Chapter 205: Younger Cousin’s Instance (Part 1)
Xu Shengsheng wasn’t the only one in this instance who had played the game before; very soon, a male player stepped forward to guide the recruits.
The recruits’ emotions were gradually soothed.
Aside from a select few who struggled to accept the reality, most began inspecting their surroundings with doubtful, tentative curiosity.
Xu Shengsheng looked around as well.
The clues in this instance were noticeably more overt, likely because it wasn’t particularly difficult.
This group of theirs all belonged to a single club—the Paranormal Club.
However, the club president was an NPC.
Adding him in brought the total headcount to thirteen people.
The NPC announced that tonight, they were going to debunk one of the school’s urban legends: the Pen Fairy legend.
Whether they believed in fate or not, everyone’s face turned somewhat pale upon hearing what they were about to do.
Every single one of them had experienced dreams prior to entering the instance; the eerie occurrences in those dreams made it exceptionally difficult not to feel terrified.
I mean… if you didn’t believe in these legends, staying far away was the best choice—why insist on challenging them?
Bai Cha observed for a short while.
The entry time into the game was 2:00 PM, and their group was gathered inside the club room.
Throughout it all, Xu Shengsheng maintained an entirely unpretentious presence, blending in to the point of near-total invisibility.
Yet it was clear she was genuinely feeling a bit uneasy.
After a moment’s thought, Bai Cha tipped her 10 points.
[Bai Cha tipped you 10 points and said: “Don’t be afraid. Protect yourself.”]
Xu Shengsheng’s shoulders indeed relaxed slightly.
Having finished laying out the plan to gather at midnight, the NPC took his leave.
The remaining time was clearly granted for them to investigate the events that had transpired inside that specific teaching building mentioned by the NPC.
The scene was rather… pitiful, truth be told; many were wandering around aimlessly.
Bai Cha enabled the fast-forward function at the bottom, skipping straight through the earlier portion.
She used to wonder why an instance lasted so long—shouldn’t the time spent by outside viewers watching the stream match the instance’s duration as well?
With fast-forward available, however, it was no surprise.
Viewed this way, this stream fast-forward feature showcased the game’s absolute control to a certain extent as well.
Just like how players’ presence in reality experienced virtually zero time shift.
And for those watching the stream, it undoubtedly imparted a sense of illusion—look, the fates of these people in the camera frame are held entirely within my grasp.
Time skipped forward to 11:53 PM.
The players had gathered together, discussing the information they had gathered.
This teaching building had long been abandoned, and the reason behind its abandonment in campus urban legends was that a female student had once jumped to her death from its roof.
Later, late at night every once in a while, if someone came to this teaching building, they would catch sight of a female student standing at the rooftop, jumping down.
And whoever laid eyes on that girl would involuntarily jump down along with her.
Urban legends like this actually existed in many places.
Overall, it wasn’t particularly novel, yet being physically placed in such an environment was indeed somewhat terrifying.
And back then, the girl who jumped to her death seemed to have committed suicide for love—a thoroughly standard trope as well.
At midnight, the club president NPC materialized right on schedule.
He held a pen in his hand—a fountain pen.
The fountain pen was exceptionally worn and old, its outer paint almost entirely chipped away.
“Let’s go. We’re heading inside.”
Xu Shengsheng looked at that fountain pen, recalling the item she had obtained in the instance with Bai Cha.
That was a fountain pen as well.
The method of use was writing characters on paper to summon a shadow snake, which possessed lethal capability against ghosts and monsters as well.
Yet it refused to obey her commands, carrying a high probability of dealing massive damage to the enemy while inflicting severe self-harm.
Finding an opportunity, she pulled the fountain pen out without a sound and tucked it into her pocket.
Playing Pen Fairy definitely required paper—it might prove somewhat useful, perhaps.
Having never entered a campus instance herself, Bai Cha watched thoughtfully as the group sat around a desk.
Because that girl had originally been a student in a fourth-floor classroom of this very teaching building, they were currently inside that exact classroom.
Pen Fairy didn’t actually require this many people, yet perhaps due to plot requirements, everyone extended a hand regardless, crowding the camera frame with hands.
“Pen Fairy, Pen Fairy, you are my past life, I am your present life…”
Amidst their chanting voices, Bai Cha could clearly see the camera frame dim slightly.
The overall visibility of the lighting dropped.
It was night to begin with, but now even the moonlight had vanished, plunging everything into pitch-black darkness.
Unease surfaced across the players’ faces.
Yet the game had already begun.
The NPC opened his mouth: “Pen Fairy, Pen Fairy, may I ask if the campus urban legend is true?”
His words instantly caused the players to look at him involuntarily.
The taboo of the Pen Fairy game was asking how the Pen Fairy died; although this NPC didn’t ask directly, the question remained exceedingly dangerous.
The fountain pen set about moving across the desk.
Thirteen people held a single pen simultaneously, with many people’s hands resting atop others’.
Yet even under such circumstances, they felt an irresistible force driving the pen to slide across the paper on the desk.
It was a crooked, jagged Yes character.
And from Bai Cha’s spectator perspective, she could already see a faint, blurry figure gradually materializing directly behind Xu Shengsheng.
The NPC’s face turned somewhat pale as well; he turned his gaze toward the others.
“Go ahead and ask. Everyone has to ask one question.”
The group thought to themselves: Who the fuck wants to ask a question?!
And didn’t you come to debunk feudal superstitions? How come you don’t look like you’re debunking anything at all?!
“Hurry up—zero delays allowed! You go first!”
The NPC pointed straight at Xu Shengsheng.
Xu Shengsheng reached a loss for words. After a moment’s thought, she asked, “What is the trigonometric function equation?”
The group: “…”
The pen tip moved lightly, and several equations quickly appeared on the paper.
With her setting the precedent, the questions raised by the others began turning strange as well.
“Who fired the second shot of the 1911 Revolution?”
“Why are the dates in Xinjiang red and large?”
“What is produced when calcium carbonate is mixed with hydrochloric acid?”
“What categories exist for the Nobel Prize?”
“What are the three fundamental laws of genetics?”
“What is the second passage of the Analects?”
These were the questions from those who had attended school.
For those who hadn’t attended school, the questions were equally absurd.
“What is the professional recipe for Daokou roast chicken?”
“How do you tell if a watermelon is sweet?”
“How do you handle a split seam on clothing?”
“Is sweet tofu pudding better, or savory tofu pudding better?”
The NPC club president’s face darkened progressively.
He opened his mouth several times wanting to speak, yet constrained by the rule against interrupting questions, he swallowed his words back down.
Bai Cha watched in utter silence.
That Pen Fairy actually provided answers to every single question.
The answers were all correct, too—except for subjective queries like sweet versus savory tofu pudding that inherently lacked a definitive answer.
However, the Pen Fairy wrote sweet tofu pudding—which was likely her personal preference.
As she answered the questions, her figure grew increasingly distinct.
Once everyone had asked a question, it was time to send the Pen Fairy off.
Having completed the ritual, they were finally able to release their hands, and everyone let out a breath of relief.
With an unsightly expression, the president picked up the pen and tucked it into his pocket.
“Let’s go. We’re heading back.”
The group exchanged glances.
Viewers could see a female ghost appearing, yet the players were temporarily unable to see her; and even if the bullet chat offered warnings, the players held zero way of seeing those comments.
Nevertheless, owing to the dream hints, everyone instinctively felt a creeping, icy chill at this moment.
Someone counted their headcount in their mind—for now, it remained thirteen people.
Yet as they stepped out of the classroom door, someone failed to control themselves, glancing at the reflection on the window.
Behind their group stood an additional person.
