Chapter 511: The Classmate Who Didn

The language teacher wrote over thirty sentences on the blackboard.

“Next, I’ll have the students read them twice. During this time, follow along with me.”

“Yes—shì.”

“I promise—guà á yǐng.”

“Hello…”

Wu Xian repeated each sentence one by one and found the strange characters’ pronunciations were extremely awkward, but the number of syllables in each later sentence matched the original sentence exactly.

Thanks to this prime position.

Wu Xian heard every syllable the teacher uttered with perfect clarity, yet memorizing all the sentences was nearly impossible.

After the two rounds of repetition ended.

The language teacher reached for the textbook on the podium—then suddenly flung a chalk fragment, striking a student behind him! “No talking!”

The struck student was a thirty-something man wearing glasses; he immediately panicked and explained: “I didn’t speak—I was just silently reciting the knowledge you taught me.”

Thwack! A second piece of chalk hit him on the forehead.

At the same time, a flurry of chalk fragments flew out, striking the heads of over a dozen students.

“No talking.”

“Look only at me—look nowhere else!”

After the glasses-wearing man was struck, over a dozen students had instinctively turned to look at him, shifting their gaze away from the teacher—thus violating classroom rules.

All those hit by chalk lost one red bar from their name tags; the glasses-wearing man, who had already broken the rule last night, now lost all his red bars due to these two offenses.

The language teacher tapped the desk.

“All students I just struck—stand on the desks!”

The students rose; Wu Xian heard chairs and desks scraping behind him.

The language teacher shook his head.

“Not on the floor—on the desks!”

The students scrambled again.

One woman, after climbing onto her desk, let out a blood-curdling scream—until another piece of chalk struck her forehead and silenced her.

Wu Xian did not turn to look at the glasses-wearing man.

His gaze remained fixed on the teacher.

When the language teacher threw chalk, it did not come from the chalk box—it came from his fingers. Each time he hurled a piece, the tip of his finger split open, and bone grew outward, becoming the chalk he used!

The woman’s scream.

Filled Wu Xian with dark speculation.

The natives may lack information, but they’re not fools—they must know the rules must be followed. The first group struck by chalk could be called foolish.

But what about the woman’s second scream?

What had she seen that made her forget the rules and scream anyway?

Next,

the lesson grew even stranger.

The language teacher opened a thick book and began reciting from it. Every sentence he spoke carried bizarre, guttural pronunciations—no one understood a word.

It gave Wu Xian the same feeling as a struggling student in English class, hearing nothing at all.

Also,

during the teacher’s lecture, Wu Xian kept hearing strange sounds—like dripping water, hard objects snapping, and flesh being torn…

Plop.

A thick liquid dripped onto Wu Xian’s head. Then he smelled the stench of urine.

His spine turned cold.

He could only force himself to endure the discomfort, keeping his eyes locked on the teacher.

This incomprehensible lesson lasted a while. The teacher had them repeat the blackboard sentences twice more, then resumed speaking the unintelligible language.

This repeated several times.

During this time, three more students were punished for breaking the language class rules and ordered to stand.

Some students already standing screamed in terror—and were struck again by chalk. Throughout it all,

Wu Xian saw nothing.

Everything was unknown to him.

Perhaps the space behind him was filled with corpses. Perhaps a demon crouched above his head. The truth was right behind him—he only needed to turn to see it.

But Wu Xian could only stare at the teacher’s old face.

Finally,

the bell rang. Two hours were up. The language class ended.

The language teacher lifted the thick book and said with a tone of bitter disappointment: “You’re the worst class I’ve ever taught. Remember—never speak about your classmates. If they hear you, they’ll be unhappy.”

Shuowan 。

The language teacher left the classroom.

Wu Xian exhaled deeply—his back was soaked in sweat. This position had imposed unbearable pressure.

Thud! Someone fell off the desk.

Behind him, chaos erupted—some shouted in anger, others smashed desks and chairs, some screamed hysterically, others collapsed into hysterical sobs. The entire classroom filled with disorder and terror.

The class was over—rules no longer applied.

Wu Xian first touched his head.

It was blood!

Then he slowly turned around.

On the desk behind him sat a female native, squatting like a duck, her face pale, eyes vacant, trembling uncontrollably. Urine dripped from the edge of the desk.

No one knew what she had seen to be reduced to this state.

Looking further back,

one realized that wetting one’s pants was almost a good outcome.

Some of the punished students had collapsed headfirst the moment the class ended, cracking their skulls open. One man by the window emitted a foul stench—he had lost control of both his bladder and bowels.

But at least these people were still alive.

Two others

remained firmly standing on their desks.

Above their necks—there was nothing. No heads. Only shredded flesh. Blood streamed downward, staining their entire clothing red.

From the ragged tears in their necks, Wu Xian realized—the tearing and bone-snapping sounds he’d heard earlier came from these two.

One was male, one female. Their name tags were completely blank. At the man’s feet lay a shattered pair of glasses.

Xu Shen limped over, leaning on the desk.

“You sat in the front row—you didn’t see what just happened. Lucky you.”

Wu Xian asked curiously: “What exactly happened?”

Xu Shen shook his head: “Didn’t the language teacher say? Don’t talk about your classmates. If they hear you, they’ll be unhappy.”

Wu Xian glanced left, then right, mentally replaying everything that had just occurred.

Finally, he fixed his gaze on the ceiling.

The ceiling bore a series of highly regular stains. Wu Xian had noticed them the moment he entered the classroom—he hadn’t understood what they were then, but now he knew.

This room

didn’t just contain the thirty students in front of him. Another thirty students were here too—in the same classroom. Whether those thirty were human or ghosts didn’t need to be said.

Wu Xian and the others were below; the other thirty students used the ceiling as their floor, sharing the same space. The regular stains on the ceiling were made by desk legs, chair legs, and the feet of those students.

Sometimes the language teacher’s lesson was understandable, sometimes not—because the incomprehensible parts weren’t meant for Wu Xian and the others. They were meant for the other thirty students! The rule said students must look only at the teacher during class—perhaps because if you didn’t, you’d see something else! If that were true,

then the teacher’s warning not to speak about classmates made perfect sense.

Because those classmates were still in this room—just invisible to Wu Xian and the others!

Poor were the students who were punished to stand.

They stood on the desks—they must have seen everything clearly.

(End of Chapter)