1: Teacher, is it possible to write about ghosts in this composition?

(Dual identities, dual-line apotheosis, hope all readers like it. Don't like it? Then flame me directly!)

(The selected books will primarily be modern works in the early stage and classic masterpieces in the middle and later stages. Feel free to leave a comment about any works you like, and the author will present them one by one.)

(International convention: Storage for smart brains)

--- Dividing Line ---

"Is my class that soporific? Lin Que!"

"Get up for me right now!"

A cold, suppressed female voice exploded from the podium.

Lin Que's body trembled violently as he bounced up from the desk, his darkened vision gradually clearing.

Looking around.

The study, which had been filled with takeout boxes and swirling smoke just a second ago, had vanished.

And right before his eyes.

The peeling white-ash walls.

Test papers piled up like a fortress in the corner.

The countdown on an LCD screen above the podium was clearly visible:

"600 days until the College Entrance Examination"

This is... high school?

Below the screen, right in the center of the podium.

A woman was staring right at him at this moment.

Professional suit skirt, rimless glasses, with a cold and stunning temperament.

Shen Qingqiu!

She was his devilish head teacher who dared to take over the bottom-ranking class at only twenty-two years old and led them into the top three of the grade within a year.

That pair of eyes behind the lenses were as pretty as a pool of autumn water, yet so cold that they kept people thousands of miles away.

Even across half the classroom, Lin Que could feel the oppression in her gaze.

No wonder the students secretly called her "Shen Jingbing", which was a play on the word for "psycho".

"Lin Que, answer me, what was I just talking about?"

Shen Qingqiu tapped the podium rhythmically with her four slender fingernails.

Making a "da, da, da, da" sound.

In an instant, he felt as if his brain had been struck.

Countless fragments of memory pierced into his mind.

His name was Lin Que, twenty-seven years old, a moderately famous screenwriter in the industry.

Just a moment ago, he had been staying up until his eyes were bloodshot for a script he had been planning for a long time.

He had just taken a nap.

How was it that in the next second, he was back in a high school classroom from ten years ago?

"I must be too tired; this dream is way too realistic!"

"No, the client wants the manuscript the day after tomorrow, I can't sleep anymore!"

He muttered to himself while pinching his own arm hard.

A clear sense of pain washed over him instantly.

This was not a dream!

But he hadn't been in a car crash, nor did he have a terminal illness, and his parents were alive and well—how had he transmigrated out of nowhere?

He stared dead at his own fair, unfamiliar hands.

No thick calluses, no scars, only the thinness belonging to a seventeen-year-old boy.

His heart tightened abruptly, not from physical pain.

That "Silent Witness" into which he had poured all his blood and sweat...

That ending he had conceived over a thousand days and nights, missing only the final stroke to achieve greatness,

Along with his twenty-seven years of life, was forever left in that unreachable space-time.

Why? On what grounds?

He wanted to shout, wanted to question this absurd reality.

Just as he was in a trance, about to be completely engulfed by this overwhelming loss.

"Lin Que, what are you standing there in a daze for, speak!"

Shen Qingqiu's impatient urge temporarily pulled him out of his despair.

Regaining his senses, he glanced at the scratch paper that his deskmate Wu Di had handed over long ago, on which two characters were written in a flying, cursive script.

He tentatively answered:

"Is it... fear?"

Shen Qingqiu's expression softened slightly, but remained icy:

"Consider yourself not completely dead from sleep, sit down! If there's a next time, go stand by the door and sleep!"

Lin Que sat down, and his deskmate Wu Di immediately leaned over, making faces.

"Not bad, Brother Que, you even dare to sleep in Bingbing's class. I salute you as a true hero!"

He dealt with it half-heartedly.

While scanning the walls on both sides of the classroom.

On the walls, which should have been literary giants like Bing Xin, Lu Xun, Ba Jin, and Shakespeare...

But now,

All that hung there were scientists like Newton, Einstein, Qian Xuesen, Yang Zhenning, and Zhou Peiyuan.

While he was feeling puzzled,

His gaze locked onto the glowing mobile phone under Wu Di's desk.

The phone's body was ridiculously thin and light, and the screen was a completely seamless holographic projection.

Without even thinking, he snatched it away.

"Lend it to me for a second!"

"Holy crap, Brother Que, slow down! Don't let Old Shen find out!"

Taking the phone without examining it closely, his fingers swiped rapidly, and news headlines popped up one after another:

<Latest Brain-Computer Interface Technology Makes Breakthrough Progress>

<Virtual Reality Will Completely Replace the Internet>

<Nantianmen Project Welcomes Its 5th Major Breakthrough>

...

Lin Que's heart shook violently.

Although this was the high school period from ten years ago.

The technological level here was at least a dozen years ahead of his own era!

