Chapter 193: Red Maple Boarding School (30) “They Don’t Care About the Truth”

Ms. Medina would never forget that orange-skied afternoon when she was six years old.

A line of travelers, cloaked in red robes, emerged from the dark green horizon in the distance. Each had an unfamiliar face, and, travel-worn, they sought help from her people.

The travelers brought out many novelties Ms. Medina had never seen before: boxes that sprayed fire when pressed, mirrors that could magnify ants to the size of beetles, and stones that could cling to iron.

Ms. Medina was the smartest child, favored even by the gods, and she was astonished and curious about all new things.

For every perplexing object, she would ask the travelers for it to study closely, yet she still couldn’t understand its principles.

She asked the gods her tribe believed in, but the gods remained silent. The travelers told her it was “science,” the opposite of theology.

She didn’t understand, but she vaguely felt this was a power even more wondrous than witchcraft, destined to unleash immense might one day.

So, when those travelers bid farewell to the ancient tribe, Ms. Medina secretly followed their group, boarded their ship, left the land, and journeyed to a country across the sea, a place she had never heard of or seen.

The gods of that country had just been expelled from the center of all things, and Ms. Medina saw many astonishing things there.

Tall houses built of stone and glass, strange machines that automatically spun and wove fabric—all filled her with doubt and fascination.

She felt she could spend a lifetime studying them.

When Ms. Medina was fifty, the king recruited an expeditionary force throughout the country, with her homeland as its target.

Ms. Medina had been away for over forty years and naturally felt a longing for her birthplace, so she logically joined the team, serving as an “aborigine” who was slightly fluent in the Indigenous language, guiding the unfamiliar travelers.

She had assumed these travelers would be as friendly as those she had met when she was six, and she sincerely hoped they would spread science to every corner of that backward land.

Unfortunately, war broke out.

Perhaps due to misunderstandings caused by different civilizations, or perhaps due to the inherent sin of greed deep within human nature, the expeditionary force began to drive out the Indigenous Peoples, occupy their land, and even resort to cruel methods of slaughter.

Ms. Medina witnessed the devastation, feeling regret and pain, but it was too late. With the great power of those outsiders, even without her help, they could easily bring catastrophe to the backward land.

“Science” was a power stronger than witchcraft, and the Indigenous Peoples had no “science.” The outcome was already predetermined. Ms. Medina called upon the gods of old again after many years, but received no response.

She could only run around alone, striving to preserve the spark of the Indigenous Peoples.

Her individual strength was negligible until public opinion from various sides pressured the expeditionary force, and the Indigenous Peoples Charity Foundation was reluctantly established to protect the rights of the Indigenous Peoples.

A fig leaf of peace was drawn over the festering wound; the situation seemed to have reached a delicate balance, and Ms. Medina knew this was the best possible outcome.

Since witchcraft and gods could not save the ancient tribe, then embrace civilization and science.

Ms. Medina believed that Red Maple Boarding School would be a good place for Indigenous children.

Of course, before that, she had to find a way—even with the help of others—to destroy the records of witchcraft in the tribe.

Years later, recalling her childhood experiences, she could no longer judge the truth or falsity of witchcraft.

But she knew how terrifying those witchcraft recipes were; once they aroused the curiosity or apprehension of outsiders, even greater disaster might occur… After her mother died, young Ms. Medina inherited her mother’s name—it was common among Indigenous Peoples for families to share a name.

Young Ms. Medina had never seen her mother since she could remember, and she was raised by the Indigenous Peoples Charity Foundation.

She heard people say her mother was a teacher at Red Maple Boarding School, and even during the Great Plague outbreak, she stayed at the school until her death.

She also read her mother’s diary among her belongings and knew that although her mother appeared strict and heartless, everything she did was actually to help more Indigenous children adapt to civilized society and survive in an environment of scarcity.

Young Ms. Medina was ignorant, yet she could sense her mother’s compassion and helplessness through the words.

As she grew older, she often felt a loneliness that set her apart from others, and thus she increasingly liked to depict and imagine her mother’s image based on her own understanding, growing to respect and love this woman she had never met.

So, she told the Foundation that when she grew up, she also wanted to be a teacher, to guide and care for students like her mother.

The head of the Foundation gave a cold laugh; she didn’t understand but didn’t care, and at the age of twenty, she entered Red Maple Boarding School as a teacher.

