212: Chapter 212: His Acting is Like a Sharp, Unsheathed Knife 212: Chapter 212: His Acting is Like a Sharp, Unsheathed Knife The dim lighting cast shadows on each face, while the ticking of the clock represented the passing of ti.
When the hands crossed once again, everything seed to return to many years ago, and all the dead, carrying their mories and pain, began the fateful journey anew.
“Every butterfly is the ghost of a flower from the past, coming back to find itself.”
The reader closed the book in her hands and lethargically watched the person next to her, while leaning on the sofa.
She seldom attended such gatherings; this ti, her favorite writer had invited her, which was the sole reason for her presence.
Her eyes stealthily glanced at the Writer sitting in the corner, who, as always, was quiet and silent.
“I can’t understand why we ca to this rotten place just because of a letter,” the student said, arms crossed over his knees, removing his headphones.
“I’m not interested in whether ghosts exist or not, if you want to prove it, stay here and prove it yourself.”
“There are no ghosts in this world, only people pretending to be ghosts,” the thug standing at the door, his broad, muscular back leaning against it, said, “No one is allowed to leave this building until we catch that person.”
“The one it wants to kill is , so why are you all panicked?” the Doctor extinguished his cigarette, his eyes holding a hint of gloom and discomfort.
“I don’t know if there are ghosts in the world, but if there aren’t, then the one who wants to kill must be among you eight in this room.”
“But why would it want to kill you?” Uncle Li asked, not looking up from the dicine bottle in his hands, “Did you do sothing behind our backs?”
“I only wanted to cure you all,” the Doctor said, staring at Uncle Li as if trying to determine if he was the murderer.
“Everyone should avoid wandering around lately; this building truly isn’t safe,” the Teacher’s voice was gentle, yet tinged with unease and a deeply hidden panic.
“I’ve heard from the neighbors that it’s unclean here, many people have died unclear deaths, and others like to co here to commit suicide.
It seems this building is like a black hole that continuously attracts the deceased.”
She tried her best to persuade everyone not to wander around; she liked everyone to stay in the safe rooms, away from danger.
“Their deaths must not be simply accidents.
There are many particularly frightening stories circulating about the building, like a monster with a pig’s face, hallways where no cleaner can remove the terrible stench, and bodies gruesoly dismbered yet still climbing upwards,” she continued.
“Regardless of whether there are ghosts in this world, we must be careful.”
“It’s not just the few of us alive in this building; aren’t the other residents living well?” the student walked to the door, but the thug was not willing to give way.
The student was not afraid of ghosts and monsters but a bit scared of the thug.
Regarding whether there were ghosts in the world, the several people in the room held differing opinions and could not convince each other.
After a long debate, the Doctor suddenly turned his gaze towards the silently sitting Writer.
“Writer, you were the first to see the letter and accept the invitation.
Do you think the person who wrote you the letter is a ghost or a human?”
The Doctor was a very intelligent man, and each of his sentences seed to carry a special aning.
Although it was not explicitly stated, everyone could sense sothing from the Doctor’s words; it seed that he was suspecting the Writer.
Perhaps due to unstable voltage, the lights in the room flickered several tis.
Everyone turned their gaze towards the Writer sitting in the corner; compared to the others in the room, he carried a unique aura, elusive to describe.
It was as if a rope made from a mix of sanity and madness hung around his neck, a rope that hung from Heaven and was gradually tightening, getting closer to strangling him while simultaneously bringing him closer to the answer.
Lifting his head, the Writer glanced at the Doctor, causing the Doctor to unconsciously dodge his gaze.
“If it were wanting to kill you, then now there would be eight of us surrounding a corpse, discussing why you committed suicide.”
Without unnecessary elaboration, yet filled with persuasiveness, there seed to be no reason to refute.
“I accepted the invitation rely to finish my book; this place suits giving my story an ending.”
The lights in the room began to flicker again, and as the Writer spoke, faint footsteps could be heard from outside in the hallway, a faint foul sll seeping through the crack of the door as if all abnormalities only presented themselves when the Writer spoke.
The Doctor stared at the Writer for a long ti, his facial expressions changing several tis before finally returning to normal.
It was as if nothing had happened just a mont ago, he shifted the topic, “My experience should serve as a warning for everyone.
The murderer uses all these terrifying rumors to kill.
