Cat 169: Playing Ghosts

Chapter 169: Playing Ghosts

Yan Jiyun didn’t know Shi Yan well, but that didn’t stop them from searching for critical clues in the library together.

A single location used for multiple purposes was probably bound up with various storylines.

Since Shi Yan and He Yuanle hadn’t tracked down the real culprit last time, nor ever visited the library, it stood to reason a key piece of evidence was still missing.

Yan Jiyun wasn’t sure if there was necessarily a connection between the two instances, but he wanted to check for himself.

No cat would allow itself to forgo a place it hadn’t yet explored—a matter of territorial pride.

He peered curiously inside, but hesitated to enter, afraid of running into yet another ghost.

Shi Yan, unafraid and upright, simply pushed open the first-floor door and went in.

The door wasn’t even locked; with a push, a cloud of dust billowed forth. Clearly, no one had set foot in Mingya High’s library in ages.

Shi Yan led the way. Yan Jiyun was trusted by Qi Feng, and after seeing him shield Qi Feng from that chair, Shi Yan didn’t doubt his intentions—especially with Yan Jiyun dragging himself in, still wounded, his eagerness to solve things leaving a strong impression.

Mingya High’s library wasn’t large, but was its own building. The first floor was divided into three sections: study area, magazine area, and book-lending area—mostly classics and major works.

At the front desk stood old-fashioned computer equipment, without a division between checkout and returns.

Yan Jiyun asked, “Do you remember any details from the library card? What books did Zhao Yue borrow?”

Shi Yan recalled, “First page was ruined by water, couldn’t make it out, but I did see the last two books listed: one was Butterfly Spirit Calling, the other Necromancy Rituals.”

Yan Jiyun: “What an open-minded school, letting books like that circulate—let’s check if either was borrowed, then we’ll know if it ties in with the original Mingya High School instance.”

Shi Yan hadn’t considered this. In his mind, the two instances were entirely separate, since the earlier one’s rewards had already been tallied—so he’d never thought to connect them.

While he spoke, he was already flipping though a register at the front desk. The computer, likely, wouldn’t be much use in the instance.

Given ghost two’s appearance and Qu Wanchao’s age, perhaps it was an event from ten years ago—and was that event woven through the original instance?

But Yan Jiyun only remembered the art teacher Qu Wanchao in the previous Mingya High instance.

In the same instance space, the same NPC probably wouldn’t repeat, so the school must’ve been reset.

He explained his guess to Shi Yan: “In the Mermaid instance, aside from the plot, the NPCs were exactly the same as in Mingya High. But now it’s changed; outside the script, there’s very little about Ghosts One and Two.”

Shi Yan: “Makes sense.”

The script offered limited information, often revised—if they followed it alone, they were bound to fall into passivity. Only by connecting with real events from Mingya High could they hope to find the truth.

Only finding the real truth could lead to the real Teacher Qu.

Currently, Yan Jiyun had three candidates for the primary Teacher Qu: Qu Wanchao, ghost two, and Director Jiang.

Of all the NPCs he’d met, these personalities were the most distinct. He’d considered the producer as well, but hadn’t interacted enough, so left him “pending.”

Even if Mingya High’s content wasn’t connected to the sequel’s story, this was Teacher Qu’s world; some details would overlap, like the spirit-calling game and Necromancy Rituals—maybe they could find the books here.

They began paging through the thick borrowing log.

Yan Jiyun read ten lines at a glance, and quickly found two separate entries for the two books, borrowed at different times on the third-to-last page.

When they checked the borrower’s name, they found it had been completely blacked out, illegible. There was writing on the reverse, as well, so they couldn’t even pull a cliché deductive trick from TV.

Shi Yan was surprised: “Never thought the library card would matter.”

Yan Jiyun: “Any info from the instance is worth a try. This is Teacher Qu’s world—people leave repeating details.”

Shi Yan: “Shame I never did the [Innocent] instance with you guys.”

Yan Jiyun, thinking of everyone as kids, said sincerely, “It’s just as well. And you couldn’t go now even if you wanted—the instance is permanently closed, never to reopen.”

