Translator: CinderTL
"Just then, a gust of wind blew, revealing a photograph on the tombstone. Though weathered and faded, it was still recognizable as the gravedigger who had brought them here."
"This gravedigger was none other than Liu Genfu, the murdered caretaker."
"By the time A Zhe pieced everything together, it was too late. The gravedigger removed his straw hat and sunglasses, revealing blood-soaked eye sockets beneath."
"His eyes had been gouged out, and his head wobbled precariously, as if it might detach from his neck at any moment."
"Eyes..."
"Such beautiful eyes..."
"Liu Genfu slowly advanced toward A Zhe and his child, blood streaming down his face. Yet he continued to smile, a relentless grin, until he plunged his hand into the boy's eyes."
The man's story ended there, but the questions it raised lingered. It was clear to everyone that A Zhe, the protagonist of the tale, was none other than the man standing before them. His demeanor and the timbre of his voice matched the story perfectly.
Yet in the tale, the ghost had wanted A Zhe's son's eyes. The fact that this man could stand here and recount this story meant A Zhe himself must have died.
Jiang Cheng considered another possibility: perhaps A Zhe had willingly given up his eyes to protect his son. He had kept his promise, willing to sacrifice everything for his child.
"Alright, our stories are done," the man said, lifting his head slightly to look at Jiang Cheng and the others. "Now it's your turn."
From Jiang Cheng's perspective, he could clearly see that the man in the darkness had no eyes—only empty sockets surrounded by dried bloodstains.
As the last story concluded, the remaining group turned their attention to Jiang Cheng and his companions: the female student, the writer, the Red-Clad Woman, the black car driver, and A Zhe, the resident singer.
Slowly, their bodies began to transform. The female student's eyes turned bloodshot. The writer's scarf slipped from his neck, revealing livid strangulation marks beneath. The Red-Clad Woman's legs trembled uncontrollably, as if they could no longer support her. The black car driver extended his left hand from his sleeve, revealing a missing middle finger. A Zhe, whose eyes had been gouged out, swayed his head back and forth, as if it might detach at any moment.
Huai Yi and Fatty also sensed something was wrong. These weren't people at all—they were ghosts! But there was no escape.
Instinct told them that even more terrifying creatures might be lurking in the darkness nearby.
"Why aren't you talking?" the female student hissed venomously, her eyes filled with malice. "Don't you have any stories to tell?"
"No stories? That means they weren't invited!" the black car driver screeched, his voice grating and shrill.
The Red-Clad Woman was even more unhinged than the others. Certain they had no stories to share, she twisted her legs into grotesque angles, as if poised to pounce. "We want stories! Tell us your stories!"
Huai Yi instinctively clung to Fatty, trembling uncontrollably.
Witnessing this, the surrounding "people" grew even more frenzied, slowly closing in to form a suffocating circle around the group.
Just as the situation threatened to spiral out of control, a soft chuckle rippled through the air, laced with undisguised mockery.
"Is that all?" Jiang Cheng shook his head, rolling his eyes at the encroaching figures. "I truly overestimated you pathetic appetizers."
"You dare present such pathetic tales? Are you trying to amuse us?"
A stunned silence hung in the air for a few seconds before A Zhe's voice broke the tension. "You have stories?"
"I have countless stories. I'm just deciding which one to begin with," Jiang Cheng replied, not even glancing at A Zhe, as if utterly uninterested in him.
The Red-Clad Woman hissed a low threat, her voice dripping with menace. "Before you begin, I must remind you that the story you're about to tell must be true."
"Don't even think about trying to deceive us with fabricated tales or hearsay. Our eyes see through lies."
"If we discover you've invented this story, you'll face the consequences!"
Jiang Cheng paused briefly before launching into his first tale.
"I had a friend," he began, "who was once invited to film a school's anniversary celebration. The grand finale was a girls' choir performance."
"But when he reviewed the rehearsal footage, he noticed something strange."
"There were forty-eight girls in the choir, yet the photos showed forty-nine."
"An extra person?" Perhaps the school setting made the female student feel more immersed in the story, because a flicker of fear crossed her face.
She never expected Jiang Cheng to suddenly stop speaking. He mechanically turned to stare at her, a sinister smile slowly spreading across his face. "Exactly," he said, emphasizing each syllable. "One extra... person."
The female student instinctively ducked her head and fell silent.
"The strangeness of this school goes far beyond that," Jiang Cheng continued. "His investigation revealed that there were almost no male teachers, and even the security guards were all women."
"Moreover, he discovered in the school's records that a First-Class Dance Student had been forcibly expelled. The girl who appeared in the choir was among them."
"She was murdered," Jiang Cheng said, lowering his voice. "By a man's shameless lie."
"This man was her teacher. Even though he already had a girlfriend, he continued to harass her. But fearing exposure, he turned the tables and falsely accused the student of seducing him."
"Amidst scorn and accusations, the dance student hanged herself in her beloved practice room."
"From that day on, the campus lost a graceful white swan and gained a fierce ghost, its toes taut, tapping out eerie rhythms."
"Every midnight, the girl's grotesque dance is reflected in the mirrors of the empty practice room."
"But she's not alone."
"She would also drag those she killed into the mirror, forcing them to dance with her."
"That included the male teacher who drove her to suicide. She broke his jaw clean off and condemned him to eternal repentance within the mirror."
Jiang Cheng paused, abruptly ending his story. "That's it. My story is over."
"Over?" The group that had gathered around, engrossed in his tale, pressed him. "What happened next? What about your friend?"
Jiang Cheng had been recounting his experiences in a past school dungeon. He longed to share more, but continuing would expose his lies. He couldn't exactly reveal that he'd completed the mission and returned home.
He cast the crowd a meaningful glance, warning them not to pry further. "Trust me," he said, "some stories are better left untold."
Meeting Jiang Cheng's gaze, the writer who had been most boisterous earlier suddenly fell silent. He could clearly read the unspoken warning in those eyes: Don't mess with me.
(End of the Chapter)
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