The Bonfire went out.
That meant the next challenge had arrived.
[An old classroom, its air thick with dust and mildew. A "teacher" stood outside. It might have no fixed form, merely a constantly writhing shadow composed of countless fragments of text. Its voice sounded like chalk scraping a blackboard.] [It was a language teacher. As you know, when language teachers feel lazy, they make their students write compositions.] [Before it comes in to assign your composition, you have a brief period of free time.]
A composition?
Wen Xishu realized this challenge might involve writing. Were they finally approaching the central theme of the "pen"?
Reed was rather annoyed:
"Hmm... I have a feeling I'm going to die in this round."
Wen Xishu and Reed had already transitioned into the new scene. They were effectively deskmates, seated in the middle of the classroom.
There were other students in the classroom, too. Every one of them wore an eerie smile. Ropes had sprouted from the ceiling, suspending all these students in the air.
They looked...
Like slabs of pork hanging from iron hooks in a slaughterhouse, or fair-weather dolls hanging beneath the eaves.
Wen Xishu thought the fair-weather dolls were probably a closer comparison. After all... they were all smiling. Every so often, a few "classmates" turned sideways to look at them with those bizarre, grinning faces.
Honestly, Reed didn't care. He had encountered far too many sanity-draining monsters along the way.
He was already immune to horrific scenes like this.
But one thing gave Reed a headache.
"Why would you say that? Everything's fine. Don't worry, you won't die," Wen Xishu said.
Reed's face drooped:
"Brother, did you know... writing compositions scares me more than anything? Ah... to tell you the truth, I went to school as a