As she worked, young Ms. Medina gradually discovered that the boarding school was not as wonderful as she had imagined.

Abuse and death occurred frequently and, for a long time, formed an unspoken understanding. She had to wear a cold mask; if her hidden kindness was discovered, she would easily face criticism and ridicule from colleagues.

Young Ms. Medina fell into agony, just as her mother had faced the bodies of the Indigenous Peoples back then.

It seemed as if heaven, to relieve her almost tearing emotions, serendipitously granted her a document about the Great Plague of that year.

In the document, she learned a completely different truth.

It turned out her mother was not initially infected. It was just that the infected children, driven by the fear of death and long-held resentment, gave her mother letters containing pathogens, infecting her.

It turned out her mother didn’t have to die. It was just that a Bad Kid locked the school gate and then set a big fire, burning down the old school site.

It turned out there was an evil witchcraft among the Indigenous Peoples that could communicate with evil gods, and those children were not as harmless as they appeared… Young Ms. Medina believed without suspicion, not feeling much resentment, only confusion remained in her heart.

Indigenous blood flowed in her veins, but those children had indeed caused her to lose her mother. The gears of hatred began to turn, but she had no idea where to direct them.

Finally, young Ms. Medina made a decision.

Since all sorts of strange witchcraft existed, was there a type of witchcraft that could recreate past scenes, allowing her to converse with her mother?

…On the second floor of the memorial hall, horrifying charcoal-black patterns emerged from the peeling wall, and burn scars carved deep cracks into the concrete like centipedes.

A long time had passed, and tiny mushrooms grew in the cracks, densely packed together, much like unhatched insect eggs.

Qi Si pointed to the cracked wall and asked the guide leading the way, “The old Red Maple Boarding School was destroyed by fire, right?”

“One generation was like that,” the guide turned around, a standardized smile on her face. “My great-grandmother stayed at the school after developing insomnia syndrome, accompanying children who also suffered from the illness. On June 8th, an accident occurred; all the doors were locked, and a fire quickly engulfed the entire school, burning everyone to death.”

Qi Si was stunned for a long while, finally retrieving the entry corresponding to “June 8th” from his scattered memories.

Thorson was helpless against insomnia syndrome, and to curb the contagion, he most likely decided to kill all the patients.

And a fire, which started from an unknown source, was an excellent tool to destroy evidence of the crime.

Chang Xu looked up at the concrete wall, which lacked flammable materials, and frowned slightly: “How did the fire start? Where did the fuel come from?”

“A batch of Indigenous documents was burned before; perhaps they weren’t completely incinerated,” the guide sighed, looking around at the three. “After burning those documents, diesel fuel was left in the kitchen and couldn’t be taken away in time. Maybe a child was mischievous and lit the fire, who knows?”

Indeed, who knows?

Two hundred years have passed, and all the hatred, bloodshed, death, and evil of that time have been buried. A memorial hall has risen from the grave, entrusting all wronged souls and spirits to cold numbers, and a light apology has wiped away all actions.

With the passage of time, the lack of records, and the demise of those involved, who can truly know what happened back then?

Of course, these things are irrelevant to the players. The method to complete the main quest has been clarified; now, they just need to find an opportunity to put it into practice.

Shuomeng pondered for a moment, then smiled and said, “Ms. Medina, may I be so bold as to ask what would happen if we don’t rest in our dormitories tonight?”

Common sense dictates that it’s safer to damage public property at night; by then, they would be kicked out of the memorial hall, so it seemed unnecessary to adhere to its other rules.

But in any case, it’s always better to clarify things explicitly stated in the rules.

“At night…” the guide narrowed her eyes, speaking in a reminiscent tone, “Many people have died on this land. At night, the corridors and Maple Forest are filled with wronged spirits, eerie and ghostly. Only by going to sleep on time in the dormitories will you not be disturbed by ghosts.”

Shuomeng and Chang Xu exchanged glances, their gazes becoming more resolute.

If it was just ghosts, and not some mandatory death point, then it was acceptable.

They had all cleared several dungeons; with ample inventory, it wasn’t impossible to fight the instance ghosts to a draw.

Shuomeng thought for a moment and then asked, “Ms. Medina, I have one more small question—do we have to finish all the food in the cafeteria?”

The guide smiled helplessly: “Finishing your meal can help you better experience the lives of Indigenous children back then, but we don’t make it mandatory.”

