Pen Spirit 7
The moment the red mist that enveloped both Ying Yan and her companion vanished, a piece of chicken-blood stone on her bracelet immediately crumbled into powder, drifting down to the floor.
The small figure of a girl sat quietly atop the table, her long silver hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall.
She looked no more than thirteen or fourteen, a six-pointed star gleaming on her forehead.
Her features were delicate, cheeks rosy, and her lake-blue eyes, when they met yours, carried a transparent melancholy.
Ying Yan quickly assessed the girl sitting on the table and breathed a sigh of relief—there were no butterfly-shaped ornaments.
When the silver hair first came into view, her initial thought had been “Butterfly-san.” But upon reconsideration, she dismissed the idea.
It was unlikely that the girl had any reason to “grieve” for her; it must be a coincidence.
Just as she rationalized this, Ying Yan felt the silver-haired girl’s gaze fix upon her.
To be precise, the girl had actually been observing her all along. Previously, the emotionless look in her eyes had made it easy to overlook.
She lifted her gaze, and their eyes met.
In that instant, Ying Yan noticed the girl’s lips move, uttering words that were unclear. Only by concentrating fully could one barely make out what was said.
When Ying Yan noticed the figure on the table, Mu Xiang also became entangled in visions woven from the past.
Faded yellowish scenes flashed before her eyes, then vanished at incredible speed, like watching a bizarre, dreamlike play.
Minutes later, Mu Xiang regained clarity and immediately noticed the girl beside her staring intently above the table.
She instinctively looked too but saw nothing.
A chill ran up her spine.
Before Mu Xiang could even think about how to handle a “prophet” in such a state, the girl blinked, freed herself from the strange trance, and murmured softly:
“First, there is only one,”“Don’t trust the stars…”
After the twisted shadow disappeared, the entire room was filled with flowing silver light.
Under the bright illumination, the once calm and reliable temporary teammates suddenly spoke nonsensical words to the air.
The sense of horror intensified.
Having witnessed teammates replaced by the strange before, Mu Xiang’s scalp tingled, her expression shifting dramatically.
She asked, “Prophet, what are you saying?!”
If not for considering that the prophet might possess a special ability, she might have intervened rashly, which could have led to disastrous results.
“Not me, the little girl said it,”
Ying Yan noticed Mu Xiang’s panic and explained:
“It’s Mang Mang from the note. She died here, and her spirit lingered, though now she’s gone.”
She had sensed something unusual the moment she saw the figure on the table.
When she discovered the “Life-Passing Talisman” with the clue written on it, the feeling grew stronger.
The strange entities had only one attitude toward humans: eradicate them completely!
The ambiguous answers from the Spirit Pen had confirmed this.
Yet this table, likely belonging to Lulu, was like a designated safe zone in a game, allowing those who stumbled into the house to catch a breath.
A careful search even revealed clues to complete the task.
Originally, Ying Yan assumed the table was just part of the hide-and-seek game and hadn’t thought deeply.
Mang Mang’s appearance, however, filled in the subconscious logical gaps.
Whether through some method of moving the table or sticking the “Life-Passing Talisman” under it, these actions were highly effective assistance.
It was possible Mang Mang wanted liberation, but from her behavior, her stance could be considered friendly.
Thus, what she said during their eye contact deserved careful attention.
Mu Xiang quickly understood and whispered:
“So, these shadows are lingering spirits, sent away by the Life-Passing Talisman?”
Ying Yan nodded:
“More or less. In the adjacent room, I saw many severed limbs—the ‘sports equipment’ mentioned in the nursery rhyme.”
Mu Xiang paused. “Sports equipment?”
Ying Yan recalled that when she explained the rewards from the “Wooden Doll” game, Floating Duck seemed to be running in circles and hadn’t heard.
She was about to repeat it when the environment rapidly shifted, a dizzying sensation hitting her brain.
Accompanied by the eerie, antiquated bell sounds, everyone returned to the dilapidated thatched hut.
“Ding-ding-dong, ding-ding-dong, the first round of the game ends successfully, now it’s time for the Spirit Pen to ask questions!”“Let’s see which children survived till the end!”“Shh… all are alive, what a lucky bunch of little dogs!”
On the two-meter-wide table rolled a long sheet of white paper.
The pen originally used to summon the Spirit Pen hopped around merrily, scaring the pale, ghostly blue flames.
The participants, however, were not in as good a state.
Ying Yan had broken a chicken-blood stone, and her legs still felt weak.
Mu Xiang, having lost blood, looked pale as paper.
The twins each had one arm mutated into straw.
