Pen Spirit (2)
The thatched hut had not been cleaned for a long time, and its hygiene was concerning.
The moment someone entered, they were caught off guard by the dust filling the entire room.
Coughing erupted throughout the space.
Ying Yan had anticipated this and the first thing she did upon entering was cover her nose.
Although she was the first to enter, she hadn’t inhaled too much dust.
She glanced around, taking a rough survey of the thatched hut.
The interior and exterior were equally dilapidated and desolate.
The beams crisscrossed the ceiling in a precarious manner, seemingly ready to collapse at any moment.
A section of the thatch had caved in, revealing the deep blue night outside.
Spiderwebs hung in the corners, and long strands of dust dangled down, casting faint, ghostly shadows on the floor.
The earthen walls were cracked, and occasionally a gecko crawled across them. Wild grass pushed up through the compacted soil, silently observing the humans who had intruded.
At the center of the room was a two-meter-wide table, covered in a layer of dust.
Around the table floated pale blue flames, casting a chilling, ghostly light on the faces of those present.
A few days after completing the “Midnight Screening” task, the “Pen Spirit, Pen Spirit” quest became active.
Clicking on it revealed the detailed mission instructions:
Please go to the designated location and play the online “Pen Spirit” game at midnight. Don’t worry—the game is guaranteed to succeed.You may freely ask the Pen Spirit some questions.But be careful: when the Pen Spirit asks you something, you must answer accurately.Additionally, do not bring any mirrors. Otherwise, the Pen Spirit will follow you home.Restrictions: Ten people or more!
The “Pen Spirit” game originates from one of the oldest forms of divination, “Fuji,” and is a common feature in horror movies.
Typically, those who play such spirit-summoning games are idle students looking for thrills.
Once the Pen Spirit is summoned, it becomes difficult to get rid of.
Now, under the coercion of the “Weird Questions” app, the ten people present were forced to participate in what seemed like a reckless game.
As for abandoning the task, no one knew what consequences might follow.
Indifferently put, those striving to complete this month’s missions were, in fact, waiting for others to fail.
It was only 11:30 PM, still short of the quest’s designated “underworld” hour.
After the coughing subsided, the ten people squeezed into the hut in silence.
Whether it was the flickering blue flames or the ghostly strands of dust, both could stir fear deep in one’s heart.
Ying Yan, unaffected by the eerie surroundings, grabbed a broom from the corner and swept the dust off the table.
A man holding a stick-like object bravely stepped forward and laid it on the table.
The slightly cleaner table was covered with thin, snow-white rice paper.
The man explained, “This paper is provided by the CEO, plenty for everyone. And here’s a pen—Xiao Chen is holding it.”
A sweet-faced girl squeezed through the crowd, placing a pen on the paper, speaking casually,
“Before coming, I even went to the local temple to pray for blessings. Hopefully everything goes smoothly.”
Her words sounded like a death flag, making the already tense atmosphere even heavier.
Seeing this, Ying Yan knew she couldn’t leave room for overthinking and suggested:
“Since we’re waiting anyway, why don’t we give ourselves nicknames for easier addressing?”
Although they all came from the same chat group, most had never met in person.
The roundtable meeting had already hinted that personal information was sensitive, so full introductions were inadvisable.
But picking a nickname was feasible.
Seeing everyone nod, she considered briefly and said, “I’ll start, then clockwise. You can call me ‘Prophet.’”
To her left stood the man with the rice paper. Tall and burly, easily over 1.9 meters.
He laughed, “Little sister, that name won’t work—you’ll be the first to get eliminated in Werewolf. My surname’s Lei; just call me Old Lei.”
Next was the sweet-looking girl with the pen.
Her hair was in a bun with a few strands framing her face, youthful and cute. “Just call me Xiao Chen.”
Beside Xiao Chen stood a young boy wearing a beret, appearing only fifteen or sixteen.
His features were delicate and sharp, like a trendy young “puppy” type.
But when he spoke, his clear, slightly sweet voice immediately revealed his gender.
“Hello, call me Floating Duckweed.”
Noticing some surprised looks, Floating Duckweed explained,
“I’m not wearing makeup. I naturally have a boyish appearance.”
Next to Floating Duckweed was the woman who had previously mocked Old Lei.
