“Shen Junxing, are you there?”
The person on the other end of the chat app replied immediately: “What’s wrong, Little Yu?”
Tang Yu curled up under the covers, the cold glow of the screen illuminating his slightly neurotic, anxiously darting blue eyes. He quickly typed: “There’s something I want to tell you. It might sound absurd, but I swear everything I’m saying is true!”
His words were a bit jumbled. The person on the other end responded patiently: “Little Yu, I’ll always believe you. I’m here with you.”
Tang Yu could almost picture Shen Junxing’s gentle, reliable face and his forever calm, unhurried tone. Those words brought a sliver of comfort to Tang Yu’s taut nerves.
Shen Junxing—his closest childhood friend—had always looked out for him, helping with problems big and small. Like a light that had shone into the dark corners of his life.
“Lately, I keep feeling like there’s always a pair of eyes watching me. No matter what I’m doing, no matter where I am, even when I’m back in my room with the curtains drawn and hiding under the covers—I can’t shake this sense of being watched. It follows me like a shadow.”
His shoulder blades trembled slightly, the muscles along his back tensed from the ever-present feeling of being spied on. The pale skin made the elegant lines of his bones stand out even more.
“I’m not being overly sensitive. I’m not paranoid. I’m certain—someone is following me!”
As he typed this, his blue eyes began to dart about again, bloodshot veins creeping across the whites. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and, trembling, continued: “This morning, when I got up, I couldn’t find the sock I took off before bed. I muttered about it, then went to wash up. When I came back out—the missing sock was lying right on my bed!”
“But I checked the bed before I went to the bathroom! I even redid the whole bed looking for it. It wasn’t there!”
The fabric of the blanket swallowed his crossed legs, exposing only pale ankles and unconscious, curled toes peeking from beneath his pants.
“I wanted to run out of the room, but I was afraid someone might be hiding in the living room. So I searched my bedroom first. You know my room—you can tell at a glance if anyone’s in there. The wardrobe has tiny cubbies, too small for anyone unless they can shrink their bones. The bed is really low—even a cat can’t crawl underneath. The curtains are short—if someone was hiding behind them, I’d see them right away.”
“There was no one in the bedroom. So I locked the door from the inside.”
“I called the police. They said they’d be here soon.”
His long lashes trembled uncontrollably. A sickly flush spread over his thin eyelids. He looked like he was about to cry. “But… but that feeling came back again… that sense that someone’s in the room with me…”
“Shen Junxing, I don’t know what to do anymore… Shen Junxing…”
He clutched his phone tightly, like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. More than anything, he wished Shen Junxing could appear at his side right now.
“Ding-dong!”
Tang Yu’s phone suddenly vibrated, a message popped up.
Shen Junxing: “[Video]”
A strange video.
Dim lighting. A high angle. A large bed. The shape under the blanket looked like someone curled up. The curtain on the left side of the bed was tightly drawn. The wardrobe on the right side stood wide open.
Tang Yu’s stiff neck creaked as he turned to look right. He was as motionless as a broken puppet, his dazed blue eyes fixed on the screen—on that strangely familiar yet foreign image.
Shen Junxing: “[Video]”
The video was nearly black-and-white. Scattered bits of clutter were visible—crumpled paper, clothes hangers, snack wrappers… At the end of the frame, a pair of slippers lay haphazardly.
It was a view from under the bed.
Because the bed was so low, it was nearly impossible to clean underneath. Even Tang Yu had never seen so clearly what was there.
Shen Junxing: “[Video]”
Dim lighting again. Still the bedroom—but from a different angle. From the side this time, where you could see the shape of the person under the blanket.
Shen Junxing: “[Video]”
Another new angle of the bedroom.
Shen Junxing: “[Video]”
A slightly messy bathroom, damp footprints on the floor.
Shen Junxing: “[Video]”
A bright living room—a jacket casually thrown on the couch, flowers on the coffee table, milk on the dining table.
Shen Junxing: “[Video]”
A tidy kitchen.
Shen Junxing: “[Video]”
A small balcony, a few clothes swaying lightly on the hanger.
“Ding-dong!”
“Ding-dong!”
“Ding-dong!”
“Ding-dong!”
The phone kept ringing. The eerie notification sounds filled the not-so-large bedroom, grinding against Tang Yu’s frayed nerves.
After a moment, the lump under the blanket in the video moved.
