Chapter 34: Would You Still Love Me If I Were Bald? (34)

Late at night, the moon hung high overhead. In the art room rumored to be the most terrifying, sticky breaths intertwined for a long time before finally subsiding.

Even though Shen Ji had tried his best to protect her, in their moment of mutual abandon, Bai Yao’s back had still accidentally knocked against the cold wall. Now, she felt a deep ache in her back and waist. Yet the boy seemed insatiable, already attempting to lift her leg again.

Bai Yao feebly kicked him, her voice weak. "Enough, I need to rest."

Shen Ji stilled his passionate thoughts, cradling Bai Yao in his arms as he helped her dress. One arm held her close, the other deftly fastening the buttons of her shirt. As for his heart, it was at this moment safely nestled in Bai Yao’s hands.

He cared little for his own heart—if Bai Yao hadn’t protected it in time, who knew into which dark corner it might have rolled. All Bai Yao had to do was sit quietly in his embrace, moving not at all, watching as he buttoned her shirt one-handed. His fingers had grown ever more agile. The images from just a little while ago drifted through her mind, and her cheeks warmed again.

Shen Ji’s eyes sparkled. “Yao Yao, do you still want to…”

“No, I don’t,” she replied before he could finish.

He let out a disappointed “Oh.”

Bai Yao thought to herself that having her heart in his possession was truly inconvenient—he could sense her every emotion. Of course, she’d been acting as if bewitched tonight, actually letting herself tumble with him here.

She absently stroked the heart pulsing in her palm, much as one might absentmindedly pet a dog.

Shen Ji ran his hand through her long hair, gently tidying the tousled strands. He stole a few glances at her face, but did not dare make a sound.

Bai Yao looked up. “What do you want to say?”

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Yao Yao, don’t you want to ask me anything?”

She leaned back against him, utterly at ease. “When you’re ready to tell me, I’ll naturally know.”

Perhaps it was Bai Yao’s indulgence that gave Shen Ji courage. Now, certain Bai Yao would not abandon him, he said softly, “I’ve been trapped here since before this school was even built.”

Bai Yao lifted her face to him.

The story Shen Ji told stretched back a hundred years. At that time, this place was nothing but a poor and backward little village, so steeped in superstition that they believed all misfortune could be transferred onto a single offering—a sacrifice—so their own lives might be blessed.

The so-called selection of a sacrifice should have involved birthdates and auspicious times, but in the end, they settled on their choice with chilling ease—a toddler, sold off by impoverished parents who could no longer feed all their children.

He was only two then. Before leaving home, he’d been squatting in a pair of split-crotch trousers, idly scribbling with a stick in the dirt, knowing nothing of what was to come, when a stranger carried him away.

He was locked in a tiny room.

He had cried and made a fuss, but no one came to comfort him. Sometimes he was beaten, sometimes left hungry for a whole day. Gradually, he learned to be silent.

In those years, no one taught him to read or write, and no one spoke with him. The only way he could pass the time was by painting what he saw with water upon the tabletop. But the water would always dry before he finished.

More and more villagers gathered outside, their gazes hungry as they stared through the window at him, pouring out their wishes, hoping he would absorb their misfortune and bad luck.

He understood none of this. With time, his little prison expanded, and finally the entire campus was built around it. Still, his world remained confined to a single room with a window.

At eighteen, someone asked if he wanted anything. He asked for art supplies. He received a set—cheap, but the first thing in his life he’d ever wanted.

It was then that someone announced the ceremony should begin.

Shen Ji said, “And then I died. But it’s alright. Even though they dug out my heart, I still managed to preserve my bones!”

His tone was light, as if telling a story about someone else, and as he looked at the person in his arms, he even managed a smile.

He had summarized his death with a single phrase, “I died,” but Bai Yao could imagine well enough the torments he must have endured.

A heart cut from his chest, bones scored with wounds, and that dreadful fire…

Bai Yao buried her face against his chest, closed her eyes, and murmured, “Did my heart tell you anything?”

Shen Ji wrapped his arms around her and answered softly, “You’re feeling sorry for me.”

Bai Yao said nothing.

Shen Ji grinned brightly, “Yao Yao, I wasn’t really pitiful. They never thought their ritual would turn me into a ghost, and then—I burned them all to ash!”

He paused, adding, “Except for one half-dead man I let escape. But I wasn’t foolish—that was entirely intentional.”

Before they burned his body, his heart had been spirited away. He could not leave the campus, so to retrieve his heart, he had to resort to cunning.

Over the years, he occasionally granted the wishes of a few desperate souls, thus spreading the rumors about the art room. Sure enough, driven by greed, the descendants of the one who stole his heart eventually came seeking him.

Humans were ever arrogant, believing that knowing a ghost’s weakness would force the ghost to obey. Little did they know that once they entered his domain, their lives hung by his whim.

The villagers involved in that old crime were all dead, but their descendants were cursed. No matter how wealthy, eventually they were compelled to come here and play his deadly game—otherwise, their entire families would be dragged down.

Gradually, countless rumors sprang up: only the wealthy students who graduated from this school could bring prosperity to their clans.

For the sake of profit, the rich sent their children here in droves, fully aware of the dangers.

A century ago, people were greedy. A century later, nothing had changed. Humanity was slow to learn.

Bai Yao nestled in his arms and spoke softly, “For a hundred years, you’ve never left this place.”

Shen Ji lowered his gaze, guilt clouding his eyes. “Yao Yao, I’m sorry. I can’t go with you to the outside world.”