Shi Yan: “Permanently? Qi Feng never said that. Did you hear it from the system?”

Yan Jiyun: “The system never stated it, which is why Qi Feng didn’t mention it. But the closure is as good as confirmed. Several instances merged into a main quest; things got tangled from the start. We already unraveled the origins of both the Mermaid and Innocent class-leader instances—the system likely won’t let players back in. And even if it did, the story would be so altered it’s not truly the same instance—so it’s as good as shut.”

Shi Yan: “Got it.”

They weren’t that close; their conversations stuck to game plot and clues, allowing for high efficiency.

Neither Butterfly Spirit Calling nor Necromancy Rituals had a return entry—clearly, whoever borrowed them had never brought them back.

How had the ghosts arisen?

Who was Ghost One? Was she one of the girls who jumped to her death?

Ghost Two knew Qu Wanchao—but Qu Wanchao didn’t remember her. How did that add up? Was she another jumper?

What made them jump?

If there were already two ghosts, could there be a third, or a fourth?

Would it be like the class monitor’s instance—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ghosts?

Shi Yan stared at the register: “Who do you think has those two books now?”

Yan Jiyun: “Could be among the crew or someone’s luggage. For now, aside from finding the books’ borrowers, we should dig into information about the female jumpers.”

Shi Yan: “Everyone’s out hunting for that, but nothing found yet.”

They both glanced up at the staircase leading to the second floor, seeing a sign on the wall:

First Floor: Novels, magazines, study rooms.

Second Floor: History, chemistry, physics books, study rooms.

Third Floor: Geography books, archive room, study rooms.

Both of them targeted the third-floor archives.

Yan Jiyun: “Shall we go?”

Shi Yan nodded. “Let’s.”

The archive should hold student records.

For the school to preserve all records when closing meant the shutdown was hasty.

What else was hidden in Teacher Qu’s mental world?

In the previous Mingya High instance, there were seven students playing the spirit-calling game; in Innocent, there were six little class monitors. Maybe they exited too fast to see a seventh class monitor, but in Qu’s nightmare, every set of dolls was a group of seven. The number seven was everywhere in every instance. Could it be that this instance also had seven personalities? And among them, only one was truly Teacher Qu?

If so, he had four more personalities to pinpoint among the crew.

Was it the main personality haunted by the event? Was the sub-personality using the event to deepen that fear, trapping the main personality in the past?

What did seven symbolize?

Was the jumper incident caused by seven in total?

Su Xiran was the first victim—did that mean another was next?

Yan Jiyun and Shi Yan entered the archives.

On their way up, Yan Jiyun mentally worked through the plotlines and relationships. He now grasped the general outlines.

Shi Yan glanced at the rows and rows of student files—ten years’ worth, nearly blinding.

“There’s so much—who are we even looking for? Even the ghosts, we don’t know their names.”

Yan Jiyun didn’t know either ghost’s name—but he knew Su Xiran’s.

“Let’s find Su Xiran’s records. That may get us close to the answer.”

Other players probably hadn’t realized the archives were hidden here. If he hadn’t remembered the library card, he might not have checked here either.

Shi Yan said, “Su Xiran is twenty-six; counting back puts her start year here.”

“You can be that precise?” asked Yan Jiyun.

“When the police came, I saw the coroner jot down her details,” Shi Yan replied.

That’s the value of teamwork, Yan Jiyun realized.

They started rifling along the file shelf for Su Xiran’s corresponding years.

After a while, nothing turned up.

“That can’t be—why isn’t it here?” Shi Yan muttered.

Yan Jiyun suddenly thought, “She’s a celebrity—maybe she used a stage name. Let’s check for names similar to Su Xiran.”

Shi Yan slapped his own forehead. “I kept thinking about her age—forgot about cross-checking her name. If I remember right, ‘Su’ and ‘Ran’ are right, at least.”

It was easy to be misled by hearing one name from the start and sticking to it unconsciously.

So they checked all the records with “Su” and “Ran” in the name.

Heaven rewards those who work. After a while, they indeed found four matching files apiece.

Su Ziran.