Her long golden hair waved in big curls, and a jade bracelet adorned her wrist. Her eyes held an alluring charm.
“White Rose.”
Then came identical twin boys, handsome with small fangs showing when they spoke.
They exchanged a glance, speaking in unison: “I’m Lai Fu, he’s Lai Cai!”
Realizing their choice of names conflicted, they corrected themselves: “Fine, I’ll be Lai Cai, he’ll be Lai Fu.”
Even with the change, it made little difference.
One shrugged, and the other said, “Call us whatever you want; no one will tell us apart anyway.”
Next was a middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses, dressed elegantly.
He looked to be in his fifties, with a calm, gentle gaze, showing wisdom from experience.
“I’m a teacher; you can call me Teacher.”
The remaining two seemed to be friends, standing shoulder to shoulder, intimate.
They discussed for at least ten minutes. The short-haired girl said, “I’m Apple; she’s Orange.”
The long-haired girl didn’t protest, quietly keeping her gaze on the flames.
After the introductions, only a few minutes remained.
Everyone stood by the table, ready to play the Pen Spirit game.
These minutes passed painfully slowly.
Finally, midnight arrived.
Hands interlocked over the table, with a pen vertically placed in the center.
Different fingers, skin tones, and sizes gently held the pen, pale blue flames reflecting anxious faces.
“Pen Spirit, Pen Spirit, you were my past life, I am your present. To continue our bond, please draw a circle on the paper.”
Under everyone’s watchful eyes, the pen slowly moved.
The group recoiled in panic, watching the pen draw a smooth circle without any human guidance.
The temperature around them dropped by two or three degrees, and the floating flames converged at the center of the table, forming a humanoid outline.
All signs pointed to the Pen Spirit’s arrival.
The pen tip moved, and words appeared on the paper:
I am the Pen Spirit. I can answer one question for each person.Ask carefully, starting from the position indicated by the flame.
The blue flame passed over the fearless—and somewhat oddly excited—Ying Yan, settling on the visibly frightened Xiao Chen.
Xiao Chen took a deep breath and recalled the Pen Spirit’s taboos, choosing a question she couldn’t get wrong: “What was my past life?”
She looked at the humanoid flame above, her heart racing nervously.
The pen moved, slowly writing two crooked characters on the paper: “Doctor.”
Not surprising, but also not particularly enlightening.
Xiao Chen sighed in relief, feeling temporarily safe.
Next was Floating Duckweed.
She thought for a moment, asking, “Can you explain the game rules in detail?”
The paper quickly displayed crooked letters:
“Next,” followed shortly after.
White Rose twirled her golden hair and asked, “Where is the game location?”
The paper simply displayed: “School.”
The twin brothers exchanged a glance. One asked, “What is the last digit of π?”
The paper displayed a single number: 1.
The other shrugged, asking, “What are the questions related to?”
The paper read: “School.”
White Rose’s answer overlapped.
Teacher asked, “Can the right to ask be carried to the next round?” The answer: “No.”
Apple asked a personal question: “Does my crush like me?” Answer: “No.”
Orange asked, “Where is the doll I lost as a child?”
The Pen Spirit’s answer sent chills down her spine: “It will come back to you.”
Finally, it was Ying Yan’s turn.
She ran the question through her mind carefully before asking, “Under what circumstances are your answers correct?”
If the Pen Spirit never lied, the answer would be “At all times.”If it could lie, it would specify a range—requiring some risk.
Ying Yan held the chicken-blood stone on her wrist, awaiting the answer.
After a few minutes, a line appeared:
In cases where it doesn’t exceed the Pen Spirit’s knowledge.
In other words, it tells the truth about what it knows and makes things up when it doesn’t.
Those who had relaxed now tensed again.
One twin asked about π, shoulders slumped. He shivered, realizing the answer was wrong.
Orange felt slightly relieved. Perhaps the Pen Spirit had lied.
Old Lei asked, “What counts as completing the game?”
The Pen Spirit quickly responded:
At least six questions answered correctly.
Everyone had asked their questions. The flames descended, burning the words on the paper.
Old Lei hastily tried to save it, his fingers passing through the fire and landing on the table.
The pen fell with a snap, leaving a line of pale blue letters in the air:
[Game Start!]