After the little black cat had finished its tirade, it jumped from Yu Renwan’s arms to stand atop her head.
Yu Renwan whispered in defense, “The vengeful spirit isn’t really human anymore.”
“So really, it’s its heart that’s twisted—not humanity’s.”
The little black cat shot Jiang Yan a glance. “I was talking about her.”
“To realize at a glance that the trap lay with the mirror proves this trap was never a challenge for her. She saw through it effortlessly.”
“And did you notice her expression when she spotted the mirror in the corridor? She was genuinely impressed!”
Jiang Yan didn’t confirm or deny it.
After a moment, she said, “Just average.”
She scanned the scene reflected in the mirror. “If it were me, I’d hang a round clock on the first-floor portrait, marked with the current time, but the hands would only move at a normal pace when at least two people looked at it together. That way, we’d likely reach the fourth floor during the lunch break and violate rule five.”
“To make it harder, I’d remove the numbers from the clock face, hang it upside down, and make the face a mirror, marking the time points on both front and back, making it far easier to misread.”
“As for this stairway,” Jiang Yan tapped the mirror with her finger, “since the vengeful spirit thought to install a mirror at the end of the corridor, why not place one at the stairwell’s bend as well? That way, whenever I tried to use my hand-mirror to peek around the corner, the light reflected from the corridor mirror would bounce directly into my hand-mirror.”
“That would count as using a private device… The reflected sunlight would violate rule four.”
Jiang Yan curled her lips and added, “Though I did use the sunlight while looking at the fourth-floor mirror, that light had already bounced off several windows—it was essentially public light, disguised by public devices.”
The little black cat fell silent.
It stared at Jiang Yan with wide, golden eyes for a long moment. “Make sure you don’t die—and if you do, hurry up and reincarnate.”
Yu Renwan plucked the cat from her head. “Jiang Jiang would never die.”
Jiang Yan ignored them.
She carefully estimated the angles in the mirror, searching for a way to avoid being caught by its reflection.
But the mirror covered the entire far wall of the fourth-floor corridor. As soon as anyone left the stairwell, they would inevitably be seen in it.
Yu Renwan studied the mirror alongside Jiang Yan.
After a while, she voiced her worry, “Are you sure nothing will come crawling out of the mirror? What if something attacks us?”
Jiang Yan shook her head. “Don’t worry.”
“He Qingyuan once said that inside an energy field, everything is set up as a game. The spirit behind it is the gamemaster, and we’re the players—if we get a question wrong, we’re punished, and that punishment is death.”
“So you might have noticed that, compared to my expectations, nothing here is actually that scary. The spirit’s goal isn’t to frighten us, but to kill us while sticking strictly to the rules.”
“This format is completely different from all previous tasks. Fights and chases aren’t allowed by the current rules; including them would simply ensure ordinary players have no chance at survival—so there’s no point worrying about it.”
Yu Renwan’s shoulders relaxed.
She truly disliked ghosts appearing in mirrors—their unknown origins made any twisted emergence possible.
Jiang Yan examined the mirror a while longer, then finally shook her head. “Forget it.”
“There’s a window beside the mirror—with plenty of sunlight. We can’t reach it to block the light entirely; as soon as we move, our reflections will appear in the mirror. We’ll need to sneak around.”
There was a vent window halfway up to the third floor. Jiang Yan said, “Jump to the third-floor balcony below and crawl up from there to the fourth floor.”
The little black cat went first. Climbing was easy for it. Once it found a foothold, a few nimble leaps took it into a classroom.
The third floor was the teaching area.
The classroom was empty—just fourteen desks and chairs.
Jiang Yan and Yu Renwan quickly joined it inside. The room was small; they searched the cubbies and the metal cabinet at the back, but found no rope—just a test paper.
The test’s owner was “Wu Mei.”
Yu Renwan said, “That’s the Outstanding Graduate who donated the stair step!”
Jiang Yan made a sound of agreement.
She examined the paper. Though labelled a test, it was more like a set of friendly interview questions between close friends. Each was written in neat, delicate script, with the answers in equally fine but different handwriting.
Jiang Yan recalled those two previous clue notes.
“So, the owner of the notes wrote the questions for Wu Mei—Wu Mei answered.”
Jiang Yan read the questions.
“Question one: What is your impression of ‘Prelude to Water Melody’?”
Such a casual question.
Jiang Yan’s eyebrows drew together as she read on.
Wu Mei: “A bold lifelong ambition: break the waves and ride the wind.”
The grader’s comment: “Tsk, I thought you’d quote ‘We share the same moon over thousands of miles’! You know lyrics I don’t! Forget it—I’ll write that one!”
Next came the second question.
Even more casual.
“Question two: Where do all the rivers in the world flow?”
Wu Mei: “Eastward?”
Comment: “Not precise, not precise—my question wasn’t strict enough; there’s no standard answer. But your hometown river flows east, so I’ll give you credit.”
“Question three: Do you think the river at home will always run east?”
Wu Mei: “No.”
Comment: “I agree.”
The paper was small, with ample room for each answer, so Jiang Yan turned it over.
Question four lay on the back.
“Question four: Why are there so many mountains in Taoyuan Village? I can never get across them all.”
