72: Another type of "Grand Prize"

On the bus back to Jiangcheng,

the air conditioning was strong, and the warm air made people drowsy.

Zhao Zichen hugged his trophy,

his head bobbing and lightly hitting the bus window, making faint "thump-thump" sounds.

Zhang Ya wore headphones, her eyes closed, seemingly asleep.

Shen Qingqiu rubbed her aching neck and turned her head to glance at Lin Que beside her.

The Grand Prize winner, however, was sleeping soundly,

his baseball cap pulled over his face, his arms crossed,

swaying slightly with the bumps of the vehicle, his breathing long and steady.

Shen Qingqiu shook her head helplessly.

Feeling bored, she pulled out her phone.

As if by a ghost's hand,

her finger hovered over the red APP icon.

Ever since the preview for that "boring competition," she felt like a feather was constantly tickling her.

"I'll just take a look."

Shen Qingqiu made an excuse to herself.

"Understanding the spiritual world of young people is also part of educational work."

With a light tap of her fingertip.

The APP's splash screen flashed by,

and sure enough, the book the human world is like a prison, pinned to the top of her bookshelf, had an update notification.

The red "NEW" character carried an ominous allure.

Latest Chapter: [The Boring Competition]

Shen Qingqiu adjusted her sitting posture,

making sure none of her students were looking at her.

She quietly lowered her phone screen brightness, took a deep breath, and opened the chapter.

Words poured over her like rain.

[...]

[The bus stopped at a desolate station.

The door opened, and a rotten, moldy smell wafted in.]

["Arrived." The driver's mechanical voice sounded.]

[Yang Jian walked off the bus expressionlessly.

Before him was not a bustling city, but a huge building shrouded in a grey mist.

It looked like a coliseum, but the paint was peeling, revealing dark red flesh underneath.]

[A crooked sign hung at the entrance—"Ghost Domain Selection Competition."]

[As Yang Jian approached the entrance, two pale figures in security uniforms blocked his way.

They had no whites in their eyes, only pitch-black sockets.]

["Admission ticket."

The security guard extended a hand, its fingernails long like rusty iron hooks.]

[Yang Jian said nothing, merely opening the ghost eye on his forehead slightly.

A red light flashed, and the two security guards melted instantly into two puddles of black liquid, like wax figures burned by high heat.]

["This is the ticket."

Yang Jian stepped over the black liquid and entered the main gate.]

[Inside the coliseum, thousands of "examinees" sat neatly.

They bowed their heads, pens in hand, frantically writing something on their test papers.

The scratching sound rustled, like countless silkworms eating mulberry leaves.]

[Yang Jian walked to a row of seats and looked down.]

[Those were not test papers at all, but sheets of human skin.

They weren't using pens either, but their own fingers.

When their fingertips wore out, they used bones to scratch,

bloodstains spreading on the human skin, forming distorted characters

—"Save me," "So painful," "Want to die."]

["Silence!"]

[On the high platform, an examiner in a swallow-tail coat suddenly turned his head.

His neck rotated a full one hundred and eighty degrees, a huge mouth on his face splitting to his earlobes.]

["No talking during the exam. Violators will die!"]

[As his voice fell, the "examinee" closest to Yang Jian suddenly looked up and let out a scream.

The next second, its body was crushed as if by an invisible giant hand, and a mist of blood splattered all over Yang Jian.]

[The examiner satisfactorily extended his long tongue and licked his lips:

"This is the consequence of not following the rules."]

[He looked at Yang Jian, his eyes greedy:

"New examinee, your seat is..."]

["I'm not interested in participating in such a boring competition." Yang Jian interrupted him.]

[He stood in the center of the aisle, his trench coat fluttering without wind.

Dark red light spread from his feet, instantly covering half the venue.]

["I'm here to grade the papers."]

[Before he finished speaking, a tall black shadow suddenly darted out from the shadow behind Yang Jian.

The black shadow had no facial features, holding a rusty machete, and slashed at the examiner on the high platform.]

[Pfft.]

[Without any warning, the examiner's head slid from its neck, rolling down the platform with a thud.

That gaping mouth still held a greedy smile.]

[The entire venue fell silent.]

[Thousands of "examinees" who were writing simultaneously stopped their movements,

all turning their heads in unison, thousands of empty eyes staring fixedly at Yang Jian.]

["The examiner is dead."

Yang Jian's voice echoed in the empty venue, as cold as a stone.]

["Now, the exam is over."]

[He walked to the fallen head and kicked it away, like kicking a soccer ball.]

[The head flew out of the venue, smashing the "Ghost Domain" sign.]

