Chapter 17: Inside the Building

Chen Dongyang’s heart raced, his mind scrambling to process Jiang Yuxin’s revelation. Mind reading. The words echoed, amplifying the unease already crawling up his spine. Her calm, almost playful tone didn’t help—it felt like she was toying with him, a cat batting at a mouse.

“You’re… reading my thoughts right now?” he asked, his voice tight, trying to keep his mind blank. A futile effort, he knew.

Jiang Yuxin’s smile widened, just enough to show she was enjoying his discomfort. “Relax, Chen Dongyang. If I could read your thoughts, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He blinked, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “Wait… you can’t?”

She tilted her head, her eyes glinting in the dim light of the corridor. “You’re a black hole. My power slides right off you. No thoughts, no emotions, nothing. It’s… frustrating.”

Her admission caught him off guard. He’d suspected his immunity to her power, but hearing her confirm it sent a strange mix of relief and dread through him. Relief that his secrets—the time loops, the rewinds—were safe. Dread that she was so focused on cracking him.

“So, you’re here because of something you read in someone else’s mind?” he asked, steering the conversation away from himself.

She nodded, her expression shifting to one of calculated focus. “The homeroom teacher, Ms. Yang. When she mentioned the old teaching building, her thoughts were… loud. Fearful. She knows something about this place, something she’s not telling the students.”

Chen Dongyang frowned, glancing at the closed door of the music classroom. The faint, ethereal piano melody still drifted through the air, its sorrowful notes curling around them like mist. “And you think it’s connected to… what? The rumors?”

“Rumors don’t come from nothing,” Jiang Yuxin said, her voice low. “This building, the accidents, the whispers—there’s something here. Something tied to the anomalies.”

“Anomalies,” he repeated, his stomach twisting. “You mean… us?”

Her eyes met his, sharp and unyielding. “You, me, the twins. We’re not random, Chen Dongyang. Something’s drawing us together, and this place…” She gestured at the darkened corridor. “It’s part of it.”

He swallowed, the weight of her words sinking in. The loops, the crimson energy, the telekinesis, his rewinds—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle, and this building was another fragment. But the music, the whispers, the mirror he’d seen earlier—it was all too much, too fast.

“What did you hear?” he asked, nodding toward the music classroom door. “From Ms. Yang’s thoughts, I mean.”

Jiang Yuxin’s gaze flicked to the door, her expression unreadable. “Fragments. Images of this building, a sense of dread, something about a student who went missing years ago. And… music. Like what we’re hearing now.”

Chen Dongyang’s blood ran cold. The melody was clearer now, its notes weaving through the air, pulling at something deep inside him. It wasn’t just music—it felt alive, like a call.

“We should check it out,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Jiang Yuxin raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “You’re braver than you look.”

“Or dumber,” he muttered, stepping toward the door.

She followed, her steps silent, her presence a steady pressure at his back. As they approached the music classroom, the melody grew louder, its sorrowful notes resonating in the empty corridor. Chen Dongyang’s hand hovered over the door handle, his heart pounding.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing at her.

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the door. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He pushed the door open.

The room was bathed in the dim glow of the setting sun, streaming through a cracked window. Dust motes danced in the light, swirling around an old upright piano in the center of the room. Its keys were yellowed, its wood chipped, but the melody poured from it, clear and haunting, though no one sat at the bench.

Chen Dongyang froze, his breath catching. “What the…”

Jiang Yuxin stepped past him, her gaze locked on the piano. “It’s not possible,” she murmured, her voice tinged with something rare—uncertainty.

The music stopped abruptly, the silence deafening. The air grew heavy, oppressive, like a storm about to break. Chen Dongyang’s head throbbed, the familiar pain of a rewind building, but he hadn’t tried to use his power.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Jiang Yuxin nodded, her eyes narrowing. “It’s not just music. It’s… something else.”

Before either could move, a faint whisper echoed in the room, the same voice Chen Dongyang had heard in the restroom. “You can’t stop it.”

The air shimmered, and for a split second, the room seemed to shift. The piano vanished, replaced by a figure—a girl, her face obscured, her silhouette flickering like a bad signal. She stood at the edge of the room, her head tilted, as if watching them.

Chen Dongyang’s heart lurched. “Who’s there?” he demanded, his voice cracking.

The figure didn’t move, but the whisper came again, closer now. “You’re too late.”

Jiang Yuxin stepped forward, her voice sharp. “Show yourself.”

The figure flickered, then vanished, the piano reappearing as if nothing had happened. The air lightened, but the chill remained.

Chen Dongyang’s legs felt weak, his head pounding. “What… was that?”

Jiang Yuxin’s expression was grim, her usual composure fraying. “I don’t know. But it’s connected to everything—us, the twins, this place.”

She turned to him, her eyes piercing. “And you’re not telling me everything, Chen Dongyang. What did you see before I got here?”

He hesitated, the image of the mirror flashing in his mind—Jiang Yuxin on the rooftop, the shadow pushing her. He couldn’t tell her, not yet. Not until he understood more.

“Just… the building,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s creepy.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t press. “We’re leaving,” she said, turning toward the door. “Now.”

He followed, his mind racing. The music, the figure, the whispers—it was all tied to the loops, to Jiang Yuxin, to the twins. And he was caught in the middle.

*

Outside, the twilight had deepened, the old teaching building casting long shadows across the clearing. Jiang Yuxin walked ahead, her posture rigid, her silence heavy.

Chen Dongyang trailed behind, his bandaged arm aching, his head throbbing. “What now?” he asked, breaking the silence.

She stopped, glancing back at him. “Tomorrow. The park. I’m meeting Yin Xiran. You’re coming.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Why me?”

“Because you’re part of this,” she said, her voice cold but certain. “Whether you like it or not.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. She was right. The loops, the powers, the building—they were all connected, and he couldn’t run from it.

“Fine,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his chest. “But you owe me answers too.”

Her lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. “We’ll see.”

As they parted ways, Chen Dongyang’s mind churned. The figure in the music room, the whispers, the mirror—they were warnings. Something was coming, something bigger than him, than Jiang Yuxin, than the twins.

And he had a sinking feeling he’d need to rewind time again to stop it.