C63 — Seeing isn’t Believing

During the last few minutes of the third evening self-study session, the homeroom teacher opened the classroom door once again.

A middle-aged man walked up to the podium, one hand still clutching his thermos, the other wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Thank you for your hard work,” he said. “Something happened during the break today—I’m sure most of you are already aware. To keep it from affecting your revision, the school has specially invited a psychology teacher to give everyone a mental wellness session—”

At the mention of “psychology teacher,” the classroom immediately stirred with excitement. Many students craned their necks to look toward the doorway, hoping to glimpse the figure behind the thin classroom door.

“Is it Mr. Si?”

“I think it is! Look at the height!”

Each door had a small glass window. Through it, one could clearly see a pair of thin, colorless lips, a sharp jawline, and a slender, smooth neck. On the side of his neck was a small, faint mole.

This little window wasn’t particularly low—when the homeroom teacher entered, it only showed his forehead, not his neck. So whoever was standing outside… was clearly quite tall.

The teacher placed his thermos back on the desk. The buzz in the front rows grew louder, and one brave student finally asked who the psychologist was.

“Who else could it be?” the teacher replied. “You’re nearly seniors now, so of course we brought in someone who can actually cheer you up—”

Before he finished speaking, cheers erupted. Heads turned in unison toward the door. Seeing the commotion, Kou Dong knocked lightly on the desk of the boy beside him and asked quietly, “What psychologist?”

The boy had been too busy cheering to want to answer. But when he saw who was asking, he hesitated a bit before whispering, “It’s Mr. Si.”

“Which Mr. Si?”

“You’re new, so you wouldn’t know,” the boy explained. “He’s the youngest one. You’ll recognize him when you see him.”

Kou Dong was about to ask more when the classroom door gently clicked open.

The young psychology teacher stepped inside. His lips were pale and thin, lacking color, but his eyes and brows were so dark and rich they looked like ink that couldn’t be diluted. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, and his gaze swept casually across the room.

It didn’t seem like he was looking at anyone in particular, but Kou Dong suddenly felt a burning sensation across his face, then he subconsciously leaned back as if scorched by that brief glance.

“Everyone, please sit properly,” the psychology teacher said. His long, clean fingers pressed together lightly, fingertips absently rubbing the web between his thumb and forefinger. “The session is about to begin.”

His eyes brushed over Kou Dong in a fleeting moment, and the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly—an almost imperceptible smile.

“For psychological relief to work,” he said gently, “you all need to be obedient…”

“When I say close your eyes—don’t open them halfway through.”

The students obediently closed their eyes. The young psychology teacher began to walk slowly between the rows of desks.

“Psychological relief…”

His voice was soft, as if lacking any strength—each word seemed to float in the air. Yet, the moment it entered the ear, it carried a weight that could not be ignored.

“I don’t think this will be of much use.”

One student, surprised by that statement, lifted his eyelids—only to meet the man’s gaze head-on.

“I said,” the young psychology teacher said calmly, “no opening your eyes without permission.”

The boy hastily shut his eyes again.

“But,” the teacher continued mildly, “the school wants me to give you this lesson anyway.”

His footsteps paused slightly, and Kou Dong felt someone’s breath close by—cold, with no warmth at all.

“Please take a moment,” the teacher said, “to recall what you felt when you saw that scene.”

The classroom slowly filled with murmured replies. One student shivered and honestly said it made them nauseous. Others said they felt nothing; after reading too many news articles lately, they were numb to it.

“No matter what you felt, it’s all normal,” the psychology teacher said, pressing a button in his hand. “Don’t treat your emotions like monsters. Whether fear, joy, sorrow, anxiety—even rage—these are all precious things.”

He lifted his dark, ink-like eyes. His expression was detached.

“Please, learn to treasure them.”

Kou Dong mulled over those words, and the more he thought about them, the more wrong they sounded. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something felt off. A school psychologist saying this… it didn’t sound like he was teaching them to manage emotions at all. On the contrary—

It was more like he was encouraging them to give in to those emotions.

Good emotions could spread, sure. But what about the bad ones?

Kou Dong finally couldn’t help himself and cracked his eyes open just a little. And the moment he did, he regretted it—because he locked eyes with the young psychologist.

The teacher was standing right in front of him; his head was lowered slightly, and his eyes were fixed on him.

“Is there something troubling you, student?” he asked.

Kou Dong met his gaze and was silent for a moment before replying with a small shake of his head.

“No.”

The psychologist’s lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile. His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Then why did you open your eyes?”

Without blinking, Kou Dong responded smoothly, “Because you’re handsome, sir. I just wanted another look.”

The other players: “…???”

Their hearts practically stopped at that moment.

Come on—anyone could see this guy was no ordinary teacher. He had the kind of face that screamed important NPC. If he were just a background character, the system would never have gone to such lengths to make him look like that.

He might even be the final boss.

