Chapter Five: The Girl, the Organization, and the Eccentric

"Non-heritage item, huh? That name is certainly more pleasing than a mere code," a woman's voice sounded behind Chen Qing.

It was late at night; a girl climbing the dormitory stairs wouldn’t be impossible. Yet the moment her words fell, Chen Qing’s grip tightened around the arrowhead in his hand.

"No need to be so tense. At least for now, we are not enemies."

Chen Qing turned, slipping the face skin into his pocket, fear surging within him. The figure before him was unmistakably familiar: her shattered skull, her bloated body soaked in water… and the physique that matched the photograph.

How could she possibly be alive?

He forced himself to ask in a curious tone, "Not enemies for now? Does that mean I should kill you here and now?"

But she looked at the young man before her with exceptional calm, no regret, no hatred from death—it was anything but ordinary.

The girl laughed, tossing her hair from her shoulders, revealing her neck. "Go ahead. If you think you can kill me, try."

She didn’t recognize him anymore, and regarded the boy with unusual composure.

Upon her neck, the soft white skin bore a conspicuous red mark.

As her words faded, Chen Qing’s arrow flipped forward. Even wounded, he lunged at the girl.

In just two or three seconds, the girl, smiling, opened her arms to the attacking youth.

With a sickening sound, the arrow pierced her heart. Blood dripped along the shaft—just a few drops.

It was her; absolutely her.

He stared at the red marks on her neck, certain of her identity.

The one who had taken a photo with him, the one he had killed just hours ago—her.

He looked up at the smiling girl, withdrew the arrow with a grim expression.

"Oh? Seems we truly aren’t enemies after all," she remarked.

"Heh."

The girl sneered but said no more.

She pointed to her neck, and by the moonlight Chen Qing saw it clearly: the red mark encircled her throat, like a bloodstain or the scar left after surgical amputation.

"I like the name ‘non-heritage item.’ If I get the chance, I’ll spread it for you," she stretched, the wound at her chest already healed.

"As for you..." She frowned at the young man before her. "Are you willing to hand over that non-heritage item in your possession? I’ll compensate you with a five-million anonymous check."

"Didn’t you already answer that for yourself?" Chen Qing chuckled. "How long would I keep the money, or even get it? Or whether it equates to the item itself, I don’t know. Would I agree to such a foolish deal? Anyway... the item isn’t much use to me. Rather than trade it for money, let me at least die understanding."

"Oh?"

"I’ll tell you everything I know. I can give you the non-heritage item," Chen Qing sat on the balcony railing, asking, "Of course, you could just leave. As you said, we’re not enemies at this moment."

The girl frowned, "You’d better keep your word."

Chen Qing laughed, mocking, "Someone who offers five million right off—afraid a mere elementary student would back out?"

"Heh." The girl squinted, contemplating something. "Anyone capable of killing their own companion might not be limited by the label of ‘student.’"

Chen Qing was taken aback.

She had memories? Yet she didn’t seem to.

She smiled at him, "But since you insist, I’ll agree."

"That world shrouded in mist... what is it?"

"The Backrooms. A subspace independent from the main world, yet dependent on it."

"And the main world is?"

"This," she stamped her foot, and Chen Qing nodded in understanding.

"Why call it the Backrooms?"

"‘Room’—a generic term for spaces. It fits their nature. If our world is an apartment building, only with a main block would there be front and back gardens. The Backrooms are the same; each is born from the main world, yet each remains independent. For example, the one you just entered—it originated from this school in the last century, but decades later remains unchanged. They are independent and possess their own operating logic—perhaps ‘rules’ is more precise."

"Such as?"

"Such as the wandering unregistered lifeform earlier. Or your way out. For most people, once you’re familiar with the rules within the Backrooms, the danger drops rapidly."

---

Chen Qing pondered for a moment, frowning, "But clearly, the rules in the Backrooms can change."

The girl laughed, unwilling to elaborate, "Changing rules isn’t something people can do. At least not a handful of them. Take this place: last century, it took sacrificing many students just to barely open a Backroom."

"Is that so?" Chen Qing sensed something was off, but couldn’t pinpoint the error.

Was it truly so difficult?

He recalled the creature earlier that seemed to recognize him—not so simple.

"And you?" His brows furrowed; he sensed something ominous.

The girl seemed to have recovered somewhat.

"Why are you here?"

"Still wounded?" She sneered, "Who’d expect a fool to barge into the Backrooms? Originally a simple F-level Backroom, now it’s been forcibly raised two danger levels. As for why I’m here... Do you remember the shrine inside the Backrooms?"

Chen Qing paused, recalling countless students sacrificed to forge that altar.

"I remember."

He was silent for a moment.

"Of course I remember; it’s the most conspicuous thing in the Backrooms."

The girl nodded, smiling, "Conspicuous, exactly. Because the complexity here isn’t so high. If you’d entered later, the shrine would’ve ended up hidden in the basement."

Chen Qing frowned, "What is that shrine? Why would they expend..."

He cut himself off, the answer suddenly clear.

"What do gods worship? Greed or desire?"

