nearly religious. “No, it is not just a shadow. This is the pursuit we have always chased.”
“A pursuit? Shadow plastic surgery?” Li Xin raised his eyes. Since realizing he was also a “newcomer,” his demeanor had become visibly relaxed, and poison couldn’t help but spill from his lips the moment he opened them.
“No, of course not.” The Principal showed immense patience. “Teacher Li, you know them—not just them, everyone.” The Principal muttered, looking manic. “Do you know why people flock here?”
Li Xin nodded in agreement, though he harbored deep suspicions about the Principal’s mental health.
The Principal was satisfied and continued: “Some say this place is a scam, and perhaps you’ve had your doubts, too. But I can tell you: this place can truly and thoroughly correct one’s life trajectory, bringing it back to the right track.”
Life trajectory correction…
Li Xin tapped the table, supporting his chin with one hand, and chuckled lightly. “But what has already happened is destined to be irreversible. What method are we using to correct the trajectory? Electric shocks?”
“Of course not. Electric shocks are merely a means.” The Principal’s eyes shimmered. “What we do is the exact opposite. What has already happened may be irreversible, but we can start over.”
“Start over…” Li Xin frowned slightly.
In the surveillance footage, the shrunken shadow had begun bouncing a ball. It bounced it with great force, as if trying to embed the object into the ground.
“Look at this child.” The Principal noticed Li Xin’s gaze and looked back greedily, stroking the blurry shadow on the television screen. “His life has yet to begin. We can set a trajectory for him, letting him grow according to our requirements from childhood… and like that, he will become an entirely different person.”
The Principal almost sighed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? After all, there are too many people today who are dissatisfied with their current status. They believe they shouldn’t be living the life they have now; they think their failures today are the result of wrong choices made from childhood to the present, yet they lack the power to change them.”
He paused, staring into Li Xin’s eyes with a mixture of fanaticism and confidence. “But all of this is achievable. As long as you make up your mind to abandon your current, mud-like existence.”
The dizziness intensified.
Yet, Li Xin’s eyes remained bright. He didn’t offer an evaluation, simply meeting the Principal’s gaze calmly, his voice devoid of ripples. “So, what we are doing is turning them back into children… so they can start over?”
“Yes, yes! You understand!” The Principal was overjoyed, as if he had unearthed some hidden treasure. It made Li Xin feel like he was a… different kind of madman being recognized by a lunatic.
I really have landed in an asylum, Li Xin thought. And not just an ordinary one—these monsters are actually capable of this.
“Sounds truly grand,” Li Xin, the intruder in the mental hospital, praised drily. “What exactly needs to be done?”
“Through assimilation, they must believe from the bottom of their hearts that they are children.” The Principal answered crisply, then added with a touch of regret: “Unfortunately, quite a few lack the necessary conviction. They can’t even pass the physical exam or abide by the rules. Worse yet, they retreat.”
Li Xin keenly noticed a change in the Principal’s emotions: anger. He seemed to view everyone who came here as his own personal property; even regret was not permitted.
It was no longer appropriate to continue the Q&A; the Principal’s patience was visibly evaporating. Li Xin finally dropped his smile, staring at the monster consumed by human desire.
The Principal reached out and pushed the now-cold cup of tea toward Li Xin, the corners of his mouth splitting open. “I have said what needed to be said. What is your choice, Teacher Li?”
On the other side, in the student dormitory.
Lin Zhuanghong avoided the “classmates” sitting upright with their eyes closed at their desks and crept toward the only other familiar person in the room.
Yu Suheng stood leaning against the bed, deep in thought. Hearing the movement, those deep, calm blue eyes fell upon Lin Zhuanghong.
“Yu, don’t you feel like it’s freezing in here?” Lin Zhuanghong felt a chill, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It keeps giving me the feeling that there’s something else here.”
Your instincts are quite sharp, Yu Suheng thought. He glanced at the shadows of their so-called “classmates” on the wall but said nothing. He gestured toward the desks and spoke coldly: “Why aren’t you meditating?”
Meditation was something they had found on a flyer-like document while Lin Zhuanghong was hunting for clues. It roughly required them to sit at their desks before sleep, hands clasped, recalling regrettable scenes from their childhood until the lights went out.
Lin Zhuanghong scratched his head, uncertain. “But the NPCs’ state looks very strange. Besides, this is our first day of school, and that NPC teacher didn’t mention any pre-sleep meditation. Maybe this isn’t a school requirement?”
Hearing Lin Zhuanghong mention Li Xin, Yu Suheng twitched the corner of his mouth, thinking irritably: You’re counting on him?
His memories are gone, his brain is incomplete, yet he still comes to this godforsaken place to make trouble, and he doesn’t forget to tease me, either.
Should I call him consistent or just incredibly punchable?
Seeing Yu Suheng’s face instantly darken, Lin Zhuanghong felt inexplicably nervous. He hesitated for a long while before couldn’t-help-but-whisper: “Boss, what are you thinking about?” Please stop thinking; I’m afraid you’ll take your frustration out on me.
“Thinking about a certain heartless jerk,” Yu Suheng gritted out, a thunderclap of a sentence that left Lin Zhuanghong stunned and bewildered.
Lin Zhuanghong: …Ah?! Who is this? How can someone be heartless toward this face?
