The World Below Surface - Chapter 59: I know you're awake.

The incident with the blanket went undetected by Lu Yan. He leaned against the wall while lying in bed, eyes closed, anticipating the arrival of midnight. Each passing moment was an eternity until, at last, he pried his eyes open.

Chu Xiu followed suit, and in the shadows, they locked gazes before rising to their feet. Suddenly, a thin beam of light penetrated the window atop the steel door, illuminating the room.

“Get back to sleep. The room check is imminent, and any points deducted will result in disciplinary action,” the dorm leader cautioned them.

The sound of steps drew near, accompanied by the clattering of other dorm doors thrown wide open. Was this a mere inspection? Lu Yan scrambled to cover his head with a blanket, feigning slumber while remaining silent.

The footsteps grew louder, their clamour intensified by the curses and cries of male students. It was unclear where they were being dragged. The “disciplinary action” mentioned by the dorm leader was anything but trivial.

With a deafening crash, the door burst open, yet the dorm’s inhabitants remained still as statues. Lu Yan lay there, still as the night, as if sound asleep. But he could sense a presence scrutinizing the tiny chamber, chilling and malevolent as if scouring for prey.

The footsteps crept closer to his bed, each a deliberate beat in a macabre march. Lu Yan slowed his breathing and muted his heartbeat, becoming as still as a statue. Any observer would be convinced that he was deep in slumber.

The dormitory was quiet as the grave, the only sound the mournful howling of the wind blowing through the open door. The male voice that had been pleading only moments before had been silenced, along with the footsteps that had accompanied it.

Lu Yan lay supine, lost in a peaceful sleep. Yet, he could sense that the entity had not abandoned him. It hung suspended above him, reeking of decay and death, a ghostly presence with an unshakeable grip.

What manner of being was this?

At first, he thought this was just another hallucination, an echo of the past relived through the prism of his mind. But the events of the night had him doubting his judgment.

Was this an apparition of days gone by at Fourth High School, or was it a manifestation of the student’s own nightmarish experiences? Perhaps their terror had conjured up ghastly images of the principal, vice principal, and other school leaders.

He waited patiently, his senses attuned to the shifting shadows around him. After an interminable wait, the frosty breath suffocating him began to dissipate. The entity had changed its target and now hovered menacingly above the student on the top bunk.

The student who had borrowed his blanket earlier now lay silent, lost in silence.

However, the sound of the blanket being yanked off the bed echoed through the stillness, a sudden intrusion of violence in an otherwise peaceful night.

‘Why?’ Lu Yan wondered, perplexed. What rule did he break?

Unable to pry his eyes open, Lu Yan was forced to rely on his other senses. The rustling noise from the top bunk continued, even as the blanket vanished from sight.

Time passed like a river, ebbing and flowing, until a chilling voice pierced the silence. ‘I know you’re not sleeping.’

Though spoken in a soft tone, the words reverberated through the dormitory, quickening the breath of a fellow student on the opposite bunk.

The entity revelled in its newfound target, and with glee, it yanked the male student from his resting place. The hapless victim crashed to the floor with a sickening thud, his skull cracking against the ground. He pleaded, begged, and wept for mercy.

Then, the voice changed as if he had seen the most horrifying thing in the world, something so petrifying it robbed the teen of speech. All that remained was a choking gasp, a ‘heh heh’ sound that emanated from the boy’s throat.

Heavy objects were dragged away, followed by the dormitory door slam.

All returned to calm.

Lu Yan’s eyes remained shut as he calculated the time, realizing that midnight had passed and it was now about one o’clock. The question lingered in his mind, How many more bed checks would there be tonight? Was this hallucination of past events a manifestation of a student’s nightmares? Nevertheless, the school was anything but ordinary.

Determined to get to the bottom of things, Lu Yan had no intention of rising from his slumber this night. He would wait until the morning to inquire at the school. He was certain Chu Xiu felt the same way. The two slept until dawn and were up before anyone could call them.