Slowly, a face tilted upward, revealed under the dim light. The moment that face appeared quietly in the frame, the video seemed to burst into vibrant color.
It was a face of overwhelming visual impact.
If you blocked out the bulging veins on the forehead, the furrowed brows, the flushed blue eyes—just looking at the upturned corners of the lips—it looked like a smile.
The slender neck seemed barely able to support the emotional weight of the head. It swayed slightly. The smile lifted, then fell again—finally freezing in a smile that looked ready to burst into tears.
Shen Junxing: “Little Yu, don’t be afraid.”
Tang Yu saw the figure in the videos, from all those different angles, crawling out from under the blanket, staggering, even falling, pale feet slipping out from beneath the covers.
Shen Junxing: “I checked for you. There’s no one else in the house.”
He saw that figure stumble like a madman out of the bedroom.
Shen Junxing: “You are really the only one.”
The lips were open, the teeth were clenched, and the skin on the neck kept stretching with the heavy breathing, as if there was a violently beating heart hidden in the neck.
His childhood sweetheart, the sunny and upright Shen Junxing.
Prying eyes. Shadowy figures lurking in the shadows.
Tang Yu heard his own heavy breathing. He was barefoot on the icy floor, head spinning, the world seeming to turn upside down. The hand holding his phone dropped weakly, letting the relentless message alerts ring out one after another like alarm sirens.
His limp hand trembled as it grasped the doorknob. Tang Yu struggled to pull open a narrow crack in the door—only to freeze completely the next second. His shrinking blue pupils brimmed with terror and pain, almost solidifying into substance. “Shen…”
“Little Yu.”
Shen Junxing stood outside the door, half his figure engulfed in shadow, his whole body split between light and darkness.
He had a naturally smiling face, with rimless glasses perched on his high nose bridge. His narrow eyes, hidden behind the lenses, always seemed to carry an indistinct, gentle smile. Yet if one looked closer, they led only to an unfathomable depth.
Right now, that handsome face was filled with unmistakable worry and concern: “Are you alright? I’m here.”
Clatter—Tang Yu’s phone fell straight to the floor. The screen lit up, packed with countless unread messages, all from Shen Junxing:
“Why aren’t you wearing shoes? Be careful not to catch cold.”
“Walk slower, don’t fall.”
“Why are you always wrapped in a blanket, are you cold?”
…
“Don’t worry, I’ll always be with you.”
“I came to find you.”
With a loud bang, Tang Yu slammed the door shut. The action seemed to drain the last of his strength. His back pressed against the wooden panel as he slid slowly down, torrents of tears spilling from his blue eyes, streaking across his blank face in panic and disorder.
Suddenly, knocking sounded, making Tang Yu’s whole body jolt.
Knock, knock, knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
…
The unhurried, deliberate rhythm was just like Shen Junxing himself—calm and steady in everything he did.
Tang Yu covered his ears helplessly.
How could it be Shen Junxing…
He had just called the police…
If the police came, would Shen Junxing’s future be ruined? If word spread, would people point fingers at him…
The excellent Shen Junxing.
The Shen Junxing who had always taken care of him.
“Shen… Junxing…”
“Delete it all… clean everything away…” Tang Yu’s trembling voice dropped to a whisper, almost inaudible. “I’ll just… pretend nothing ever happened…”
The knocking stopped.
In its place came a reply, gentle yet tinged with pleasure: “Alright.”
…
A long, pale hand tightened around the doorknob, veins standing out.
The door creaked open just a sliver.
Tang Yu held his breath, rose on tiptoe, and carefully slipped out. His blue eyes, hidden under the brim of his cap, darted left and right, scanning his surroundings.
Seeing no trace of Shen Junxing, he quickly stepped into the elevator. But as his fingertip brushed the button, Tang Yu suddenly looked up—staring at the security camera above.
The black lens blinked with a tiny red light.
A fragile line stretched taut along the side of his pale neck. Tang Yu took a shuddering breath, trying to dispel the crushing weight in his chest. He rushed out of the elevator and turned toward the dark stairwell.
Switching on his phone’s flashlight, he stumbled down, footsteps heavy then light, the stairwell’s sensor lamps flickering on and off.
In the dead of night, every footstep roared like thunder, shaking Tang Yu’s pounding, fearful heart.
Faster.
Faster!
He had to leave before Shen Junxing noticed!
Ding-dong!