Wu Mei: “Xia Hua, didn’t we just talk about this in yesterday’s poetry class? ‘Fear not a thousand-mile journey; freedom comes when the wind arrives.’”
So the one with the delicate handwriting was named Xia Hua.
Jiang Yan glanced at the comment.
Xia Hua: “Come on, Mei-jie, enough with the show-off. No need to flaunt your literary talent—such a poser!”
“Question five: Your birthday’s coming up. What wish will you make?”
Wu Mei: “I’m not sure yet.”
Xia Hua: “You missed your chance for a birthday present.”
“Question six: Will we always be best friends?”
Wu Mei: “Of course. Our class has always been united, and you’re my best friend by far.”
Xia Hua: “I’m happy to hear you say I’m your best friend, but I have to tease you: Every time you mention this, I get mad. Of course, everyone is united—everyone’s the same! Because of Sir Cow Immortal’s powers, every family here has twins—raises a boy and sacrifices a girl. Gender preference is the village’s favorite pastime!”
That ended the “friendship test.”
Since student property could not be removed, Jiang Yan placed the test paper back on the desk, but just then, the little black cat darted forward, pressing its paw onto the paper.
Jiang Yan raised a brow.
A moment later, something astonishing happened.
Suddenly, the little black cat vanished into thin air, replaced by Lan Lin’s translucent spectral form.
She sat at the desk, eyes closed, short indigo hair shadowing her face.
After a moment, she spoke softly: “The two of them finished this quiz together, heads down at the desk.”
“Zhou Xiahua invited Wu Mei over to her house.”
“Three days later… at this desk…”
Her form faded further. “Wu Mei said she would never be friends with Xia Hua again.”
Lan Lin’s appearance was like a fleeting dream.
In less than thirty seconds, she vanished.
The little black cat reappeared in her place.
It stretched in pride. “Lan Lin knows everything I do—she can soul-substitute and view memories. Just now, she said this quiz might hide a clue, so she swapped places with me.”
Lan Lin’s top ranking at the Supernatural Administration Bureau was due to this very skill.
Jiang Yan asked, “How long can Lan Lin hold a view-back?”
“Almost two minutes—she says as much as she can remember.”
Jiang Yan nodded, carefully noting Lan Lin’s words.
She’d originally intended to search the teaching area alone. But with both companions here, and enough time, they checked the other classrooms on the third floor—
—but found nothing more.
Only in a storage room tucked in the corner did they find a rope, dried black blood crusted on it, and a small boat just under two meters long.
Obvious gouges marred the boat deck, caved in at about the size of an adult’s occiput.
Taken together, it looked as though someone had been tied to the boat with the rope, endlessly banging her head against the wooden deck in desperation for rescue, body cut again and again by the cords.
Jiang Yan picked up the rope:
“The storage sign reads ‘School Storage Room’—a public item, usable.”
There was nothing stopping her from simply floating up, but to avoid exposing herself, Jiang Yan handed one end of the rope to the little black cat.
The cat needed no prompting, leaping nimbly to the balcony, darting easily up to the fourth floor.
It peeked at the fourth-floor office windows several times before finally spotting Teacher Wang’s photo frame on a desk.
This was the place.
The cat wedged the rope behind the wardrobe; Jiang Yan, still on the third floor, tugged and climbed up.
As soon as they were in, Yu Renwan unleashed her true nature. Almost at once, a gust of wind outside sent the photo frame tumbling from the desk.
Jiang Yan reacted quickly, catching the album.
Under Yu Renwan’s eager gaze, Jiang Yan dismantled it, drawing a folded sheet from behind the photo.
“Wuhai Secondary School Teacher Rules”
Jiang Yan skimmed it; sure enough, feeding rules were included. She breathed in relief.
At the end was Teacher Wang’s signature and the school seal.
Private items couldn’t leave with them.
Jiang Yan swiftly memorized the contents and replaced the rules behind the photo.
“We’ve spent long enough—I’ll check the first and second floors. Keep searching here for clues.”
She shimmied down to the third floor, then headed for the stairs.
Halfway down to the second floor, Jiang Yan again saw the step donated by Wu Mei.
She was about to step down when a sudden thought struck her.
Rule two: “No destruction of public property.”
Rule four: “No use of private devices.”
Wu Mei’s step wouldn’t be public property until tomorrow, so—
—it could be destroyed.
Jiang Yan licked her lips, crouched, and tapped the stair with her mirror’s handle.
Solid on the left, hollow on the right.
She chopped the right side with her hand; the cement slab cracked open, as if splitting the very world.
Jiang Yan pried up the slab.
Beneath it lay a pristine bridal gown, two grass-woven rings, and a short, strangely disjointed poem.
It began, “I turn into the wind and rain of this world.”
A line tinged with inexplicable sadness, as if a girl had lowered her head and smiled softly, reciting:
—I turn into the wind and rain of this world.
“The butterfly lingering upon your brow.”
“Each ginkgo leaf.”
“I am a pain vivid and fierce.”
“A love anxious and agonized.”
“A being…”
“A being once alive.”
“To live as dazzling as summer flowers, to die as quietly as autumn leaves.”
“Welcome to Wuhai Girls’ School.”