Lu Yan opened his eyes, and immediately, his gaze narrowed slightly. On the wooden board of the upper bunk, he saw a humanoid water stain. He got up and surveyed the room, noticing drag marks on both beds. Strangely enough, both students were gone.

Did the student who complained of cold just disappear quietly like that? Stepping on the ladder, he looked up at his own upper bunk. The same student who borrowed his blanket last night had disappeared, along with the blanket. The bed was damp with a humanoid water stain.

Lu Yan had a faint inkling of what was happening, so he leapt down and ceased his investigation.

This school…this school is haunted!

Maybe the students demonized the image of the discipline office and others, but that alone couldn’t clarify the eerie events that took place in the dormitory. Were these events merely a figment of their imagination?

The other students in the dormitory had awakened and were washing up. The dormitory leader washed his face with a water basin in the bathroom. Lu Yan stood by his side, reaching out to accept the water.

Abruptly, he asked, “Does this school have ghosts?”

The dormitory leader was taken aback and bellowed, “What balderdash are you spouting? Do you wish to die?”

Realizing his error, Lu Yan shook his head and solemnly responded, “I don’t wish to die.”

His demeanour pacified the jittery dormitory leader, who scrutinized him sceptically a few times before concealing his face in the damp towel and muttering indecisively, “If you truly don’t want to, then…then join us in worshipping God.”

“God?” Lu Yan undid his collar, exposing a mark beneath his clavicle. “Is this the deity you’re referring to?”

The dormitory leader gazed at the mark in awe for a moment before slowly nodding, his throat parched.

Lu Yan secured his collar, fixating his gaze on the dormitory leader, his words carrying an enigmatic undertone, “So, as long as you become a follower, you won’t die?”

The dormitory leader nodded, his blank expression meeting Lu Yan’s profound gaze. The deity seemed deeply intertwined with everyone at the school, both students and teachers alike.

Lu Yan probed further, but when he inquired about the nature of the school’s experiments, the dormitory leader convulsed in agony, his eyes glazing over. Lu Yan was immediately on high alert. The answer to this question was crucial.

“The school… is sacrificing. They seek to summon… something.”

His voice was so low that he might not have heard of Lu Yan had not been intently listening. The dormitory leader immediately collapsed, his limbs spasming uncontrollably, his face twisted in excruciating pain.

This statement appeared to trigger something, and as he passed out, the temperature in the dormitory plummeted. Lu Yan supported the dormitory leader and watched the view outside the window transform.

The walls, doors, windows, and trees… all cracked like a mirror had shattered. Lu Yan stuck his head out the window and observed that even the sky had faint cracks.

Chu Xiu burst through the door, demanding, “What have you done?”

The moment he entered, his eyes bugged out of his skull. He saw a poor sod sprawled on the floor, facial cracks mapped over their skin like a broken plaster cast, no blood seeping from the crevices. Lu Yan laid the person flat without a word, then snagged Chu Xiu and bolted for the door.

This place had become a death trap.

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Chu Xiu didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation, but he followed obediently. He would soon learn the reason behind the fear gripping Lu Yan.

One by one, pupils filtered out of the dormitory, taking up positions in the hall, eyes locked onto them. Their faces crumbled like the surrounding walls, cracks spidering over their skin.

“What in the hell do we do? The whole bloody world is about to rupture. How do we get out of here?” Chu Xiu, his eyes peeled on Lu Yan, witnessed the cracks fissuring through his clothes, his panic pitching a fever. “You’re splitting apart too!”

Lu Yan shrugged off his coat, flinging it to the ground. “Forget it. We need to find a mirror now. Finish the damn game!”

“But we must wait until midnight on the seventh day,” Chu Xiu protested.

“After midnight on the seventh day, isn’t it now?” Lu Yan spat back.

