novelraw Chapter 137: I'll Stay Here With Him
Chapter 137: I'll Stay Here With Him
The boy didn't say anything; he simply lowered his head, then quietly stood up.
Even if he wanted to protest or explain himself, he had neither the heart nor the strength.
He seemed utterly crushed.
Every orphan here seemed to be terrified of something.
Xiao Gui’an remembered the sound of keys clinking twice just now — it wasn't an illusion, nor some meaningless noise.
Most likely the two items the Acting Director held were precisely the things that made these orphans fall silent with fear.
No matter whether the Writer intervened to defend the boy or not, the final outcome would not change.
Once they had found a reason to condemn him, how could he slip away so easily?
Even if the Writer weren't here, it would only remove one excuse for punishment.
“Teacher Tang, please continue your class. I'll take this child with me.”The Acting Director wore an expression of faint regret for a moment, then quickly grew serious. She patted Xiao Fan's back, gripped his wrist, and led him toward the exit. “Think carefully about your actions!”
The boy, like a marionette on a string, was slightly tugged by the middle-aged woman. His steps wavered, he made no sound, and she pulled him out of the classroom.
Xiao Gui’an had a rough idea where the Acting Director intended to take him — probably the “Punishment Room” the rules had mentioned.
“Teacher Yan, would you like to change into another shirt? That paint might not come off.”
The Acting Director forced a smile at the ink-haired youth following behind, speaking with false concern, though her hands never stopped moving and her stride quickened.
“This little paint is nothing; it's just a shirt.”
Even if speaking now might be useless, Xiao Gui’an wouldn't let go of the slightest chance.
“This is just a small matter. Acting Director, why be so serious? I don't think this child did anything wrong.”
The Acting Director seemed a bit impatient with the Writer's persistent attitude. She raised a hand and ground her teeth, as if she wanted to bite at her ragged nails.
Realizing that would be inappropriate, she lowered her hand again.
“How can you say that? Teacher Yan, maybe he's clumsy now in the orphanage, but once those kind people take him home, he can't be so careless.”
“We have to be strict now so he won't make mistakes later.”
Every sentence the Writer offered was met with rebuttal.
And the Acting Director was clearly supremely confident.
No matter how the Writer displayed his stance, it had no effect — Xiao Fan being sent to the Punishment Room was already a done deal.
The rules had decided this; nothing could change it, nothing could interfere.
“Xiao Fan, the teacher doesn't care about these things. You…”
Thinking from another angle, the Writer stopped arguing with the Acting Director and bent slightly to speak to the boy with his bowed neck.
But before he could finish, the boy cut him off without mercy.
“I—I made a mistake. I deserve punishment…”
His voice was tiny, but both people present heard it clearly.
The middle-aged woman flashed a look of victory, a trace of mockery in her eyes, as if she were ridiculing the Writer's futile efforts.
“See? This child is so conscientious!”
All escape routes were blocked.
Xiao Gui’an could only stand upright. He did not know whether the boy truly meant it or was speaking under coercion and manipulation.
He only knew he could not stop the boundless malice falling upon this child.
And at last the so-called Punishment Room revealed itself to Xiao Gui’an.
They were wooden boxes of varying sizes, extremely narrow and long, wrapped in layers of black cloth that blocked out all light, standing in the orphanage’s most secluded corner.
If one stayed inside, they wouldn't be suffocated to death, but the space was cramped.
A person placed inside could only stand upright; they could not move, not even bend their knees.
They were jammed inside, with wooden boards pressing from all sides, surrounded by impenetrable darkness.
Arranged by height, each box in that row clearly matched a particular size.
As he drew closer, the pungent stench became noticeable — nauseating, assaulting the senses.
Xiao Gui’an stopped dead, his expression instantly darkening as he realized what kind of “punishment” it was.
He already knew how Qiaoqiao had died; now he had to watch the boy before him be shoved inside.
From now on, he would never have a good impression of sealed boxes like this.
They took lives and broke minds; the pain and despair would never end, only multiply.
Nothing about it was good.
They were like living coffins, locking people in tight.
This damned orphanage, these inhumane creatures…
“Acting Director, are you really going to lock the child in there to reflect?”
The Writer's aura turned colder, the smile gone, a trace of oppressive force showing through.
“There is nothing wrong with that, Teacher Yan. The orphanage rules have always been like this—”
In this twisted scenario, the rules decided everything.
