“The prayer for safety was for a classmate. We’re in the same class, though you might not remember her. She’s the class representative. A few weeks ago, she suddenly came down with a strange illness and hasn't been back to school since.”
An Ping’s expression turned pensive as he recalled the events. “The class rep’s illness is very peculiar. She’s always been in good health, and I’ve never heard of her having any underlying conditions...”
“Not bad, you know quite a bit.” Mu Gesheng sat on the threshold, breaking up a block of instant noodles and dropping the pieces into his enamel mug. “Is she your secret crush?”
“No! Don’t talk nonsense!” An Ping’s entire face flushed red. “The point is, she’s been on leave for a long time. This is City First High; the school never grants leave for that long!”
“What’s so hard about that?” Mu Gesheng mumbled, a plastic fork hanging from his mouth as he spoke with the air of a seasoned veteran. “The number of times I’ve taken leave is probably the class rep’s leave time to the power of *n*.”
An Ping was at a loss for words. Should he agree that Mu Gesheng was right? Or should he point out that this legendary, multi-year repeater actually knew what an *n*-th power was?
The events of this afternoon had been nothing short of magical realism. First, a classmate turned out to be living in a City God Temple; then, he was hustled into burning incense and having his fortune told; and finally, he was sent out to buy instant noodles as an offering... Most unbelievable of all, the rumored tyrant of City First High was actually a mystic—and a crotchety, old-fashioned one at that.
An Ping studied Mu Gesheng, realizing the guy was a far cry from the rumors. Not only was he quite easy to get along with, but he was also surprisingly approachable. Although his remarks often left people speechless, the sheer absurdity of his behavior created a strange, earthy sense of intimacy.
It was this half-serious, half-joking demeanor that allowed An Ping to relax. He had been bottling this matter up for a long time with no one to tell, and now it all came pouring out. “Usually, if someone falls this ill, the whole grade talks about it. But this time, not only is no one saying a word, even the teachers avoid the subject... Take the homework, for example. I wanted to deliver hers along with yours, but the head teacher stopped me and wouldn't let me go no matter what.”
“Interesting.” Mu Gesheng slurped a forkful of noodles. “Too much water... Did the class rep fall ill in the classroom? What exactly happened at the time?”
An Ping thought for a moment. “It was during the long break. She was at her desk, eating a bowl of noodles, when she suddenly collapsed onto the table. No matter how much we called, she wouldn't wake up. Eventually, the teachers called 120, and she was carried out on a stretcher.”
“Sitting at her desk, eating a bowl of noodles.” Mu Gesheng looked thoughtful. “You remember it so clearly. Are you *sure* you don’t have a crush on her?”
An Ping: *I’m begging you, man, can we please stay on topic?*
After teasing him enough, Mu Gesheng finally said something useful. “Do you remember what kind of noodles she was eating?”
“I don’t remember clearly.” An Ping pondered, glancing at Mu Gesheng’s enamel mug. “I think her mother brought them. They smelled very fragrant, and there was pickled cabbage in them too.”
“What a coincidence.” Mu Gesheng laughed at that. He stood up, clutching his mug. “No time like the present. Let’s go, An-Bottle.”
The other boy had casually slapped a new nickname on him, the diminutive suffix rising with a slight lilt like drifting willow catkins. It took An Ping a moment to realize he was being addressed. “Huh? Go where?”
“Back to school. City First High.”
***
In any city, a school called "First High" was bound to be a key provincial school of some prestige. City First High was the best school in the old district, situated near mountains and rivers with several respectable historical sites nearby. Built nearly a century ago, it was a place of "outstanding people and spiritual land." Every year, students fought tooth and nail to get in. Someone like Mu Gesheng, who had repeated grades so many times he was practically a permanent fixture, was likely a first in the school’s hundred-year history.
City First High was a day school, and since it was a holiday, there were very few people around. An Ping followed Mu Gesheng, watching as the guy threw a loose school jacket over his pajamas, ruffled his hair into some semblance of a style, and swaggered through the school gates cradling his enamel mug.