Chu Xiu’s mind was jolted by his response. “Of course!” he thought. It was well past midnight now. The recent game had deceived him into thinking that it was another day.

As soon as he realized this, they dashed into other dormitories to scavenge for mirrors. The boys’ dormitory had scarce mirrors, but they eventually found a suitable one. Without hesitation, they bolted to the first floor. Chu Xiu ascended the stairs while gazing at his reflection.

In that instant, not only did Lu Yan’s face start to crack, but Chu Xiu’s visage was also splitting apart. The mirror reflected his appearance in all its terrifying glory, even more, ghastly than any time he had seen his reflection in the outside world. His face was covered in fissures, and from within, soft red appendages reached out, wriggling in the breeze.

Chu Xiu wished to avert his eyes, but he couldn’t. He whispered his name repeatedly. By the time he arrived at the second floor, his reflection in the mirror had already been dismembered.

With unwavering focus, he ascended the second level at a breakneck pace. Lu Yan marched ahead of him, alert to any sudden developments.

“Chu Xiu.”

“Chu Xiu.”

…

In the mirror, the ghost of Chu Xiu’s sister appeared once again – replaying the task they had undertaken before. Chu Xiu stoically pressed forward despite his heartbreak without uttering a single sound.

“Sleeve, the pain is unbearable…it’s killing me…” Chu Xian whimpered as she wept and clutched her wounds, her image reflected in the mirror. “You goddamn bastard, where did you go? Won’t you help me?”

Chu Xiu made a heartless decision, ignoring her cries and continuing his ascent. With each step he took, another bloody wound appeared on Chu Xian’s body. When he reached the top of the second floor and arrived at the entrance of the stairs leading to the third, Chu Xiu was unaware that his face was awash with tears.

The stairs leading down began to crumble, and the building started to collapse. Debris rained down from the top of the structure with a cacophonous clamour.

The mirror world wanted to ensnare them!

Chu Xiu deftly sidestepped all the rocks hurtling towards the mirror surface. He barely flinched, resolutely marching towards the mirror even when inadvertently struck a few times. Lu Yan worked diligently to clear the rocks that had tumbled down, obstructing their path on the stairs and allowing Chu Xiu to keep climbing.

“You two come down! How dare you masquerade as students!” bellowed a voice from below.

The outerwall had long since crumbled, leaving the situation on the stairs exposed to the outside world. Lu Yan peered outside and saw that all the teachers and leaders of the school had congregated below, attempting to ascend.

Emphasis on attempted, as a throng of students barred their path. One after another, they tried to push the teachers away, but the teachers made quick work of them. They had only failed to succeed because of their sheer numbers.

“Ignore them; move quickly!” Lu Yan barked, eyes scanning the scene, knowing the students wouldn’t hold up for much longer.

Suspicion had been gnawing at him for some time now. The illusion was a manifestation of the students’ memories. It seemed likely that they were pulled into the mirror world because that was the only place where they could glean the information they needed.

Chu Xiu finally made it to the fourth floor, but his arrival was met with a group of leaders surging up towards him. These were no longer human forms – their skin cracked and mottled, their pallor resembling sun-dried paper figures.

Paper figures? Lu Yan wondered; why did that idea pop up?

Lu Yan hurried to Chu Xiu’s side, who deftly moved the mirror away from the advancing group and continued their ascent. Lu Yan pushed down falling rocks and used them to barricade the path, but the strain was taking its toll. His hands were splitting open, flakes of flesh flaking off, but he didn’t falter.

Those climbing up after them were not fairing much better, with some barely clinging on with half their body as they tried to stop the two from proceeding.

Lu Yan was alone and overwhelmed, unable to stop dozens of people from attacking. He was quickly forced to approach them.

Heaving with exertion, Chu Xiu continued his climb. Just now, he was hit by a rock, and although he had managed to avoid any vital areas, his injured leg was hit. He had nearly lost his grip on the mirror for a split second.

But escape was still some time away.

