Pen Spirit 6
La la la~ La la la~The sports equipment is singing!
La la la~ La la la~Secrets hide inside the little house!
La la la~ La la la~Ghostly shadows, who is crying!
La la la~ La la la~Bend over and take a tumble!
La la la~ La la la~Everyone, play hide-and-seek together!
La la la~ La la la~Stay if you get caught!
La la la~ La la la la~Day and night keep turning endlessly~
…
After reading the nursery rhyme, Ying Yan’s expression darkened.
She handed the note back to Mu Xiang and whispered, “The situation isn’t good. As long as the shadow puppets can’t find anyone, the hide-and-seek game will continue indefinitely. Over time, we will inevitably fall into a dangerous position.”
Seeming to have thought of something, Mu Xiang asked, “Can you describe the shadow puppets you saw?”
Hearing this, Ying Yan carefully described their appearance and added,“They seem to have a piece of white paper on their faces, as if they possess faint vision.”
When the shadow puppet turned the paper toward her, she did feel a slight sense of being watched.
Mu Xiang’s face changed. “When I came in, the shadow puppets didn’t have the white paper, and their movement was very slow.”
If both of them observed correctly, this meant that over time, the shadow puppets were mutating at a speed beyond human comprehension.
Right now, it was just faint vision—but if they waited longer, would the shadow puppets grow eyes, a nose, ears, and even limbs?
Then, anyone hiding under a table would be like a turtle trapped in a jar—completely helpless.
Time was running out.
Yet the only clue they had remained vague and frustrating.
If possible, Mu Xiang wished the riddles and strange phenomena would just stay out of the paranormal world!
Despite the pressing danger, the girl who claimed to be a prophet maintained her rare composure.
In the dim light, Ying Yan could only see the black hair falling across her face and her bright eyes.
“It’s okay. Even if we can’t win at hide-and-seek, as long as we find the secret hidden in the little room, there’s still a chance.”
At worst, they could try using the mirror fragment they had.
No ghost can oppress her if she has a plan.
She still owed the white porcelain sculpture a question—and surely that entity wouldn’t let another paranormal being snatch its prey.
“The secret in the little room… isn’t it the shadow puppets?” Mu Xiang blurted, thinking conventionally.
“No,” Ying Yan corrected.
Realizing her explanation wasn’t precise enough, she added, “Or rather, not entirely. The secret isn’t something blatantly placed out in the open. Sports equipment and shadow puppets are mentioned in the nursery rhyme, so they are excluded from the realm of the secret.”
The true secrets were mostly hidden in extremely obscure places, requiring significant time and effort to uncover.
The nursery rhyme, accessed through the pen spirit, naturally revealed the sports equipment and shadow puppets.
Even without being asked, one could see them upon entering the room.
As long as one didn’t panic and freeze, some survival information could be gleaned.
Those weren’t secrets.
The real secret was hidden somewhere in this room.
“We can take advantage of this gap to search for the hidden secret,” Ying Yan whispered, her tone calm and steady.
No matter how dire things seemed, it appeared as if nothing could truly faze her.
Mu Xiang nodded heavily, finding her words reasonable.
The two carefully searched under the table, along the walls, and on the floor, making as little noise as possible.
Soon, Ying Yan felt a very thin piece of paper beneath the corner of the table.
She located the edge and carefully peeled off the dried glue, removing the paper intact.
It was a yellowed sheet of parchment.
The front displayed symbols like ghostly scribbles; the back contained a line of slightly blurred text.
The room was already dark, and the writing was faint—almost impossible to read.
Ying Yan gestured to Mu Xiang, signaling she had found something new.
They huddled near a faintly lit chicken-blood stone bracelet, trying to make out the characters, managing to read: “I, …, life, talisman, not, intention, …”
A few characters were still unclear.
Clearly, these few words weren’t enough to form a useful clue.
Neither had a flashlight, and no other light source was available.
Ying Yan blinked her dry eyes and felt the sharp edge of the chicken-blood stone.
Her skin easily cut, blood flowed, and the stone absorbed it.
She whispered cautiously, “Senior, senior, light, please.”
Last time, when the white porcelain sculpture appeared, the bracelet had emitted a light.
She didn’t need it bright—just enough to illuminate the writing.
Otherwise, getting the clue but not seeing it would be frustrating.
She knew her request might be a bit bold.
Though she appeared calm, her palms were sweating.
The chicken-blood stone on the bracelet glowed brightly.
Apart from the red color, it looked no different from a regular incandescent light.
