The Sealed Classroom was a place that even Chen Ge, with all his experience navigating supernatural horrors, preferred to avoid lingering in for too long, its oppressive energy a constant reminder of the spectral students tied to the twenty-four name tags he carried. Yet Fei Youliang and Zhu Jianing stepped inside without hesitation, their flashlights cutting through the dimness as they crossed the threshold, oblivious to the room's true power. As soon as they entered, a strange, musty odor filled the air, carrying hints of decay and something indefinably ancient, like the faint echo of a forgotten tragedy. The sensation was disorienting, as if they had plunged underwater into a pressurized void, the air thickening around them and making each breath labored and uneven, their chests tightening under an invisible weight. The red graffiti scrawled across the desks seemed to pulse in the low light, the twenty-four uniforms on the chairs staring silently, their empty forms evoking the presence of the spirits from Mu Yang High School, now bound to this recreated space beneath New Century Park.
Zhu Jianing, trailing behind Fei Youliang, felt the room's chill seep into his bones, his earlier bravado crumbling as the darkness closed in. "Youliang, should I wait for you outside?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his face twisting into a grimace of fear that he couldn't hide. The classroom was even darker than the corridor, the flashlight beams struggling to illuminate the rows of desks, casting elongated shadows that danced unnervingly across the walls. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temple as the oppressive silence pressed against him, broken only by the faint creak of the uniforms shifting slightly, as if stirred by an unseen breath. The name tags in Chen Ge's possession, though absent from the room, seemed to resonate with the spirits' energy, their silent watch amplifying Zhu Jianing's growing dread, the room's atmosphere a far cry from the staged scares he had anticipated.
Fei Youliang's agitation simmered beneath his composed facade, his voice sharpening as he turned to his companion. "What did we promise each other before entering the Haunted House? We said we'd never abandon each other now, but now you're already giving up?" The words carried a bite of frustration, his own unease masked by irritation at Zhu Jianing's wavering resolve. The uniforms scattered throughout the room, draped over chairs with eerie precision, reminded him of props from low-budget scary movies, yet an inexplicable apprehension gnawed at him, urging him to keep his distance from them. The red graffiti on the desks caught his flashlight's beam, its jagged lines seeming to writhe in the shadows, evoking a sense of trapped anguish that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. The spirits tied to the name tags, invisible but ever-present, heightened the room's tension, their protective intent from Mu Yang High School now manifesting as a subtle, suffocating pressure on the intruders.
Zhu Jianing, oblivious to Fei Youliang's cracking confidence, pressed on from behind, his whisper barely audible in the heavy air. "Where do you think the Haunted House's worker will be hiding? Will they jump up from underneath the uniforms?" The question hung between them, laced with a fear he tried to disguise as curiosity, his eyes darting to the dark corners where the light failed to reach. The classroom's silence was profound, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric from the uniforms, as if they were breathing in unison. The name tags in Chen Ge's box, each bearing a student's name, resonated faintly with the room's energy, the spirits' silent vigil a haunting echo of the real Mu Yang High School's tragedy. Zhu Jianing's heart pounded, the oppressive atmosphere closing in, making the space feel smaller, more confining, as if the room itself was alive and watching their every move.
Fei Youliang's response was clipped, his voice steady but edged with growing unease. "Not clear, but they would normally do something like that," he said, nudging his way toward the lectern at the front of the room, his flashlight sweeping across the rows of desks. He clenched his fists, steeling himself as he walked down the aisle, his steps deliberate but cautious, expecting a scare at any moment. Nothing happened—no sudden jumps, no hidden figures emerging from the shadows—leaving him with a mix of relief and frustration. "It does not seem like there's anyone hiding here," he muttered, his words echoing slightly in the empty space. The uniforms remained motionless, their collars and sleeves forming silent silhouettes that seemed to follow his movements, the red graffiti on the desks catching his light in a way that made the words appear freshly carved. The spirits' presence, tied to the name tags Chen Ge carried, lingered just beyond perception, their energy subtly shifting the air, waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves.
Zhu Jianing's voice trembled as he glanced around the room, his fear mounting with each passing second. "But if there's no one hiding here, why waste so many resources to create such a large and detailed set? There is what looks like blood writing carved onto the tables, and these old uniforms were purposely left in the room," he said, his eyes flicking nervously to the graffiti, its crimson strokes evoking images of desperate pleas etched in desperation. He glanced behind him toward the door, the corridor's darkness a tempting escape. "Furthermore, the door opened on its own earlier like it was inviting us to come in." The memory of the door's eerie movement sent a fresh chill through him, the classroom's atmosphere thickening as if in response. The name tags, absent but connected to the uniforms, seemed to stir the spirits, their protective legacy from Mu Yang High School manifesting as an intangible pressure that made the room feel crowded, despite its emptiness.
