Chapter 5: Blossoming Flowers

The first time, I actually could have stopped Li Yizhong when he tried to attack Xiao Zheng, and then Li Yizhong wouldn’t have died.

The second time, if I had simply turned off the fan, Chen Bin wouldn’t have died.

The third time, if I had pulled Liu Jianzhou out from under the bookshelf a moment earlier, he would have survived too.

And this time, it was just a matter of a tiny bit of curiosity—if I had taken away that bag of calcium carbide, a life would not have been lost.

Reflecting on these events, I realize that each time I had made things too complicated for myself, when in fact the solution was always simple.

But who would have thought that such a small gesture could save a life? Especially when I was so deeply entangled in the situation that the simplest answer never even crossed my mind.

After returning home, I kept turning these incidents over in my head, trying to find some connection between them, hoping perhaps those who had died shared something in common.

But I gave up—besides all being students at the same school, there was nothing else linking them.

Yet I realized that in fact, I hadn’t been wrong all three times.

The first time, with Li Yizhong’s death, I truly didn’t react in time. But the second time, with the falling fan, simply turning it off wouldn’t have been enough; the key was to choose correctly.

Fans one and two hung over the teachers, and would never have been allowed to fall—that would have killed a teacher, which didn’t fit the rules of the game.

Fans five and six weren’t on, and there was no one below them, so even if they had fallen, there’d have been no danger.

Fan three hung above several people, but if it had fallen, more than one person would have died.

So by process of elimination, it had to be fan four!

For the third time, the death of Liu Jianzhou, the right choice was to tip over the ninth bookshelf in the comics section. When I saw that shelf fall, I could have simply chosen it and completed the game. I just hadn’t been observant enough.

The fourth time was even simpler. When faced with a choice of rooms, I could have chosen the infirmary, which was itself a sealed room. If I’d chosen the infirmary right away, the game would have ended.

I was exasperated—every time, the answer had been right there in front of me, but I never saw it, always misled by my own overthinking.

I clenched my fists. Next time, I’ll get it right. Next time, I’ll find the answer!

The following day, I arrived at school as usual, but this time I stopped at the gate and looked up at the clouds above the school.

I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination, but it felt as if a shadow hung over the school, a stark contrast to the weather outside its gates.

Was it just my mind playing tricks on me?

I entered the same multimedia classroom as always. The atmosphere was heavy; some faces showed fear, others confusion, and some simply looked lost.

Of course, there were also those who acted as if nothing had changed, even chatting cheerfully about recent events.

Every kind of human response was on display, all tinged with unease.

Some might ask, with so many deaths, why are classes still going on? Why doesn’t the school care? Why don’t the police care?

I’ve wondered the same, but found no answers. Perhaps it’s because the college entrance exams are near.

As the homeroom teacher stood at the podium, reminding us as always that there were only a few dozen days left before the exam and urging us to study hard, I even wondered if all this was just a hallucination brought on by stress.

But the vibration of my phone snapped me out of that pitiful thought.

It was back.

“Within one hour, prevent a suicide by jumping. Choose the correct target and the game will end. Choose incorrectly, and you fail. Hint: The most beguiling flowers bloom but briefly, dazzling in their color…”

Jumping—bright colors.

Unlike before, my mind was incredibly clear this time, quickly latching onto two key points.

From the last sealed room incident, I realized that the victim the message targeted could be anyone in the school, not just our class.

But then I wondered: the sender could make anyone jump, even me, since they clearly have the power to control anyone.

But if that were the case, it would be unsolvable!

I shook my head. No, impossible.

Since it’s called a game, there has to be a solution. If it were truly unsolvable, there’d be no need for the sender to play with me at all.

From the previous games, it’s clear the sender is arrogant, convinced I can’t win, so confident they don’t need to use their power to stop me.

But why me? Why choose me?

I slapped my forehead. Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

I reviewed every death scene and the implements involved.

Each time, the victim died because of the existing circumstances—each had a solution.

First, the knife. Second, the fan. Third, the bookshelf. Fourth, the calcium carbide. And the fifth time?

I wrote everything that had happened so far on a piece of paper, leaving three question marks for the fifth incident’s fatal implement.

“Tong Yang, what’s this?”

Ye Xinran had appeared behind me like a ghost.

I was so startled I tore the paper off and stuffed it into my pocket.

“It’s nothing…”

I glanced at her nervously and pretended to open a book.

“So secretive. The homeroom teacher wants you in the office,” she said, then left before I could reply.

The homeroom teacher was looking for me?

I couldn’t recall breaking any rules lately. What could it be about?

I knocked on the office door.

The homeroom teacher was a recent graduate herself, young and beautiful. Though she dressed rather formally, the figure under her white shirt was admired by all the boys in school.

I approached her. “Teacher, you wanted to see me?”

She nodded. Her face was less composed than usual, a trace of worry replacing her usual clarity. Perhaps it was the string of deaths, or the pressure of her first year as a homeroom teacher.

“Tong Yang, you know this is my first time as a senior-year homeroom teacher, so I wanted to ask you about a few things.”

I nodded. “Of course, teacher.”

“I’ve spoken with all the other students—only you remain.”

Her questions were just about academic pressure, stress, that sort of thing.

I answered honestly, and seeing I was fine, the worry on her face eased a little.

“All right, you can go back to class,” she said, closing her notebook.

I caught a glimpse of her notes. There was a check mark next to my name, but several names above had been crossed out.

I wondered why. Did those students have problems?

On my way back to class, I remembered her words.

Maybe the person planning to jump is a senior; after all, the pressure is huge—there are even couples breaking up before exams, and some can’t handle it.

If it’s likely a senior, then her survey might help—but the information would be strictly confidential. How would I get it?

There are five senior classes. To get survey results from all five homeroom teachers would be impossible in just an hour, even if I could obtain them.

Clearly, that approach wouldn’t work.

That left the simplest, most direct method: wait on the roof.

But no, there were too many tall buildings. Even if I saw someone, I might not make it in time—unless I had help.

But who would help me? Who would believe me if I said someone was about to jump?

I was lost again.

At the classroom door, lost in thought, I bumped into someone. It was Ye Xinran.

“Sorry!” I apologized quickly.

Her cheeks reddened; she glared at me and hurried off.

Blushing? Suddenly I realized I might have bumped into… somewhere I shouldn’t have. Soft, and oddly exciting.

Not everyone gets that kind of chance—Ye Xinran was the school beauty, and normally we barely interacted outside of academics.

Maybe I was just lucky, to have such an encounter.

Wait!

A flash of insight struck me.

I pulled out my phone and reread the message.

“The most beguiling flowers bloom but briefly, dazzling in their color…”

I understood!