Chapter 4: Station 21: The Pen Spirit

Chapter 4: Station 21: The Pen Spirit

This was an attendance register.

The combination of Arabic numerals and Chinese names within it gave Si Shuhao a great sense of security.

The year indicated in the book was 2013, and it contained the attendance records of Class 9, Grade 2.

There was a monthly attendance chart listed, with an "X" signifying absence and a checkmark indicating presence.

Si Shuhao and Su Bo planned to start by using the process of elimination, circling the names with the most "X"s.

Hu Gaoming stroked his chin,

"Is 'she' just one person or are there several? If it's only one, we won't be able to narrow it down."

He had a point, as several individuals shared the top spot for the most absences, with some records completely overlapping. It seemed like these were probably members of a small group in the class who valued solidarity, entering and leaving together.

Si Shuhao flipped through the register, scanning up and down its pages.

"But there's nothing else written here. Maybe we should check the desk compartments, in case something was missed."

Glancing up inadvertently, she froze.

Ming Yiyang pushed aside the last seated black plastic bag figure, searched the desk compartment, and rose nonchalantly.

"I'm done. There's no other information."

Everyone looked at the scattered, now disoriented black plastic bag figures on the floor, then back at him.

"..."

Ming Yiyang raised an eyebrow.

"You don't believe me? Then come down and search for yourselves."

At the sight of these eerie objects, Hu Gaoming's scalp prickled, and he felt goosebumps rise upon approaching them. He quickly waved his hands.

"Brother Ming! You're my real brother now! We believe you!"

Si Shuhao reluctantly tried to find new clues on the wall, but found nothing.

There were no notice boards, no additional posters apart from school rules – their only source of information now was this register.

Suddenly, Su Bo recalled something and looked at Yan Qiling rather timidly:

"Yan... Brother Yan, back in the security room, didn't we find some paper documents?"

The man's expressive eyes shifted towards him, their shimmering glow making others hesitant to meet his gaze directly:

"There were, but they likely won't be of much help in solving the puzzle."

He withdrew a bundle of rolled-up registers from his sleeve and placed them on the lectern:

"These are the visitor logs from the security booth."

The stack of books was thick, leaving everyone wondering how he managed to fit it into his sleeve.

Initially, everyone treated the register as a precious treasure.

Especially when he found that all the visit records ended on August 12th, 2013, Hu Gaoming exclaimed in surprise:

"It matches the end year of the roster! And there's blood on this book, see how many empty pages are left at the back? It means the records were suddenly interrupted."

"It's possible that everyone in the school died on that day. The students might have been suffocated with these black plastic bags. And 'she' in the riddle should be a student from this class!"

Hu Gaoming felt like he had grasped the intellectual high ground.

Si Shuhao, however, was speechless and rubbed his forehead:

"The teacher already said that 'she' is in Class Nine. The question is, who is 'she'? Now we're looking for her name, not what actually happened behind it. That's not important right now."

Su Zhe expressed his agreement weakly:

"Yes, and there's no record of anyone from Class Nine visiting on August 12th. Everyone must have come to school as usual."

Hu Gaoming paused for a moment before snatching the visitor records to study them intently:

"There must be a pattern in here!"

He flipped through the thick stack repeatedly, attempting to find any connections within.

Seeing his nephew's dedication, Hu Zhicheng overcame his own inhibitions and stepped in to remove the plastic bag mask and clothing from the dummy, intending to lend a helping hand and hoping to discover some clues from them.

But as soon as he started pulling at the plastic, the previously slumped figure suddenly shot up straight, nearly giving Hu Zhicheng a heart attack!

The right hand of the dummy was frozen in a rigid grip, and if Hu Zhicheng hadn't dodged just in time, he might have been choked by it. The consequences were self-evident.

Abandoning his attempt to inspect the dummy, he quietly returned to his nephew's side and focused all his attention on studying the visitor records.

Sisi Shuhao had a different train of thought. She traced the words on the blackboard repeatedly in her palm:

"I think the attendance records are a red herring. The answer must still be hidden in the location of the question. How do you write 'she' in Korean, Shuhao... I have a feeling that the solution might be related to the strokes of the characters."

Si Shuhao scratched her head and glanced sneakily at the brooding man with black hair:

"I'm not sure, I just learned it from Korean dramas... Following the strokes in Chinese, it could be seven strokes, I guess... Yan Qiling, what do you think?"

Ming Yiyang had been sitting on the lectern, examining his student ID card.

He tried to connect the dots with the available digital information when he heard Yan Qiling's irritatingly gentle voice:

"The Unbounded Lord's objective isn't to have us decipher this but to seize flesh and souls. Giving the answer doesn't guarantee safety. Following the Unbounded Lord's logic will never allow us to leave this place."

Si Shuhao grew anxious:

"That doesn't matter. Let's worry about getting past this obstacle first."

The man seemed to sigh.

"1130 doesn't seem like a typical classroom number in schools, especially for Classroom 30. Usually, there aren't enough rooms on one floor to reach 30."

Confused by the sudden change of topic, Si Shuhao shrugged.

"It depends on the school. Some might merge adjacent buildings into one for numbering purposes."

The man's striking eyes lingered on her.

"Why would Classroom 30 represent Class 9? Could there be a connection between the number nine and this classroom number?"

The young girl scratched her head even more, attempting to answer with her common knowledge:

"But some schools might not assign classroom numbers based on class affiliations..."

Ming Yiyang clicked his tongue and suddenly spoke up:

"Number 29."

