TEG 7
Chapter 7: Inside and Out
Thump, thump!
Heavy footsteps sounded twice in quick succession.
Bang!
A muffled object struck the door frame, followed by the soft sound of soil scattering.
Jingle jingle jingle—the eerie copper bells rang outside the door.
The hurried thuds and footsteps exited, and the bell sound trailed away like a ghost.
Jingle jingle, jingle jingle.
After a moment, the only sound around Zhou Xiangyue was the rustling of the layered costumes swaying.
…Was he gone?
After a short pause, Zhou Xiangyue slowly relaxed his grip and climbed down from the hanging clothes.
So he’d used a costume to suspend himself—smart move.
His limbs were weak and wobbly as he crawled out, but thankfully he had guessed correctly. The Pear Garden courtyard was festooned with copper bells—not just for decoration. Clearly, the troupe master feared something—something only these bells could ward off.
He feared ghosts.
Just now, Zhou Xiangyue had placed the blood-stained embroidered shoes under a costume. From outside, it looked like a pair of feet protruding beneath the robe. The troupe master, lifting the costume with a start, would likely confront those shoes directly.
It was dangerous—draw a ghost to scare a ghost—but Zhou had no other choice. And incredibly, the trick worked: the ghost chased the troupe master away!
Let the two fight each other; it gave Zhou Xiangyue precious breathing room.
He paused a moment, then continued climbing. His waist and thigh were tangled in midair among the garments, his head dangling near the wooden crossbeam—its intersecting frame scratched, with dirty reddish stains. He crawled closer to inspect.
The scratches were deep and jagged, dyed a sinister red. Following them along the wood, he found carved words.
Sketched crudely at first, they grew clearer further along. They read:
“Death… Death… Pain… Pain… Pain…”
“Save me… Save me… Help…”
“Run… Run… Dream… Pray-dream…”
A new chill creeped over him. Pray-dream? He recalled the troupe master mentioning “praying in dreams” during performances. Pray for what? Who?
Suddenly, his forehead knocked into the wood. He’d reached the end of the frame near the wall. There, in dim moonlight, another row of characters had been cut into the wood in bluish-black strokes:
“You… cannot… escape…”
Zhou Xiangyue sat cross-legged against the frame, gazing at the words, pondering. After a moment, he muttered to himself, "Maybe it's unwise to… no matter, nobody will see this."
With that, he reached behind and took a small sharp stone, carving into the rotten wood: “○ was here” — the symbol looked like a crescent or a boat replacing the name, then “was here.”
He tossed the stone aside. The live comments burst with shock and laughter.
Noticing the change, he turned to inspect the costumes. Up until then, the masks had all faced outward—but now, each one had rotated inward, as if watching him silently.
Zhou Xiangyue casually reached out to one dark green robe. The silky fabric was cool and supple, embroidered with gold vines—it felt almost alive. It was worn, but surprisingly luxurious.
He slipped it on.
His slender shoulders, thin waist—this body was sickly pale and frail, barely able to break a branch. He shrugged disdainfully, as if annoyed by his own fragility. This wasn’t his real body—he remembered being a two-meter-tall strongman...
Suddenly, a soft beep and notification popped up with a tone:
“You received 98 downvotes, fine 10 nightmare coins.”
He checked: “viewers” count was 0—“No one is watching you! No one!”
He froze.
Then he spun around to stand—but in the silence, he felt a breath behind him. He turned: no ghost, only a green robe swaying gently.
Probably the echo of his own breath.
Relieved, he braced himself and stood up.
Plop—a drop of liquid fell at his feet.
He looked down.
The costume in front of him bulged, revealing a face behind it. Sunken black eye sockets stared at him. Another drop of dark red liquid dripped onto his pale hand.
He froze, heart pounding as moonlight dimmed.