Rubbing his temples, Yu Suheng had no interest in staying any longer. He turned and headed for the door. Lin Zhuanghong rushed to speak: “Hey, hey, Yu, where are you going? Lights out in ten minutes.”
Yu Suheng opened the door, expressionless: “Doesn’t matter. You can still report to the duty teacher after lights out.”
Before stepping out, Yu Suheng glanced one last time at the two NPCs still sitting at the tables with their eyes closed. “I suggest you don’t sleep with your eyes closed tonight.”
“Why?” Lin Zhuanghong asked instinctively. He paused, feeling it was inappropriate to be so blunt with his “boss,” and scratched his head, changing his tone. “…I think that might be a bit difficult.”
Yu Suheng’s limited patience was exhausted. He withdrew his gaze and left behind a chilling sentence: “Then pray you don’t dream.”
Without waiting for Lin Zhuanghong to respond, he pushed the door and left.
The corridor lights flickered on, and Yu Suheng walked slowly up the stairs, brow slightly furrowed. This dungeon had revealed too little; they were all just being pushed forward. If this continued, Yu Suheng had a bad premonition.
Stepping onto the fourth floor, Yu Suheng glanced toward the end of the hall—the infirmary. He had observed something during the day, while Li Xin was bickering with the doctor, that caught his interest.
Standing at the entrance to the infirmary, Yu Suheng didn’t push the door. He listened carefully to the movement inside for a moment before stepping back, frowning.
The doctor hasn’t left.
Yu Suheng wasn’t surprised, but it made things troublesome. The doctor’s destructive power wasn’t high—Yu Suheng wouldn’t necessarily be at a disadvantage in a head-on collision—but the real issue was that he didn’t dare to act rashly.
He gave a self-deprecating smile. Better not cross the fragile red lines of the rules; let those idiots who are terrified of me yet keep throwing themselves in my way have a chance at survival.
Having made his choice, Yu Suheng stared at the infirmary door for a while, deciding to take a detour. He turned and headed for the room containing the operating table.
The door was locked, but Yu Suheng happened to have a prop in his inventory. He had picked it up by chance in a dungeon two instances ago. It had ten uses and could open any lock.
The translucent key shifted its form the moment it touched the lock. Yu Suheng slowed his movements, pushing it bit by bit until the tip was perfectly aligned with the deep core of the cylinder. He turned it decisively, opening the heavy iron door. At that same moment, the translucent key rapidly dissipated in his hand, leaving no trace in less than half a second, as if it were hiding from something.
Feeling the contact vanish, Yu Suheng lowered his eyes to his empty hand. Used once, not a loss, he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath.
The room was as it had been, the lights still on. Tools were scattered all over. Feeling as if he were about to kick something, Yu Suheng looked down, expressionlessly thinking: Oh, the doctor’s wife.
Unlike Li Xin, Yu Suheng lacked such twisted humor. He ignored the hammer on the floor and walked to the operating table at the center.
His long, slender fingertips stroked the surface of the table. Yu Suheng lowered his eyes, filled with patience. He circled the table once, and finally, his finger stopped abruptly on the right edge.
“So you were here.” Yu Suheng touched the sharp edge that shouldn’t have been on the table. He crouched down, thinking for a moment, and pressed his fingertip against it with some force.
Feeling the pain becoming sharper, Yu Suheng couldn’t help but drift off. He hadn’t been injured in a long, long time; he rarely even felt pain. Now, even the negligible sensation before his finger was pricked felt foreign to him.
Collecting his thoughts, Yu Suheng didn’t delay. Just as his fingers were about to slide down, he heard movement behind him.
“Who?”
A cold light flashed in Yu Suheng’s eyes. A sharp dagger dropped from his sleeve into his palm; he slashed backward without even looking. Taking advantage of the figure’s instinctive dodge, Yu Suheng grabbed their collar, pinned them down, and pressed his knee firmly into their chest. A muffled grunt of pain followed.
The dagger rested precisely against the fair, slender neck of the person beneath him. After securing them, Yu Suheng lifted his eyes to look at the person’s hands—raised in surrender on either side of their face—and that pair of half-lidded eyes. He couldn’t help but freeze.
Before he could speak, the lights suddenly went out, followed by the shrill sound of a bell.
Almost at the same instant, Yu Suheng felt the person beneath him grab his collar, completely ignoring the blade at their throat, and used their strength to lunge upward.
Yu Suheng subconsciously held back due to a moment’s hesitation, and the opponent seized the opportunity, instantly flipping him onto the ground.
The positions were completely reversed.
Yu Suheng frowned, remaining still. The person on top of him didn’t move much either; they only tightened their grip on his wrists and let out a muffled chuckle.
The laugh was very light, masked by the ringing of the bell, making it hard for Yu Suheng to hear clearly.
After about a minute, the bell finally faded away. Yu Suheng tried to identify the person’s outline in the darkness, but after a moment, he could only focus frustratedly on the deep blue gemstone dangling near their ear.
The person seemed to notice his gaze, their smile deepening. They leaned down slowly, their warm breath brushing against his sensitive ear, causing Yu Suheng to turn his head away instinctively.
“Do you like my earring?” the person lowered their voice, chuckling with an air of nonchalance. “How about I make you one just like it later?”