After you leave here, just stay quietly in your rooms until daylight, and by no ans leave…”
Before the Doctor could finish, a strange scratching sound ca from the living room door, as if soone were scraping their nails across the door panel.
Closer and closerall, everyone heard the sound of the wind chi, the eerie noise seed to emanate from Room 401.
As the sound of the wind chi rang out, a pungent odor erged from every corner of the room, and no one knew what was emitting the sll, as if the room itself was a corpse.
Students began to retch, teachers and readers frowned, and Ang covered her nose and mouth, while only the Doctor, the Writer, and Uncle Li remained composed.
The discussion about the Fierce Ghost and the murderer led nowhere, physical discomfort gradually beca apparent, and students looked around trying to pinpoint the source of the sll.
Ang put down her pen, her face turning red.
Unable to bear the intense stench any longer, the student shoved the thug’s body, “Do whatever you want on your own, don’t drag into this, I’m going back to my room.”
The student grabbed the doorknob, and just as he was about to open the door, another hand pressed against the door panel.
Looking along the arm, the student saw the Writer by the door—how he got there, the student did not know.
He wanted to push the Writer aside, but his hand stopped just before touching the Writer’s shoulder as he saw his face.
In the calm depths of his eyes hid a world completely derailed from reality—auditory hallucinations, illusions, delusions—these most destructive positive symptoms of schizophrenia were commonplace to him, blurring the boundaries of his reality.
“If you go out, you might die”
Quietly observing everyone alive inside the room, the Writer gently pressed his temples, hearing various noises.
He struggled to control his behavior, having tried hard to suppress the desire to scream, bang walls, and tear everything apart, yet his every word still oppressed the room, his mood seemingly infecting all personalities.
His hand reached out to the student, the Writer, in extre ntal conflict, clearly wanted to stop the student from leaving.
But reality differed from the script—the student instinctively dodged the Writer’s hand and ran out the door!
This was almost an instinctive bodily reaction to danger, the student had forgotten what he was supposed to say next; he just did not want to be targeted by the Writer in front of him.
“Co back!”
As the door opened, the stench in the room dissipated a lot, and the suffocating atmosphere also weakened, providing relief to a few of the actors including Han Fei.
Han Fei, portraying the Writer—a supporting character—however, truly seed like the main personality, infecting everyone in the room with his mood, an alarming ability to control the scene that made Bai Xian, playing the Doctor, secretly alard, “The young ones nowadays really have impressive Acting.”
“Not just impressive.” Li Huaiming, who seed unaffected by the foul sll or anything else, took out a bottle of dicine from his pocket, swallowed two pills, “His Acting is like a sharpened knife, very sharp, capable of penetrating facades and stabbing directly into the viewer’s heart.
He can let his emotions infect everyone and can reel it in as needed, but I worry about him being affected by his character in the play, as it’s sowhat dangerous.”
The two veteran actors both highly regarded Han Fei, and everyone gained a mutual understanding, just as they were about to talk to Han Fei, a scream suddenly echoed through the corridor.
This event, not scripted in the play, pulled all the actors back to reality, and they all rushed out of room 404.
They saw Little Tong, who played the Student, sitting on the stairs, and many bird carcasses scattered on the steps to the third floor, so of which had been dead for a long ti, their feathers fused with the blood.
“What happened?” Hearing the scream, the doors to the third floor opened, and Director Zhang and the crew ca running, they also saw the bird corpses on the stairs, “Who did this?
Props!
Where are the props?”
“Director Zhang, this wasn’t us!” the prop manager hurriedly said, “Didn’t you tell us all to leave the fourth floor to give the actors so alone ti to sh?”
“It wasn’t you guys?” Director Zhang had people quickly clean up the bird corpses then ran to the fourth floor, “Is everyone alright?”
“We’re fine.” The actors were also puzzled, “You haven’t been coming to the fourth floor?”
“Yes!
We have been watching you all through the transmitter on the third floor; you guys were amazing.”
“Then what about the sudden stench and the scratching noise at the door?” Bai Xian was taken aback, previously assuming it was arranged by the director.
“The stench?” Director Zhang sniffed, there was no odd sll in the corridor, but he did not refute Bai Xian, “It’s probably so neighbors in the building causing mischief, we’ve paid a lot of money, but there are still a few who didn’t want us here to film.”
Reviews
All reviews (0)