Pen Spirit 5
Outside the passage was a smooth cement road, lined on both sides with cherry blossom trees.
It was March, and the cherry blossoms were blooming in full, forming a sea of pink.
When the wind blew, petals fell onto the ground, creating a dreamy pink carpet.
The sunlight was gentle and soft, golden rays dancing among the treetops.
In the east-west direction were five or six rows of single-story buildings with gray bricks and red tiles, resembling classrooms in a rural elementary school.
Each classroom had a small patch of cement in front.
Beyond that was moist soil, planted with a row of verdant poplars, pointing skyward like swords.
Not a single bird’s nest was visible.
Ying Yan didn’t rush to open the classroom doors.
She walked along the road, planning to explore the entire school to get a rough sense of the map.
After walking about ten meters, the west side had one less row of classrooms, replaced by a miniature garden.
The garden was filled with seasonal flowers: red roses, yellow chrysanthemums, white pear blossoms, purple hyacinths…
Illogically, they all bloomed at the same time, creating a dazzling array of colors.
At the center stood a massive ginkgo tree.
Countless fan-shaped yellow leaves resembled withered butterflies perched on the treetops, on the verge of death.
Judging by the flowers in bloom, it was impossible to determine the time here.
Ying Yan cast a distant glance at the garden and had no intention of entering. She carefully covered her nose and quickened her pace to leave.
The small garden could harbor all sorts of dangers—poisonous gases, strange insects, rotting corpses… a standard “death trap.”
This wasn’t the best time to explore; Ying Yan planned to consult the Brush Spirit before venturing further.
At that moment, a voice came over from the garden:
“Student, the teacher has a question and wants to test you!”
Upon hearing this, Ying Yan silently shifted from small steps to long strides, managing to shake off the repeated shouts of “Student, stop!” despite her aching legs.
Answering questions? Not an option.
Stopping? Even worse.
Anyway, she was facing away from the garden, so the teacher certainly couldn’t see her face.
After she left, a rustling sound echoed through the air, and a multicolored snake slithered along the petal-covered road.
Where its body passed, the plants were pressed down, revealing one or two shriveled corpses.
Anyone observing would notice that the snake itself was colorless; it appeared multicolored only because flower sap and plant juices clung to its body.
It raised its body vertically, hissing out its tongue, and tried to imitate human speech to confuse its prey:
“Good student, wait for the teacher! The teacher has a question for you… the teacher will find you!”
But the prey wasn’t fooled and ran even faster.
No matter how hard the snake tried, it couldn’t understand why a human, taught to respect their teacher, would flee at the mention of a question.
Breathless after shaking off the “teacher,” Ying Yan stood beside the restroom, watching the statue in the center of the male and female toilets blink its right eye.
Clearly, something was amiss.
She stared at the statue, then grabbed a rusty iron chain nearby, wrapping it around the statue multiple times.
Seeing the statue bound tightly, Ying Yan felt satisfied, her sense of safety restored.
She took a look at the restroom’s exterior.
The building was egg-yellow, decorated with red clouds and white flowers, and on each side stood a child with white hair and black skin.
One had long hair and wore a skirt; the other had a crew cut and wore pants.
Beyond this, it was impossible to determine their gender from their faces or bodies.
Almost all school ghost stories give restrooms a significant role.
Ying Yan noted the location and labeled the restroom “dangerous” in her mind, leaving by another route.
She found an open space, took out paper and pen, and roughly sketched a simple map.
The note she had used to ask the Brush Spirit had fallen out, the writing as clear as ever, with no fading.
She picked up the paper, pondered for half a minute, and tucked it into her jacket pocket.
Then, she retrieved the item that had appeared in her pocket after running the 800 meters—it reflected her face clearly.
It was a shard of mirror.
The fragment was made of a unique material, smooth and delicate, highly transparent, yet not glass, plastic, or metal—something she had never seen before.
Its shape was irregular, edges sharp enough to leave marks on stone with a light scrape.
Etched on it were clusters of strange patterns, soaked in dried blood.
When staring at the patterns, a fleeting illusion would flash before her eyes.
The bizarre app’s hints were strange and misleading but hadn’t yet provided completely false information.
For safety, Ying Yan hadn’t brought a mirror, even removing the glass from her watch.
Yet unexpectedly, after winning “One-Two-Three, Wooden Man,” she was directly given a mirror shard.
Strong-armed giving? Really?
Ying Yan didn’t immediately feel fear at holding the shard. She examined its surface, thinking silently.