[Immediately after, the entire stadium began to shake violently.

The flesh on the walls began to wither, and the grey mist rapidly dissipated.

The bodies of those "examinees" gradually became transparent, eventually turning into specks of light and disappearing into the air.]

[It turned out that this so-called Ghost Domain examination hall was maintained by the examiner's resentment itself.

It enjoyed the thrill of dominating fear, binding the departed souls with rules.]

[As long as the person who made the rules was killed, the rules themselves would collapse without attack.]

[Yang Jian stood in the ruins, watching the ghost bus gradually approaching in the distance, and patted the dust off his body.]

["Indeed, it's even more boring than I imagined."]

[End of Chapter.]

Shen Qingqiu let out a long breath, feeling a chill down her spine.

Although there weren't many words, and no direct descriptions of gore,

the oppressive atmosphere and the "flipping the table" style resolution at the end made her scalp tingle.

Especially that line, "I'm here to grade the papers," which was incredibly arrogant.

"This Hell Dream Weaver..."

Shen Qingqiu subconsciously glanced at Lin Que beside her.

They were clearly two completely different people,

so why, when she saw Yang Jian kick that head away,

did Lin Que's expression when he said "literature is a scalpel" on the awards stage come to mind?

That contempt for rules, that disgust for hypocrisy, was exactly the same.

She scrolled the screen and opened the comment section.

Sure enough, just a few minutes after the update, the comment section had exploded.

[My goodness! This is what the Dream Weaver called a "boring competition"? He just chopped off the examiner's head? That's too uncivilized!]

[Upstairs, who do you think that is? That's Yang Jian! Yang Jian: I don't answer questions, I only deal with the questioner.]

[Am I the only one who thinks this chapter is an allusion to reality?

Doesn't that examiner resemble some leaders who only read scripts? That "Silence" is a perfect recreation!]

[Hahahaha! So much for "I'm here to grade the papers"! The Dream Weaver is on another level this time! Is this hinting at a certain province's essay competition? I heard a Grand Prize winner there was also very arrogant!]

[Upstairs got it right! I also watched the livestream, that Grand Prize winner directly said on stage that positive energy is like greenhouse flowers! I feel like they're a master-level fan of the great Dream Weaver, hahahaha!]

Seeing the last comment, Shen Qingqiu's finger trembled violently, and her phone almost slipped.

Master-level fan?

She abruptly turned her head and stared intently at Lin Que.

Under his baseball cap, the young man seemed to be having a sweet dream,

the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, as if mocking the absurdity of this world.

"Teacher, are we there yet?"

Lin Que suddenly stirred,

a lazy voice coming from under his cap, hoarse from just waking up.

Shen Qingqiu was startled, quickly locked her phone,

stuffed it back into her bag, and guiltily coughed.

"Oh, almost, we just got off the highway.

If you're awake, sit properly, don't slouch, what kind of posture is that?"

Lin Que reached up and pushed his cap brim, revealing a pair of clear eyes.

He glanced at Shen Qingqiu's still-open bag zipper,

and the corner of her phone vaguely visible inside, a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

"Teacher, why is your face red? Is it too hot in the car?"

"It's stuffy in the car."

Shen Qingqiu replied stiffly,

raising her hand to direct the air conditioning vent towards the window, using it to hide the panic in her eyes.

She quickly reverted to her strict homeroom teacher mode, clearing her throat:

"If you're awake, don't just sit there, use your brain.

Although the Grand Prize is glorious this time, you can't escape the school's commendation ceremony.

Prepare your speech, don't go improvising on stage again and pull out that 'scalpel theory' of yours."

"Ah?"

Lin Que let out a wail and slumped back into his chair.

"Does the Grand Prize come with no special privileges? Can't I donate the trophy to cancel the speech? Even with the prize money!"

"Dream on! This is a political task!"

She paused.

"But speaking of prize money, the principal was indeed very happy this time.

Besides the competition prize money, the school will also apply for an additional scholarship for you."

"Really, Teacher Shen!"

Zhao Zichen and Zhang Ya, who had woken up at some point in the back row,

instantly sat up as if cured of a mortal illness upon hearing the words "scholarship."

"Of course it's real."

No sooner had she spoken than a burst of firecrackers suddenly erupted outside the window.

Lin Que's heart sank, a premonition of ill omen.

He leaned over to the window to look out, and his entire being instantly shattered.

"Great."

Lin Que closed his eyes in despair, letting out a sigh from the depths of his soul.

"Just out of the wolf's den, and into the tiger's lair.

A severe social anxiety patient, today, died."

...