"Mister?..." Xu Zisheng wasn't quite sure about the current situation and called out softly.
The dark mist gently churned twice, having no substantial feeling at all, so ethereal it seed it might dissipate the next second.
After a long while, a warm voice tinged with a bit of laziness finally erged from the mist.
It was indeed the Writer's voice, though it seed to carry a hint of casual drowsiness. "Young friend, the night is deep. I hope my presence like this doesn't disturb your rest."
"It doesn't." Xu Zisheng shook his head, his thoughts racing as he roughly guessed the situation.
He looked at the mist before him and said sothing that seed rather abrupt. "Mister, are you not actually here?"
"Young friend is truly perceptive. That's exactly right." The dark mist drifted, condensing into an illusory upper body.
The blurry half-figure propped its hand as it looked at the thin boy before him, carrying a uniquely mysterious aura.
"To be precise, I should be considered a wandering doppelganger." The handso features of the blurry figure composed of dark mist seed to take on a hint of a smile.
"I've been lingering in this place for quite so ti to search for so things."
"Although this realm is desolate, there might be many lost objects here—it's just that it makes it hard to distinguish ti clearly."
"Everything that happened, I've learned from my main body."
"Thank you very much, young friend, for bringing back that finger bone for ."
"I was originally thinking about when to return, but I had an intuition and ca here to take a look."
"I intended to find a place to rest, but unexpectedly found you here. This is truly a pleasant surprise—it seems our connection runs deep."
So that's how it was?
The Writer's brief words resolved most of the doubts in Xu Zisheng's heart.
No wonder the Writer's aura felt different—so elusive, without an anchor, full of desolate emptiness.
Turns out what's here is just a doppelganger that shares senses with the main body.
What the other was searching for was most likely the finger bone.
It seems the 'finger bone' is truly important to the Writer—is it his 'obsession'?
This might be the heavy curse placed upon him.
No matter how powerful, because of the curse's existence, that cherished object of obsession remains difficult to find.
The Writer's words also contained so other information.
From the other's few sentences, Xu Zisheng could finally confirm that the place he was currently in seed rather problematic.
Not just this eerie orphanage scenario, but the 'world' outside this orphanage—'desolate and dead silent', 'lost objects', 'ti hard to distinguish'—what's with these descriptors?
What kind of place had he been transported to?
As if sensing Xu Zisheng's confusion, the ethereal mist drifted closer.
In the blurry figure's hands, two separated worlds slowly ford—one bright, one dark—representing the real world and the Horror Ga World respectively.
Between the two worlds, there was an irregular, constantly twisting shadow, changing intermittently, its size uncertain, more transparent and illusory.
That shadow, like a crack, intertwined with parts of both worlds yet couldn't cause any effect.
The figure extended a slender finger and pointed at that crack. "A lost land without concepts of ti and space, nad the Void Realm. This is where we currently are."
The Writer's tone was calm and gentle, as if rely ntioning an insignificant matter.
But Xu Zisheng couldn't help but feel his heart tighten.
Void Realm, Void Realm—he silently repeated the term twice in his mind.
What does it an to have no concepts of ti and space?
He had definitely arrived in a place beyond rules, outside normal boundaries.
Even if he clears this eerie ga scenario, whether he can be sent back to the real world might beco a thorny problem.
But judging by the Writer's tone, he might know so thods to leave the Void Realm.
An existence of the Writer's hierarchical status probably wouldn't lie to him—likely everything the other said was true.
Compared to the idea that the Writer intentionally followed him here, Xu Zisheng preferred to believe the Writer's own words about their 'deep connection'.
Because they were in the Void Realm, where the flow of ti was completely different from both worlds and impossible to estimate, the Writer also couldn't determine how much ti had passed in the real world or what events had occurred.
Xu Zisheng briefly recounted his experiences over the past few days to the Writer, much like casual conversation between friends.
During this ti, the Cursed Child didn't reveal the slightest intention of seeking help from the Writer.
He also completely avoided ntioning the scenario tasks he needed to complete.
So things make a big difference whether said or unsaid.
The Writer could choose not to give, but he couldn't go asking.
Xu Zisheng continued speaking, ntioning his observation of two rather unusual individuals among the orphans.
Those two orphans nad 'Xiao Ke' and 'Xiao Qing' probably weren't ordinary players but official professionals, likely possessing so remarkable thods.
But Xu Zisheng estimated the Writer had already noticed this; repeating it was just finding conversation topics to show his sincerity.
"So that's how it is..." the Writer replied softly, his voice extrely faint, drifting low in the air.
After these words were spoken, the dilapidated room suddenly fell quiet.
The clock hanging on the wall had already been tampered with by Xu Zisheng, so their conversation here wouldn't be known by anyone.
"Tick-tock—"
The seemingly normal clock sounded twice; only one minute remained until 11 PM.
The thin boy pressed his lips together, said nothing more, went to the bedside, propped himself up with his arms, and flipped onto the hard bed.
He leaned back against the cold wall, waiting for the so-called room inspection teacher to arrive.
His deep eyes, hidden behind black tousled hair, watched as the blurry figure beside him dissipated, turning back into that untouchable dark mist.
Even in this form, knowing it was the Writer still brought a sense of reassurance to his heart.
"Tick—"
The hour hand on the wall finally pointed to 11 o'clock.
"Dong—"
In the silent night, the deafening ancient bell suddenly rang out, echoing over the dark orphanage, as if trying to drag the entire space into another terrifying world.
Eleven continuous bell chis were like a mysterious incantation, weeping and pleading, sotis near, sotis far, montarily seeming to tear apart one's eardrums.
The bell chis faded.
In the darkness, there was almost no light, as if trapped in a sunless prison.
In this utter silence, one could sense an eerie and indescribable footstep sound beginning in the empty corridor—the movent was both light and heavy, sending shivers down one's spine.
Door after door was knocked on, the existence outside calling the nas of the orphans inside with a low, hoarse voice.
Finally, that existence stopped outside Xu Zisheng's door. An extrely faint light seeped through the door crack. "Bang, bang, bang—"
The knocking was loud, the dilapidated, thin door panel vibrating as if it might crack at any mont.
"Xiao Wu..." After the futile knocking, the existence outside finally spoke.
Reviews
All reviews (0)