Fei Youliang turned sharply, his glare piercing the dimness as he snapped, "It was probably the wind." The explanation rang hollow even to him, the underground scenario's lack of drafts making the door's movement inexplicable, but he clung to it to maintain his composure. "If you have time to mumble this nonsense, come and help me look for the hidden mechanism or trick," he added, his voice sharper than intended, frustration bubbling up as the room's unease began to wear on him. The uniforms' silent rows seemed to close in, their fabric whispering faintly in the still air, evoking the twenty-four students whose names Chen Ge held. The spirits' energy, subtle but insistent, amplified the tension, their connection to the real school's tragedy a hidden force that Fei Youliang dismissed as clever design, unaware of the supernatural truth lurking within.
Zhu Jianing's response was meek, his voice barely above a whisper as he moved in the opposite direction. "Don't be mad, I'm just helping you analyze the situation…" he said, his large frame navigating the narrow aisle with care, his flashlight beam trembling across the desks. Due to his size, he accidentally brushed against one of the tables, knocking a uniform to the floor in a soft rustle that echoed unnaturally in the silence. He barely noticed, stepping over it without a second thought, his focus on reaching the back door. The uniform lay crumpled, its fabric pooling like spilled ink, but Zhu Jianing continued, his voice trailing off as he reached the exit. "There is indeed nothing worth getting scared over; I was expecting something to pounce at me when I passed the tables…" The words died in his throat, the classroom's atmosphere shifting subtly, the spirits tied to the name tags stirring in response to the disturbance.
Zhu Jianing's voice faded as he turned, his eyes widening in confusion as he realized the classroom had reverted to its original state, the uniform he had knocked over now neatly draped back on its chair. "When I walked down the row, I remember knocking into one of the uniforms. Youliang, did you pick it up from the floor?" he asked, his tone laced with bewilderment, retracing his steps toward the center table. The room's silence deepened, the red graffiti seeming to darken, the uniforms' silent vigil unbroken as if nothing had happened. Fei Youliang, at the other end of the room, shook his head, his distance across several desks making the impossibility clear. "A uniform that fell to the floor? How come I didn't notice it?" he replied, his voice steady but tinged with doubt, the spirits' subtle intervention a mystery they couldn't comprehend. The name tags in Chen Ge's possession resonated faintly, the twenty-four students' energy weaving the illusion, their protective legacy from Mu Yang High School now defending the room's sanctity.
Zhu Jianing approached the center table, his confusion mounting as he stood beside it. "I remember it was this uniform that fell to the floor," he said, reaching down to pick it up, waving it once to shake off imaginary dust. A foul odor wafted from the fabric, sharp and nauseating, like rotten fish left to fester in the sun, assaulting his senses and turning his stomach. The smell lingered, unnatural in the stale air, as if the uniform itself harbored something decayed. Zhu Jianing dropped it back on the table, his face paling as he squatted to inspect the desk and chair for hidden mechanisms, shaking the furniture to test for traps. Everything seemed normal, the wood solid under his hands, but the odor clung to him, a harbinger of the room's deeper horrors. The spirits tied to the name tags watched silently, their energy manifesting in the subtle anomalies, the classroom's atmosphere thickening as Zhu Jianing's intrusion stirred their unrest.
Just as Zhu Jianing prepared to move on, a faint rattling sound emanated from the drawer, like marbles rolling inside a glass jar, the noise sharp and inexplicable in the silence. "There's something inside?" he muttered, bending down to peer into the drawer's dark mouth, his flashlight beam illuminating stacks of yellowed test papers and tattered textbooks crammed within. The sound echoed again, teasing him with its mystery, and he reached in, pulling out the first paper with a rustle. Behind it, two round eyes stared back at him from the shadows, unblinking and unnaturally large, their gaze piercing the darkness with malevolent intent. The sudden revelation sent a surge of terror through him, his scream echoing off the walls as he stumbled backward, half-squatting, knocking two tables askew in his panic. The classroom's energy shifted violently, the spirits' presence amplifying the scare, the name tags' connection to the twenty-four students manifesting in the eyes' ethereal glow.
