Before the morning self-study session started, Li Zhi glanced at the name tag on a male classmate’s desk and called out to him, “Liao Ze, did you guys manage to summon the Lamp Spirit last night?”
The boy named Liao Ze put down his vocabulary book and adjusted his glasses. “Of course, we succeeded!”
Li Zhi, intrigued, asked, “How exactly do you summon the Lamp Spirit? How do you know if it worked?”
“You didn’t come when we called you last night, and now you’re asking all these questions.” Liao Ze complained, slightly annoyed, but since Li Zhi was a transfer student just getting used to the class, he still explained after his brief grumble, “To summon the Lamp Spirit, you need at least ten people. Everyone must prepare a candle in advance, preferably white. After it gets dark, everyone lights their candles and forms a circle. First, you walk clockwise three times, then counterclockwise three times. You have to make sure your candle doesn’t go out during the walk.”
As he spoke, other participants in the ritual gathered around. Seeing more people listening, Liao Ze became more enthusiastic. “While you’re walking in circles, you need to recite the incantation to summon the Lamp Spirit.”
Lian Qinglin asked, “What’s the incantation?”
Liao Ze rolled his eyes at him. “Do you think you can just recite the incantation randomly? You can only say it during the ritual.” He continued, “After the summoning ritual is complete, everyone sits down in place, closes their eyes, and silently wishes for something. That’s when the Lamp Spirit appears. It will blow out the candle of the person whose wish it wants to grant. The chosen one must then stand up and make a deal with the Lamp Spirit.”
Li Zhi exchanged a glance with Tan Manyu.
This lined up with what they had seen the night before.
The warning alarm went off right at the moment when that person’s candle was blown out and they stood up.
At that moment, the “Lamp Spirit” probably did appear.
Everyone shuddered as they imagined the scene Liao Ze described, and they heard Li Zhi quietly ask, “What does the Lamp Spirit usually ask for in exchange for granting a wish?”
Liao Ze shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been chosen by the Lamp Spirit. But it’s usually offerings like incense or something.” He pointed to a tall boy sitting at the back of the classroom. “If you really want to know, you can ask him. He was the one chosen by the Lamp Spirit last night.”
Li Zhi looked over at the boy Liao Ze had pointed to. He was chatting and laughing with his deskmate, showing no signs of anything unusual.
Just as she was about to go over and ask him, the school bell suddenly rang. Liao Ze, who had been talking non-stop moments before, immediately sat up straight and resumed reading his vocabulary book. The bell seemed like a switch that made all the students immediately shift into study mode.
The players quickly returned to their seats as well, and soon the only sounds left in the classroom were the voices of students reading aloud.
Today’s morning self-study session was for English. Li Zhi opened the vocabulary page and began reviewing. After only a few minutes, a young female teacher walked into the classroom. She was holding a stack of workbooks, which she dropped onto the teacher’s desk. She slapped the desk and, in a sharp voice, announced, “In the last five minutes of the morning session, we’ll have a dictation test on the vocabulary from units three and four. Review them carefully. If you make more than three mistakes, you’ll have to write each incorrect word five hundred times!”
The players groaned in frustration, holding their heads in their hands.
The morning session was only forty minutes long, and five minutes had already passed. That meant they had just over thirty minutes to memorize nearly a hundred vocabulary words from two units. Most adults were better at spoken English, so they barely remembered these written words from formal education.
Writing the words wouldn’t be the worst part—but what if this was some kind of test?
After a brief moment of panic, everyone hurriedly flipped to units three and four and started cramming the vocabulary.
No one had ever felt that thirty minutes could pass by so quickly.
When the English teacher clapped her hands and told them to put away their books for the dictation, the players all looked utterly desperate.
Li Zhi glanced at Tan Manyu, who gave her a small, reassuring nod.
Everyone selected for official recruitment had a special talent, and Tan Manyu’s was her remarkable memory. Thirty minutes was enough for her to memorize all the words.
The classroom was so silent it felt suffocating. The English teacher’s voice, calling out each word one by one for the dictation, felt like a slow knife cutting through their nerves, causing beads of sweat to form on everyone’s foreheads. Li Zhi had memorized most of the words, but there were still several she couldn’t remember, so she had to guess.
Tan Manyu discreetly slid her vocabulary book closer to Li Zhi, but before she could peek at it, the English teacher’s sharp voice rang out, “Anyone caught cheating can stop coming to my class! If you’re copying now, who’s going to help you cheat during the college entrance exams?”
Li Zhi gently shook her head.
Tan Manyu sighed softly and slid the book back.
When the bell signaling the end of the class rang, the dictation still wasn’t over. It continued until the next bell, which marked the start of the next period. The English class representative finally stood up, collected the dictation notebooks, and handed them to the teacher, who left the room with the stack in her arms. Moments later, the homeroom teacher entered.
She wrote several large characters on the blackboard and said in an emotionless tone, “Today we are studying The Peacock Flies Southeast. I asked you to review and memorize it last week. Have you all done that? I will call on a few students to recite it.”
The players shuddered, their heads nearly buried in their desks.
This was terrifying.
This game instance was absolutely terrifying.
They would rather face ghosts and monsters!
Viewers in the live stream chat had similar sentiments:
[“The immersion is too strong, it feels like I’m about to get called on to recite a text in class.”]
[“My school shut down for two weeks because of the ghost invasion, but now it feels like I’m back in class again.”]
[“So is the task in this instance really all these tests? If so, this might lead to a total wipeout.”]
