The tenebrous library

The tapping stopped for a moment, the air became eerily quiet, even the ticking of the watch sounded piercing. His heart beat faster, countless thoughts flashing through his mind: "Did Tom hear it? Or something else?"

He felt an inexplicable tension, his palms slightly sweating. He whispered, "Jason, is there any movement?"

Before the watch could answer, a slight vibration came from the wall, as if something was responding. Just as he was about to speak, the surrounding scenery suddenly twisted, the gray walls of the hallway melting into a dim light and shadow, and the floor tilted beneath his feet. He cried out in alarm, "What's going on?" His body was weightless, as if falling into an abyss. He instinctively gripped his backpack, the hammer nearly slipping from his grasp.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself standing in a huge space, no longer the hallways of the Philosophy Hall, but a dimly lit library. Bookshelves towered into the clouds, arranged densely, stretching as far as the eye could see, the air filled with a musty smell of old paper.

He stood frozen in place, his heart pounding, his mind a mess: "Where am I? I got in?" He looked down and saw the hammer still in his hand, the watch ticking in his pocket.

He felt a chill rising from his feet, thoughts swirling in his mind: "The tapping was the entrance? I answered and came in? Is Tom here?" He forced himself to calm down, took a deep breath, and looked around. The library was dimly lit, with only a few oil lamps hanging high above emitting a faint light. The spines of the books on the shelves were blurred, some even seemed blank. In the distance, white lights seemed to be moving back and forth.

Alex stood in the dimly lit library, the wooden floor beneath his feet cold and damp, the air filled with the musty smell of old paper, mingled with a hint of indescribable decay. He gripped the hammer tightly, his knuckles slightly white, his gaze slowly sweeping around. Bookshelves towered like giant trees, densely arranged, disappearing into the darkness, a few oil lamps hanging high above flickering with a weak light, casting long shadows.

He composed himself, forcing himself to calm down. It was eerily quiet, with only the watch ticking in his pocket, as if reminding him of the passage of time. He remembered the mysterious tapping, the intermittent Morse code – "black book" – perhaps it was a clue.

Alex started walking, cautiously moving forward, the floorboards creaking under his feet, the sound echoing particularly sharply in the empty space. He first observed the surrounding environment: the bookshelves were so tall that he couldn't see the top, the surface of the wood was mottled, some cracked into fine lines, as if gnawed at by the years.

The paths between the bookshelves were narrow, only allowing one person to pass sideways, and fine particles of dust floated in the air, faintly visible in the halo of the oil lamps. In the distance, a few white lights drifted in the darkness, like floating fireflies, moving back and forth between the bookshelves.

He frowned, stopped, and stared at the white lights. They moved slowly and regularly, like someone patrolling with a lantern. But this was the Other Side, and he didn't dare to trust any appearance. Was it a person, or... something else? He remembered Scarlett's words – some things in the Other Side were smarter and crueler than the Echoes. He decided to keep his distance first, not rushing to approach.

He casually reached out to the bookshelf beside him and took down a book. The cover was rough, feeling like old leather, the edges were yellowed, and some places were even cracked. He opened the pages, but was stunned: the writing inside was distorted and unfamiliar, like some ancient hieroglyphics, the curved lines and dotted symbols completely unreadable. He flipped through a few pages, and it was the same, some pages even only had blurred ink marks, as if they had been soaked in water.

He pulled the watch out of his pocket and tapped the case: "Jason, can you understand this?" The watch ticked a few times, and Jason's lazy voice sounded: "Don't ask me, kid, I'm just a watch. I can't recognize any of these words. In this place, each area has its own rules, some even have their own history. I can only tell you, this book wasn't written for the living."

Alex frowned and put the book back in its place, a feeling of unease rising in his heart: "Not written for the living... then for whom?" He looked around, those white lights still drifting in the distance, flickering, as if luring him closer. He shook his head, deciding to bypass them first and explore another path.