Chapter Two: Whispering Night

Lin Ruo pressed against the locked door, sweat soaking her back. Beyond the seam, the shadows drew closer, their footsteps a chaotic tide. The flashlight trembled in her hand, casting jagged shadows from the towering shelves. She bit her lip, forcing herself to think.

"I can't go out," she murmured. "I need a hiding place."Scanning the hall, she spotted a narrow passage between the shelves, leading to a distant door. She grabbed her bag and ran, her steps echoing like mocking laughter. The passage was dim, the air thick with a rancid stench—blood and rotting wood. Passing a shelf, her light caught a blackened book, its cover charred. She didn't stop; the footsteps behind her quickened—the shadows had breached the library.

She slammed into the door, fumbled it open, and locked it behind her. The room was small, its walls lined with shelves, a table at the center bearing a flickering oil lamp. She frowned—no one was here, so who lit it?

"Lin Ruo…"The hoarse voice rasped again, closer, as if pressed to her ear. She spun, sweeping the light—nothing. Swallowing hard, she approached the table. The lamp's glow illuminated an open book—crimson, identical to the one in the hall. Her hand reached out instinctively.

The pages flipped on their own, no breeze to stir them. The first page bore a single line in bloody script: You're here. Her pulse surged. Her fingers grazed the edge, and the book snapped shut with a crack like breaking bone. She yanked her hand back, a sting flaring at her fingertips—a thin scratch wept blood.

"Damn it…" She rummaged in her bag for Zhang Ran's log. Flipping to the last page, the unfinished Page thirteen must not— stared back, but beneath it, faint letters emerged in the blank space: It knows who you are.

She slammed the log shut, scalp prickling. The lamp flared, and a low tapping echoed from the walls—like nails clawing wood. She aimed the light; black liquid seeped from the cracks, tracing a pattern—a twisted symbol, an eye-like shape. She squinted as it pulsed.

"Lin Ruo…"The voice came from beneath the table. She looked down; the lamp's glow cast a shadow, as if someone crouched there. She stumbled back, shining the light—empty. Yet the shadow stretched, crawling toward her.

"Get away!" she shouted. Her voice reverberated, drowned by a chorus of whispers—countless voices murmuring nonsense, chilling her bones. She clutched her ears, but the sound burrowed into her skull. Something shifted behind her; she turned as books tumbled from the shelf, pages scattering like torn flesh. One landed open—its red cover bore her name: Lin Ruo.

Her breath caught. She reached for it; the pages flipped, blank at first, then bleeding red, forming words: You shouldn't have come back.Her heart stopped. She dropped the book, scrambling to her feet as the floor oozed black liquid from the walls. She lifted her shoe; a scrap of paper stuck to it—Zhang Ran's missing page. Trembling, she picked it up. It bore the same symbol, with tiny text: Speak it, and it wakes.

Her head spun. Speak what? The symbol twisted before her eyes, the room melting. The lamp turned crimson, the walls wept faster. Pain stabbed her neck; more scratches bloomed, as if clawed repeatedly.

"Lin Ruo…"A clear voice sounded behind her. She turned; a shadow loomed in the doorway—tall, faceless, head tilted, arms dragging. It advanced, bones cracking with each step. She tried to scream, but her throat locked. It pointed at her wrist; the symbol flared, searing her skin.

"Speak it…" Its voice layered countless tones, grating her ears. Her mind flashed—a child in Wuyin Town, fog everywhere, a faceless figure handing her a book. She didn't recall who, but the cover matched the one now haunting her.

She snapped back; the shadow lunged, hand outstretched. "Stop!" she cried.It froze, as if bound by her command. The whispers grew louder, chanting her name. Her wrist burned; the symbol writhed beneath her skin. The door thudded—more shadows outside, ramming it. She grabbed her bag, but the book on the table flipped open—page thirteen, no longer blank, crawling with red script like insects.

Her vision blurred, consciousness sinking. She saw a pit, pale hands reaching up. A faceless figure stood at the edge, holding a book, turning to her. She screamed, waking to find the shadow gone, the pounding silent.

She gasped, wrist still throbbing. The log now read: You've already begun.The lamp extinguished, plunging her into darkness. A growl rumbled from beneath the table. She aimed the light—a pale hand emerged, claws sharp, lunging for her.

She shrieked, dodging as the flashlight fell, its beam spinning wildly, revealing walls covered in the eye-like symbol. She grabbed her bag and rammed the door open, fleeing into the hall. The shadows were gone, but a thicker stench of blood filled the air.

At the library's entrance, she glanced back—the room's door shut, a laugh echoing, childlike yet ancient. She ran into the fog, heart pounding over the whispers.