novelraw Chapter 108: Inviting the Young Friend as a Guest
Chapter 108: Inviting the Young Friend as a Guest
Yan Tingchen was exceptionally talented and achieved fame at a young age.
In the eyes of others, although he constantly lived amidst praise and admiration, he always remained humble, polite, and neither arrogant nor impatient.
No one who met him could help but like him.
Despite maturing early, Yan Tingchen actually possessed a youthful, playful side as well, though it was mostly only revealed in front of his family.
When he was young, to satisfy his curiosity, he would personally try to verify many experiments from books or interesting things mentioned within them.
He blew up the kitchen twice, broke his leg once, and another time nearly set the study on fire.
It couldn't be called complete chaos, but those days seemed to add some rare memories.
In short, many laughable incidents happened during his youth.
These memories never faded.
The old friends mentioned in his words still lived vividly deep within his mind.When Yan Tingchen brought them up again, he finally understood how much he cherished those times.
He had a clear conscience toward everyone, yet this world had failed him.
"Peace was secured by the general, yet the general is not allowed to see that peace."
Worldly matters were often so unjust and full of regret.
The Writer recounted amusing stories from his youth but did not reveal even a hint of the dark side of that era.
It was as if the young man in the story always remained that enviable figure.
Of the two people present, only Xu Zisheng and Cheng He sensed that behind these lighthearted memories lay an incredibly tragic ending.
Xu Zisheng knew because he had previously glimpsed the Writer's past.
Cheng He inferred it based on Tianji's usual analysis of how ghosts and monsters formed.
The events described by the black-haired youth with features as elegant as a painting felt so real, slowly unfolding the experiences of that wealthy young master from the Republican Era before their eyes.
Could the Writer truly be someone from the Republican Era?
His every movement and gesture indeed carried a temperament unique to that period, a sense of leisurely passing years that couldn't be easily faked.
Those beings filled with resentment and hatred either came from the local real world.
Or they might be projections from other parallel worlds or their true forms after death.
Some might have willingly fallen into this endless hell.
Others might have been gathered into that sunless Bloody World by higher-dimensional, unpredictable forces.
There was an even worse speculation—that the Horror Game World was once a complete world like theirs.
Then it was gradually devoured step by step by the terrifying power hidden behind the horror game, eventually becoming game instances filled with slaughter and death.
If they couldn't ultimately end all this, they would likely become part of that game too.
Which category did the Writer belong to?
Even if worlds differed, the trajectories of their development might have similarities.
What kind of era was the Republican Era?
It was an era filled with reform and tradition, light and darkness, where countless brilliant stars rose and fell, and millions of patriots fought desperately for their country and land.
If they had the chance to meet those predecessors who stabilized the nation, those of them born on this Chinese soil would say: The future you hoped for has all been realized!
We wish we could share this splendid scenery with you—
Had the ghost before them once wielded a writing brush? Had he once rushed about fighting for that land? Had he looked forward to the day when light would arrive?
Had he seen it?
Had he seen the mountains and rivers he once protected and cherished?
Cheng He found it difficult to continue pondering further; he needed to maintain enough calm to judge the truth in the Writer's words, absolutely must not be deceived by surface appearances.
Perhaps it was because they had waited too long for a turning point that they felt this way.
He hoped he could bring this information back.
"Tick-tock—"
The clock hanging on the wall chimed at that moment; story time for tonight had ended.
The flames burning in the fireplace extinguished, and the very soft storytelling voice dissipated into the air.
Darkness enveloped the library, with only some faint light sources filtering through the carved windows, casting vague shadows.
That wall clock was somewhat larger than usual, exuding an ancient charm, its black edges conveying a sharp feeling, the hands turning like sharp swords.
The Writer lifted his gaze to look at the wall clock hanging on the wall, his eyes shifting, and stopped speaking.
Cheng He slightly widened his eyes, and beside him, Xu Zisheng also pressed his lips together. Clearly, they should have been glad for this eerie time to end sooner, yet both felt that time had passed too quickly.
Next, as orphans who hadn't completed their tasks today, Xu Zisheng and the others would part ways with the main group.
Two caregivers led most of the orphans out of the library, while Xu Zisheng and the few remaining children began tidying up the books, cleaning out the matches from the fireplace.
The Writer quietly took those storybooks and placed them on the high bookshelves. His eyes were empty, as if lost in thought, or perhaps intimidating the shadows stirring restlessly in the darkness.
"Let these disobedient children follow you back to the assigned dormitory. They're all quite capable workers, just sometimes a bit lazy—hmpf, all spoiled—"
"If you don't need so many, you could give a few to me, an old woman like me."
The ugly, deeply wrinkled Old Woman chuckled sinisterly.
After just one evening together, those orphans seemed to have developed a sense of dependence on the Writer before them, shrinking back and hiding behind him.
The Writer slightly raised his hand, also shielding them, "Perhaps the children wish to spend a little more time with me—"
His attitude wasn't particularly forceful, yet it gave a sense of being unoffendable.
Regarding the Writer's attitude, she held hidden scorn and disdain, not believing that anyone appearing here could have good intentions.
Who knew what filth lay hidden beneath the shell of this hypocrite before them? Why keep up the act?
The Writer watched as her figure finally disappeared into the darkness. He lowered his gaze to look at the thin young boy who had been staring at him, and a playful thought arose in his heart.
The gentle, jade-like youth slightly bent down, leaning close to Xu Zisheng, and said softly, "Then now I invite the young friend to be my guest—"