Si Shuhao was puzzled:

"What Number 29?"

Ming Yiyang's gaze flickered briefly over the man with a suppressed smile:

"The answer is Student Number 29. Check if it's a female or not."

The fluorescent lights flickered twice, plunging the classroom into a brief, pure darkness.

"Buzz."

The lights flickered back on, and Su Bo, clutching the register, hurriedly scanned through it under the illumination, then read out a name:

"Jin Shuen... Sounds like a girl's name."

Hu Gaoming, who was analyzing the visitor log, was suddenly interrupted, leaving him momentarily stunned:

"Why 29? How did you deduce that?"

Ming Yiyang replied matter-of-factly,

"Add the individual digits of 1130 to 9, then take only the last two digits – that gives you 0029, which is number 29, right?"

Hu Gaoming's mind was still trying to catch up, and he challenged,

"Why this method? Why 9? Just because it's Class 9? Then why didn't you add 2013?"

The young man chuckled and nonchalantly set down his student ID card:

"It's a process of elimination. There are 49 students in total, and their numbers all end in two digits. Try adding them yourself – can you get a two-digit number?"

Yao Kunrui, who had been casually hanging around the lectern, suddenly cried out in a trembling voice:

"…Are they, are they coming closer?"

Several of the black plastic bag figures that had been lying on the ground were now standing up, silently stopping in the aisles between desks.

The fluorescent lights flickered again.

"Buzz."

In the eerie white glow, more "people" rose to their feet, drawing nearer and nearer to them.

Ming Yiyang stepped down from the lectern.

The classroom plunged back into darkness.

A faint blue glow pervaded the room. With two fingers, he reached into his collar and grasped something hanging from a silver chain.

Beside him, Yan Qiling quickly scanned his actions with an inscrutable scrutiny.

"Buzz."

These "people" had already approached the podium, just one step away from them.

Cornered in a cramped space, they were forced to press their backs against the cold blackboard.

A thin, quivering voice asked, "What does this mean? Did we answer incorrectly...?"

Yan Qiling, who hadn't moved an inch, chuckled softly and replied gently, "No, we're right."

"But here, being correct doesn't guarantee safety."

The fluorescent lights silently flickered out.

An eerie red glow erupted from the podium, and those pressed against the walls suddenly realized—the group of black plastic bag figures had encircled Ming Yiyang and Yan Qiling!

The crimson glow at the center was dazzling, but the layers of bizarre creatures blocked their view, preventing them from seeing the two figures inside.

When Ming Yiyang's left hand was seized by the cold black plastic figure, he was ready to retaliate.

However, Yan Qiling, whose hand was also held, remained calm, and thus Ming Yiyang suppressed his urge to act.

Their hands were forcefully pressed together, with the red-glowing pencil trapped between their interlaced fingers at the base of their palms.

- A spirit writing ritual.

They exchanged swift glances.

Beneath the pencil lay an open roster, and as the flickering fluorescent light intensified, their tightly clasped hands began to move involuntarily!

A jumbled whisper crept into their ears, accompanied by an eerie, gender-bending off-key voice:

"Guess it... the one who guesses... will be rewarded... hah hah... rewarded... rewarded..."

"Keep your eyes open... don't close them... don't close them... a reward for you... reward... reward... hah hah... reward..."

Amidst the eerie gale, Yan Qiling's forehead hair danced wildly, revealing his crimson eyes that glowed with an eerie luster amidst the chaos, making his left blue eye appear even more dim, almost blending into the darkness.

Compared to the surrounding strangeness, he resembled a legendary alluring ghostly spirit.

"I've heard that if you don't close your eyes during a pen spirit summoning, the spirit might possess you," Yan Qiling said.

Ming Yiyang scoffed, "If you're afraid to look, just say so."

Yan Qiling smiled and nodded, "I'm curious, if we both keep our eyes open, who will it choose?"

Indeed, neither of them closed their eyes.

The hand holding the pen moved frenziedly across the roster, the lead swiftly tracing around the four names.

In an instant, they were enveloped by a thick black fog, completely isolating them from the sight and sound of others.

Suddenly, Ming Yiyang's pitch-black eyes shimmered with a vivid purple glow.

The dense fog attempting to land on his shoulder was like water droplets falling into oil, instantly detonating into a brilliant white flame!

The black fog writhed in agony, letting out a deafening scream that echoed through the heavens!

"…Shuen… Shuen… It's Mom… Mom… The Pen Spirit will let you see… Shuen… Don't resist…"

Undeterred by the pain, the black fog continued to approach, only to meet with an even more intense and all-encompassing combustion!

As the shrieks grew fainter, the pale-haired youth's eyes had transformed from pitch black to an exceptionally pure light purple, akin to sunlight shining through a high-transparency gem, breathtakingly beautiful.

Yan Qiling finally revealed an expression other than a smile.

The Purple Pupil of Qingdu Ziwu, the Yin-Yang Eyes.

How could they be found in this person?!

The young man didn't seem to have any intention of hiding his gaze; he looked straight at him.

"It seems like it has chosen me. However, much to its dismay, I don't seem to be so easily killed."

Drip, drip.

The pen's tip dripped with crimson blood.

The black mist dissipated.

The sound of cracking bones and splitting flesh echoed.

The black plastic bags, now disintegrating, tumbled down together. Through torn sleeves or pant legs, the shattered flesh wrapped in clothing poured out, raining a crimson shower upon the world, reeking with a pungent scent of blood.