And Kou Dong… actually dared to flirt with someone who might be the final boss?

Kou Dong, for his part, was innocent. He hadn’t meant it as flirting. With total sincerity, he continued praising him, “With a face like yours, it’d be a crime not to sneak a few extra glances.”

The psychologist’s eyes, obscured by his thin-rimmed glasses, remained unreadable. After a long pause, he smiled faintly.

“I don’t recall seeing you before.”

The class monitor chimed in, “He’s a new transfer student.”

“Transfer student…”

The psychologist repeated the words, then turned his eyes back to Kou Dong.

“If you ever need help,” the teacher said, “you’re welcome to come talk to me anytime.”

Kou Dong felt like he was about to be engulfed by the sea. He replied, “Definitely.”

A few minutes later, a soft instrumental track began playing in the classroom. As the soothing melody drifted through the room, everyone shut their eyes again, listening to the young teacher’s calm, even voice as he described scenes of beaches and waves…

It was a tone that could genuinely put a person at ease. His voice seemed to wash over their hearts like the tide, cleansing every worry. When they finally opened their eyes again, everything felt lighter—like being held gently in a mother’s arms, safe and serene.

Just then, the bell rang to signal the end of class.

Song Hong walked over through the slowly rising crowd of students, stretching his arms above his head. “Man, that felt amazing. It’s like all my stress is gone.”

Kou Dong didn’t respond. He glanced toward the podium and noticed the young psychologist had already vanished—returned to his office at some point without anyone noticing.

“Wanna head back?” Song Hong asked.

Kou Dong nodded and stood up. “Where’s Ah Xue?”

“…?”

It was only then that the two of them noticed the girl was still sitting at her desk, frozen, eyes forward, staring blankly at something. Song Hong waved a hand in front of her face, but she didn’t react at all.

Frowning in concern, Song Hong gave her a firm slap on the back.

Finally, the girl snapped out of it, scowling as she slapped his hand away.

“What the hell?”

“What were you spacing out about?” Song Hong asked. “Your eyes were totally glazed over.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she looked around at the now-empty classroom, surprised.

“Class is over already?”

“What do you think?” Song Hong said, baffled. “It’s been over for a few minutes… didn’t you notice everyone else left?”

Since entering this instance, the girl had seemed off—distracted, absent. Not at all like her usual composed and quiet self.

 

Kou Dong followed her line of sight from earlier, and his brows furrowed slightly.

“Were you looking at Scarface?”

The seat she’d been staring at earlier was exactly where Scarface had been sitting. Originally, his seat was by the side of the room, but after something happened there earlier that day, he’d forced one of the NPCs to switch with him—saying it felt unlucky. His new spot was directly in Ah Xue’s line of sight.

The girl stayed quiet for a moment. It seemed like she had something to say—words right on the tip of her tongue.

But in the end, she just shook her head and avoided the question. She stood from her desk and said softly, “Let’s go.”

It was already 11 p.m., and the sky outside had long turned pitch black. The corridor lights felt ancient and dim, casting a faint glow that didn’t do much to illuminate the halls.

Most students had already left, leaving just the three of them. Their shadows stretched long under the weak lighting—dragging behind them like slow-moving creatures. Kou Dong glanced back several times, only to startle at his own shadow, each time feeling a chill crawl down his spine. When it finally overtook him, he had the eerie sensation that unfamiliar fingers were brushing over him.

 

Crickets chirped in the quiet night. A stray cat suddenly darted out and dove headfirst into a trash can, the rustling sound was loud in the stillness.

The noise startled all three of them. Once they realized it was just a calico, their nerves finally settled again.

The path from the east campus gate to the dorms was a quiet, secluded road.

Leaves rustled in the breeze. Something got into Kou Dong’s eye—it felt gritty, like dust.

He stopped walking and instinctively rubbed his closed eye with one hand.

The two beside him turned around and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Kou Dong wanted to tell them it was just something in his eye, but in that moment—amid the rustling of the wind—he suddenly heard a soft, hoarse laugh.

It wasn’t loud, but it chilled him to the bone.

The voice was unfamiliar, clearly a man’s voice that was both raspy and low. It wasn’t Song Hong’s voice, nor Ah Xue’s.

“…”

Kou Dong’s eyes snapped open. “Who’s there?”

The other two looked at him, confused. “What?”

“The laugh,” Kou Dong said. “Didn’t you hear it?”

Song Hong’s lips pressed into a thin line. He shook his head slowly.

The girl beside them also shook her head, signaling she hadn’t heard anything either.

“Could you have imagined it?”

But Kou Dong didn’t think he was mistaken. In fact, he’d heard the nasal tone in the laugh as clearly as anything else.

—Who was laughing?

He scanned the entire path carefully. Song Hong exchanged a glance with the girl, then pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. The pale beam of light gradually lit up the dark road.

