Giving Interstellar Players a Horror Ghost Game Shock - Chapter 98

Before entering the game tournament, aside from playing the demo version, the Central Military Academy had watched the trailer again and again, even slowed it down to 0.5x speed to study every detail thoroughly.

The old woman who had a long close-up in the trailer was, of course, one of the key NPCs they focused on. They believed she would be vital to the main storyline and made a firm decision: if they ever met her, they had to cling tightly to her and dig for clues.

But who would have thought that when they actually met this old lady, she was nothing like the trailer—no longer kind and concerned toward players. On the contrary, she acted more like a ghost than a ghost, and even seemed desperate to avoid them.

An Zhi frowned slightly and glanced at the current storyline task.

The second game still hadn’t been completed for some unknown reason—based on Ji Yu’s words, she suspected it was because something unclean had infiltrated the team and they hadn’t truly escaped from the Yin-Yang Road.

And now, they were about to begin the third game—Pen Fairy.

They had already been playing for nearly an hour, and yet they still hadn’t uncovered the true core of this game. They were merely passively enduring the fear it dished out.

Even more importantly, Ji Yu seemed to be in danger… The feeling of being unable to take control of the situation was making An Zhi increasingly irritated.

She even felt a strong urge to kick the old woman’s door open and force her to spill everything she knew.

But Sheng Qingye—being who she was—immediately picked up on An Zhi’s twitching index finger and the fleeting glance she gave the door. In a flash, she grabbed An Zhi’s arm and stopped her.

“Don’t be rash!” Sheng Qingye whispered.

Unlike most military academy students, Sheng Qingye had always been a fan of games, especially puzzle and deduction games.

Because of that, she had a decent grasp of how various mechanics worked. She knew that in a situation like this, it was likely that they didn’t meet the conditions needed to trigger this NPC. Forcing an encounter might actually lead to unwanted consequences.

An Zhi clicked her tongue in frustration, but in the end, she didn’t dare risk missing crucial clues because of her recklessness. Begrudgingly, she followed Ah Yuan and the others upstairs.

After their footsteps faded away, the door that had just been shut slowly creaked open again. The old woman cautiously peeked through the crack, her bloodshot, murky eyes staring hard at the hallway outside—filled with both warning and fear, as if countless unspeakable monsters lurked beyond.

She was unconsciously biting her thumb, looking nervous and unhinged, nothing like the wise, kindly figure she’d appeared to be in the trailer.

“What should I do… What do I do… If I don’t warn them soon, they’ll never get out!”

“But they are watching… I can’t… I mustn’t…”

The lights in her room were off, but it wasn’t completely dark. On the four corners of the tables and shelves, a single red candle burned on each.

The overlapping glow of the four candles formed a rectangular pattern on the floor. At the very center of it sat a bl00d-red high-heeled shoe, which clearly did not belong to the old lady.

A faint red glint flickered over the shoe—and suddenly, the candles at the corners began burning faster.

The old woman turned around just in time to see this. Her expression changed.

“Oh no! Why is the consumption rate so fast this time?!”

She hastily pulled out more red candles from her cloth bag, her hands trembling as she replaced them one by one.

Room 414 – Ah Yuan’s dorm.

“Hey, my dearest viewers! We’re about to play the legendary spirit-summoning game—Pen Fairy—right here in my dorm! Ah Yuan is already freaking out just thinking about it, and to make it worse, my dorm number is super creepy too…”

“What if we really summon something bad? How about y’all give me some free starlight gifts to boost my courage a little?”

The viewers in the livestream were surprisingly obedient, showering the screen with sparkling “starlight” gifts. The twinkling gifts flooded the feed, making Ah Yuan grin from ear to ear.

An Zhi twitched at the corner of her mouth as she watched this scene, her understanding of Ah Yuan’s audacity deepening yet again.

She glanced at the chat in her own livestream room and frowned.

Ever since they stepped onto the Yin-Yang Road, something about the bullet comments had started to feel… off. 

There had clearly been plenty of people before who were warning them not to “tempt fate”—though honestly, she’d never understood why anyone would bother trying to talk a ghost-hunting streamer out of doing something risky. But at least it showed there were some well-meaning viewers watching.

But now, the tone in the chat had subtly shifted. More and more, it felt like everyone was eager to see them tempt fate—egging them on to do dangerous things, even rewarding them with gifts to do so.

Like this one bullet comment that turned purple after the user sent a luxury car as a gift:

[I’ve seen so many Pen Fairy streams, and nothing ever happens. Those streamers are all cowards who never dare to break the taboos. I heard you’re not supposed to ask the Pen Fairy how she died… Why don’t you ask this time?]

[Yeah! That’s exactly why I’m watching your stream instead of those chickens. You’re doing real ghost livestreaming. But if you start chickening out like them, I’m out.]

As more viewers echoed the sentiment—saying they’d leave if the team didn’t ask about the Pen Fairy’s cause of death—Ah Yuan’s expression visibly shifted.

No way—if everyone left, what would be the point of continuing?

She hesitated for two seconds, then gritted her teeth.

So what if she faked it? Worst case, she could just pretend something supernatural happened, use force to guide everyone’s hands like the Pen Fairy had possessed them, and then make up a random death story to satisfy the audience.

“Even though Ah Yuan’s really scared,” she said with a dramatic pout, “since our big spenders gifted me those luxury cars… of course I’ll do what you asked!”

Sure enough, as soon as she said this, several more viewers sent luxury cars.

With her last shred of hesitation gone, Ah Yuan happily gathered everyone to play Pen Fairy.

Meanwhile, both An Zhi and Sheng Qingye—who were players, not NPCs—saw a mission panel pop up in front of them, complete with a detailed explanation of how to play the game.

So the setup began. Four girls sat at the table, two on each side, reaching out their right hands to jointly hold a single black pen—except Sheng Qingye.

She stood off to the side with the camera in hand, responsible for filming the others playing.

“Pen Fairy, Pen Fairy, you were my past life, I am your present life…”

The four girls chanted together in low voices. The way their voices overlapped in the eerily silent room created a chilling atmosphere that was hard to describe.

At least, that’s how Sheng Qingye felt as she filmed. It didn’t sound like a game—it sounded like some sort of cult ritual.

An Zhi wasn’t feeling great either. Sitting next to her was the girl with the double braids. Earlier, she hadn’t thought much of her, but now—being seated so close, and hearing that girl’s low voice—An Zhi felt a strange sense of unease crawling up her spine.

What was it…?

“If you wish to continue our fate, please draw a circle on the paper…”

As this final phrase was spoken, the pen they were all holding suddenly moved.

A breeze swept through the room.

An Zhi had been watching the girl with the double braids from the corner of her eye the entire time. As soon as the last line left her lips, An Zhi’s eyes widened—and a cold sweat broke out down her back.

She finally realized what was wrong.

When the girl spoke… there was no breath coming from her mouth.