According to the school rules, the Principal’s office was also on the fifth floor, but after leaving the teachers’ dormitory, the black shadow led Li Xin consistently downward.
Li Xin had no intention of asking questions; he simply followed it in silence.
The black shadow moved without a sound, and Li Xin walked just as noiselessly. The motion-sensor lights in the hallway failed to register enough sound and, after a brief flicker of hesitation, went out completely.
As the light vanished, the building was plunged into total darkness. Yet, Li Xin’s feet never faltered, his half-lidded eyes diligently reflecting everything in the dark into his mind.
Although this wasn’t the first time he’d confirmed it, Li Xin still found it miraculous.
His night vision seemed almost too good. Sometimes, Li Xin even wondered if he were buried underground, he would be able to accurately count the number of pebbles in the dark just to pass the time before suffocation.
He hadn’t been to the areas below the third floor. The second floor was the canteen, though by the time he’d entered the game, dinner hours were long gone.
He took a quick look as he passed; the canteen doors were shut, and he couldn’t tell if they were locked.
The black shadow didn’t stop until it reached the first floor.
The first floor, never mentioned in the school rules, was empty, indistinguishable from the reception area of any ordinary building. The building’s main entrance consisted of heavy, double-leaf iron doors, tightly bolted shut—a style that, logically, shouldn’t have been in a place like this.
The black shadow didn’t prevent Li Xin from looking around. It turned and moved toward the corridor to the right of the main entrance, and then a series of beep-beep sounds rang out.
“An elevator?” Li Xin, who had moved closer upon hearing the noise, was finally surprised. He had observed the upper levels of the building earlier and hadn’t found any space that could accommodate an elevator shaft.
I suppose this is what you get in a world of supernatural powers, Li Xin thought. I really should change how I approach everything here.
The elevator arrived with a ding. The black shadow entered first to press the floor button, and once Li Xin stepped inside, it pressed the “close door” button.
Seriously, even monsters use elevators these days? What did those players call them? Oh right, ‘Dungeon Monsters.’
Li Xin leaned against the railing, openly observing the pitch-black mass. It didn’t look like liquid or gas; he had no idea what its texture was, but it could speak.
The black shadow made no comment on his brazen staring, remaining motionless from the moment it entered the elevator—a perfect candidate for a haunted house job.
The elevator stopped at Basement Level 4.
The opening doors revealed a corridor constructed of cement walls and iron grating.
The black shadow turned sluggishly to the side and actually gestured for Li Xin to proceed.
Li Xin hadn’t seen it clearly in the classroom, but this time, he noticed the shadow’s hands were oddly round and short. Combined with its nearly two-meter stature, it looked absurdly comical.
Li Xin couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter.
He laughed quite boisterously, and while the black shadow didn’t seem to understand his behavior, its mission was complete once the human left the elevator. It slowly reached out to close the doors again, leaving Li Xin standing in the corridor, clutching his stomach as he laughed.
As the laughter gradually faded, the smile on Li Xin’s face began to dissipate bit by bit, until that pair of pitch-black eyes regained their usual indifferent, nonchalant coldness.
“How funny,” he murmured to himself, turning to walk toward the rusted iron door at the end of the hall.
He didn’t look specifically, but Li Xin could sense too many visible and invisible cameras here, and behind those lenses, a pair of eyes was observing his every move.
Li Xin had discovered the pervasive gaze early on, leading him to form a hypothesis about the Principal’s personality.
Without a doubt, this was a dangerous, paranoid, ego-driven controller.
Listening to the clang of the iron door being pushed open, Li Xin mused over the profile forming in his mind, noting that if not for the age gap, the face he was imagining would fit his own remarkably well.
He felt like laughing again.
But this time, he suppressed the urge and walked inside with a cold expression.
Inside the iron door, there were three branching paths without signs.
Li Xin had no interest in running around like a headless chicken, so he stood in the center of the junction.
Cold, white light, entirely different from the upper levels, shone down on him from all directions, forcing his shadow to curl up beneath his feet.
The gaze from the monitors didn’t cease, but Li Xin wasn’t worried about his behavior exposing his identity. Since the black shadow had personally guided him here, it meant his current “persona” was being summoned for the first time; not knowing the way was perfectly normal.
Seconds ticked by. The empty space was deathly silent. Li Xin wasn’t in a rush; he just waited. It wasn’t until the person behind the monitors lost patience that, with a click, the light on the right flickered off, followed by the one directly in front.
Only the light on the left remained, casting half of Li Xin’s body in a deathly pallor.
Li Xin turned his head slowly, the corners of his mouth—which had been slightly curved—flattening completely as he faced the camera. He bowed his head and walked through the hidden door that opened as the lights went out.
Inside was a solitary confinement room. A man in a white lab coat stood with his back to him, fiddling with something on an instrument.
Li Xin didn’t speak, standing at a polite distance to wait.
The man acted as if he hadn’t noticed anyone entering, his hands moving incessantly, humming a tune with unrecognizable lyrics.
Only after he pressed one last button did he take off his mask and turn around.
The moment he saw that face, Li Xin froze, realizing all the profiling he had done in his mind had just become worthless scrap paper.