He instinctively typed [Jin Yong] into the search box.

This was the guide to his literary enlightenment, the supreme god of the wuxia world in his heart.

And it displayed: "Are you looking for [Metal], [Finance], [Gold Mine]..."

"What the heck?"

Refusing to believe it, he typed again:

[Gu Long], [Lu Xun], [The Three-Body Problem], [Hitchcock]

What popped up were only:

"Research on Ancient Giant Dragon Fossils"

"The Reckless Velociraptor"

"Senior Three Physical Education"

"Captain Kirk of the Hitchcock Casino"

An absurd and spine-chilling sensation enveloped him.

Afterwards, unwilling to give up, he continued searching.

Those thunderous suspense masters of his past life, those bizarre sci-fi myths, those horror movies that kept people awake at night...

The search results were completely blank.

Lin Que's breathing gradually quickened, and his fingers even trembled slightly.

This was no longer a coincidence; this was a huge, unbelievable void!

This world...

Had a developed technological exterior, but its internal culture was a barren desert.

He put down the phone, his heart beating wildly.

Panic? Or wild joy?

He couldn't tell.

He began to laugh lowly, his chest rising and falling violently.

"Silent Witness" was gone.

The ending belonging to twenty-seven-year-old Lin Que could also not be returned to.

But a world without horror stories...

A stage so blank that he could paint on it however he pleased was unfolding starkly before him!

What a... gift this was!

"Hey!"

Wu Di reminded him in a low voice from the side.

"What are you doing, Brother Que!"

"Playing on your phone right after sleeping, and now laughing weirdly, don't tell me you've been scared silly by Old Shen..."

Before he finished speaking.

"Whoosh—"

A white arc swept across half the classroom, hitting Wu Di squarely on the forehead with pinpoint accuracy.

It was half a piece of chalk thrown by Shen Qingqiu.

"Ouch!!"

Wu Di covered his head with a wronged expression.

"No whispering in class, if you have something to say, go outside and say it!"

Shen Qingqiu withdrew her gaze and turned to write two beautiful chalk characters on the blackboard.

[Fear]

She turned around, adjusted her glasses, and spoke in an academic tone:

"Fear is one of humanity's most primitive emotions."

"From a biological perspective, it is the brain amygdala's stress response to danger signals and a protective mechanism."

She scanned the classroom to make sure no one was sleeping or whispering, and then continued:

"But with the progress of civilization, this excessive stress response sometimes becomes an obstacle for us."

...

"This composition class will take fear as the topic to write a narrative essay of no less than eight hundred words."

"This article will be submitted directly as an entry for the city composition competition, all of you write it seriously!"

"After class, the class representative will collect them and bring them to my office!"

"Monitor, maintain discipline, especially pay attention to those who like to sleep and whisper."

Shen Qingqiu glanced at Lin Que and Wu Di, packed up her lesson plans, and left gracefully.

As soon as she left, the whole class instantly collapsed with a chorus of sighs.

Composition was forever the nightmare of student days.

Only Lin Que began to tap his fingertips unconsciously on the rough wooden desk.

Fear?

The blank page he had just searched flashed in his mind, and the corners of his mouth curled up involuntarily.

In this world that extremely worshiped science and regarded all ghosts and monsters as spiritual opium.

Legends about "ghosts" had long been swept into the dustbin of history.

You don't even know what a ghost is.

How can you possibly understand what true fear is?

As a top screenwriter in his past life, his reading volume in horror could be called terrifying.

Various horror materials sealed in his mind were enough to reshape the worldview of people in this world.

Since your imagination is lacking.

Since this soil of imagination is so barren.

Then I don't mind giving you a tiny bit of Lin-style shock.

Thinking of this, Lin Que's fingertips tapped unconsciously on the desk.

Then, what to write?

Countless bizarre fragments surged in Lin Que's mind.

"ghost blows out the light"? The structure is too grand.

"Ju-on"? The atmosphere buildup is too long.

Ultimately.

A folk ghost story that was simple, everyday, but could also strike deep into the soul was locked in.

True fear is never a distant disaster, but a subversion of the everyday.

This story doesn't need a complex background or bloody scenes.

It only needs a mirror and a bed.

"back to back"

That's it!

Lin Que picked up his pen, thinking almost not at all.

"Late at night, the lights in the rental apartment flickered on and off."

"Xiaomei always felt as though there was one more person in the room. But every time she turned her head, there was nothing behind her."

"In search of a sense of security, she began to sleep tightly against the wall, the cold wall being her only reliance."

"Until one day, she was startled awake in the night."

"Through the pale moonlight outside the window, she looked at the wardrobe mirror opposite her."

"In the mirror, a woman in red was silently lying prone on her back, her cheeks pressed tightly against the back of her neck."

"And with her, back to back..."

...