Pen Spirit 3
Within just a few minutes, the pale blue letters suspended in midair scattered in all directions, like tiny fireflies, dissolving into the air.
A corner of the collapsed straw hut revealed a pale sun.
The entire space suddenly brightened, though the light remained dim, like a gray, overcast day.
Ying Yan looked up at the sky outside.
The sun hanging there was a pale, wan color. Unlike a real star full of light and heat, it looked more like a roughly drawn circle—its shape present, but without substance.
Even without looking at the sun, the flow of time alone made it clear that they were no longer in the original location.
As for the exact place, they would only know once they opened the door.
Fu Ping walked a few steps to the wooden door, tugging at the snack bag stuck in the door crack. She said, “The door’s closed. We can’t open it!”
She had been the last one to enter and, fearing the door would slam shut and trap her, had stuffed the empty chip bag in casually.
Unexpectedly, the door still closed.
It was very likely the work of the scarecrow at the entrance!
Fu Ping clearly remembered that when she first saw the scarecrow move, the most rational approach would have been to tie it down so it couldn’t move.
But she hadn’t dared; as a child, she had accidentally wandered into her second uncle’s room full of puppets, leaving her with a deep childhood trauma.
She wasn’t afraid of ghosts, but puppets and scarecrows terrified her.
Her words, like a stone thrown into water, instantly stirred up waves.
The people in the hut started murmuring anxiously, voices betraying their worry.
Ying Yan squeezed through the crowd and pushed the door hard. It didn’t seem locked but rather blocked by something.
She turned to Old Lei. “Help us. We need to get out.”
Old Lei was tall and broad-shouldered, making it harder to squeeze forward.
Scratching his head, he said, “Little sister, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but who knows what’s outside? What if opening the door brings danger in?”
All those domestic horror movies always had a “door-opening jump scare.” If it were a physical monster, they’d be done for.
But if it were a ghost, they couldn’t hit or touch it!
Ying Yan raised her voice, explaining simply:
“We can’t just wait to die. Yes, there’s danger outside, but to answer the Spirit Pen’s questions, we need to find the ‘school’ that keeps appearing on the paper.”
Old Lei found her reasoning sound and, gathering his courage, moved toward the door. “Make way, I’m going through.”
The people inside graciously made a narrow path for him, some pressed against the earthen walls.
As Ying Yan had said, the hut was small and offered no useful clues.
Those who survived the “Midnight Screening” weren’t fools—they were all sharp.
They knew the door needed to be opened and that the person opening it would likely face danger. Everyone waited for someone else to do it.
Old Lei finally reached the door and pushed with all his might.
The wooden door didn’t budge.
In a flash of insight, Ying Yan placed her right hand on the door. “Let’s try together.”
They pushed together, but the door remained immovable.
A small wooden door had never been so stubborn, almost mocking everyone inside.
Old Lei lost patience and kicked it hard.
The force was tremendous.
In reality, a small, broken wooden door would have flown off in a smooth parabola.
But this door remained firm, as if welded to the frame.
Old Lei was about to kick again, but Ying Yan stopped him.
Peering through the door crack, she realized, “It’s not a matter of strength. The scarecrows are blocking the door. It’s a matter of numbers. We’re one short. Who wants to try?”
At first, Ying Yan had thought strength mattered.
But the force of a grown man far exceeded that of a floating scarecrow.
She had to reconsider: numbers counted.
Two scarecrows had been at the door before entering the hut.
So outside were likely those two.
To win by numbers, two attempts weren’t enough. So they needed three.
Ying Yan first looked at Fu Ping, who flinched slightly, revealing subtle fear.
Not wanting to force anyone, she looked to the next person.
Timid Xiao Chen bravely raised her hand. “I’ll do it, Uncle Lei. You have to protect me.”
Old Lei patted his chest. “Sure, Xiao Chen. Don’t worry. It’s just a few scarecrows!”
As their hands touched the door, it opened without effort.
