Survey Questionnaire
The instant the siren blared, the fleetingly harmonious image inside the phone booth rapidly lost its color amidst the chaos.
Everything dissolved at an incredible speed, melting into snowmelt and converging into a wide river.
When she regained consciousness, Ying Yan quickly realized she had appeared unharmed in the cinema, a voice echoing in her ears.
Glancing sideways, she saw Yu Li and Zhuang Ji present, and felt a slight sense of relief.
On the armrest of the seat, a fruit plate sat quietly, as if nothing had happened.
“Ding—Snow Mountain Cinema sincerely reminds you that the immersive viewing mode has ended. Please continue watching the remainder of the film.”
Ying Yan glimpsed at her phone: 00:10.
Fifty minutes remained until the film concluded.
The cinema required silence, not a good place for conversation.
Once sure everyone was accounted for, Ying Yan focused entirely on the movie.
If the first few minutes had been barely watchable, the remaining fifty minutes were unbearable.
Amidst chaotic scene layouts, interspersed with occasionally lyrical or cheerful voiceovers, the plot was fragmented, held together only by the heroine’s appearance.
Finally, at the end, the youthful, elegant urban professional faced the red telephone, placing three incense sticks with solemn reverence.
It didn’t feel like an expression of love—it was more like offering tribute to a wealth deity.
This absurd scene left Ying Yan silent.
She studied the woman’s features carefully and recognized a familiar shadow.
It appeared to be the little girl rescued from the snow mountain phone booth.
Yet, the way she expressed gratitude was strangely off.
As the final frame of the film ended, the cinema lights gradually brightened, revealing faces in the dim illumination.
At that moment, the main screen dimmed to black.
A white outline appeared on the edges, resembling a dark, foreboding sack. What it contained was unknown.
With a crisp ripping sound, the black interior of the sack shifted toward the audience, creating a heavy, oppressive feeling reminiscent of a black hole in the cosmos.
In that instant, Ying Yan felt a subtle, dense pull, as if something was drawing her closer.
She suppressed the strange force, trying to calmly assess the situation.
Soon, a bony hand emerged from the sack, followed by a foot in a filthy shoe.
Then, half a body appeared—a blood-caked head, full of malice, poking out.
Before long, the entire body emerged.
It was a man about 1.5 meters tall, wearing a tattered down jacket.
Blood trickled from his forehead, he carried a dark green bag on his chest, and his black eyes darted around, locking onto living beings in under a minute.
Then his expression froze, as if he had seen something extremely unpleasant.
Yet that unpleasantness was mixed with intense fear.
Reluctantly, Li Yuecang stepped forward toward the audience and stopped in front of Ying Yan. He pulled out a thin sheet of paper and said:
“Snow Mountain Cinema values every viewer and hopes for the most honest feedback. Please fill out this survey seriously. Achieving full marks may trigger a special reward mechanism!”
Ying Yan’s peripheral vision caught the indentation on the nearby seat disappearing, roughly indicating that viewers could leave.
She stood, took the survey from the man, slipped it into her pocket, and asked, “Do you have a pen?”
Hearing this, Li Yuecang’s face twisted into a malicious smile.
Blood on his forehead gushed more fiercely, running down his neck, shoulders, and even onto the dark green bag on his chest.
The bag, washed in blood, appeared eerily clean.
“No pen… perhaps you can use your own or your companion’s blood.”
A clear, magnetic male voice sounded nearby, tinged with barely restrained irritation:
“Excuse me, are you the only one distributing these surveys?”
Li Yuecang instinctively nodded, replying, “Yes, I’m enough alone. Each of you must fill one out, or you’ll die!”
Ying Yan instinctively glanced sideways.
The man’s eyes met hers, black and cold, emanating a murderous intent.
Sensing the unintentional eye contact, he concealed the malice, adopting a polite, distant indifference.
It seemed he intended to go together.
In the next moment, Ying Yan acted unexpectedly, grabbing the short man by the shoulders and executing a clean shoulder throw.
She then struck his most vulnerable area with her knee.
Once he curled up in pain with no strength to resist, she pinned him to the chair back.
Compared to men, women naturally have a physical disadvantage. Only through intense training can they overcome it.
