Chapter 15: The Enchanting Fox Teacher

Fear is an emotion, one that makes people feel anxious and uneasy. Tension is an emotion too, tightening nerves to the breaking point. When I read the reply to my text message on my phone, my nerves snapped like a kite string cut loose.

[Game Failed!]

Those four words stabbed at my eyes, pierced my mind. I walked to the rooftop like a soulless corpse and gazed at Ye Han’s crumpled body. Suddenly, I felt a wild urge to cry out loud.

Ye Han’s eyes were wide open, pupils contracted, bloodshot and frantic, as if he had glimpsed something terrifying. His mouth hung slightly open, tongue protruding halfway. Both hands were still clutching his own throat…

He had died of suffocation.

From Ye Han’s lifeless gaze, I saw my own helplessness reflected.

“Ah—!”

I threw my head back and howled, venting my despair.

This damned game, it’s simply impossible to complete!

Why did Ye Han have to die? Why? Why not Chen Xin?

I clenched my phone, raised my hand, ready to smash it against the ground with all my strength.

Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to continue this terrifying game.

But just then, I noticed Ye Han’s phone lying near his corpse. The screen was cracked from the fall, but it still displayed the WeChat message page. When I saw the WeChat ID on the screen, I froze.

He sent me a message?

I quickly lowered my hand and opened WeChat on my own phone. Sure enough, there was an unread message from Ye Han.

I clicked it open. Ye Han had written: Tong Yang, I saw it, I saw that terrifying thing…

My brows furrowed—terrifying thing? Did Ye Han really see something?

But nothing else was there except for that message and our previous conversations.

I picked up Ye Han’s phone and saw it was on the editing page, but… there was nothing. He must have been unable to type anything more.

I could imagine that he saw something, was about to tell me, but the sudden suffocation made him abandon his phone and clutch his own throat.

A breeze swept by, perhaps the onset of autumn, carrying a faint chill and a delicate fragrance.

I hadn’t noticed when Ye Xinran appeared behind me. She stood silent and calm, as if the prelude to a storm.

Suddenly, she moved. She strode forward and grabbed my collar, her once charming face now twisted with anger.

“What happened?! Why did Ye Han die here?”

I pushed her hand away and walked to the stairwell. Only now did I realize how foolish I’d been that morning.

I’d thought that with the police’s help, I might clear this damned game, but it was useless. Once I was sure the chemistry teacher wasn’t the one sending the messages, I should have realized the police couldn’t discover anything, couldn’t help me at all.

Everything depended on me alone.

I paused at the stairwell and said, “Class leader, I advise you to stop investigating all this. Otherwise, you may be the next to die.”

I didn’t look at her, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her body shudder as I spoke.

“You don’t need to tell me—I’ll stop investigating anyway, because soon someone else will take our place!”

“It’s pointless. Whoever replaces us, it won’t help. We simply can’t find the killer!” Without waiting for Ye Xinran’s reply, I walked straight down the stairs.

At the school gate, I turned to look back. The sky above the school was cloudless, yet I seemed to see an invisible giant hand looming there, like the reaper slowly harvesting all life from the school.

When I got home, I locked myself in my room, skipping the afternoon classes entirely.

I lay in bed, thinking. Maybe Ye Han was right—there really was something unclean at the school.

Something unclean playing a game—a killing game—with me.

As these thoughts swirled in my mind, my phone suddenly rang.

It was Fatty calling.

“Hello, Fatty!”

“Tong Yang, want to go to Golden Cicada Temple this afternoon?”

“What for?” I was puzzled. I’d heard of Golden Cicada Temple—it was the largest temple in eastern Guangdong, bustling with worshippers from all over.

But to me, such places were just sanctuaries for peace of mind.

Fatty spoke in a low voice: “Didn’t you hear? Ye Han died. I bet he discovered something before he was killed, so I think this curse is real. I checked around, and the abbot at Golden Cicada Temple is said to be amazing, so I thought we could go get a protective charm!”

I hesitated, but finally agreed and arranged a place to meet him.

After putting away my phone, I reached into my pocket and realized I had no money.

I opened the door and found my aunt watching TV in the living room. When I was eleven, I fell seriously ill, and my parents left me because of that illness.

I never understood why, though I’d asked my aunt many times. She always said there were reasons and told me not to resent them.