Lu Yan stood before the shattered balcony, confronting a horde of encroaching figures. Without hesitation, he raised his firearm and fired at a recognizable shadow. The target’s head erupted into a burst of gore, wobbled precariously, and then tumbled over the balcony’s edge.

“Director!!”

As his quarry plummeted to their doom, Lu Yan bolted forward and leapt off the edge after them. Chu Xiu, who had just reached the last bend of his climb, bore witness to the entire calamity. His heart seized up, but he knew there was no chance to intervene. The only path was upwards.

His left hand had been reduced to rubble, and his right held only three digits. Struggling to grip the mirror, Chu Xiu pressed onward, despite his leg being shattered beyond repair. Remarkably, he felt no pain. At this moment, he was grateful that he could still speak and that the game might still be won.

He could only hope that Lu Yan held fast and avoided the fate waiting in the abyss.

On the other side, Lu Yan’s body contorted and crumpled, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. His fragmented form splintered even further. Attempting to rise to his feet, he discovered that his legs had been pulverized into fragments, and his shoulder had also shattered. By a stroke of luck, he had leapt in the right direction. The principal he had previously knocked down was positioned directly before him.

He used his relatively intact hand to prop himself up and dragged himself to the principal’s side, delving inside his body to retrieve something.

Gazing upon the crowd, he bellowed, “I’m here, and your principal is too!”

The crowd, unsure of how to react, flailed around like headless flies briefly before another gunshot rang out, striking one of their own in the head.

Lu Yan lowered his weapon and cast a cold, unflinching glare at them with his remaining eye. Although he had deceived Chu Xiu earlier, he had now truly exhausted his ammunition.

The mob quickly came to a decision after a moment of chaos. Most of them thundered downstairs in hot pursuit while a small faction stayed behind to clear a path and apprehend Chu Xiu.

Chu Xiu had already ascended to the top floor, sinking his teeth into his remaining fingers to scrawl his name on the mirror. He needed to flee immediately, descending the staircase without looking back, no matter what he heard or saw.

He dropped the mirror and hobbled down the stairs, only to find seven or eight people obstructing his path. His teeth clenched in determination as he darted past them, running for his life.

He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t look back.

The mangled remains of several bodies lay twisted together. Chu Xiu muttered the rules of the game under his breath, but then a phrase from the instructions suddenly sprang to mind. His eyes widened with inspiration as he spied an opening. He darted out onto the balcony just as Lu Yan had before.

He hit the ground with a resounding thud, and the world went dark.

Two pairs of eyes simultaneously snapped open, and they found themselves right back where they started on the night of the game before they were dragged into the mirror world. But all the students had vanished, leaving only an eerie quiet within the teaching building and a hazy shadow lurking below.

“Come on, keep playing,” Lu Yan shoved Chu Xiu, who clutched the mirror tightly and quickly regained his bearings, reciting his name as he ascended the stairs.

Lu Yan’s heart raced, pounding hard in his chest.

He extracted his phone from his pocket and opened the gallery, tilting his head down to keep his line of sight within a visible range of about ten meters.

He watched as the shadow crept up, level by level. Those feet eventually came to a halt directly in front of him.

An Run had relentlessly pursued leads on the Yin—Yang Road road, continuing even after his death, driven not only by his profession but also by his love for his son.

Lu Yan hoisted his phone aloft, the screen illuminated by the stark image of An Xing Yu’s missing person report. He deftly flipped the text horizontally, creating a mirror image of the report.

Lu Yan had a peculiar habit: he was always prepared with multiple backups for everything. Even in this instance, he had foreseen that the group of students wouldn’t pose a threat, but the shadow – An Run – would still pursue him, having caught a glimpse of himself.

The shadow wouldn’t cease chasing him unless it had something to do with his investigation results or his son. He required An Xing Yu’s missing person report for this purpose. Unfortunately, the paper version remained in the principal’s office in the mirror world, and his phone was confiscated by the head teacher. Therefore, he had no other option but to take a chance and see if the head teacher carried a copy with him.