“Wait, you’re dressed like that and the security guard didn't stop you?” *Had the school rules been eaten by this guy?*
Mu Gesheng’s face was very pale, with faint dark circles under his eyes that gave him a sickly air, yet his conduct lacked even a hint of a patient’s frailty. By now, An Ping’s impression of him had completely shifted—the guy was either a laid-off mystic looking for a new career or a total con artist.
“I’ve been calling that guard ‘Uncle’ for six years. We’re practically relatives; there’s no need for formalities,” Mu Gesheng said shamelessly. “By the way, my uncle likes Hongtashan cigarettes. If you ever want to sneak out, give him a few packs and he’ll definitely let you through.”
An Ping’s mouth twitched. “So, where are we going now?”
“Back to class. Our class.” Mu Gesheng waved a hand like an old official on an inspection tour. “An-Bottle, you lead the way.”
“Aren't we going to our classroom?” An Ping asked, bewildered. “Why do I need to lead the way?”
“‘I left home young and return old,’” Mu Gesheng quoted righteously. “I’ve taken so much leave I can’t remember where it is.”
An Ping: “...”
The teaching building at City First High was called the Octagonal Building. Its design was unique; every classroom had eight corners, forming an irregular octagon. Their classroom was on the second floor, with windows facing the street. By the time they entered, it was nearly dark, and the streetlights outside were visible.
An Ping turned on the lights and walked to a desk. “This is the class rep’s seat.”
The desk was by the window, clearly the seat of a model student, piled high with textbooks and exercise books. Mu Gesheng pulled out the chair and rummaged through the contents, declaring, “Something’s missing.”
An Ping asked hurriedly, “What is it?”
“Isn't she the class rep? How come even she doesn't have the answer key for the 5-3 prep books?” Mu Gesheng searched the drawer high and low. “I know the answers are usually collected, but why are teachers so stingy these days? They couldn't even leave one copy for the class rep?”
An Ping lost count of how many times he had been rendered speechless. “...No, I’m begging you, big brother, can we please not get sidetracked? Once we’re done, I’ll let you copy all my homework.”
“Now that’s a deal.” Mu Gesheng agreed readily. He picked up his mug and started eating his noodles. “Let’s get to work. An-Bottle, go adjust the clock.”
He pointed to the clock above the blackboard. “Do you remember what time it was when the class rep had her accident? Set the clock to that time.”
An Ping looked at the instant noodles in Mu Gesheng’s mug and began to understand. “You want to recreate the scene?”
“Exactly. Long break, window seat, eating noodles.” Mu Gesheng slurped his noodles. “Move it, young master. If you’re any slower, I’ll have finished the bowl.”
An Ping turned to adjust the clock, the classroom echoing with the sound of Mu Gesheng’s slurping. “I’m telling you, eat slower. In case something actually happens, we need to be able to react...” Being tall, he reached up and took the clock down, setting it to 6:30 PM.
When he put the clock back in its place and turned around, he froze.
The seat where Mu Gesheng had been sitting was empty. Only the enamel mug remained.
And yet, the sound of slurping noodles still echoed through the classroom.
An Ping had been raised on nine years of compulsory education, born in the New China and raised under the Red Flag. He had never seen anything supernatural in his life. His scalp tingled with terror. His first instinct was to grab a copy of *Ideological and Political Education: Compulsory Module 2* from the teacher’s podium and begin chanting Marxist Materialism at the top of his lungs. He shouted so loudly that he managed to make the principles and methodology sound like an exorcism.
Core textbook points probably have the same effect on every high school student: they cause agonizing pain, but they also cure all ills, making the living wish for death and the dead rise again in a state of ecstatic exhaustion. An Ping currently belonged to the latter category. Chanting a string of exam points helped clear his head significantly. He suppressed the urge to bolt and forced himself to calm down.
A living person had just vanished before his eyes; he at least had to figure out what was going on.
The slurping sound continued to echo. An Ping steadied his nerves and realized the sound wasn't coming from thin air—it was coming from the PA system. The sound was repetitive and mechanical, without a single pause.