Standing before him was a suit-wearing, faceless monster. The head was smooth, like an unpeeled egg, with no features whatsoever.
A monster, no doubt. Judging a monster by human standards probably wouldn’t work.
The Principal stood facing Li Xin for a while before finally remembering something. He reached out to a table, picked up a layer of “skin” (a mask), and placed it unhurriedly onto his face.
Li Xin watched this “assembly” of a face with a sense of numbness. He truly felt his mindset wasn’t open-minded enough—perhaps he needed to visit a mental institution for inspiration.
Once the facial features were attached, the Principal adjusted them, then offered an apologetic smile. “My apologies. I almost forgot. Teacher Li wasn’t frightened, was he?”
Li Xin hadn’t been frightened, but that didn’t stop him from planning to look up some materials to reshape his worldview once he got back. However, now wasn’t the time for that. Li Xin put on a smile and raised an eyebrow. “Not at all. The Principal said you wanted to invite me for tea?”
Ignoring the direct approach, the Principal nodded, pressed a button, and a door behind him opened. He walked through, speaking as he went: “Yes. Tea from the outside. A reward only for excellent, diligent teachers.”
Li Xin scanned the room, which contained only a table, two chairs, and a tea set. Following the Principal’s gesture, he sat down across from him and looked at the teacup pushed toward him.
Inside the cup was a clear, orange-red liquid with a few floating tea fragments. Li Xin lowered his eyes, catching the faint hint of a strange aroma.
It was an indescribable scent—sticky and cloying.
The Principal noticed Li Xin’s gaze and spoke with hidden meaning: “Teacher Li, do you feel you are qualified to drink this tea?”
This question was a trap.
If he answered “no,” it implied that Li Xin felt he hadn’t fulfilled his duties as a teacher. Given that the school doctor would rather lose a valuable prop than be reported to the Principal by Li Xin, it was clear that dereliction of duty led to severe punishment.
But if he answered “yes,” he would have to drink this tea of unknown composition.
The Principal observed Li Xin with intense interest, attempting to find a trace of hesitation or panic on his face.
However, after a brief moment of reflection, Li Xin simply met his gaze calmly, his tone light. “Since the Principal took the initiative to invite me for tea tonight, I assumed you had already approved of me.”
Approved of what?
Li Xin didn’t say, but the Principal seemed to understand.
A smile appeared on the Principal’s face, though it was mechanically stiff. The assembled features seemed to move independently, resulting in a crooked nose and squinting eyes—the “uncanny valley” effect was in full force.
“You are right. But my approval doesn’t mean much,” the Principal replied. He rested his chin on his crossed hands, his emotionless eyes locking onto Li Xin. “Please, Teacher Li.”
Please my foot.
Li Xin remained peaceful on the surface, but he was cursing internally. The more he smelled it, the more irritable he became. It was an blatant provocation: This thing is poisonous—are you going to drink it or not?
Clearly, Li Xin had no choice.
Standing before him was his direct superior. If he caused a scene now, forget about the players he was deceiving—without his faculty identity, anything else in this building could kill him.
The scent grew stronger, causing Li Xin’s nerves to throb. He suspected the substance was meant to numb his senses; even his thoughts were slowing down.
But for now, Li Xin still had enough strength to resist.
Maintaining his smiling expression, he steadied the teacup and asked, “Principal, may I ask what exactly this is?”
Only now did Li Xin truly clarify his position. The Principal’s phrasing had indirectly told him that he was also a teacher who had arrived at this cursed school recently; otherwise, the Principal wouldn’t have felt the need to explain so much.
This was undoubtedly good news; it meant he could seize as much initiative as possible.
And asking questions was the most important part of that.
As expected, the Principal didn’t doubt his sudden question, answering with surprising good humor: “After drinking it, you will become one of the excellent teachers here. You will gain more ‘freedom’ here.”
The Principal emphasized the word “freedom.” Li Xin’s hand, rotating the teacup, paused as he thought of the two hidden cameras in his dormitory.
So, if I drink this, my future movements will no longer be monitored by the Principal?
The answer sounded tempting, but it failed to sway Li Xin. He didn’t believe the Principal could be this kind. Drinking this unknown liquid was likely no safer than being watched all day. If this was some high-tech magic-world poison, he might end up losing his brain without even knowing it.
Therefore, Li Xin asked another question: “And if I refuse?”
This answer seemed to take the Principal by surprise. He stared fixedly into Li Xin’s eyes for a long time before laughing hoarsely: “Don’t be in such a hurry to answer, Teacher Li. Let’s watch something first.”
Li Xin remained noncommittal, leaning back against the chair.
At a snap of the Principal’s fingers, the massive screen on the wall flickered to life with a static hiss, showing forty-odd small, split-screen feeds.
It was monitor footage.
Li Xin frowned slightly; the quantity was even greater than he had anticipated.
The Principal grabbed a controller from the table and casually enlarged one of the feeds—in the footage, the figure with grey hair was looking back, his brow slightly furrowed.
It was Yu Suheng.
And behind him, on the white wall, a shadow with blurred edges began to twist and shake without warning.
Until it shrank to the size of a five- or six-year-old child, whereupon it suddenly turned toward the camera and bared its bloody red gums in a grin.