Chapter Forty: A Desperate Cry

Slowly, something other than darkness finally emerged in his field of vision.

It was a door.

Yuan Zhikong recognized this door—it was the restroom door on the second floor. Without realizing it, he had walked all the way to the end of the corridor and was now standing before the restroom.

His whole body had begun to tremble uncontrollably, yet, despite this, he forced himself to take a step forward and entered the restroom.

The moment he stepped inside, he almost collapsed in fright. This was no longer an ordinary restroom; the air was thick with the stench of rot and fresh blood.

He glanced around at random, only to see scattered human remains everywhere.

He retched violently. Even with his strong nerves, he was still just a student; faced with such a scene, he couldn’t help but vomit.

Before he could recover, he sensed something behind him. He spun around quickly, but there was only a washbasin.

Above the washbasin hung a mirror.

The mirror was already covered with cracks, and faint traces of blood seeped from the jagged edges.

As if compelled, he approached the washbasin. For some reason, he desperately craved the coolness of water to help him regain his composure.

He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wake himself up. But as he lifted his head to look in the mirror, terror seized him—for the reflection hadn’t moved at all. It remained frozen, holding a bizarre posture and staring back at him with a chilling gaze.

Rooted to the spot, he dared not move, standing motionless as he stared at this sinister version of himself in the mirror.

Suddenly, the restroom light flickered on, and Yuan Zhikong, who had been surrounded by darkness for so long, was temporarily blinded.

When his sight returned, the reflection in the mirror had changed.

What had once been merely eerie was now grotesque—a blood-soaked version of himself, his skull forced open, exposing the grisly red and white matter within.

Behind this reflection stood three people, their faces twisted into hideous grins, as though they might devour him alive at any moment.

“Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.”

Yuan Zhikong was shaking uncontrollably, but even now he clung to the last thread of reason, desperately weighing his options.

He didn’t know what these three behind him were, but one thing was certain:

Whatever they were, they were definitely not human.

He also knew that simply standing here was death—these three could kill him in the next second, or worse, turn him into one of them.

So, if he wanted to survive, there was only one thing to do: run!

Without any warning, Yuan Zhikong spun around and threw a punch.

His fist passed straight through the three figures, striking nothing but empty air.

Without hesitation, he dashed for the restroom exit.

But as soon as his foot crossed the threshold, he stepped into nothingness and plummeted downward.

The sensation of falling lasted an eternity, but with darkness pressing in from all sides, he could see nothing.

After what felt like a long time, he crashed heavily onto solid ground.

His legs tingled with numbness—he couldn’t even stand.

Before his mind could process what was happening, he realized he was trapped in a cramped space.

The area was barely two square meters, just enough for one person; there was no room to stretch arms or legs.

A strange clattering sound echoed, and something cold wrapped tightly around his body.

The icy touch told him it was some sort of iron chain. He tried to struggle, but with each movement, the chain only tightened its grip.

“What are you? Why do you hide in the shadows? If you have the guts, come out and kill me face to face!”

Yuan Zhikong shouted as loud as he could, but received no reply.

Instead, tiny barbs sprouted from the chains and pierced straight into his flesh.

He couldn’t help but groan in agony.

But that was only the beginning. Countless worm-like creatures crawled up his pant legs, burrowing under his clothes and gnawing at his flesh.

The pain was excruciating, far beyond what any ordinary person could endure.

Soon, he found himself struggling to breathe, the oxygen around him vanishing rapidly.

This was true despair—a mortal man, faced with the impossible, helpless even to die.

All he could do was wait for death in unending torment.

His consciousness faded. A light appeared before his eyes, and at its end, a grim reaper seemed to be beckoning him.

“No, no—I was looking forward to the second season of my favorite anime, and the convention is next month. I don’t want to die.”

Tears streamed from his eyes, falling to the ground below.

He was teetering on the edge of collapse—any further provocation and he would break completely.

Suddenly, the light vanished. One bloodied, twisted face after another crowded before him, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at him.

He could endure no more. The terror that had built up inside him burst forth in a cry of utter despair.

But at the very instant he screamed, everything vanished. Light flooded back into the world, and he found himself standing beneath the teachers’ dormitory, tears streaming down his face like a fool.

Before he could comprehend what had happened, he saw Wang Hui and Li Dongxu leap from the building above.

Li Dongxu was shrieking madly, and upon seeing him, reacted as if he’d seen a ghost, trying to run—but his legs, injured from the fall, wouldn’t allow escape.

Yuan Zhikong stepped in front of Wang Hui. “What on earth happened?”

He noticed that he was completely unharmed—not even a speck of dust on him—which left him bewildered.

Wang Hui seemed petrified, sitting on the ground with a deathly pale face, unable to utter a word.

Helpless, Yuan Zhikong turned to Li Dongxu.

Li Dongxu, realizing that Yuan Zhikong wasn’t a ghost and that they were safe, began to ramble incoherently.

“Ghosts—the missing people appeared—they chased us, we ran, and then there was blood everywhere, body parts—luckily, my bronze mirror suddenly shone, and we saw a path ahead, so we jumped.”

Though Li Dongxu’s account was jumbled, Yuan Zhikong could guess that the two of them had entered a space different from his own, and had been subjected to equal terror.

What surprised him most was that Li Dongxu’s bronze mirror was the real deal.

It must have played a role at the last moment, shattering the bizarre spaces and saving them.

“Damn it! Let’s get out of here—now!”

“Yes, yes, call the police!” Li Dongxu echoed.

“Call the police? Are you out of your mind? The police would send you straight to a psychiatric hospital!” Yuan Zhikong shouted angrily.

“Then what do we do?”

“What do we do? Just never come back here again! What else is there to do? And by the way, where did you get that bronze mirror? Get me one too…”

Once they regained their senses, the three of them fled the school at once.

As they approached the gate, Li Dongxu, as if compelled, glanced at the statue—only to find that it was now squinting with one eye, staring intently at them.

“Holy crap! That statue—!”

…