[“Li Zhi, who tears apart vengeful spirits and steps on monsters, is about to fall to a study session?”]
[“Too cruel! The system is so cruel! This is heartless!”]
Fortunately, since they were transfer students, the homeroom teacher didn’t call on any of the players to recite. She called out three students’ names instead, asking each to recite a section. The first two recited smoothly, and the teacher’s face showed satisfaction. However, when the third student, a boy named Wang Zhiyuan, stumbled and couldn’t complete his recitation, her expression darkened.
“That’s enough,” she interrupted him coldly. “Come to my office after class.”
Wang Zhiyuan slumped back into his seat, looking utterly defeated.
After the Chinese class, the players didn’t even have time to catch their breath before the math lesson began. While they could more or less understand the Chinese class, the math class left them completely baffled. By the time the four morning classes had finished, the players’ expressions were visibly glazed over.
When the bell for the end of the school day rang, almost everyone sat frozen in their seats, too drained to move.
They truly understood now what it meant to feel utterly drained, with nothing left to give…
Tan Manyu rubbed her temples and gave Li Zhi a bitter smile. “I prepared for so many things, but I never thought I’d have to deal with this.”
Li Zhi glanced at the nameplate in the upper right corner of their desks. Although they had faced several minor tests throughout the morning, the score on it still remained blank. She stood up. “Let’s go have lunch.”
The group walked toward the cafeteria, exhausted. Zhou Jianzhang tried to encourage them, saying, “Our scores didn’t change today, so the tests probably aren’t related to these subjects. During the day, we just need to get through the classes. We can use the time after school to look for clues related to the real test.”
Bai Xuan agreed, “Mr. Zhou is right. No one died last night, which means this instance isn’t as hard as we thought. Let’s eat quickly and use the lunch break to search for clues. We’ll regroup before the afternoon classes to exchange information.”
The two exchanged glances, showing a bit of unspoken teamwork, like captains leading the group.
Their words indeed raised everyone’s spirits, and they quickened their pace toward the cafeteria.
Li Zhi held back her gaze and followed slowly at the back of the group. Tan Manyu walked beside her, speaking in a voice so low the livestream audience wouldn’t be able to hear: “You’ve been observing Zhou Jianzhang ever since we entered the game yesterday. Do you think something’s off about him?”
Li Zhi looked at her in surprise. Tan Manyu added, “Don’t worry, you’re cautious. He probably hasn’t noticed.”
Li Zhi studied her expression and realized something. “So, you also think there’s something wrong with him?”
“Just a hunch,” Tan Manyu whispered. “He’s someone we would naturally notice.”
She didn’t spell it out, but Li Zhi understood what she meant.
It was like how law enforcement officers instinctively recognize criminals—the forces of right and wrong clash. People like Tan Manyu were naturally more alert to anything that posed a danger to the public or the nation. Her instincts told her something about Zhou Jianzhang was off. It could be a fleeting glance, or a single phrase he uttered, but something about him warranted closer attention.
It was the same feeling Li Zhi had.
Zhou Jianzhang, whether in appearance or demeanor, seemed upright. He spoke and acted in a well-organized and responsible way, keeping the bigger picture in mind. Yet from the first moment she saw him, Li Zhi had felt an inexplicable discomfort. It wasn’t just Zhou Jianzhang either—out of the fifteen players, there were four or five who gave her that same uneasy feeling.
It was an inexplicable repulsion toward those who weren’t like her, but without more concrete evidence, she couldn’t voice her suspicions. She could only observe and remain vigilant, in case Zhou Jianzhang tried something while under her watch.
Now that Tan Manyu had brought it up, it seemed her instincts were right.
Li Zhi whispered, “After lunch, take your warning device and investigate your task carefully. Be cautious around them.”
Tan Manyu nodded solemnly.
The cafeteria was lively, a sharp contrast to the solemnity of the classroom. Laughter and chatter filled the space. After getting her food, Li Zhi scanned the room and spotted the boy Liao Ze had pointed out earlier—the one chosen by the Lamp Spirit last night. She carried her tray over to where he was sitting.
The boy was eating with his deskmate. Li Zhi sat across from them, smiling warmly. “Hi, I’m Li Zhi, your classmate.”
Both boys looked up at the same time, their movements synchronized. They greeted her politely, smiles on their faces. “Hello, Li Zhi.”
“I’m Xu Jingsheng.”
“And I’m Zhang Shuai.”
Xu Jingsheng was the boy chosen by the Lamp Spirit last night. He was tall and thin, with a quiet demeanor—someone who didn’t seem like the type to play such a creepy game.
Li Zhi didn’t notice anything unusual about him. After taking a few bites of food, she made a curious face and asked, “I heard from Liao Ze that you played the Lamp Spirit game last night and were chosen by the Lamp Spirit?”
Xu Jingsheng smiled. “Yeah, I guess I was lucky.”
Li Zhi lowered her voice. “Did the Lamp Spirit really grant your wish?”
Xu Jingsheng nodded, still smiling. “Of course. My wish has already come true.”
Li Zhi asked, “What kind of deal did you make?”
“According to the game’s rules, the terms of the deal are a secret between the Lamp Spirit and the person who made the wish. I can’t tell you,” Xu Jingsheng said, his smile never fading. “If you want to know, you’ll have to try it yourself.”
Li Zhi put on a troubled expression. “I’m afraid I can’t afford the price the Lamp Spirit might ask.”
Xu Jingsheng laughed. “Don’t worry, the Lamp Spirit won’t make things difficult for those who make wishes. Everyone can afford the price.”