When the light reached a tree shivering in the wind, Kou Dong suddenly froze.

“…What’s that?”

For a second, it was as if the wind stopped blowing.

Everything fell silent, with only the cold moon hanging high in the sky above. Beneath that tree, something pale was huddled against the ground—at first glance, it looked like a white sheet draped over something.

The light moved lower and slowly came to rest on the ground. Under that beam, Kou Dong and the others finally saw clearly what the pale shape poking out from behind the trunk really was.

—It wasn’t a sheet.

It was a dead person’s foot.

Even Ah Xue, usually calm and composed, couldn’t help but gasp softly in shock.

They’d seen dead bodies in the game before. But never had one looked quite like this.

Rather than a corpse, it looked more like a plaster statue—cold, stiff, and unnaturally white. There was no trace of veins, color, or blood flow. From hair to toe, it was pure white.

The body was bloated, puffed up like a jellyfish and stretched to its limit. One touch, and it would be hard as a stone.

The girl’s hand trembled as she brushed aside the messy hair near the corpse’s temple.

“It’s—”

They all recognized the face.

It was the same student who had been accused of theft earlier that day.

“He’s dead.”

Just hours ago, he had been alive, a living, breathing person. Now he laid there with no breath left. The three of them stood in silence, stunned, until the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the path—security guards had rushed over.

 

“You students—step aside!”

“Back up, back up!”

Police cars soon arrived on the scene, their reaction strangely composed, as if this sort of bizarre corpse wasn’t anything new. A few officers carefully lifted the body and laid it flat in the back of a van, one of them giving a low warning:

“Be careful. He’s extremely brittle. He could shatter.”

That word—brittle —sent a chill crawling down all their spines.

The lead officer gave them a once-over. “You three found him?”

They nodded.

He jotted something down on a notepad, then looked back up, tone softening slightly. “You must be frightened. Come with us, we’ll take your statements.”

The three of them climbed into the police van and were taken to the station.

The officers didn’t give them a hard time, they just asked about the time, the place, and whether they knew the victim. Once the basics were recorded, one of the officers rubbed his forehead with his fingers and let out a quiet sigh.

“He’s the fourteenth.”

Song Hong and Kou Dong exchanged a glance. Kou Dong hesitated for a moment, then asked cautiously,

“Officer… can we ask—what’s their cause of death?”

The officer shook his head, letting out a small, bitter laugh.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you—we just haven’t figured it out ourselves.”

Song Hong was surprised. “What about the autopsy reports…?”

“Kid,” the officer replied, “look at that kind of body—do you really think he died an ordinary death?”

—True.

What kind of normal person ended up looking like that after death?

Kou Dong asked carefully, “You mean… he was killed by a ghost?”

“Now, now, we can’t say that.” The officer straightened up, trying for a stern expression, but it lacked real anger. His tone toward Kou Dong was noticeably gentler than with the others. “You’re the future of socialism. How could you say something like that? We believe in materialism here. There’s no such thing as ghosts in our socialist values.”

Future of socialism Kou Dong: “……”

Well, he used to believe that—until one day, while playing a perfectly state-approved dating sim, he accidentally entered a nightmare horror game full of traps and death.

“Maybe it’s some rare virus. Or a genetic disorder,” the officer said vaguely, head bowed as he scribbled in his notebook. “If there’s ever an official conclusion, society will be informed. No need for you kids to worry.”

Song Hong understood now—this NPC wasn’t going to give them much more. He gave Kou Dong a nudge, signaling it was time to go.

But Kou Dong didn’t move. He sat still for a moment, then suddenly asked another question.

“Officer, can I ask—” he looked up, voice casual, “those other thirteen victims… before they died, did they lose their temper?”

The officer lifted his eyes from the notepad, clearly surprised.

“They did. —How’d you know?”

He tapped the tip of his pen against the paper.

“Three of them got into fights with neighbors. Four argued with their spouses. The other six had conflicts with colleagues or business partners. But what does that mean?”

Kou Dong shook his head and smiled, looking completely harmless. With his youthful face, school uniform, and the delicate sliver of pale neck exposed by his collar, he didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

“Oh, nothing. It just popped into my head, so I thought I’d ask,” he said, standing and shouldering his schoolbag again. “If there’s nothing else, we’ll be on our way.”

“Wait,” the officer added suddenly, as if remembering something. “It’s not safe out there right now, and you’re all still minors. I’ve contacted your school—they’re sending someone to pick you up—”

Before he could finish, the door was knocked on twice.

Kou Dong lifted his gaze. The first thing he saw was a pair of long, elegant legs. Then, looking upward, a refined and handsome face.

The young psychology teacher adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and offered them a gentle smile.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I’ve come to pick you up.”

From behind Kou Dong, Song Hong and Ah Xue: “…”

Yeah, no way that was directed at them.

So the real question was:

What was up with this NPC—did he think they were invisible or what?

 

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