Jiang Yan glanced at her phone. “Half an hour left.”
Everyone quickly packed up to set out. Wuhai High School wasn’t far from the riverbank—it would take just over ten minutes to walk there. But the man who’d been swept in from outside remained slumped on the ground, refusing to move no matter what anyone said.
“My daughter went missing a week ago—I can’t die here, I just want to find her, I don’t want to die…”
He had just witnessed, with his own eyes, a woman in their group become a zombie—a living person, before him, rotting away with an indescribable stench, then leaping into the river. He’d never seen anything like that, and both his body and his mind were near collapse.
He kept mumbling, “They—the two of them—asked me to go out to the suburbs at night. They know each other, it’s them, they set me up…”
“It’s all fake, none of this is real, I must be dreaming. Let me go, please, I’m about to wake up, I’ll wake up any moment!”
His voice was shaking with fear and bewilderment. He was over forty, filthy, sitting in the dirt and mindlessly digging his fingers into the soil.
Time was tight; there was no chance to rebuild his worldview now.
Shen Huanhuan tried to soothe him, but it was futile. Lan Lin tried pulling him to his feet, but he didn’t take it at all—instead, he scrabbled half a meter further away.
Jiang Yan eyed his soil-caked hands, then said abruptly, “You heard us talking; the river water is dangerous.”
The woman’s presence was formidable, and the man swallowed hard but didn’t answer.
Jiang Yan went on, “So you’d better hope the dirt is harmless.”
“We’re so close to the river that if the soil has even a trace of moisture, you’ve touched river water, too.”
The man’s face froze.
A moment later, he looked anxiously at his hands. His fingers, trembling with fear, unconsciously dug at the ground. With Jiang Yan watching, he held both hands to his face to feel for dampness.
At last, a look of wild relief crossed his face. “Dry, dry! They’re dry!”
Jiang Yan shrugged. “See? You’ve already accepted the premise that touching the river water means death.”
“You know perfectly well this isn’t a dream.”
With that, she checked the time, hefted her backpack, and strode toward Wuhai High School.
Yu Renwan jogged after her.
Shen Huanhuan pressed her lips together, speaking softly: “Since you’re here to look for your daughter, pull yourself together. She disappeared exactly a week ago, the same time she arrived here. If you’re lucky enough… to see her later, you need to set a good example for her.”
Having said this, the twins quickly caught up to Jiang Yan.
At the mention of his daughter, the man’s eyes gained a spark of life. After a few deep breaths, he forced himself to his feet and, limping, trailed after the others.
Lan Lin, watching the man’s sudden resolve, turned to her teammates. “Let’s head out, too.”
“This round…” She thought of what they’d just been through, then shook her head. “It won’t be easy to win.”
Yiliang, one of the men, looked puzzled. “What’s wrong, Lan-jie?”
Zhang Du also frowned. “Isn’t our team’s composite ranking higher? Especially the twins—they’re only ranked in the five hundreds.”
The two had been on different rafts earlier and missed what had happened.
Lan Lin said quietly, “When there’s a dying man screaming in front of you, and you know his chance of survival is less than one percent, you still can’t make yourself give up on him entirely—because that one percent exists. You think of his aging parents, that maybe he has children too, so your heart can’t be ruthless.”
Yiliang said, “Then you try to save him, and only give up when there’s truly zero chance. Whatever happens, at least you know you did your best.”
Lan Lin smiled faintly. In normal missions, they helped spirits reincarnate. Unless a spirit was truly monstrous in life or had stayed in the world too long, most meant no harm, so psychics tended to be kind—they saved injured spirits and people if possible, feeling guilty if they failed.
But things were different now.
To spare her teammates from insects, Lan Lin lit a repellent incense, walking at the lead.
“Sometimes, ruthlessness is necessary.”
*
Ten minutes before midnight, everyone arrived at Wuhai High School.
There was no gate, only a lone teaching block in the mist. The building looked decrepit; dull yellow light shone from a few windows, but even that gave no warmth.
Jiang Yan looked up. The figure she had seen at the fifth floor window was gone.
Nine people stood quietly before the building. Before them was a desk with a “Registration” sign, but no one attending it.
At last, slow, dragging footsteps sounded inside the building.
The pace was painfully slow, each step halting, the body seeming to judder in place. The dead silence of midnight made it eerie, unnatural, and all held their breath.
Bang—
The main door of the teaching building was shoved open from within.
A stout woman appeared. The corners of her eyes and mouth drooped slightly. Her small, muddy eyes stared closely at them; she seemed to try to smile, but the trembling flesh of her face made her look anything but kind. As if she realized this herself, her face quickly clouded over.
“You’re the new students?”
Jiang Yan nodded.
The woman’s venomous gaze shifted round the group. She licked her lips, as if regretful: “A lot, but you’re all early birds, aren’t you.”
Jiang Yan returned her gaze with a mild smile. “Punctuality should be a student’s virtue.”