Su Xiran.

Su Qiran.

Su Jingran.

It was like looking up homonyms.

They opened the files. Su Qiran was disqualified—he was male. The other three were all female, which cut down the work.

In the school-based Mingya High, gossiping or searching up a student’s data was easy; in 2.0, it was almost impossible.

Su Ziran’s enrollment age differed by one year from Su Xiran, so she was out.

Two left: Su Xiran and Su Jingran—same age, same class.

After ten years, both were a little blurry in the old photos. Same hair, same black-rimmed glasses, and in the dim light, hard to tell which was which—neither looked like Su Xiran.

Yan Jiyun thought of Si Hao’s post-op face: “Maybe she got plastic surgery before joining the entertainment world?”

“Maybe. I lean toward Su Xiran; ‘Xi’ and ‘Xi’ are similar in sound,” Shi Yan offered.

Yan Jiyun studied the two photos. “Don’t you think they resemble each other? Almost like twins.”

“Twins with matching glasses?” Shi Yan said dubiously.

“Or maybe it was one who jumped, and the other seeks revenge now—a girl avenging her best friend.”

“If so, a girl would know how to push a girl further—it fits. Maybe now the avenger is with Qi Feng?” Shi Yan suggested.

Yan Jiyun suddenly asked, “Do you remember what the ghost looked like?”

Shi Yan: “Grayish face, nothing clear.”

Yan Jiyun: “Su Xiran was the target. She must have done something, or known something, that she kept quiet about. We still don’t know how Ghost One died.”

Establishing the victims’ social circles was plainly a critical step in this instance.

Who had it in for Su Xiran?

They ended up with two matching files—at least confirming Su Xiran did all her three high-school years at Mingya, and in which classes.

Only, Yan Jiyun hadn’t expected Su Xiran and Su Jingran’s grades to look so odd.

Su Xiran’s scores were excellent in grades one and two; Su Jingran’s were bottom of the class. Then, in grade three, Su Xiran’s scores collapsed, while Su Jingran soared into the top ten. Teacher notes called her a “late bloomer.”

Strange. What happened in that final year to flip both their fortunes?

The October 1 incident?

“Who wrote the draft for Mingya High’s script?” Yan Jiyun asked.

“Director Jiang, I think. I rode with him on the bus—he discussed plot with the screenwriter,” Shi Yan said.

“So the script’s set in advance; all will follow as written. What about the producer? Did he have input?” Yan Jiyun asked.

“Before we got off, the producer and director had a spat.”

“They don’t get along?”

“Seemed okay to me.”

“Their argument matters—could you tell me about it?” Yan Jiyun pressed. He felt he might’ve missed something critical.

Shi Yan described the incident for him.

He’d woken on the second bus, mostly surrounded by NPCs, a handful of players in the mix.

He kept calm, observing—and soon, with everyone awake and scoping their surroundings, voices rose in the front row. One was even heated.

On the left: Director Jiang. On the right: the producer. They disagreed over a scene.

Director Jiang: “This scene must be written this way. Otherwise, how can you make those who erred back then feel guilty?”

Producer Ci: “Why can’t you change it? The way you’re filming, Qu Wanchao’s fans will get mad. We’re a low-budget film; if the fans boycott, we might not even recover our investment.”

Director Jiang got angry: “Ci Shen, it’s my script. You need to trust me. You agreed at first, and now you want revisions. No way.”

Producer Ci Shen: “Fine, fine, I can’t out-argue you. I know your script is good, has ideas. But thrillers are a tough sell, especially with supernatural elements. Niche genre. And you absolutely cannot tarnish Qu Wanchao’s image! Unacceptable!”

Director Jiang: “If he’s acting, he follows the character brief. He read it when he took the role; he accepted it—you should too.”

Producer: “He agreed to our script as a favor to me—he even took a pay cut. But his agency doesn’t like it.”

Director Jiang: “Listen, his company’s wishes don’t concern me. The contract’s signed; now he acts what I wrote. If an actor can’t accept the role, write his own script! Raise his own funds! Do it all himself! Your demand is absurd—I refuse to change a single word. I start shooting soon, this is pointless.”

