In the dimly lit studio, the cold light from the screen reflected Lin Que's calm face.
Wang Shouyi's combination of punches was quite effective.
Unfortunately,
He was the target, and he was the trophy.
Now, it's Lin Que's turn to make his move.
He moved the mouse, and the cursor blinked in the author's backend on Hongguo Novel Network.
He typed four words in the title bar of the new chapter.
Ghosts don't read poetry.
This is the first new chapter since the ghost knocking incident.
Then, his fingers began to dance across the keyboard.
This time, he did not create a depressing atmosphere.
Instead, it uses an almost plain, extremely calm style.
Let's begin telling a completely new story.
[...]
Yang Jian and the remaining survivors were trapped in the library's ancient books section. The air was thick with the musty smell of old, decaying paper.
Among them was an elderly man named Professor He, a renowned folklore expert in the city.
"Don't be afraid, everyone!" Professor He adjusted his reading glasses, reassuring the crowd in a scholarly tone.
"According to my research, all paranormal phenomena are essentially a strong mental obsession. As long as we maintain righteousness and use sincerity to influence others, we will surely be able to resolve the crisis!"
As he spoke, he glanced disdainfully at Yang Jian, who remained silent in the corner. "Young man, don't always think about fighting and killing; that's the behavior of barbarians. We are civilized people; we should use wisdom and morality to solve problems."
Just then, at the end of the corridor, a ghostly figure dressed in a long gown from the Republican era slowly emerged.
It has no face; the spaces for facial features are blank. In its hands, it holds an ancient, thread-bound book.
"They're here!" a suppressed cry of alarm escaped one of the survivors.
Professor He, however, seemed to have spotted a rare treasure; instead of retreating, he stepped forward, blocking the way for the crowd.
He cleared his throat and, facing the ghostly figure, began to recite aloud: "Heaven and earth possess righteous energy, which manifests in myriad forms. Below, it becomes rivers and mountains; above, it becomes the sun and stars..."
He recited "Ode to Uprightness," his voice loud and clear, filled with the passionate fervor of a scholar.
He firmly believed that this kind of writing, imbued with the spirit of a thousand years, was enough to cleanse all evil and heresy.
The ghostly figure seemed genuinely drawn to his voice, stopping in its tracks and tilting its head as if "listening."
Professor He's face lit up with joy, and he read aloud even louder: "...True character is revealed in times of adversity, and its deeds are recorded in history!"
He turned around and said smugly to Yang Jian, "See? Knowledge and integrity are the most powerful weapons!"
Yang Jian ignored him, and silently pulled a rusty golden hand from his pocket.
The ghostly figure moved.
It floated up to Professor He.
Professor He thought he had succeeded, and a satisfied smile even appeared on his face as he prepared to give it his final lecture.
The next second, the ghostly figure reached out its hand.
The hand pierced through Professor He's mouth and emerged from the back of his head. It clutched a bloody tongue.
Professor He's eyes widened in disbelief, and his recitation abruptly ceased. He died without understanding why his vast knowledge and unwavering integrity couldn't earn him a chance to live.
The ghostly figure withdrew its hand and carefully placed the severed tongue into the ancient book in its grasp, as if crafting a perfect bookmark.
After doing all this, it finally raised its blank face and "looked" at the remaining living people in the room.
Yang Jian's icy voice echoed in the deathly silent room.
"It's not here to listen to you recite poetry."
"It just hates noise."
Lin Que finished writing the last word and clicked publish.
The whole process was smooth and seamless.
He didn't even refresh the comments section; he simply picked up his coffee, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the city below.
He knew what kind of bomb he had just dropped.
really.
Less than thirty minutes.
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