201: The Cthulhu Mythos

The taxi screeched to a halt at an intersection two hundred meters from the Wenjin Pavilion Hotel.

"The road ahead is blocked, can't go any further. You'll have to get out here!"

As soon as Lin Que stepped out of the car, a hand swiftly and firmly pressed down on his shoulder.

"Don't make a sound. Follow me."

Lin Que got out of the car and found his homeroom teacher, Shen Qingqiu, standing in the shadow of a roadside billboard.

This top-tier teacher, usually unflappable even if Mount Tai collapsed before her, now stood with a stern expression, yet her posture remained ramrod straight.

Her gaze kept sweeping over the hotel entrance not far away.

"Teacher, what's going on?"

Lin Que adjusted his sleeve, which had been tugged askew.

"Look over there!"

Shen Qingqiu lowered her voice, pointing toward the hotel's main entrance.

Lin Que followed her finger and immediately raised an eyebrow.

Whoa.

What a huge commotion.

In front of the originally grand marble portico of the Wenjin Pavilion, there was now a dense crowd of people.

Long and short camera lenses were set up like an anti-tank position, with at least twenty media outlets blocking the revolving door completely.

There were even a few influencers holding selfie sticks, constantly trying to push forward.

"Is this... for me?"

Lin Que pointed at himself, feeling the scene was so surreal it bordered on absurd.

"Someone said a candidate from Su Province handed in their paper and left after just 28 hours."

Shen Qingqiu spoke rapidly.

"The whole internet is speculating whether you had a mental breakdown or just gave up.

If you go in through the main entrance now, microphones will be shoved down your throat before you even reach the elevator."

Lin Que glanced at the reporters in the distance, who seemed ready to crush the glass door, and instinctively pulled down his cap brim.

With this kind of commotion, anyone unaware would think some rare, exotic beast was trapped inside.

Handing in a paper early could actually turn into a social media frenzy.

"Follow me. The manager sent me a map of the service corridors."

Without another word, Shen Qingqiu crouched low and led the way.

"We'll take the freight side entrance."

The two quietly skirted the luxurious garden and ducked into a narrow alley reeking of cooking oil and detergent.

This was the hotel's unloading area, with the ground piled high with freshly delivered vegetable crates and empty bottles.

A few kitchen helpers were moving goods while smoking cigarettes, completely oblivious to these two well-dressed but furtive individuals.

"We must keep a low profile."

Shen Qingqiu swiped open the side door's access control while turning back to remind him.

The service corridor was dimly lit, with only the green exit signs glowing faintly.

The two passed through a maze-like hallway, arriving at the dedicated freight elevator lobby ahead.

Once inside the elevator, a swipe of the card would take them directly to the top floor, completely shaking off those flies outside.

"Good, no one's here."

Shen Qingqiu breathed a sigh of relief and quickened her pace.

In the corner shadows, a faint blue glow from a phone screen suddenly lit up.

By that faint light,

they could see a girl wearing a "Trainee Reporter" badge crouching on the floor, her fingers typing rapidly on the screen.

She was currently reporting to her supervisor that she had sneaked around to the back door while the manager wasn't paying attention.

The footsteps startled her.

The girl instinctively stood up, first encountering a teenager wearing a baseball cap.

Her gaze swept over the iconic light-colored T-shirt,

then, that face pinned at the top of the work group chat crashed into her retina without warning.

The girl froze for an instant, then her professional instincts overrode her brain's shutdown.

She even shouted directly toward the front door:

"Over here! That student is at the back door!!!"

"Damn it!"

Shen Qingqiu's expression changed drastically.

From the direction of the main entrance, the previously lazy crowd of reporters instantly erupted.

Dense footsteps thundered toward the back door like a stampede, accompanied by shouts of "Hurry!" and "Don't let him get away!", shaking the ground.

"Swipe the card and get in the elevator!"

Shen Qingqiu didn't even look back, slapping the elevator's up button with the back of her hand.

The elevator doors slowly opened.

At the end of the corridor, the first wave of camera flashes already lit up.

"Get in!"

Shen Qingqiu acted swiftly, shoving Lin Que into the elevator car and pressing the close button.

Just as the elevator doors were about to shut, the first wave of flashes had already turned the corridor white.

Shen Qingqiu didn't enter the elevator but stood blocking the car door.

"Teacher, there's no need..."

Shen Qingqiu waved her hand behind her back, her tone regaining its usual calm:

"Go up and rest properly. High-intensity writing is exhausting enough as it is. I'll deal with these people."

"Click."

The metal door slowly closed in front of Lin Que.

Through the last crack, he saw Shen Qingqiu's back engulfed by camera flashes and that arm still stubbornly blocking the lenses.

As the elevator ascended, the outside commotion was instantly cut off.

The car was so quiet only the hum of the ventilation fan could be heard.

Lin Que leaned against the cool metal wall, watching the jumping red numbers, and straightened his wrinkled T-shirt.

"Teacher Shen..."

"You really helped your student out big time this time!"

Recalling the reporters' earlier frenzy, he shook his head helplessly.

"Ding."

Floor 8 arrived.

Swipe the card, enter the room.

Room 0816 remained exactly as he had left it, the air conditioner tirelessly blowing cold air.

The only difference was that the surveillance camera in the corner of the ceiling had been removed.

The computer screen on the desk was on, and the network connection icon in the lower right corner showed normal.

This was no longer an examination hall but a genuine star-rated hotel room.

Lin Que walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Even from eight floors up, he could still see the crowd gathered below, not dispersing, like ants.

He drew the curtains and sat down at the computer.

As soon as the webpage opened, a news pop-up appeared.

"[Shocking! First candidate to leave the Fuzhi Yao finals after 28 hours, suspected mental collapse!]"

"[Expert analysis: Stress resistance becomes a major weak spot in education.]"

Looking at the screen full of analysis and pity, Lin Que wasn't angry at all.

Instead, he leaned back comfortably in his chair, took a can of Cola from the fridge, and popped it open with a "crack."

Go ahead and criticize. The harsher, the better.

All these mocking voices now would be slaps in their faces later.

This sense of anticipation before a prank is revealed put Lin Que in a great mood.

"Anyway, I'm stuck here for two more days before I can leave."

Lin Que walked to the bedside table and pressed the room service button.

Not long after, a waiter delivered the personal laptop he had stored before the exam.

Since the exam was over, this room had transformed from an examination hall back into an executive suite.

The seal was lifted, so his equipment naturally returned.

Lin Que took a sip of Cola, his fingers lightly tapping on the desk.

"Might as well make use of the time."

His gaze fell on the bookshelf nearby, recalling those so-called "supernatural novels" he saw at the bookstore that afternoon.

Quantum mechanics explaining ghosts, schizophrenia as the ending.

The people of this world.

Their highly advanced technology made them worship absolute rationality, believing everything could be derived from formulas, everything observable under a microscope.

Even when writing horror novels, they had to give ghosts an origin that complied with physical laws.

Lin Que shook the can, listening to the faint sound of bubbles popping.

To make these science-worshipping believers tremble,

they needed something... beyond their cognitive dimensions.

For example, those indescribable, incomprehensible existences that would reduce one's Sanity to zero with a single glance.

Lin Que opened the laptop and launched the Writer's Assistant.

New work.

Looking at the blank title field, his fingers hovered above the keyboard.

This world was too bright. Everyone firmly believed formulas could derive everything, microscopes could reveal truth.

In that case, let the Dream Weaver give these materialists

a "gift" from the deep sea.

Lin Que's ten fingers descended,

directly typing those words that were like taboos in his previous life

—"cthulhu mythos"...