Honestly, I wouldn’t say I hated them. I remembered nothing from before my illness—not even what my parents looked like—so there was nothing to resent.

“Auntie, I’m going out with Fatty this afternoon… Could you give me a hundred yuan?”

My aunt dug out her wallet as she asked, “No classes this afternoon?”

I hesitated and replied, “No teachers are holding class, so I don’t need to go.”

“Here! Two hundred yuan—buy yourself something you like.” She handed me the money.

I thanked her, took the cash, and hurried out, feeling guilty for lying.

I arrived at the meeting spot, but Fatty was late. I waited half an hour before he finally showed up, panting.

“Sorry, sorry! Something came up!”

I was a little annoyed. “What happened? We were supposed to meet at a set time—now you’re thirty minutes late!”

“Let’s go! My fault, lunch’s on me later!”

And so, Fatty and I took a cab to Golden Cicada Temple.

The temple was indeed grand, but I had no mood for awe. We followed the rituals—lighting incense, donating, going through the motions.

At last, we came to the place to request charms. Both Fatty and I got one, and as we were about to leave, the monk who gave us the charms called out to me.

“Wait, benefactor!”

I pointed at myself in confusion. “Are you talking to me?”

The monk nodded.

I asked him what was wrong.

He simply smiled at me and shook his head. “Nothing, thank you.”

I was even more perplexed. Was it possible the monk had noticed something?

Clinging to a faint hope, I pressed further, “Master, do I have some problem?”

The monk shook his head. “Why do you say that?”

“I…” I faltered.

Fatty tugged at me, “Tong Yang, let’s go—it's getting late!”

Back home after dinner, I kept wondering what the monk meant.

Thinking and thinking, I drifted off to sleep.

I had a dream: everyone at school was dead, only I remained. I searched everywhere for someone, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find anyone.

Suddenly, someone called my name. I ran towards the voice, but a bottomless abyss opened beneath my feet and I plunged down.

I screamed in terror!

“Tong Yang? Hurry up and eat!”

I realized then—I’d been dreaming, and the person calling me was my aunt.

I wiped my forehead, soaked in cold sweat—this dream was so damned vivid.

Today was Sunday—no classes—but I kept my eyes glued to my phone, afraid I’d receive another text message.

I finally breathed easy. Until nightfall, no messages arrived, and I relaxed.

The next day, I returned to school. Monday—a new beginning, or perhaps the start of another round of death.

Ye Xinran’s desk was empty. She was gone.

I received her WeChat message, saying the authorities had decided to withdraw her, because these events were beyond ordinary understanding.

I forced a bitter smile. Leaving was the right choice. If they kept investigating, even if they found something, they’d end up like Ye Han.

Suddenly, the number of students in class seemed much reduced, and I felt strangely unsettled.

Just then, the homeroom teacher entered, and from the podium, announced two things. First, that the class leader’s family had an incident, so she would take a leave of absence.

But I knew she would never return.

Second, we had a new chemistry teacher. The previous one had resigned, prompting complaints from many girls and cheers from some boys.

At that moment, a voluptuous woman entered the classroom. Though dressed in the same professional attire as the homeroom teacher, her figure was impossible to ignore. Her long, slender legs and the allure of her curves created an untouchable sense of distance.

Her ash-blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders. Her phoenix-shaped eyes carried a hint of severity, yet radiated irresistible charm—one glance and you were lost.

Her delicate, pink lips curved with a confident smile.

What a stunning beauty!

I thought to myself: Damn, what kind of chemistry teacher is this? She’s practically a seductress!

Many boys in the class stared at her, entranced.

I watched as the new chemistry teacher stepped onto the podium, making even the homeroom teacher seem dull in comparison. She parted her lips and said, “Hello, everyone. My name is Chen Bing. I’m your new chemistry teacher. Please take care of me from now on.”

“Hello, teacher!” As soon as she finished introducing herself, the boys in class responded in unison.

I didn’t join them—not because I wasn’t captivated, but because having such a beautiful teacher was a rare delight.

After all, I was a teenage boy.

But their infatuation made them forget all about the unsettling “curse,” leaving their anxiety behind.

Maybe that was for the best.

The reason I didn’t join in was because, at that moment, my phone vibrated.

In other words, the new game had begun.

[Within three hours, one person in the class will die from hatred. Choose the correct target to clear the game. Hint: The most beautiful often hides unknown dangers…]