Producer: “Why can’t you see reason?”

Director Jiang ended with, “I spent three years writing this. Lead roles and major parts—I won’t change a thing.”

Producer paused. “Do you still care about what happened back then—”

Director Jiang: “Careful, Ci!”

That ended Shi Yan’s memory.

Yan Jiyun mulled over the information.

Why did Director Jiang hush Ci Shen?

Did both of them know what really happened at Mingya High?

To confirm, he asked, “Director Jiang insisted he wouldn’t change Qu Wanchao’s story arc?”

“Definitely,” Shi Yan said. “He said he wouldn’t change a scene.”

“But after I appeared, Qu Wanchao suggested a change to a scene—and Director Jiang agreed, even happily.”

They exchanged looks and understood at once.

Indeed, details made all the difference—teamwork really mattered.

Shi Yan, too, was a bit frustrated; he hadn’t realized the dispute between Jiang and Ci was so critical.

Only Qi Feng and Gu Wenzhu remained on set—they had to hurry back.

At last, Yan Jiyun understood why the set kept having ghostly appearances—it all made sense!

But as they tried to leave the archive, they found the door wouldn’t open.

Shi Yan rattled the handle. “What’s going on? It’s just an old wooden door—how can it be stuck?”

Yan Jiyun: “The air’s getting colder. They’re coming.”

Shi Yan: “Who?”

Yan Jiyun rubbed his arms. “The ghosts haunting the campus.”

He was working sick—facing another blast of chilling qi was exhausting, and he hoped it wouldn’t worsen his condition.

Shi Yan: “Do you know who Teacher Qu is?”

In the new instance, the main task was to find Teacher Qu—Shi Yan, who hadn’t played the other instances, lacked vital data. Only returnees like Qi Feng and Yan Jiyun knew the specifics.

Yan Jiyun: “Not sure yet, but I think I’m closing in. We have to help Teacher Qu uncover the real events of the past. After that, he’ll truly reveal himself.”

Shi Yan: “So what’s blocking us now?”

Yan Jiyun: “Teacher Qu, too—a split personality, of course. And now it seems we’ve run into another. Though who knows which one.”

He’d never teamed with Shi Yan before, nor knew his habits.

The pain in his shoulder blade was bearable, but the cold worsened his headache—any hint of chill made his head throb.

Shi Yan: “It’s suddenly freezing.”

Yan Jiyun gripped the cross at his chest. “If you’ve got a tool, use it.”

Shi Yan immediately pulled out a peachwood sword.

Yan Jiyun: “Does that thing work on ghosts?”

Shi Yan: “Should do something.”

Just then, a stack of books flew their way!

The two of them dodged left and right. Hardback tomes were no light matter.

As books arched toward them from all directions, they each scrambled for cover.

Silence fell as they hid. The flying books paused midair.

Yan Jiyun risked peeking from behind a file cabinet—immediately, books began to rain down in his direction. He and Shi Yan couldn’t tell where the thing was.

He whispered, “Your flashlight still working?”

Shi Yan’s flashlight had been their only light source.

“A bit of juice,” Shi Yan replied, sweeping it around. “No idea where it is.”

Looking up, Yan Jiyun saw a white shape floating atop the shelf opposite—head drooping directly above Shi Yan.

He pointed at Shi Yan’s head. “Above you.”

Shi Yan was truly bold—instead of flinching, he swung his peachwood sword overhead, and a ghostly female screamed, crashing into the back row.

Yan Jiyun found the scream odd. He dropped his fear for the moment, snatched the fallen flashlight, and shined it straight into the ghost’s face!

She flinched away, covering her eyes, unable to bear the glare.

Yan Jiyun grabbed her long black wig and yanked. “Bright, isn’t it?”

The “ghost,” now minus the wig: “…”

With confusion and resentment in her eyes, she demanded, “How did you know?”

Yan Jiyun kept the flashlight on her face. “The air conditioner would make a noise. Your performance is too clumsy, Xiao Tang.”

Xiao Tang—Su Xiran’s assistant.