As Lu Yan stood there, the shadow appeared before him, sporting a noticeable red mark on his neck that seemed rugged in some areas due to a chainsaw cut. The shadow lingered for an extended time and then snatched the phone from his hand.

In the meanwhile, Chu Xiu had made it to the final level, pricked his finger, and let the blood flow to write his name on the mirror.

The game had concluded.

Both the shadow and Chu Xiu vanished, and the mirror crashed onto the ground, shattering into pieces. Lu Yan stood still, taking several deep breaths before eventually descending the stairs.

A chilly aura emanated from a mark below his collarbone.

As he descended, the school atmosphere became increasingly eerie. Then, the hallway lights abruptly flickered on, revealing a student dressed in a school uniform standing quivering in the corner, his back facing him.

Suddenly, a girl in a school uniform skirt rushed by, laughing, yet where her mouth should have been was so smooth that it was difficult to imagine where the laughter came from.

Lu Yan left the building with a dismissive air and exited the school hastily. Yet his mind remained preoccupied with the mission, his thoughts churning like a turbulent sea. From the situation of Chu Xiu’s departure, there shouldn’t have been so many strange phenomena.

But what had caused them? Was it the “god”? The same god that had now become a haunting, spectral presence that defied explanation? Lu Yan wondered what role it had played in the mission and how it had managed to “resurrect” them. Could it truly be possible for parallel time and space to exist or even time to flow backwards?

Lost in thought, Lu Yan found himself at the street corner. The flickering neon lights in the distance coalesced into a vague human form. Lu Yan immediately averted his gaze and stopped staring.

His phone had been taken away, but fortunately, he had a backup at home. As he rode the bus back, Lu Yan’s mind wandered back to his earlier musings. Why was the world so bizarre, yet the development of technology similar to another world? What unseen force was maintaining everything in place, and why did he feel that An Xing Yu and An Ru held the answers to these questions?

Lu Yan felt that there was much to be gleaned from them that could shed light on the mysteries of the world around him.

The calendar image materialized in his mind, and he compared and recalled the frequency of his “acquaintances”. Lu Yan flipped through the calendar, his fingers tracing the inked markings on several dates.

Anticipation coursed through his veins as he imagined the next meeting with An Xing Yu and Chu Xiu.

Chu Xiu’s eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright. The four of them were huddled in an abandoned factory, groggy and disoriented. One by one, the others stirred awake, only to meet their demise in the next moment.

A twinge of sorrow flickered in Chu Xiu’s eyes, but he knew it was not the time to grieve. He uttered his goodbyes and hastened away from the grisly scene.

Three lifeless bodies, their eyes fixedly staring, bore witness to his exit.

“Someone died again recently, Little Yu. Be cautious, and avoid venturing out.” An Ru was rare at the dinner table, but he looked concerned at his thin son. “It’s not safe lately, try not to provoke anyone, and stay inside if possible.”

An Xing Yu nodded in agreement, finished his meal, and dutifully washed the dishes before retreating to his room to tackle his homework.

As he wrote, his pen slipped, leaving an unsightly scar on his notebook. The task had reared its head once more. An Xing Yu promptly switched to a fresh sheet of paper and jotted down the assignment details with meticulous care.

“Curious, another bloody village,” he muttered to himself.

An Xing Yu scribbled down the task with urgency, booted up his computer, and logged into a unique website where he posted a vague request for companionship, shrouding the critical details in ambiguity.

In no time, several unfamiliar accounts contacted him. Once they verified the secret code, they scheduled a rendezvous at a dingy cafe in the city where An Xing Yu resided.

Meanwhile, Chu Xiu also scoured the same website, methodically jotting down the task’s particulars as he meticulously analyzed and planned his approach.

What was this “All-Knowing God”?

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