Chapter Ninety-Three

“If one day, the Backrooms were to breach into the Main World, and the bizarre descended upon humanity, the only weapon we could rely on would be mathematics. Nothing more. This is the weapon of the gods, and the most powerful tool humanity has discovered through twenty thousand years of evolution.”

He turned his head and suddenly smiled again. “There is a principle in probability theory: In a single experiment, a low-probability event simply will not happen. It is absolute.”

Chen Qing pointed here, then outside. “So the message in Zhang Lan’s room is real, but here—”

Before he could finish, just as he was about to speak again, the lights in the room suddenly flicked on.

With a click, the switch behind Chen Qing was pressed, and the bulb lit up. Yet, instead of brightening the room, the light seemed to dim everything around them.

Perhaps due to the yellow hue of the light, when they looked down at the shadows at their feet, alarm bells immediately rang in their minds.

Exchanging a glance, they retreated to a vantage point and watched the room. Within mere seconds, several shadowy figures began to materialize along the corridor they had just vacated.

These figures wore black uniforms, their cuffs stained with ink.

Their forms gradually solidified from the feet upward. After taking two or three steps, they became fully corporeal and moved toward the workstations.

They pulled out chairs and sat down, and the dark circles under their eyes became distinctly visible.

“Chen Qing.”

She whispered his name softly, tugging at his sleeve. He turned to see the worry in Jiang Wan’s eyes.

“No rush...” he whispered back, lowering his voice. He stepped back half a pace and shielded her behind him. Yet, despite their presence, the figures ahead seemed oblivious to them.

Their movements were synchronized as they lowered their heads, their necks angled about thirty degrees toward the desks. They reached out and picked up the third book.

Taking pens, they opened to the third page, and the room was filled only with the sound of pen tips scratching paper in unison.

“What’s going on...” she murmured softly. Did the others truly not notice them?

Yet, they hadn’t done anything, and these figures had just appeared.

“What does that note say?” Jiang Wan tugged at his jacket, and Chen Qing handed her the slip of paper.

“No distractions during work hours.

No wandering around during work hours.

No lights may be turned on during work hours.

Work hours must unconditionally obey the orders of superiors.”

Chen Qing looked at them again, then glanced up at the light.

The light was on, but it was the light they turned on before starting work. The note said no lights during work hours—but what if they were in darkness?

Thinking this, he flicked the pen cap he had pocketed, hitting the switch in the room.

“You...” Chen Qing squinted, adjusting to the dimness before asking in surprise, “When did you snag the pen cap?”

“Just now,” Chen Qing scratched his ear, his gaze fixed intently on the door they had entered through.

“No! I mean, why did you take someone’s pen cap?”

His fingertips stiffened slightly. “Well... what if it’s a non-material cultural relic?”

She fell silent, making the small room feel awkward.

After a long pause, she finally whispered one word: “Impressive.”

Before she could say more, the already dilapidated door suddenly creaked open.

The broken doorframe was pushed upward, and the sagging wooden bar was forced nearly ninety degrees upward.

It was hard to say if what entered was even human.

Chen Qing’s brow furrowed deeper as the figure appeared. It wore a tattered suit, with limbs wrapped only in strips of cloth, yet its torso was intact—almost regal.

Its face had only one eye, but that eye occupied nearly half its face.

Below the eye, its mouth stretched down to the jawline, baring teeth evenly distributed throughout its oral cavity.

It gave a slight smile, revealing a brain visible at its throat.

That brain pulsed rhythmically—undeniably its own. It reached out with a hand, its fingertip twisted and covered in pus-filled bulges, and the fingertip itself bore a slightly sunken eye, which it inserted into its own mouth.

“Oh...” it murmured softly, as if speaking to someone, “My brain.”