Mu Xiang’s eyes widened in surprise, not expecting the bracelet to function as a light.
Seeing no trace of the white porcelain sculpture, Ying Yan breathed a sigh of relief.
She quietly thanked it, then told Mu Xiang, “Okay, now we can see clearly.”
Mu Xiang respected boundaries and didn’t pry further, focusing on the parchment.
The writing was now fully legible:
“I swapped the talisman for Mang Mang’s life talisman, that’s why she died in the hide-and-seek game. But I really didn’t mean it.
I just wanted to play a joke, who knew there would be so many shadow puppets this time!
Sorry, sorry, sorry…”
Signed, crookedly: “lulu, a secret that can never be told to anyone, mimi.”
The secret wasn’t exactly what Ying Yan had imagined.
In short, the entire incident was a bloody accident triggered by a prank.
But what’s wrong with this school—people can die just by playing a game? Failure equals corpses?
Despite her disbelief, she grabbed the key information, flipped the parchment, and said,“Perhaps to win, we need to draw the pattern on this paper.”
Mu Xiang agreed.
“But the problem is, there’s no cinnabar here,” Mu Xiang added.
Receiving Ying Yan’s strange look, she explained:“I’ve studied Taoist books and practiced many talisman drawings. This talisman isn’t very complex—the problem is materials.”
Though her previous talismans hadn’t worked, she had experience with similar ghostly scribbles.
Ying Yan nodded. “We do have materials. The symbol on the front of this paper is, most likely, coagulated human blood.”
She had sensed this initially but refrained from telling Mu Xiang to spare her the shock.
She examined her finger—where the cut had healed.
“Do you need me to give some blood?”
Mu Xiang shook her head, took a fruit knife, and cut her finger, letting fresh blood flow.
She dipped it and began drawing the talisman on the floor.
Making it as large as possible, she drew with care.
The air seemed charged with imminent danger—whizzing sounds mixed with loud bangs filled the space.
Sensing this, Ying Yan quickly placed the mirror fragment at the spot her brain had predicted—it fit exactly along the table edge.
She didn’t have Lan Shou’s IQ of 210; predicting correctly once out of ten in such a short time was exceptional.
If the shadow puppets’ shapes weren’t close to cylinders, she wouldn’t even attempt it.
This time, with skill and luck, her prediction succeeded.
The head of the shadow puppet appeared in the mirror; the white paper clung to its face, splitting into two thin cracks to reveal a half-grown eye.
Before it could rejoice at finding someone, it was sucked into the fragment at the center of her vision.
“Ding-dang, zzzz—the game continues!”
Three minutes later, Ying Yan shifted slightly, drawing in the leading shadow puppet.
“Ding-dang, zzzz—the game continues!”
After several rounds, the strange bell sound disappeared entirely, like a mobile game crashing from too many bugs.
Mu Xiang looked pale; most of the talisman on the floor was already complete.
She was fully focused, ignoring the outside situation.
But the real danger arrived silently.
From both sides of the table, a pale skeletal hand appeared.
This meant the shadow puppet had grown a limb, bending over the table with less effort.
Pessimistically, a wave of shadow puppets could attack at any moment.
Ying Yan withdrew the mirror and moved slightly, shielding Mu Xiang.
She touched the chicken-blood stone, quietly observing outside.
Hide-and-seek was cruel for those hiding—once seen, the game was lost.
She wasn’t sure if the bracelet could block the view, but with Mu Xiang almost done, it was worth the gamble.
In the dim light, a small black shape emerged.
It grew, revealing a white “forehead.” Just before the eye appeared, the chicken-blood stone emitted a red light.
A thin red mist enveloped Ying Yan and Mu Xiang, forming a protective shield against being watched.
Ying Yan didn’t realize this.
But she observed the unfinished eye scan its surroundings, notice nothing, and move away disappointedly.
At that moment, Mu Xiang finished the last stroke.
The blood on the floor seemed to come alive, slowly flowing, connecting end to end.
A silvery-white light appeared along the paths, forming a strange symbol.
The symbol lifted off the ground, floated above the table, glowing brightly—not harsh like sunlight.
It resembled falling silver-white stars, filling the little room with gentle light.
One by one, the shadow puppets illuminated, silently melting into black matter.
Then the black matter also dissolved, vanishing in the silver light.
Ying Yan helped Mu Xiang crawl out from under the table.
In the cascading moonlight-like silver glow, they saw a human figure appear on the table.
Silver hair fell like a waterfall, instantly evoking the image of someone familiar.