"What's wrong" Fei Youliang's voice cracked with alarm, the commotion jolting him from his search at the room's far end. He rushed over, his flashlight swinging wildly as he reached Zhu Jianing, who lay sprawled on the floor, his face drained of color, his body trembling uncontrollably. "There's someone inside the drawer!" Zhu Jianing gasped, his voice hoarse with terror, his limbs failing him as he tried to scramble up. The odor of rotten fish lingered, mixing with the musty air, heightening the room's dread. Fei Youliang cursed under his breath, pulling his teammate to his feet. "Have you lost your mind How can a person fit inside a drawer?" he snapped, his skepticism warring with a growing unease. The uniforms remained motionless, their silent rows a stark contrast to the chaos, the spirits' energy subtly weaving the illusion, their protective legacy from Mu Yang High School now turning the scare into a psychological assault.
Fei Youliang yanked the papers and textbooks from the drawer, dumping them onto the floor in a cascade of yellowed pages, his flashlight revealing nothing but dust and decay. "Take a look. Don't be such a scaredy cat; there's nothing inside," he said, his voice firm but laced with doubt as he scanned the empty space. The rattling sound had ceased, leaving only silence, but the odor persisted, a foul reminder of the eyes Zhu Jianing swore he had seen. The classroom's atmosphere thickened, the red graffiti seeming to darken, the uniforms' vigil unbroken as the spirits retreated into the shadows. Zhu Jianing, after ten agonizing seconds to steady his ragged breathing, finally climbed to his feet, his face still ashen. "But I really saw a pair of eyes… I'm not lying! I swear on my life!" he insisted, his voice trembling, the terror etched into his features undeniable.
Fei Youliang's composure cracked slightly, Zhu Jianing's conviction unsettling him despite his rationalizations. "Even if that's true, it's just a trick of the Haunted House. Why are you so scared?" he said, his tone defensive as he tried to dismiss the incident, though a flicker of doubt crept in. The room's oppressive pressure seemed to intensify, the uniforms' silent stare weighing on him, the name tags' spectral energy a hidden force amplifying the unease. "Fine, let's leave this room for now," he conceded, his voice quieter, the classroom's dread proving too much even for his experience with staged horrors. The spirits watched from the shadows, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy a subtle guardian, the drawer incident a warning that the scenario's terrors were far from ordinary tricks, their plan to sabotage Chen Ge now teetering on the edge of true fear.
Fei Youliang and Zhu Jianing fled the Sealed Classroom in a frantic rush, their footsteps echoing chaotically through the dark corridor as they left behind a trail of disarrayed desks and scattered test papers, the uniforms on the chairs seemingly undisturbed despite the commotion. The oppressive atmosphere of the classroom clung to them, the foul odor of decay and the memory of those unblinking eyes in the drawer haunting Zhu Jianing's every step. The faint strains of Black Friday reverberated through the underground scenario, amplifying the tension as the spirits tied to the twenty-four name tags, still carried by Chen Ge in his Doctor Skull-cracker outfit, watched silently from the shadows. The corridor's dimness swallowed the beam of their flashlights, the scorch marks on the walls and the lingering scent of burning adding to the sense of a tragedy frozen in time, making their escape feel like a desperate flight from an unseen pursuer.
Zhu Jianing's voice trembled as he glanced back at the receding classroom door, his heart pounding with fear. "Do we need to continue?" he asked, his eyes darting toward the endless corridor, its shadowy depths stretching into an abyss that seemed to mock their courage. The creaking doors along the walls groaned softly, as if stirred by the spirits' silent vigil, their connection to the name tags amplifying the scenario's dread. His muscular frame, once a source of confidence, now felt inadequate against the creeping terror that gripped him, the underground's oppressive energy sapping his resolve. The faint light from his flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters, and the memory of the classroom's inexplicable horrors—especially the uniform that had inexplicably returned to its chair—made his pulse race, urging him to flee this haunted place.
Fei Youliang's frustration flared, his voice sharp as he rounded on his companion. "You're giving up in less than five minutes? We're here to ruin this place, not to do promotion for this Haunted House," he snapped, half tempted to shove Zhu Jianing for his faltering nerve. "Get a hold of yourself! Why are you acting all scared like a little girl? How are you going to answer to your muscles?" His words were harsh, masking his own unease as the classroom's lingering dread gnawed at him, the spirits' energy tied to the name tags subtly intensifying the air's weight. He pressed forward, determined to maintain their mission to sabotage Chen Ge's reputation, his camera still recording despite the growing sense that this scenario was unlike any other. The corridor's darkness seemed to pulse, the spirits' silent presence a hidden force that challenged his skepticism with every step.
Zhu Jianing hesitated, his fear warring with the shame of being labeled a coward by Qin Guang's studio. The thought of being abandoned in this eerie place or branded a traitor spurred him to follow, though his steps were reluctant. As he moved, he glanced over his shoulder, his heart lurching as he saw the sealed classroom's door creak open once more, its slow, deliberate movement chilling him to the core. "Let's go, it feels like something is coming out from that classroom!" he hissed, his voice barely a whisper as he hurried to catch up with Fei Youliang, his flashlight beam trembling across the fire-scarred walls. The spirits tied to the name tags seemed to stir, their protective legacy from Mu Yang High School manifesting in the door's eerie motion, a warning that the intruders were not alone in the underground's shadowy depths.