Ying Yan’s time was limited due to school and part-time work, so she trained decisively, aiming for efficient, single-move combat.
Zhuang Ji reacted quickly, pressing a shiny utility knife against the short man’s neck, causing blood to flow.
Yu Li ignored caution, raining wild punches on him, leaving him wailing.
Sometimes, the phrase “a novice’s wild punches can kill a master” holds true. Uncontrolled strikes hurt more.
Through prior “teamwork,” the three coordinated seamlessly, leaving the man no chance to counterattack.
The situation reversed within moments.
Li Yuecang was dumbstruck.
Weakened by the film’s plot, he now faced unprecedented “ganging up.”
Like meat on a chopping block, he was at their mercy.
Bullies often act tough toward the weak but cower before the strong.
After being thoroughly beaten, Li Yuecang’s voice softened, his attitude humble:
“Stop hitting… there’s a pen in the bag, take it.”
Ying Yan gestured for Yu Li to take the bag and said calmly, “Did you hear what he said?”
She despised scum who bullied the old, young, or weak.
It was bad enough that the man had emerged from the film, but letting him go easily was out of the question.
“I didn’t hear,” said Zhuang Ji, taking Yu Li’s place.
He had studied human anatomy for creative purposes, making him heavier and stronger in combat than Yu Li.
Though his bones ached, it was not externally visible.
An hour later, the 1.5-meter short man had a bruised face, and his down jacket was even more tattered, evoking both pity and absurdity.
Ying Yan sat, took a pen from the bag, and tentatively made a mark on the survey.
Crimson ink flowed out and was absorbed, leaving no trace.
If she had used real blood, the amount would have far exceeded expectations.
The survey had three questions, corresponding to the three viewers.
First question: The heroine’s name?
A brief scene showed her presenting her ID during a job interview. The moment passed quickly.
Ying Yan noticed, dipped the pen in red ink, and wrote “Zhao Yin” three times.
Second question: The name of the Snow Mountain police station?
She had heard this twice and remembered it clearly, writing “Shanchi Police Station” three times.
Third question: Number of victims?
This stumped Ying Yan.
The Snow Mountain was vast, and she and Yu Li hadn’t fully explored the area where the short man was.
However, the person involved was present—she could ask him.
Catching her gaze, Li Yuecang hid the malice in his eyes, appearing meek.
He was about to speak but was interrupted: “Six.”
Zhuang Ji, annoyed, added casually: “I became the man’s fruit knife and saw inside the cave. There were six white marks and small blood-stained objects—exactly six children.”
Unlike Yu Li, Zhuang Ji couldn’t move initially; his view was restricted, only able to see the knife from one angle.
Over time, he explored slightly, and while the short man slept, he freed the children’s ropes, feigning death, preparing to strike when the opportunity arose.
He even kicked Li Yuecang while recounting the events.
He was a bit of a neat freak, but Li Yuecang never cleaned his knife. Soaked in blood for days, it felt tainted even after returning to normal.
Thus, his hatred for Li Yuecang was unprecedented.
Li Yuecang, still unwilling to give up, lied: “He’s wrong, I counted nine. I chased that child relentlessly just to make it perfect ten.”
Ying Yan said “Oh,” repeated three times, and wrote “six” on the paper.
She trusted her teammates over the deceitful villain.
The red ink on the survey flowed and transformed, gradually forming a bold “100.”
Within moments, the white paper was soaked in flowing blood, turning into a vivid red silk cloth.
Startled, Ying Yan dropped it, but it hovered above the floor.
Countless bright, flexible silken threads spread outward, weaving silently into collars, cuffs, skirts…
A striking, mysterious vintage robe took shape.
The red hem grazed the floor; golden thread traced pomegranate blossoms. Above, a cracked white porcelain face appeared, exuding a sense of ruin. Dark smoke oozed from the cracks, terrifying to behold.
The red-robed porcelain statue stood before Ying Yan, smiling slightly:
“As the first-place winner, you must answer a question, dear child.”
Normally, a smile on a cracked porcelain face would be terrifying, no matter how kind.
Surprisingly, Ying Yan felt a strange fondness toward this elder.
Seeing no reflection of Yu Li or Zhuang Ji in the eyes, she stepped back slightly and asked, “What’s your question?”