*How big is this person’s mouth? Eating for this long without stopping—aren't they afraid of choking?*
An Ping listened for a while, his skin crawling with goosebumps, but he couldn't make sense of it. He thought carefully about everything that had happened and made a decision: he would repeat what Mu Gesheng had done.
He set the clock to 6:30 again, walked to the class rep’s seat, sat down, picked up the enamel mug, and took a bite of the noodles.
The slurping sound from the speakers abruptly vanished.
An Ping looked up and found the classroom full of people.
When it comes to being terrified, the first time is a shock, but the second time is familiar territory. An Ping was much calmer this time—actually, no, he wasn't. He let out a yelp like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, then quickly covered his mouth, shaking like a leaf in a gale.
He had no idea where this room full of people had come from. They had appeared out of thin air, and they did not look friendly. An Ping scanned the room; everyone was wearing school uniforms, their backs stiff and straight. The most chilling part was that he couldn't see a single person’s face.
Based on his experience passing notes in class, no matter where you sat, there were always some people whose faces you could see directly. It was impossible to be completely blind to everyone. Yet here, people either had their faces obscured by their collars or hidden behind long hair. The more An Ping looked, the more horrified he became. *Is this a room full of dead people?*
He couldn't take it anymore. He bolted upright, his desk screeching against the floor. At the sound, a figure in the front row moved, turning around stiffly.
It was a person made of paper!
The figure’s neck twisted a full 180 degrees. It had a face of white paper with features drawn on in some unknown substance; the lips were a terrifying shade of red. The most horrifying part was that while everything else looked fake, the long hair looked incredibly real, as if someone’s scalp had been pasted onto the paper. The paper person bared its teeth at An Ping in a mock smile, letting out a series of "cluck-cluck" sounds like nails scratching a door.
As if on cue, when that paper person smiled, every "person" in the classroom turned their head. Every single one had a white paper face, though their expressions differed—joy, anger, sorrow, happiness, greed, hatred, obsession, resentment. Some were tragic, some festive, some grotesque, and some absurd. The sight turned what little remained of An Ping’s sanity into mush.
Case closed. This wasn't a room full of dead people; it was a room full of paper effigies!
An Ping even forgot to scream. He threw open the window beside him and jumped out without a second thought.
Since ancient times, the second floor has been the birthplace of heroes—people were always jumping off it. The window wasn't far from the ground, and there were bushes below. Whenever someone failed an exam, they’d usually take a leap surrounded by their friends. An Ping was well-practiced in this. He intended to escape by jumping, but the moment he opened the window, he was blasted in the face by the hysterical screeching of birds. The cacophony was as harsh as a child’s nocturnal wailing, nearly knocking An Ping backward.
This side of the classroom faced the street. Since City First High was in the old district, the streets were lined with old plane trees—lush green in summer, but filled with bird nests in winter. From late October to the beginning of the following year, the air was filled with endless bird cries day and night. One or two birds might sound melodic, but tens of thousands sounded like the sky was collapsing in mourning. The entire street felt like it had been roofed over with noise. An Ping landed clumsily on the ground, and before he could find his footing, he was pelted by white spots falling from the sky.
Where there are birds, there is bird droppings. With ten thousand birds roosting together, it was a literal downpour of filth!
When luck is against you, even cold water gets stuck in your teeth. An Ping had first been scared witless by paper people, then fallen flat on his back beneath the building, and finally been covered from head to toe in bird droppings, turning his hair white in an instant. An Ping was on the verge of a breakdown. A belly full of terror and fury bubbled up, and he wanted nothing more than to scream at the sky: *What the hell is going on?!*
However, he couldn't even manage a howl—unless he wanted bird droppings in his mouth.
Just as his heart was pounding in his throat, a school jacket was thrown over his head. “What are you standing there for? If you don’t find a place to hide, are you planning to take a bath here?”
It was Mu Gesheng.
Before An Ping could grab him and ask where he had been, he was hauled by the collar and led on a frantic sprint. When they finally stopped, An Ping whipped the jacket off his head. “Where on earth are we?”
They were hiding in a storage closet somewhere in a corridor, surrounded by brooms and trash cans. Mu Gesheng answered with a question: “Did you see the birds in the trees?”