If all mirror shards were collected, could they really contain the Brush Spirit?
In the previous life, the Weird Research Center had studied the anomalous for decades and concluded that the anomalous are entities whose love and hate reach extremes.
Although Ying Yan had never seen one feel affection for humans, extreme emotions could indeed be used for certain purposes.
Anyway, being observed by a Brush Spirit-like entity, even with only elementary-level literacy, seemed inconsequential.
Ying Yan’s mental calculations clicked rapidly.
At that moment, a window appeared in the original cement wall.
A huge eye peeked out, its non-human brown iris rolling with a spot of darkness.
It pressed closely to the glass, peering at the outside.
As Ying Yan saw it, it saw her as well.
In the next instant, she felt a strong vertigo.
Before she could react, everything around her changed drastically.
The cherry blossom-lined cement road became a small, strange room.
The windows were sealed, and the light was dim.
The floor was scattered with dismembered limbs, while shelves along the gray-black walls displayed clean, intact “sports equipment.”
Besides the previously seen blood-covered human-head basketballs, there were spherical objects wrapped in human skin labeled clearly as “soccer balls.”
Colorful feathered shuttlecocks and white jump ropes, if ignoring the human bones beneath, looked visually appealing, likely attracting children.
There were many other items as well.
Ying Yan carefully navigated around the limbs and bloodstains, arriving at a wooden door.
The door was blackened by years of grime, with an unknown dark substance on the handle.
It almost blended with the wall, barely noticeable.
Cautiously, Ying Yan placed a sheet of white paper under her finger before pressing the handle down.
With a creak, the door opened easily.
But outside wasn’t the sunlight of the school, nor the blooming cherry trees—it was a smaller, darker room filled with extremely thin, elongated shadows.
They had no facial features or limbs, just elongated black bodies nearly three meters tall.
Near the ceiling, a sheet of white paper moved slightly, seemingly observing the uninvited intruder.
“Ding-dong, ding-dong, hide-and-seek has begun!”
“Please hide, don’t let the Shadows catch you!”
Amid the eerie bell chimes, the wooden door quietly closed.
It fit perfectly into the frame, appearing as just a dusty, cobweb-covered wall.
Returning the way she came was impossible, so Ying Yan quickly scanned the room.
In the dim light, she saw only a table.
Before she could think further, rustling sounds arose.
Countless Shadow figures bent their black forms, searching for the prey willingly presented.
From appearances, the Shadows lacked hearing, sight, and scent, giving them no advantage in hide-and-seek.
But they were extremely numerous, densely distributed throughout the room, weaving an inescapable net.
If their numbers continued to grow, they would fill the entire room, leaving no chance for intruders.
When a dark Shadow came within ten centimeters of Ying Yan, she narrowed her eyes, swiftly dodging several Shadows and diving under the table.
In minutes of observation, she realized the Shadows could only bend slightly; if they bent too much, their head and tail inverted, causing a brief freeze.
To view under a low table, they would need a 90-degree bend, which the Shadows tried to avoid.
Thus, under the current situation, the table’s underside was the safest spot.
However, as time passed, the Shadows might grow impatient and search under the table.
Just as Ying Yan slid beneath, a cold touch appeared on her back.
In a hazardous, strange environment, even a minor stimulus could trigger an adrenaline surge.
Had she miscalculated?
The thought crossed her mind as her arm muscles tensed, reaching backward.
What she felt, however, caused a flicker of confusion in her eyes.
A low, sweet voice sounded:
“I’m Floating Duckweed, same side!”
Ying Yan released Mu Xiang’s wrist, asking, “What are you doing here?”
The room was dark; Mu Xiang was curled under the table, back against the wall, breathing softly.
Hearing Ying Yan, she uncertainly said, “Prophet?”
After receiving confirmation, she continued:
“After finishing the Strawman game, I saw a huge eye, then came here.”
“By the way, I asked the Brush Spirit about the rules. It’s still somewhat unclear. So far, only the table underside is confirmed safe.”
Mu Xiang pulled a note from her pocket and handed it to Ying Yan.
With anyone else, she might hesitate—but with the Prophet, no doubt existed.
Among the ten who entered, opinions on the Prophet varied, but one consensus remained: they were trustworthy.
Though in many horror novels, the good guys don’t survive long, cooperating with principled, trustworthy people was more reliable.
Ying Yan nodded, took the note, and glanced at it.
It wasn’t clear rules this time, but a ghostly nursery rhyme.