My Strange Tale Love Strategy Simulator

One pale face after another shrank back from the edge of the blood lake, the edges beginning to blur and recede into the darkness.

The once pitch-black space is now being stained crimson from the bottom up. Blood seeps from the lake surface, climbs up the unseen walls, and soaks all the nothingness into scarlet.

Zhang Ying caught his breath from the pain. He slowly straightened up, supporting himself on his knees. His forehead was covered in cold sweat, and his school uniform was soaked through and stuck to his skin.

He looked around, but in that boundless, blood-red space, not a single eerie face could be seen. The screams had ceased, the whispers had vanished, leaving only the occasional bubble rising from the surface of the blood lake, followed by a soft gurgle and then silence.

He lowered his head and looked at his right wrist. The jade bracelet was still there, a thin layer of coldness remaining on the beads.

The black hair still clung to the jade bead, but it was no longer bleeding. The blood in the bead's crevices was drying at a visible rate, leaving several dark red lines embedded in the jade's texture.

Zhang Ying's eyes widened. If he wasn't mistaken, this strand of hair belonged to Li Ziqing. It was Li Ziqing who had helped him in this illusion woven by the grotesque ghosts, at the very point when his sanity was about to collapse, the blood seeping from the bracelet repelled those grotesque faces.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but not a single word came out.

Before he could react to the strand of hair on his wrist, the surrounding space suddenly trembled.

Countless ripples exploded on the surface of the blood lake, and the crimson walls on all sides twisted violently in the same instant. The crimson, which had been calming down, became even more intense, as if someone had stuffed the entire space back into a still-beating heart.

Meanwhile, in the real world, the pale, white face perched on Zhang Ying's shoulder was contorting. Its mouth, which had stretched all the way to its ears, began to split downwards, the corners of its mouth pulling all the way down to its jaw, forming an inverted arc that could not possibly belong to any human.

anger.

For the first time, undisguised rage was revealed on that face, stripped of all pretense. It stopped laughing. Its entire form began to disintegrate, its features melting into a pus-like black mist, the edges of which blotted out strands of scarlet blood.

The blood-stained black mist rose from Zhang Ying's shoulder, aimed at his seven orifices, and rushed in all at once.

Within the illusory world, the sky has cracked open. Above the crimson space, a rift stretching across the heavens is being torn open!

First came the outline of his brow, then the hollows of his eyes, then the bridge of his nose, and finally the curve of his lips. A gigantic, pale face, large enough to cover the entire sky, slowly emerged above his head.

Before the facial features were fully clear, the overwhelming sense of oppression had already caused the blood lake to boil, with bubbles surging up from the bottom and blood splashing up waves half a person high.

Accompanying the appearance of that giant face was a series of obscure and incomprehensible whispers.

The whispers reached Zhang Ying's ears, countless syllables being crammed into his mind simultaneously. The syllables were squeezed together, crushing and tearing at each other.

Zhang Ying's brain felt like a hard drive filled with junk files, unable to function, teetering between crashing and restarting.

His consciousness was being pulled back and forth, and his sanity value was flashing wildly on the simulator panel.

9 o'clock... 8 o'clock... 7 o'clock.

When it stopped at 7 o'clock, the entire panel emitted a flashing dark red warning light, and the blood-red light shone on his face, turning his expression into a distorted reflection.

He clenched his teeth, the tip of his tongue still tinged with the blood from his bite, but in this situation, he couldn't possibly utter a single incantation.

The features of the giant face in the sky became increasingly clear. The oppressive feeling no longer came in waves, but turned into a continuous crushing force.

A warm sensation welled up in Zhang Ying's nostrils, and two dark red streaks of blood ran from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth, leaving his lips covered in a fishy smell.

Just as his consciousness was about to be crushed to pieces by the whispers, a song squeezed in from between the obscure syllables. The song had no lyrics, only humming.