*No kidding, I’m not blind.*
“Old districts are mostly planted with plane trees. It’s normal for birds to gather there in winter, and the area around City First High is no exception,” Mu Gesheng said. “But in recent years, the city has been tidying up its appearance. The noise was bad for the teaching environment, so the school carried out several mass evictions. Over the last two years, the flocks have gradually decreased. Most of them moved to the east of the city.”
An Ping reacted instantly, realizing Mu Gesheng was right. The bird population near the school *had* been declining. When they entered the gates earlier, they hadn't seen many at all. In his panicked state, he had simply relied on habit, assuming the noise was normal—so where had these sudden birds come from?
Mu Gesheng glanced at him and said, “You have a guess.”
An Ping steadied his nerves, speaking with disbelief. “Are we... in the City First High of several years ago?”
“Correct.” Mu Gesheng nodded. “We are at City First High, but not the one we were just in. For there to be a flock of this size, it must be at least two years in the past.”
“How is that possible?” An Ping tried to defend his crumbling worldview. “Is it a temporal displacement?”
“Read fewer manga. You should know some of those cliché school ghost stories, right? Like which dorm someone died in, or which toilet is haunted. Those rumors are common in schools.”
Mu Gesheng didn't seem panicked at all; he spoke with leisurely ease. “Some of them are actually true. For instance, some schools are built on old graveyards. Partly because the land is cheap, and partly because the 'yang' energy of young people is strong enough to suppress 'yin' malevolence.”
“Don’t tell me we’re in a graveyard right now...”
“It’s a similar concept.” Mu Gesheng shrugged at An Ping’s pale face. “The old district has a hundred years of history. There are many ancient buildings near City First High, and this area was densely populated even during the Republican era. Likewise, when the wars broke out, this was where the most people died. Some vengeful spirits don't dissipate for decades. It’s true this isn't a graveyard, but the yin and baleful energy here is no lighter than one.”
An Ping felt like he was about to faint. His voice was weak. “So?”
“Even though the yin energy is heavy, the human presence is also strong. When the two clash, it’s easy to tear a rift between the Yin and Yang worlds. We’ve likely stumbled into such a place—neither fully living nor fully dead.”
“These rifts are also called the ‘Santu Space.’ It’s located between the three paths of Heaven, Earth, and the Underworld. It’s a sort of no-man’s-land rejected by both gods and ghosts, filled with things that are half-dead, neither human nor spirit.”
“Santu Spaces are common; they drift everywhere in the rifts between Yin and Yang, but it’s very hard for ordinary people to enter.” Mu Gesheng clicked his tongue. “Did you see those crooked-faced paper people?”
An Ping’s heart leaped into his throat again. “I saw them. What are they?”
“Those things are called Nightmare Effigies, a type of nightmare. Logically, a Santu Space shouldn't have them. The class rep must have brought them in.” Mu Gesheng pushed the storage room door open a crack. “The class rep likely has some kind of mental knot—a very heavy one that’s gone unresolved for a long time. That’s what drew the Santu Space here.”
“A knot in the heart is like a cage; it imprisons both oneself and others. You said she hasn't woken up? It seems her soul is lost here. We have to find it and take it back.”
***
**Glossary**
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 安瓶儿 | An-Bottle | A nickname Mu Gesheng gives An Ping. "Anping" (安平) sounds like "Anping" (安瓶), which means ampoule or small bottle. The 'er' is a diminutive suffix. |
| 八角楼 | Octagonal Building | The unique teaching building at City First High. |
| 120 | 120 | The emergency medical telephone number in China (equivalent to 911). |
| 红塔山 | Hongtashan | A famous Chinese brand of cigarettes. |
| 三途间 | Santu Space | Literally "Between the Three Paths." Refers to a rift or limbo between the realms of the living and the dead. |
| 魇傀儡 | Nightmare Effigies | Supernatural paper puppets/entities created from nightmares or mental trauma. |
| 阴 / 阳 | Yin / Yang | Traditional concepts of dark/cold/dead vs. light/warm/living energy. |
