novelraw Chapter 111: The Writer's [Doppelganger]
Chapter 111: The Writer's [Doppelganger]
"Mister?..." Xu Zisheng wasn't quite sure about the current situation and called out softly.
The dark mist gently churned twice, having no substantial feeling at all, so ethereal it seemed it might dissipate the next second.
After a long while, a warm voice tinged with a bit of laziness finally emerged from the mist.
It was indeed the Writer's voice, though it seemed to carry a hint of casual drowsiness. "Young friend, the night is deep. I hope my presence like this doesn't disturb your rest."
"It doesn't." Xu Zisheng shook his head, his thoughts racing as he roughly guessed the situation.
He looked at the mist before him and said something that seemed rather abrupt. "Mister, are you not actually here?"
"Young friend is truly perceptive. That's exactly right." The dark mist drifted, condensing into an illusory upper body.
The blurry half-figure propped its hand as it looked at the thin boy before him, carrying a uniquely mysterious aura.
"To be precise, I should be considered a wandering doppelganger." The handsome features of the blurry figure composed of dark mist seemed to take on a hint of a smile.
"I've been lingering in this place for quite some time to search for some things.""Although this realm is desolate, there might be many lost objects here—it's just that it makes it hard to distinguish time clearly."
"Everything that happened, I've learned from my main body."
"Thank you very much, young friend, for bringing back that finger bone for me."
"I was originally thinking about when to return, but I had an intuition and came here to take a look."
"I intended to find a place to rest, but unexpectedly found you here. This is truly a pleasant surprise—it seems our connection runs deep."
So that's how it was?
The Writer's brief words resolved most of the doubts in Xu Zisheng's heart.
No wonder the Writer's aura felt different—so elusive, without an anchor, full of desolate emptiness.
Turns out what's here is just a doppelganger that shares senses with the main body.
What the other was searching for was most likely the finger bone.
It seems the 'finger bone' is truly important to the Writer—is it his 'obsession'?
This might be the heavy curse placed upon him.
No matter how powerful, because of the curse's existence, that cherished object of obsession remains difficult to find.
The Writer's words also contained some other information.
From the other's few sentences, Xu Zisheng could finally confirm that the place he was currently in seemed rather problematic.
Not just this eerie orphanage scenario, but the 'world' outside this orphanage—'desolate and dead silent', 'lost objects', 'time hard to distinguish'—what's with these descriptors?
What kind of place had he been transported to?
As if sensing Xu Zisheng's confusion, the ethereal mist drifted closer.
In the blurry figure's hands, two separated worlds slowly formed—one bright, one dark—representing the real world and the Horror Game World respectively.
Between the two worlds, there was an irregular, constantly twisting shadow, changing intermittently, its size uncertain, more transparent and illusory.
That shadow, like a crack, intertwined with parts of both worlds yet couldn't cause any effect.
The figure extended a slender finger and pointed at that crack. "A lost land without concepts of time and space, named the Void Realm. This is where we currently are."
The Writer's tone was calm and gentle, as if merely mentioning an insignificant matter.
But Xu Zisheng couldn't help but feel his heart tighten.
Void Realm, Void Realm—he silently repeated the term twice in his mind.
What does it mean to have no concepts of time and space?
He had definitely arrived in a place beyond rules, outside normal boundaries.
Even if he clears this eerie game scenario, whether he can be sent back to the real world might become a thorny problem.
But judging by the Writer's tone, he might know some methods to leave the Void Realm.
An existence of the Writer's hierarchical status probably wouldn't lie to him—likely everything the other said was true.
Compared to the idea that the Writer intentionally followed him here, Xu Zisheng preferred to believe the Writer's own words about their 'deep connection'.
Because they were in the Void Realm, where the flow of time was completely different from both worlds and impossible to estimate, the Writer also couldn't determine how much time had passed in the real world or what events had occurred.
Xu Zisheng briefly recounted his experiences over the past few days to the Writer, much like casual conversation between friends.
During this time, the Cursed Child didn't reveal the slightest intention of seeking help from the Writer.
He also completely avoided mentioning the scenario tasks he needed to complete.
Some things make a big difference whether said or unsaid.
The Writer could choose not to give, but he couldn't go asking.
Xu Zisheng continued speaking, mentioning his observation of two rather unusual individuals among the orphans.
Those two orphans named 'Xiao Ke' and 'Xiao Qing' probably weren't ordinary players but official professionals, likely possessing some remarkable methods.
But Xu Zisheng estimated the Writer had already noticed this; repeating it was just finding conversation topics to show his sincerity.
"So that's how it is..." the Writer replied softly, his voice extremely faint, drifting low in the air.
After these words were spoken, the dilapidated room suddenly fell quiet.
The clock hanging on the wall had already been tampered with by Xu Zisheng, so their conversation here wouldn't be known by anyone.
"Tick-tock—"
The seemingly normal clock sounded twice; only one minute remained until 11 PM.
The thin boy pressed his lips together, said nothing more, went to the bedside, propped himself up with his arms, and flipped onto the hard bed.
He leaned back against the cold wall, waiting for the so-called room inspection teacher to arrive.
His deep eyes, hidden behind black tousled hair, watched as the blurry figure beside him dissipated, turning back into that untouchable dark mist.
Even in this form, knowing it was the Writer still brought a sense of reassurance to his heart.
"Tick—"
The hour hand on the wall finally pointed to 11 o'clock.
"Dong—"
In the silent night, the deafening ancient bell suddenly rang out, echoing over the dark orphanage, as if trying to drag the entire space into another terrifying world.
Eleven continuous bell chimes were like a mysterious incantation, weeping and pleading, sometimes near, sometimes far, momentarily seeming to tear apart one's eardrums.
The bell chimes faded.
In the darkness, there was almost no light, as if trapped in a sunless prison.
In this utter silence, one could sense an eerie and indescribable footstep sound beginning in the empty corridor—the movement was both light and heavy, sending shivers down one's spine.
Door after door was knocked on, the existence outside calling the names of the orphans inside with a low, hoarse voice.
Finally, that existence stopped outside Xu Zisheng's door. An extremely faint light seeped through the door crack. "Bang, bang, bang—"
The knocking was loud, the dilapidated, thin door panel vibrating as if it might crack at any moment.
"Xiao Wu..." After the futile knocking, the existence outside finally spoke.