Though the outsider had disrupted things briefly, it wouldn't stir up any real trouble.
The initiative was still in her hands.
The Acting Director's eyes gleamed with madness, full of malice. Her gaze was sharp — unlike the tired look of the middle-aged woman.
She pulled out the long string of keys, mercilessly unlocked a box, then grabbed the boy's shoulders to force him in.
The ink-haired youth frowned slightly, his fingertips trembling as he moved to stop her.
But merely showing that intent, without a big motion, immediately unleashed a terrifying pressure toward the Writer.
The whole orphanage seemed to come alive; a dreadful gaze focused on Xiao Gui’an like needles on his back, as if it would pierce him.
It felt as though if he made another move, the scenario would take forced measures; no one knew what the outcome would be.
[...Host...stop...]
[...No...cannot move...]
Under those conditions, he absolutely could not perform any more out-of-rule actions.
If he was kicked out of the scenario it might be fine.
But if he accidentally collided with the rules, even damaged, as an NPC he might be directly stricken and erased.
Being an NPC provided conveniences but also brought restrictions.
After all, this was not the System's domain. If this had been inside the Horror Game World proper, Xiao Gui’an might not have to be so restrained.
He could not be expelled yet.
The Writer's face remained calm; he stood in place without further action, burying all his emotions deep inside.
The middle-aged woman grinned. She clearly sensed the Writer being targeted by the rules.
But the Writer's response had been quick; that tiny emotional ripple was suppressed immediately, the barely perceptible flaw lasting only an instant.
The Acting Director's smile faded into a look of regret. It would have been better if they could eliminate him using the rules.
Her words sounded so pleasant, but in the end it still came down to submission, didn't it?
Her Master was always right!
Whether ghosts or humans, they were all lowly, ugly creatures! —
The Acting Director shoved him in and closed the door with practiced familiarity, as though she had done this countless times.
The middle-aged woman shook the keys and said, “Let's go, Teacher Yan. There’s no need to stay here. I didn't lock it — the child will get out on his own when the time's up.”
Not locking it when placing someone inside was more terrifying than locking the door.
The wooden latch wasn't particularly sturdy; it seemed the person inside had to pull a small peg by the door to prevent it from opening outward.
[Do not leave the Punishment Room before the prescribed time. If the door is opened or the person leaves early, a harsher punishment will be imposed.]
Three hours.
To make the boy stand alone there for that long.
No light, no sound, only the stench of rot at his nose — with no clue how much time had passed.
How could such a punishment not terrify a child?
No wonder the mere sound of that keychain left them all frozen.
When Zero said they referenced data from other worlds and projected it...
That meant there truly existed a world where these children endured unimaginable suffering.
The Writer listened to the faint rustling from inside the box and remained standing.
“Teacher Yan, that child is undergoing self-reflection now. You can't speak to him. Please leave—”
“It’s fine. I’ll stay here with him.”
Until the punishment ends—
He didn't finish the sentence, but everyone could understand his unspoken intention.
The Writer's voice was gentle and refined, steady in a way that calmed people without reason.
“What?” The Acting Director laughed as if she had heard something absurd, her voice sharp and grating. “Then stay here if you want. Make sure you remember the rules!”
The Writer ignored her, his gaze steady and unoffering.
Truly, good words couldn't persuade these damned ghosts.
The middle-aged woman let out a cold laugh, then suddenly her expression shifted. She clutched her wrist, her composure faltering.
Something had happened. She no longer paid attention to the Writer; she hurried away and soon disappeared from the area.
The Writer could not step forward; if he showed any intention to communicate, the rules would immediately target him.
The gentle ink-haired youth lowered his eyes and walked a little farther. After a moment's thought, a jade flute slowly appeared in his hand.
A clear, mellow tune floated into the air, thread by thread, like spring rain quietly seeping into the heart.
The flute music drifted far, as if telling an old story — poetic and vivid — carried on a fresh scent of ink that spread through the air.
It was a loophole —
No one had ever done this before.
The fragmentary rules running the scenario temporarily lagged, appearing unable to judge this behavior.
One melody followed another, all bright and wistful, unlikely to lull anyone to sleep.
Three hours could still see other presences arrive.
But when they met the Writer's eyes and accidentally glimpsed the fleeting shattered star within, no ghost dared to approach and interfere.
And so, however long the boy reflected, the flute's song accompanied him.