Pen Spirit 9
The straight slide’s initial section was pitch black, like the gaping throat of some gigantic monster.
Laifu clutched the flute, realizing that just stabilizing his body during the rapid descent was already a huge challenge.
It was extremely difficult to focus on playing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on the flute.
He fought against the dizziness caused by the freefall and lifted his head to look around.
Under the glowing, colorful little lights, countless black dots appeared across the slide’s surface.
After only a few seconds, the black dots that had flashed past began to move.
One black dot stretched another into a noodle-like shape, then swung it and jumped rope with it.
Soon, more and more black dots joined in, forming a massive jump-rope army.
After watching for over ten minutes, Laifu’s eyes were dry and stinging; his mind felt as if being chiselled open, a dull, heavy pain sweeping through his whole body.
In his agony, he realized in horror that he couldn’t look away!
At that moment, the jump-rope black dots left the slide, elongating into black stick figures.
They brandished weapons and lunged aggressively toward his eyes.
“Ah!”
Laifu covered his eyes and let out a scream.
In this critical moment, he remembered the rules on the paper and quickly held the flute to his mouth, blowing with all his strength.
At first, because he was inexperienced, the melody was all wrong.
But once he got the hang of it, the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star flowed from the flute.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star~”
Immediately, a pale white protective barrier rose around Laifu.
The black stick figures and the dull pain in his brain vanished at once.
The true nature of the slide was revealed—an exaggerated orange-yellow, candy-like texture.
It was clearly designed to appeal to children.
Laifu steadied himself and continued playing.
He no longer had the confidence he had at the start, but having come this far, he had no choice but to keep going.
He didn’t notice that the slide’s channel had silently disappeared.
The starry river of the night sky flowed above, cold light drifting gently.
With the clear flute notes intermittently sounding, fiery red molten lava poured out silently, creeping toward the ground.
“Up in the sky, twinkle, twinkle, little star~”
Meteors streaked across the shining starry river, leaving arcs etched in the night sky.
The brightness intensified, radiating a blinding white light.
At this point, if Laifu had looked up, he would have realized that his melody was catalyzing even greater danger.
But he kept his head down, barely managing to play the flute while plummeting.
“Like many little eyes~”
In an instant, the meteors in the sky revealed pupils, slowly opening their eyes.
The scalding lava roared as it poured onto the slide.
Laifu, at the top, heard the noise and turned his head.
Fear flashed in his eyes, but before he could react, he was engulfed by the flowing lava.
Only the green flute floated in the lava, showing no signs of damage.
Those standing outside the white line could only see the colorful exterior of the slide.
The small lights hanging above twinkled, and the haphazard banners were brightly vivid.
Further inside was the exit.
But none of what had happened to Laifu was visible.
Ying Yan focused on the slide, pen in hand, scribbling notes.
After a few breaths, the flute’s notes stopped, and a charred corpse appeared at the bottom of the slide—the exit.
She snapped the notebook shut, a grave expression settling over her face.
Judging from the current situation, Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star was definitely the wrong tune.
Yet there was no hint for the correct one.
The difficulty… had increased abnormally!
Laifu’s death marked the first casualty among the ragtag temporary partners gathered from all over.
The face of Laicai, one of the twins, went pale; his expression blank, lips trembling:
“Impossible! Impossible! The rules were so clear this time, nothing could go wrong… This isn’t my brother! It can’t be!”
The others’ expressions changed slightly too, tinged with the sorrow of witnessing another’s misfortune.
Ying Yan stepped forward half a pace, ready to cross the white line, but seemed to reconsider and returned to her original spot.
She spoke: “Does anyone else want to try?”
Laifu’s fate had clearly influenced her decision.
Reflecting, she realized that these weren’t coordinated teammates; she had made a unilateral decision without consulting them—it seemed a bit “authoritarian.”
The next second, everyone still alive except Ying Yan stepped back, and Laolei said:
“Little sister, how confident are you? Maybe we should wait and observe a bit more?”
“Forty-five percent.”
Ying Yan glanced around; aside from Floatingweed showing some interest, no one else seemed willing to go.
She crossed the white line and walked a few steps to the slide’s stairs.
At the slide’s starting point were various musical instruments.