“That’s wonderful. I have one last small question…”

Qi Si stood loosely to the side, listening to Shuomeng and the guide’s conversation, which was sometimes clear, sometimes blurry, and then drifted further and further away like an elusive butterfly.

His burning forehead spread scorching heat throughout his body, and the scene before his eyes shattered into mosaic-like color blocks, gradually becoming difficult to discern completely.

insomnia syndrome truly lived up to its reputation as an incurable disease that had plagued generations; once it flared up, it was indeed intractable.

Qi Si now desperately wanted to leave the instance immediately and sleep in his own bed, but he couldn’t.

He squinted in Chang Xu and Shuomeng’s direction, weakly saying, “Our main quests don’t overlap, so let’s split up and look for clues. I’ll go check the third floor first.”

Shuomeng expressed surprise: “Are you sure? Although this place doesn’t look dangerous, you never know what you might encounter alone.”

Qi Si hummed, turned, and walked towards the staircase, ascending step by step.

He trusted humans less than ghosts; rather than letting others see his unwell state, he preferred to find an uninhabited corner to process it himself.

The third floor was much cleaner than the second; although still covered in dust, there weren’t many traces of burning or fungi growing in the crevices.

Qi Si used his remaining rationality to find a relatively clean dormitory, walked in, and randomly chose a bed to lie down on.

He placed his hand under his head and felt a large patch of rough dirt on the back of his neck, indicating the spread of the ailment.

Under the influence of insomnia syndrome, even though he was utterly exhausted, he still couldn’t fall asleep, even developing an urge to die immediately and sleep forever.

He suppressed the hidden desire in his heart, closed his eyes, and forced his consciousness to sink inch by inch… In the consciousness space, against a pitch-black background, a giant golden tree rooted itself in the lightless void, extending all its branches in every direction, without beginning or end.

Qi Si, dressed in red, sat leaning against the tree as a phantom, and opened his eyes.

All discomfort disappeared completely; his body felt so light it was almost weightless, as if his soul had left his body.

The states of “amnesia” and “cognitive degradation” still existed; as the underlying rules of this instance, they could not be violated.

Qi Si couldn’t temporarily retrieve the blank paper from his inventory or recall his plans and arrangements, so he simply stretched out a golden vine to retrieve the leaf furthest from him.

The moment the vine touched the leaf, a scene appeared before his eyes.

Zhang Yiyu sat with her knees hugged to her chest in a small room full of mushrooms, curled up timidly.

Upon feeling Qi Si’s gaze, she hastily cried out, “Big shot, quickly think of a solution! I’ve been locked up for a day and a night. If I don’t leave the Isolation Room soon, I’ll starve to death… Wuwuwu, I want to eat meat…”

Qi Si asked, “Think of what solution?”

Zhang Yiyu was on the verge of tears: “Never mind leaving the Isolation Room, I need to complete at least one of the main quest or side quests…”

Qi Si looked at the words “Collect all raw materials, complete the quest” on Zhang Yiyu’s panel and asked, “What materials have you collected so far?”

Zhang Yiyu sat up straight and looked around: “Currently, I’ve only found poisonous mushrooms. Every time I open my eyes and look around, a bunch of ‘bling bling’ prompts pop up.”

Qi Si saw a string of “Dear Miss Witch, congratulations on finding one of the ritual raw materials, ‘poisonous mushrooms’” pop up on the system interface and asked, “Are you sure you haven’t seen prompts about other materials?”

“No,” Zhang Yiyu shook her head frantically. “If I had seen others, would I be this anxious?”

“Hmm, maintain it.” Qi Si leaned back, falling out of the consciousness space.

The symptoms of insomnia syndrome crashed down like a tidal wave. He rolled over, moving away from the already scorching bed board, and lay down on a relatively cold patch of floor.

Then, he pulled out a Recorder from his inventory and pressed play.

A eerie nursery rhyme softly began, emotionlessly reciting names like “earth,” “poisonous mushroom,” “vegetable,” “yellow flower bud,” and “Yellow Butterfly.”

Qi Si took out a blank piece of paper and compared them one by one.

Zhang Yiyu had been to many places and had seen poisonous mushrooms, vegetables, yellow flowers, and yellow butterflies. The only thing she hadn’t seen was—

On the first day, during the first bath in the bathroom, the dirt that male player turned into under the shower. Because that dirt was eaten very cleanly, very cleanly, by the ghosts…