Chapter Four: The Undead, the Rules, and Under the Moonlight

Chen Qing’s thoughts churned restlessly in his mind, while Wu Cheny’s muttering echoed incessantly through each stall of the restroom. He cursed under his breath, his footsteps betraying impatience. After a brief inspection, he hurried on to the next area, and only when his footsteps faded did Chen Qing’s gaze become somewhat odd, as if his clothes were ill-fitting or his body uncomfortable.

Just as he was about to climb down, his body already leaning forward, another figure appeared in the restroom. Her steps were silent, her collar dripping with a clear, viscous fluid. Her limbs were swollen, grotesque, scraping and colliding with the walls. She turned around and stared directly at Chen Qing above.

Chen Qing froze, but only for a moment. In the next instant, he leapt down, all his weight landing on her shoulders. For that brief moment, he saw her face clearly—but only then. Her head shattered, her body crumpled helplessly to the floor. Her deflated limbs flailed, pus spraying and soaking her clothes.

At that moment, Chen Qing recognized her attire. “Her clothes… they’re just like the person in the photograph!” His face turned pale; this was far more terrifying than the dead rising. The photograph was already yellowed… how could she be here…

He sighed and retreated to the sink, his fingers forming an orchid gesture, his voice growing sharp and thin. “This mask… it’s surprisingly comfortable.” He touched his face; for some reason, the previously pale skin now showed a hint of color. “So strange…” His voice became more feminine, and he looked down at his fingertips, now soft and delicate. “Is it a side effect?” He clenched his teeth, and as he tore at the skin on his face, a strange pain and reluctance rose in his heart.

“I don’t want to take it off, I don’t want to take it off!” He howled, but still forced himself to remove it. The moment the mask fell back into his hand, all its bizarre and unnatural vitality vanished again. It lay quietly as if dead.

“What is this thing, really…” Chen Qing felt withdrawal symptoms surge in his mind, filling him with even more fear. Shaking his head, he muttered, “In this place, any item taken will return… If the mask alone could let someone escape, they would have done it already. So the key lies in the first sentence… and the reason this place exists. What Wu Cheny told me before… maybe part of it is true.

We once came here to explore for some reason, but being trapped is because of an older taboo. That idol.” He mused, “History at least leaves traces in words. If they made something like this, students should have written something about it.”

He began searching the overlooked dormitories once more. Sure enough, under students’ pillows and desks, he found various “farewell notes.” Each seemed to hide something.

The first: “Year (blurred), March (blurred), (blurred) teacher came again… Several students disappeared today… I’m worried, I always feel I’ll be next.”

The second: “They’re back… they’re back (crossed out), damn… I can’t just sit here anymore. I’m going to destroy (blurred).”

The third: “He killed us! It’s all him! We… we cannot disobey (crossed out)’s orders. Today I saw (crossed out), he became one of (crossed out). I must become ‘family.’ Sorry, mother. I will no longer be your child.”

The fourth: “That’s our life… they came back to life! (crossed out) teacher was right! He truly is (crossed out). Tonight… tonight it’s my turn! He promised (crossed out), soon there will be… Even if he won’t let me tell others… it’s fine, as long as I write it down and let someone discover it, it doesn’t count as me telling.”

Chen Qing stared at the smudged handwriting, his mind instantly connecting it to the idol in the shrine. It was far too strange, especially in such a place. He recalled the image, speaking to himself, “Worshiping Buddha. What exactly are we worshiping?”

He climbed to the second floor. The shrine remained silent. Standing before the idol, its features began to change. Its fangs pierced both lips; starting from four sharp teeth, countless smaller teeth grew outward from its mouth, resembling human molars, layered like suction cups, grinding against themselves.

Its closed eyes opened, and within the luminous gaze, hundreds of tiny pupils rotated vertically. They stared at Chen Qing, wishing to drag him into the abyss.

“Worshiping Buddha—aren’t we worshiping such an ugly thing?” People stood at the altar, voicing their most honest and base wishes. They knelt before the god, their hearts filled only with filth and depravity. What they worshiped was nothing but their own desires.

He watched the idol become increasingly twisted and ominous, and with disgust, he began to piece together the truth. “To create this shrine, they sacrificed those lives. The students used as offerings didn’t truly die; they existed here as energy to fulfill wishes. When the students were spent, the shrine’s creators abandoned and sealed this space.

Until recent years, when we broke in. To survive, they kept making wishes to the shrine. To survive… the shrine would snatch nearby students—even those in the real world—as fuel. And the first to make a wish after the sealing… was me.”

His murmuring was met with applause behind him. Turning, he saw Wu Cheny standing there, pale-faced. “If you just want to live, make a wish. Who cares who dies in reality?” He asked, staring at his old companion.

“We can’t leave… we mustn’t leave.” Wu Cheny’s twisted gaze was fixed on Chen Qing, drool mixed with black cockroach juices dripping from his mouth. He raised his compound bow once more, but this time his hands trembled, unable to shoot.

“Afraid to shoot?” Chen Qing laughed, instantly understanding his fears. But while Wu Cheny hesitated, Chen Qing pressed on without pause. Snatching the candlestick from the shrine, he hurled its three sharp iron prongs at his adversary.

Bone and muscle shattered; the iron prongs pierced Wu Cheny’s shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground, blood spraying. “You can’t kill me! You can’t kill me!” he cried, watching Chen Qing approach, fear etched into his face.

“Why?” Chen Qing asked, perplexed. “If all you wanted was to leave alive, you didn’t need me to come in. I thought we were friends.”

He stared at Chen Qing, as if recalling something. “Yes… yes, we’re friends! We must die together. How can you escape alone?”

His pupils flickered wildly. “You’re insane.” Chen Qing ignored his companion’s muttering, dragging his body and nailing the candlestick back onto the table. He watched the youth erupt into hysterical screams: “Kill you! Let me kill you! Hurry! They’re all waiting for me to kill you!”

“Let me kill you. They’re all waiting for us… you’ve already agreed, you’ve already consented to die with us.” His trembling jaw betrayed the steadiness of his voice. Watching Chen Qing stab himself in the chest with the candlestick again and again, until the altar was a bloody mess, he finally stopped.

But once all was done, the grotesque creature behind them began to emerge, drawn by the noise. Chen Qing knew the finale was at hand.

He gazed at the shrine’s fanged idol, the bloodied candlestick now aimed at his own heart. “There’s still the mask.” The moment he donned the mask, the monster halted. And Chen Qing stopped breathing.

“I wish: Offer the sacrifice… I will be unable to die. I wish: I offer myself as the sacrifice, becoming the lowest wraith in the shrine.” Softly, he spoke, and the darkness before him vanished instantly. Moonlight appeared, and the pain in his chest ceased.

He reached out and touched his chest—it was now full and intact. “This mask…” he frowned, his delicate features contorted. Removing the skin, his body reverted to its original form.

Holding the skin, the information transmitted by the human-skin mask surfaced in his mind. “Grant me the target, and I will let you become them entirely. Offer me blood, and it will be done.”

He stared at the mask, which seemed to blink in his hand, and for some reason, a smile crept onto his lips. “Relic… no. You are no relic. Let’s call you Non-Relic No. 1.”

He pulled out the note from his pocket, and with blood from his hand, wrote: “Non-Relic—No. 13—Thousand-Faced Lord. Can transform into the target’s appearance; requires consumption of blood, amount variable.”