Old Lei’s upper body had largely mutated, his flesh blending with straw, looking grotesque.
White Rose had a cut on her fair, delicate hand but was indifferent, inspecting the pen jumping across the table with interest.
Little Chen seemed unharmed but looked dejected, glancing at Old Lei with guilt in her eyes.
Apple and Orange were somewhat injured, panting and appearing miserable.
Compared to their earlier closeness, the two were now distant, like strangers.
The most surprising was the teacher, who remained in the best condition—steady, alert, and calm.
Noticing Ying Yan’s astonishment, the polite teacher smiled warmly:
“‘Even an old man like Lian Po can still eat.’ Though I’m older, I never stopped training in earlier years; I can still move well. You needn’t worry about me.”
Those who heard silently gave the teacher a thumbs-up.
No wonder he hadn’t formed a team—he was a veteran.
The atmosphere eased slightly.
The erratic pen finally calmed, spinning several times on the paper, the tip pointing at Ying Yan.
“Ding-dong, congratulations ‘Prophet,’ you’ve been chosen by the Spirit Pen to answer this round’s question.”
The pen tip moved across the paper, leaving a line of messy handwriting on the white surface:
How many people were initially made into straw dolls? (Note: you cannot change your answer once submitted)
At this, most people looked puzzled, all glancing at the unlucky one chosen.
Ying Yan lowered her gaze, thought carefully for a moment, then took out a pen from her pocket and wrote decisively: “13.”
Twelve had played basketball on the court, three sat on the grass.
The red-haired girl could be excluded.
Presumably, the one who had controlled the conversation all along was the straw doll creator.
The brown-haired girl seemed odd—not alive, more like a reanimated doll.
She appeared to have a good relationship with the red-haired girl, so she could be excluded.
From the boy onward, three possibilities emerged.
One: the red-haired girl kept her promise, sparing the boy and No. 1, so eleven were made into straw dolls.
Two: the red-haired girl broke her promise, so twelve were turned into straw dolls.
Three: the boy and his chosen companion were both made into straw dolls, totaling thirteen.
Having heard Mang Mang’s words, Ying Yan leaned toward the third option.
The Spirit Pen quickly verified her guess.
The scattered ghostly blue flames at the table’s edges gathered, inspecting the number she had written.
After careful consideration, they reluctantly inscribed three characters on the paper: “Correct!”
Before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, Ying Yan extended a finger toward the overly lively pen.
Caught off guard, it toppled, rolling awkwardly, even its cap flying off.
Instantly, the Spirit Pen lost all authority.
Everyone thought, “Maybe the Spirit Pen isn’t that scary after all.”
The humanoid flame dashed to Ying Yan, transforming into a grotesque giant mouth, threatening to swallow her whole.
Ying Yan observed thoughtfully, then said:
“Spirit Pen, are you performing a trick?”
The glowing blue mouth flickered and vanished, seemingly angered.
The culprit looked innocent, scanning around: “Not convincing?”
Old Lei raised his intact hand, giving a thumbs-up: “Girl, you’re brave!”
“Doesn’t matter. It had been watching me all along.”
Ying Yan shrugged gently: “If I catch it tampering secretly, I won’t let it go easily.”
With that, the pen cap and pen on the table vanished, leaving only a blank sheet.
“Tampering secretly?” Old Lei asked, confused.
“Hmm… don’t you think it’s too coincidental that it picked me?”
Ying Yan didn’t elaborate, changing the topic: “After I left, what happened to you all?”
Old Lei’s attention shifted. He complained:
“Don’t mention it. We had a plan, but execution was full of mishaps.
“The first time, the Dog duo, Laifu and Laicai, ran circles, slowing down. No matter how Apple shouted, it didn’t help.
“The last three minutes passed, so Apple repeated, and only then did Laifu and Laicai barely escape the straw dolls.
“But slightly late—their arms caught by the straw dolls had mutated into straw.
“The second time, it was us.
“During the handover, White Rose froze for a moment, cut her hand to snap out of it.
“The straw dolls swarmed, nearly capturing Little Chen. I tried to save her but got grabbed by a straw doll, ending up like this.”
Old Lei laughed through the hardship: “Luckily it wasn’t Little Chen. I’m a grown man, I could survive. She wouldn’t.”
Though uncomfortable with his current form, he couldn’t ignore the situation; otherwise, Little Chen would have been completely transformed.
Having spent so much time together in the office, she felt like his own child—he couldn’t abandon her.
Ying Yan fell silent for a moment, her gaze shifting subtly as she asked carefully:
“Have you tried asking the Spirit Pen how to undo the straw transformation?”