But it allowed his tormented brain to gradually relax its taut strings through this humming.

The singing grew clearer and higher. The blood lake beneath their feet began to boil. The entire lake surface was surging upwards, the blood churning, and large chunks of crimson blood were being churned up from the lakebed.

Zhang Ying lowered his head. Beneath the lake of blood, his reflection was changing. It was no longer his own shadow, but a blood-red doll in a ballet tutu, standing silently opposite him, foot to foot, separated by a layer of blood.

Space has been flipped.

There was no sound, no transition, as if someone had turned the whole world upside down. Zhang Ying appeared in the reflection of the blood lake, looking up to see a sky stained crimson with blood. And the ballet doll appeared where he had just stood, directly opposite the pale, sky-covering face.

The doll raised its faceless wooden head.

The features of that giant, pale white face froze the moment it looked up.

The two forces collided in this crimson space. There was no sound, no explosion, only the ripples of space, as if someone had thrown a stone into a pool of blood. Ripples spread outward from the center, and with each ripple, a fine crack was torn into the surface of the crimson space.

Zhang Ying stood in the reflected space beneath the blood lake, gazing at the scene above, his throat dry. The two monsters simply stared at each other, neither moving, not even raising a finger.

But the surrounding air had already begun to crack, and the space was torn apart like a piece of cloth, revealing a dark and gleaming void in the gaps.

The first crack appeared on the wooden body of the ballet doll. It slashed diagonally down from the collarbone to the side. Then came the second, and the third. The cracks spread rapidly across the wooden surface, but not a single fragment fell off.

The pale white face in the sky wasn't faring any better. Something had slashed its left cheek; no blood flowed from the gaping wound, only black mist seeped out. Another slash, on its forehead. And yet another, across its nose.

The two monsters were locked in a stalemate, neither able to gain the upper hand. If this continued, they would only end up losing to each other!

Finally, the ghost could no longer hold on and retreated.

The deathly pale giant face did not press down any further; its features twisted one last time in the blood-red light, filled with resentment.

Then the entire face began to disintegrate from the edges, retreating from the crack in the sky.

In the real world, a cloud of black mist with crimson streaks emerged from Zhang Ying's mouth. It hovered in front of him for a second.

A shrunken, pale face loomed in the mist, its eyes fixed on Zhang Ying before shifting to the black hair wrapped around the jade on his right wrist. That gaze was filled with venomous resentment.

It turned around, slipped out of the window, and disappeared into the night.

Zhang Ying regained consciousness. He found himself kneeling on the floor, one hand supporting himself on a dusty wooden board, his chest heaving violently, each breath coming in gasps like a bellows.

My brain was still throbbing, like someone was hammering it from the inside out, but the surrounding sensations were real—the coldness of the floor, the stench in the air, the moonlight streaming in through the window.

came back.

Zhou Ping collapsed a few steps away. She fell into Xu Miaofeng's arms, her eyes closed, her chest still rising and falling, but the rise and fall was so shallow that it was almost invisible, and her breathing was as weak as a thread that might break at any moment.

"Xu Miaofeng." Zhang Ying's voice was so hoarse he almost didn't recognize himself. "Call 120. Immediately."

Xu Miaofeng's hands were still trembling, but she didn't hesitate. She grabbed her phone and dialed a number. Her voice was broken on the phone, but she managed to clearly state the address.

The ambulance arrived quickly. Alternating red and blue lights flashed in from outside the window, illuminating the garbage-filled stairwell on and off.

The stretcher was carried into the corridor, Zhou Ping was strapped to it, an oxygen mask was put on her mouth and nose, and she was carried downstairs. Xu Miaofeng followed the stretcher into the vehicle. No one stopped her, and no one asked her identity.

Zhang Ying stood in the open space outside the building, the night wind carrying the fishy smell of the lake. He watched the ambulance's taillights flash as it turned the corner and disappeared into the night.

He breathed a sigh of relief.