The woman snorted, reached for the registration desk, and pulled out a stack of crumpled forms. “Sign these enrollment papers.”
The sound of riffling pages.
She quickly flipped to the very last sheet, slapped it down, and pointed at the signature line. “All sign here.”
Jiang Yan moved to take the whole stack, but the woman just handed her a pen and kept her hand planted on the final page.
Jiang Yan looked up. “I’d like to see the documents in detail first.”
A smile spread across the woman’s face.
She eyed her watch meaningfully, her grin stretching wider and wider, and then, licking her thick lips, turned to Jiang Yan. “Of course you can.”
Prompted by her psychological pressure, Shen Xiaoxiao quickly checked the time, too.
“Jiang Yan-jie, only two minutes to midnight!”
Jiang Yan slowly flipped through the papers. “No rush. We only need to be at the school by midnight. We’re here.”
Shen Xiaoxiao thought back to the sign and realized that was true.
It was just that the woman’s presence, her movements and expressions, were so suggestive and coercive that everyone unconsciously assumed “Arrive before midnight” meant “Complete registration before midnight.”
Noticing their talk, the woman’s mocking look faded. She stared coldly at Jiang Yan, who turned the pages unhurriedly.
Soon, Jiang Yan pulled out a single sheet and everyone crowded around.
“Wuhai High School Student Code of Conduct”
Dear students, welcome to Wuhai High School. As the top school for academic advancement in Xiangxi, Wuhai High School has always been loved by students and parents. In order to maintain our excellent record and to ensure your graduation, please observe the following:
1. The cow-rearing class is mandatory. Cows are the most spiritual and auspicious animals in our school.
2. Cow-rearing class is a night class. If you notice it has grown a third eye due to tiredness, do not be afraid—you’re just too sleepy. Singing a song is a great way to wake up.
3. The school also has chickens and sheep. As long as you feed and care for them patiently, they will depend on and love you like infants.
4. They will gaze at you, but only because they love you.
5. Until you complete cow-rearing class, no other classes will be open.
6. If someone turns into a cow before your eyes, don’t be alarmed. Beef is the most delicious meat.
7. There are many school rules. Please work hard to discover them and satisfy the teachers’ desire to observe you.
8. Excellent students have the opportunity to remain on staff at the school.
Evidently, this is a rules-based energy field.
And one where the rules have to be deduced step by step.
Jiang Yan had read a few rule-based horror stories before coming, so she had some sense of how this place operated.
Her attention first fixed on rule two.
“If you find it’s grown a third eye from fatigue…sing a song to wake up.”
Seeing things that shouldn’t exist—a classic sanity-losing symptom, a drop in mental stability.
And the solution is to sing: singing restores sanity.
But that seemed too simple; singing requires a mouth and voice. Jiang Yan suspected there would be issues with people’s throats.
Next, rule three.
“There are chickens and sheep. If you feed and care for them enough, they will depend on and love you like infants.”
To have chickens and sheep attach to you like infants—truly disturbing. No one would want that in here. The way to refuse is to give them neither food nor patience, which on the surface should be easy.
But Jiang Yan was always wary of the worst in energy fields; she suspected this rule would invert.
Perhaps the chickens and sheep protect the humans early on. Like children guarding parents, they shield humans. Some, wanting to keep that protection, would really feed and care for them. But what came next was anyone’s guess.
Then rule six.
“If someone turns into a cow before you, don’t be alarmed. Beef is the most delicious.”
From the rules, people turning into cows could happen for two reasons: complete mental collapse, or something caused by the chickens and sheep.
Or maybe not either; only the cow-rearing class would reveal the truth.
Lastly, rules seven and eight.
“There are many school rules; students should strive to discover them and please the teachers.”
“Excellent students have the chance to stay on staff.”
Students and teachers are usually opposed, but top students can become teachers. As needed, identities might shift, and roles might be crossed.
Jiang Yan handed the sheet to the others for review.
She carefully flipped through the rest of the forms. Finding nothing else noteworthy, she signed her name at the end.
The others crowded forward to sign, too.
Enrollment was complete.
“Thank you, Teacher Wang,” Jiang Yan said politely, glancing at the name tag on the woman’s chest.
The fat woman’s face trembled as she glared at Jiang Yan for a few seconds, spat on the ground, and turned to walk behind the school building.
Time for the cow-rearing class.
The group exchanged glances and followed.
Yu Renwan kept close to Jiang Yan, watching the woman’s back, then leaned in to murmur a few words.
Jiang Yan nodded.
Three minutes later, as the woman led them round a corner, a narrow strip of paper slipped from her.
Yu Renwan snatched it up in a flash.
She squeezed it in her palm, and without even reading it, hid it in Jiang Yan’s hand under the cover of her wide sleeve.
Jiang Yan looked down and unfolded it.
There were just eight characters:
[Chickens don’t live past six years, dogs don’t past eight.]