A sudden notification sound froze him in place. His blood vessels at the temple throbbed with pounding beats, like war drums.
Coach: “It’s too late now, Tang Yu. Shouldn’t you wait until tomorrow to move to the new dorm?”
The moment he saw the contact’s name, the heart stuck in his throat dropped back down.
Weak all over, Tang Yu leaned against the stair rail, fingers trembling as he typed: “Thank you for your concern, coach. But I’ve already set off.”
Coach: “Alright, be careful on the way. Message me once you arrive.”
Tang Yu shut off his phone. In the dark reflection of the black screen, a blurry human face appeared—eyes and mouth faintly open in despair.
He didn’t need a mirror to know how wretched he looked.
Flipping the phone back over, he turned the light on again and pressed forward, panting inside his mask. His hot breath fogged the inside, making the narrow space heavy and stifling.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His feet descended the damp, cold steps, one after another, endlessly downward—like falling into a nightmare with no bottom.
At some point, he tugged at his mask, letting a rush of icy air hit his skin. His panicked, muddled brain cleared for an instant—
Wait. He was wearing a black cap and a mask. So why had he just seen a whole face reflected on his phone screen?
The mask pressed back onto his skin, sealing his nose and mouth like a pair of invisible hands.
Tang Yu’s head jerked stiffly, movements like a porcelain doll’s.
The stairwell light clicked off from the silence, plunging everything into pitch black. With his sight stolen, every sound was amplified.
“Little Yu, where are you going?” A gentle voice floated over.
…Ha.
His blue eyes widened under the brim, bloodshot veins crawling across the whites. Behind the mask, his lips parted, warm breath spilling inside.
“Lunatic.”
He muttered.
“Little Yu, what are you saying?”
Tang Yu stared blankly into the dark at Shen Junxing’s faintly glowing blue player panel. He thought—Shen Junxing was driving him insane. Turning him into a lunatic too.
“Little Yu.” The voice drew closer, the presence in the dark bending down, nearly pressing against his trembling body on the stair.
No—don’t—don’t come closer!
Smack!
The stairwell light snapped on at the same time a hand lashed across Shen Junxing’s face. His glasses tilted on the bridge of his nose from the blow.
…What just happened?
Tang Yu’s blue eyes widened in disbelief. He stared at Shen Junxing’s slightly turned head, at the crooked glasses, at those dark eyes finally laid bare before him—
Eyes black as a bottomless sea in the night. And yet suddenly, a moon rose overhead, its light scattering across every wave.
Shen Junxing fixed his gaze on some invisible point, as if staring at that moonlight.
A chill ran down Tang Yu’s back. Uncontrollably, he shouted: “Don’t come near me!”
Snatching back his trembling hand, he stumbled down the stairs. Halfway, he turned back in alarm, only to see the frozen figure finally move—
Shen Junxing raised a hand and straightened his glasses.
Tang Yu whipped his gaze away in panic and fled downward, running until he burst out of the complex. At the road’s end, a bus to campus appeared, and he waved frantically.
The bus stopped. Tang Yu glanced once more at the pitch-dark complex before rushing aboard. Without even swiping his card, he pleaded breathlessly: “Driver, please—go, go!”
The doors shut with a heavy thud.
Tang Yu stared fixedly out the window, not noticing the bus’s security camera above his head flickering on with a red glow.
The engine rumbled. The bus moved.
Tang Yu collapsed into a seat by the window, clutching his chest with trembling hands. After a while, he covered his eyes, shoulders shaking with the jolts of the ride—like a child crying silently after doing something wrong.
He didn’t know how long it was before he quieted down. Eventually, he drifted into uneasy sleep.
Outside, the scenery kept changing. The bus lights flickered, spilling into his restless dreamscape, disturbing his slumber.
Then, suddenly—ding.
It was as if a pale hand had shaken the bell of fate.
A cold mechanical voice rang, devoid of human emotion:
“Countdown to server launch of Anomaly Resurgence.”
What?
Still half-dreaming, Tang Yu stirred.
“Three.”
His blue eyes cracked open, pale skin damp with sweat and tear tracks.
“Two.”
Wait—that voice… it sounded like… like it was… coming from inside his head?
“One.”
The bus doors opened. Laughter and hurried footsteps flooded in.
“Game start.”
Tang Yu raised his head in a daze, only to see a group of people with player panels above them, excitedly logging in.