The pair ran blindly down the corridor, their footsteps pounding as they bypassed the door to the toilet scenario, too consumed by panic to consider exploring it. They reached a junction where the path split, the unexpected choice halting their frantic pace. "Just how big is this set? There's even a choice of paths?" Fei Youliang muttered, his brow furrowing deeply as he scanned the diverging corridors, their shadowy lengths disappearing into darkness. His experience with scary movies and other Haunted Houses had prepared him for predictable scares—actors in costumes, sudden jumps—but this place defied all expectations. The absence of visible "ghosts" only heightened the suspense, the air thick with an inexplicable dread that grew stronger the longer they lingered, as if the spirits tied to the name tags were weaving a trap they couldn't see.
Zhu Jianing's resolve had completely crumbled, his earlier bravado a distant memory as he stood at the junction, his flashlight shaking in his grip. Fei Youliang, too, felt the weight of the scenario's eerie realism, though he clung to his analytical mindset. He had visited countless Haunted Houses, where spotting actors in ghost costumes provided a comforting reminder that the scares were staged, human creations meant to entertain. But this Haunted House shattered that illusion—no actors had appeared, yet the fear was relentless, a pervasive sense that something terrifying could erupt at any moment. The spirits tied to the twenty-four name tags, carried by Chen Ge somewhere behind them, seemed to amplify this dread, their energy subtly manipulating the scenario's atmosphere, making the underground feel alive with unseen watchers.
"Let's try this way," Fei Youliang said, his voice quieter now, pointing toward the corridor leading to the female dormitory, his flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. The narrow path seemed to close in as they moved, the walls pressing tighter, the air growing colder with each step. The spirits' presence, tied to the name tags, lingered in the shadows, their silent vigil intensifying the scenario's oppressive energy. The faint creaking of doors followed them, the sound echoing like whispers from the past, evoking the tragedy of Mu Yang High School. Fei Youliang's camera continued to record, but his earlier confidence wavered, the realization dawning that this Haunted House was not just a set but a living nightmare, its terrors rooted in something far beyond his understanding.
As they entered the female dormitory, the first few rooms appeared deceptively mundane, their sparse furnishings and faded posters offering a brief respite from the corridor's dread. The tension in Fei Youliang's shoulders eased slightly, the oppressive fear that had gripped them in the sealed classroom beginning to fade, though the spirits' energy lingered subtly, tied to the name tags Chen Ge carried. Zhu Jianing's breathing steadied, his flashlight sweeping across the empty beds, the normalcy of the setting lulling him into a fragile sense of calm. But as they ventured deeper, they reached a room marked by the Pen Spirit game, its atmosphere starkly different. The space was preserved like a crime scene frozen in time, four chairs arranged in a tight circle, a ballpoint pen taped together and several pieces of white paper resting on one, their pristine surfaces stark against the room's decay.
The Pen Spirit room's eerie stillness hit them like a physical force, the air heavy with an unspoken challenge, the spirits tied to the name tags seeming to converge here, their energy amplifying the room's dread. Fei Youliang's flashlight lingered on the chairs, their arrangement evoking a ritual interrupted, the taped pen a relic of a game that had once summoned something dark. Zhu Jianing's earlier relief vanished, his heart pounding as the room's atmosphere reignited his fear, the memory of the sealed classroom's eyes flashing in his mind. The spirits' presence, woven into the fabric of the scenario, pulsed with intent, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy making the room feel alive, as if the Pen Spirit itself was watching, waiting for the intruders to disturb its domain.
Fei Youliang's analytical mind struggled to rationalize the room's oppressive energy, his camera capturing the scene as he tried to dismiss the growing unease. The Pen Spirit setup was familiar from scary movies, yet its authenticity here felt unnervingly real, the taped pen and scattered papers hinting at a ritual abandoned in haste. The spirits tied to the name tags, though unseen, seemed to linger in the shadows, their protective legacy from Mu Yang High School manifesting as a subtle pressure that made the air feel thick, almost suffocating. Zhu Jianing hovered near the door, his flashlight trembling as he scanned the chairs, the room's eerie stillness a stark contrast to the corridor's creaking chaos. The Pen Spirit game loomed before them, its presence a challenge to their mission to expose Chen Ge's Haunted House, the spirits ready to test their resolve in ways they couldn't yet fathom.