Elegant guzhengs, grand pipas, emerald-green flutes, simple bright pianos, metallic saxophones… instruments from both East and West, a complete collection.
Most of them, Ying Yan couldn’t even name.
Her musical talent was mediocre; the only instrument she could play was a polyphonic harmonica, learned when volunteering to entertain children.
Now, it was her only option.
After searching carefully, she found a dusty harmonica in a quiet corner.
She wiped off the dust with a tissue and tucked it in her pocket.
Prepared, she sat at the slide’s start, tying back the hair that blocked her view.
Pushing slightly, she entered the straight slide.
Soon, rows of small colored lights appeared along the dark tunnel, with swarms of tiny black dots, dense like flies on a glass window.
Sensing her gaze, the dots moved.
Seven or eight merged into a large black dot.
Two or three black dots jumped onto it, forming a long thread.
More dots joined, and together they finally stretched out a long rope.
Then, the black dots started tug-of-war.
Bored, Ying Yan looked down and tried to recall the melody of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
During the rapid descent, the straight slide ended uneventfully, leading into the sloped section.
Here, the slope eased, and her fall slowed.
The semi-circular red tube overhead dimmed the light, hiding the flowing Milky Way.
Countless holes lined the tunnel, and from them emerged flat, oval snake heads, hissing and flicking tongues.
The black-and-yellow snake eyes scanned the creatures on the slide, goo glistening on their scales.
Ying Yan’s breath caught, her mind alert.
She wasn’t afraid of snakes, but avoiding them in such a dense swarm seemed nearly impossible.
Using a Chicken Blood Stone here would be too wasteful.
She quickly reviewed the frantic tips from the pen spirit in her mind.
Finally, she picked up the harmonica and began playing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
Although Laifu had failed earlier, likely because of this tune, the repeated emphasis in the rules must have some reasoning.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star~”
A milky-white protective barrier rose, blocking the countless snake heads’ fangs.
“Up in the sky, twinkle, twinkle, little star~”
The red tube transformed into a thin blood membrane, faintly revealing the night sky, the starry river, and the molten lava outside.
Meteors streaked by, their sparkling tails quietly gathering energy, waiting to open their eyes.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star~”
“Up in the sky, twinkle, twinkle, little star~”
The familiar melody floated up past the blood membrane into the night sky.
The charging meteors slowly opened—
Wait, something’s wrong. Why is it the tail that’s glowing?!
Where are the eyes?! The eyes!
At the same time, Ying Yan repeated the opening lines of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, a bit annoyed with herself.
She had learned so many tunes back then that she barely practiced each, and now she only remembered the first two lines of this one.
But seeing that the protective barrier sufficed to get through the snake swarm, she continued repeating it, finally lifting her head to peek.
Through the thin blood membrane, she vaguely saw the erratically moving, shining meteors.
They were dazzlingly bright but extremely volatile.
As the monotonous tune continued, the slope ended. Ying Yan crossed the boundary and entered the wave slide.
Besides the ongoing fall, an overwhelming dizziness struck.
It felt like being tossed into a high-speed washing machine, or caught in a whirlpool underwater.
To resist, Ying Yan had to stop playing, steady herself, but everything still spun and thrashed around her.
“Boom—”
With the sound of waves crashing on rocks, a deep black ocean appeared.
Endless foam floated atop, reflecting the cold moonlight in colorful glimmers, forming a false, gorgeous sunset.
With a pop, the foam burst.
A fish, thrashing its tail, shot toward the dissipating protective barrier, revealing sharp teeth.
[Rule 4: During the slide, bubbles and strange fish are normal. Do not panic; the stars will protect you.]
Ying Yan took a deep breath and continued playing Twinkle, Twinkle, barely sustaining the protective barrier.
She sneaked a glance upward, realizing Rule 4 was wrong.
The stars didn’t protect her—they aggressively tried to crush her.
After the wave slide ended, the foam and strange fish vanished.
Ying Yan put down the harmonica, pondering briefly, but the feeling under her feet interrupted her.
She shifted her gaze; dark brown slime glistened ominously.
The tunnel walls were crawling with countless bristly hairs, like pale tentacles, twisting toward her.
This wasn’t a slide anymore—it was a writhing intestine!