She gazed at him, a faint light appearing in her palm.

"Those shrines witness humanity’s vilest side—the unspeakable, the deepest greed and filth buried in the heart. All their confessions go to the shrine."

"And then..." He looked at her, his expression grave, "Then the shrine fulfills their wishes."

"And the non-heritage item?"

He leaned back, one hand in his pocket.

"In the Backrooms, certain objects—or byproducts when the shrine responds—these things absorb too many rules and desires, gradually evolving into self-aware ‘little toys.’ These usually come with heavy negative effects, but the gains and losses tend to balance."

As she watched Chen Qing lean back, her tone grew serious, "Don’t try to escape. Non-heritage items have a clear urge to devour each other. Leave here, and sooner or later other controllers of such items will find you. Do you think, by then, they’ll negotiate so nicely?"

He listened, a twisted smile on his lips.

He knew this would be the last question, "Who are you, really?"

He stared into her eyes; she hesitated.

"I found a photograph in the Backrooms—you were on it," he paused, seeing a flicker of secret delight in her eyes.

That abnormal emotion made him swallow the rest: I and you together in that photo.

He bent and leapt, his words trailing into the night, "Who are you, really?"

At that moment, a flash of light shot from her hand toward his back, but Chen Qing’s leap was too quick; the light couldn’t catch him, and he vanished into the darkness.

...

"Ah ah ah..."

"Oh dear, oh dear."

"Miss Bai is dying anyway. Might as well let me profit a bit. It’s fine, it’s fine! If you’re not willing, I’ll wait—wait until you’re cut in half, wait until you’re dismembered. I’ll do my best to gather your parts."

He stepped through the void, descending from the heights, moving toward the girl. The stench from his body spread over the rooftop.

He sniffed, seeking traces lingering in the air.

He inhaled deeply, his nose drawing closer and closer to the girl’s body...

But at a certain instant, he froze, staring at the girl in astonishment.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Worthy of our Miss Bai, still has strength left after triggering S-9?"

His surprise faded, replaced with indifference, "No matter. The organization won’t tolerate failure. A few days’ difference is nothing."

---

"Organization?"

Below the rooftop, Chen Qing frowned.

"My success or failure is up to the organization’s review. Little wretch, don’t bother coveting the corpse. You won’t get it."

She smiled at the foul-smelling man, full of disdain, "Besides, you don’t have the means. No guns, no bombs—impotent, go play with a stick instead."

The man’s demeanor remained unnaturally calm, "Miss Bai’s words are as cutting as ever."

"If only you’d truly die," she said after a pause. "Someone has taken a mysterious item from this Backroom. The effect and conditions are unclear, but likely related to information—maybe hiding themselves, maybe changing their appearance. It doesn’t matter. Find him; he has the data the organization needs."

"Data?" Chen Qing’s face paled, recalling the photograph he’d mentioned.

"Data? Failure in an F-level Backroom, and an S-level mysterious item lost. Miss, you might as well kill yourself and save me the trouble."

But the man’s sneer twisted into a grimace.

"Impossible... Impossible! How could you possibly have found evidence of that!"

He bit his lip, a hidden knife at his mouth, slowly pulling upward, tearing his flesh.

"Congratulations... This is a great event for the organization."

With a sweep of the blade, his lips were sliced off.

"Apologies... That term shouldn’t have passed my lips... So I cut them off, I must smile... Is this smile satisfactory?"

Chen Qing listened below, the drip of water overhead suddenly pleasing.

He grew paler; they were searching for him.

"The other side of your mouth is uneven," she remarked.

His eye twitched, and he carved a symmetrical smile with the blade.

"You found... the seven founders of the organization?"

"Yes. I am pictured among them."

"And the photo..."

"Gone."

"The rest..."

"Maybe with that person. If you can’t catch him, kill him."

"Understood..."

He lowered his head, pulling out a red doll whose features were crudely drawn with pencil.

He placed the doll in the blood, and in moments the floor was clean.

Chen Qing listened as footsteps passed—one, then another.

The steps were hurried, but the second person moved with composure.

Her tread was light, pausing at every door.

Chen Qing watched, panic long suppressed.

He was an orphan, but not a simple one.

He had lived decades, yet seemed to know nothing of himself.

Who was he? What had he done, why did he have only two so-called relatives?

Why was he among the organization’s targets?

Chen Qing didn’t know, couldn’t figure it out.

He looked at the world, at the girl standing outside just one door away, eyes filled with complexity.

"I did not kill Boren, but Boren died because of me. Your organization is one, the Backrooms are another."

He watched the distant figure, doubt gone from his gaze.

"Let’s see, am I prey—or the hunter who uses himself as bait?"

He looked at the mysterious organization’s girl, his mind now clear.

"And my memories... my past. In the end... I need power."

He stared at the face skin in his hand, a fierce smile on his lips, "Perhaps my ‘previous life’ was mad as well, never explaining or leaving anything behind, thrusting me into these strange events. But it doesn’t matter... What you left unclear, I’ll figure out myself."

He whispered, gazing above.

The human skin in his hand bore new marks.