Chapter 29: Asking the Pen Fairy

Mo Qingyan agreed far too decisively, making me wonder if my promise had been too rash. But there was no other choice now—survival was the most important thing.

After we settled the agreement, Mo Qingyan brought over a large sheet of white paper, then took out an unusually long red pencil, at least a foot long.

The pencil exuded a dense, almost palpable aura of blood energy. Holding it felt like dipping it into a pool of blood, letting it dry with a thick layer of coagulated plasma, leaving the surface caked with congealed blood.

“Listen carefully. There are certain taboos when summoning the Pen Spirit, and I need to warn you in advance,” Mo Qingyan said solemnly, holding the red pencil. “First: are either of you menstruating?”

“Ah?” I was stunned, not immediately understanding what she meant. Xiaoqing’s cheeks flushed slightly as she replied, “Not yet. At least another week to go.”

I finally realized—menstruating. I’m a guy… how could I possibly have a period?

“Well, that’s hard to say. But it should be fine now. If someone is menstruating during a Pen Spirit ritual, it could attract unwanted entities. Remember this,” Mo Qingyan cautioned.

“Got it,” I replied casually. I thought to myself, if I weren’t already cornered by a Painted Skin Ghost, I wouldn’t be doing this ritual. Once I survived, I’d never touch Pen Spirit again; this warning was just something to note.

Mo Qingyan continued, “Wait. All three of us will hold the pencil together. Do not rest your elbows on the table. The pencil must be suspended in the air and must never leave the paper.”

“No matter what you see, don’t show fear. Speak to the Pen Spirit respectfully. Do not try to probe its identity or death, and do not ask inappropriate questions or interfere.”

“Furthermore, if the Pen Spirit initiates something, neither of you should speak. I will respond on your behalf. I will also be the one to start and end the ritual. Until I say it’s over, your fingers must not leave the pencil.”

Mo Qingyan listed all the rules and taboos. My mind had been casual, seeing the Pen Spirit as a kind of fortune-telling. But her serious expression made it clear: this was no trivial matter.

Xiaoqing simply nodded. She had summoned the Pen Spirit before with Mo Qingyan, so she didn’t need to memorize the rules. I, on the other hand, had to force myself to remember them all.

Mo Qingyan began preparations. She placed the white paper inside a square frame on the table, the edges slightly raised. Clearly, this table was specifically for Pen Spirit rituals.

On the paper, she wrote “Yes” and “No” on the left and right sides, and the four cardinal directions in the corners. She also wrote the numbers 0 through 9. Then she placed four candles at the table’s corners.

“You two, each place two fingers on the pencil. Remember what I said. Speak as little as possible. Follow my instructions precisely,” Mo Qingyan said as she sat down and placed the pencil on the paper. I noticed she removed her glasses.

Xiaoqing sat opposite her, placing two fingers on the pencil with practiced ease. I imitated her.

The three of us held the pencil in this way, each pair of fingers separated by the others’, suspending the pencil in midair.

“Let it fall, and silently recite after me. Remember, this is just a spirit-summoning chant; it’s not literal. Don’t take it seriously.” Mo Qingyan began: “Pen Spirit, Pen Spirit, I am your present life, you are my past life. If we are to continue our bond, please circle on the paper.”

“Pen Spirit, Pen Spirit, I am your present life, you are my past life. If we are to continue our bond, please circle on the paper,” Xiaoqing whispered.

I repeated the words silently, thinking that since Mo Qingyan had already said it was just a ritual chant, surely it wouldn’t actually summon my past life.

As soon as I finished, a chilling wind swept through the room. A bone-deep cold settled over me, the candle flames flickering violently. I felt the pencil tremble in my fingers and begin drawing a circle on its own.

“So fast? Usually we need to recite it two or three times before anything happens,” Xiaoqing said in surprise. I then noticed something floating behind her, and my soul nearly left my body.

It was a girl suspended in midair, her hair disheveled, neck unnaturally elongated, wearing the Jianlong High School uniform. Her skin was deathly pale.

Behind Mo Qingyan, another ghost appeared: a middle-aged man, inverted in the air, skin rotting in places, but strangely filled with a cement-like substance.

A cold chill ran down my spine. If they both had ghosts behind them, there was no doubt that I did too. My mouth opened, wanting to scream, but—

“Calm down!” Mo Qingyan’s sharp command snapped me back. I remembered her earlier warning: no matter what I saw, do not show fear. “Focus on the pencil and paper. Don’t look anywhere else. Say nothing unnecessary.”

I tried to focus on the red pencil, but with such horrifying spirits on either side—and likely another behind me—I couldn’t fully calm down. Cold sweat ran down my back.

“Pen Spirit, are you here?” Mo Qingyan asked. She seemed unable—or unwilling—to see the ghosts beside her, perhaps deliberately removing her glasses to focus.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two ghosts raise a finger. Then, the pencil moved on its own, pointing to “Yes.”

I realized that the Pen Spirit had indeed been summoned. Despite its name, it was essentially a group of lost souls. If they clung to you, dealing with them would be far more dangerous than the Painted Skin Ghost. No wonder Pen Spirit rituals were considered extremely perilous.

According to what I had heard about the Pen Spirit game, it was now our turn to ask questions. Mo Qingyan asked directly: “Pen Spirit, Pen Spirit, I want to know—has she become a ghoulized being by consuming part of the Painted Skin Ghost?”

The inverted middle-aged ghost shakily reached out, placing a stiff, icy hand on the pencil, pressing against my fingers. It felt like touching a corpse. Goosebumps erupted across my body, and I wanted to pull my hand away.

Xiaoqing and Mo Qingyan’s expressions changed as they felt the ghost’s touch. Mo Qingyan warned again: “Hold the pencil tightly. Don’t let go!”

I forced myself to endure the fear and nausea, keeping my fingers on the pencil. The inverted ghost then dragged the pencil once more toward “Yes.”