Outside lay the two scarecrows, toppled in disarray.
But the group barely glanced at them before looking outward.
Their eyes widened in shock.
The fertile ground outside was replaced by an oval playground.
The playground was surrounded by high walls.
Near the walls stood lush locust trees, dotted with clusters of small white flowers, their fragrant scent drifting lightly in the air.
A circle of bright red track surrounded the area, and about ten meters from the hut ran a white line.
To everyone’s astonishment, within the track stretched countless scarecrows.
Packed shoulder to shoulder, necks adorned with red scarves, hats swaying in the breeze, black stone eyes staring unblinkingly at the humans in the hut.
The sheer density and terrifying pressure hit them instantly.
Old Lei’s jaw dropped; he wanted to take back his earlier bravado.
Many others shared the same thought.
Courage, like a balloon, leaks out once punctured.
These weren’t just a few scarecrows—they were thousands!
Ying Yan paused, though her face remained calm.
She pulled out paper and pen, summoning the Spirit Pen: “Spirit Pen, Spirit Pen, you were my past life, and I am your present life. If you wish to continue our fate, please draw a circle on the paper.”
The pen had just drawn a circle when a line of frustrated letters appeared:
“One-two-three freeze! Stop bothering me, I’m trying to sleep!”
Ying Yan calmly said, “Spirit Pen, can you explain the rules of One-Two-Three Freeze in detail? This is my question.”
She emphasized the word “detail.”
Most people had played “One-Two-Three Freeze” in elementary school. The basic rules:
Here, however, there were far too many scarecrows.
If they all acted as leaders, the game would be nearly impossible.
Ying Yan speculated that with fewer players acting as leaders, the scarecrows could be frozen for a while.
To verify this safely and quickly, the best way was to ask the Spirit Pen.
Though reluctant, the Spirit Pen had no choice but to respond.
Soon, messy letters appeared on the paper:
One-Two-Three Freeze:
Ying Yan paused at the recurring pinyin letters and showed the rules to the other nine.
She couldn’t change others’ minds about keeping secrets, but within her ability, she still wanted to help more people survive.
At that moment, one of the twins smiled, showing his small canines:
“Sis, I can’t remember all this. Can I have the paper?”
Ying Yan looked at him. “The writing will disappear quickly. If you can’t remember, you can ask the Spirit Pen.”
Giving him the paper wasn’t necessary; she remembered it all.
But some bad habits couldn’t be indulged; once people got used to it, their demands would be limitless, ungrateful.
The twin shrugged. “Okay, I’ll listen to you.”
He had almost memorized it anyway, just trying to exploit Ying Yan’s gentle appearance a little.
Her composure convinced most present that she was not to be trifled with.
Once everyone had read the rules, Ying Yan pocketed the pen and paper and stepped out of the hut.
Bathed in the pale, slightly cold sunlight, she smelled the faint scent of locust flowers.
After just a few steps, a tug scratched at her ankle.
Looking down, she saw two thin scarecrow hands gripping her ankle with a malicious grin, as if saying, “You’re doomed!”
Expressionless, she kicked the scarecrow far away.
Another scarecrow saw this and quietly moved aside, not even pretending to play dead.
The game hadn’t officially started, and scarecrow touches were harmless—but they were meant to intimidate.
Noticing someone hunching nearby, Ying Yan asked, “Fu Ping, are you afraid of scarecrows?”
Fu Ping froze, then quickly recovered, nodding then shaking her head softly: “I’m only afraid of moving scarecrows.”
Ying Yan turned back, grabbed one scarecrow in each hand, and flung them toward a distant corner tree in a graceful arc.
“All set. Let’s go.”
Feeling safe, Fu Ping lowered her head slightly, embarrassed. “Th…thank you.”
“No problem. It was nothing.”
For Ying Yan, a task done in two or three minutes hardly counted as effort.
She stepped to the track line, faced the wall with her back to the scarecrows, and clearly said:
“One, two, three, freeze.”