Horror Game Designer

Chapter 86: The Missed Timeline

The silence enveloped the room abruptly. Gao Ming hesitated briefly before rising from his seat. He carefully prepared a plate of food for Wan Qiu, suggesting that he take it to his room to enjoy his meal in solitude.

Once Wan Qiu had departed, Gao Ming resettled himself across from Liu Yi. His facial expression remained largely unchanged, yet there was a noticeable shift in the depth and intensity of his gaze.

“Go ahead, speak your mind,” Gao Ming prompted.

Liu Yi began, a note of surprise in her voice. “I was taken aback when I saw you board the bus from Henshan High-Security Prison. I had intended to approach you, but you seemed preoccupied, constantly engaged with your headphones.” As he spoke, Liu Yi retrieved her phone, bringing up a meticulously hand-drawn sketch of a bus and placing it before Gao Ming. “It dawned on me that something was amiss once I boarded the bus. The other passengers, the driver, even the bus itself raised some serious red flags. Then, when the bus was involved in that accident within the tunnel, I was fortunate to escape unharmed and memorized the unique characteristics of the bus.”

“So this picture you drawn is the bus? It appears typical of any other bus after a accident, though its license plate was partially obscured by blood,” Gao Ming observed.

Liu Yi continued with a nod, unlocking a concealed folder on her phone to reveal an old news article. She held the screen towards Gao Ming. “Compare these two images. Notice any striking similarities?”

Gao Ming scrutinized the phone screen. The bus from the news report, which had been in an accident, matched the bus Liu Yi had sketched. Even minute details, such as the pattern of the shattered windows and the extent of the paint scratches, were identical.

“It’s the same bus,” Gao Ming concluded.

“Precisely,” Liu Yi affirmed, scrolling through the article. “Look at the date. This report is from the Ghost Festival a decade ago! The bus we encountered that night was the same one involved in an accident ten years prior, and at the same location!”

Gao Ming’s memories of the bus were vague; his focus had been on his own experiences in the tunnel.

“The bus that’s caught in a temporal loop?” Gao Ming worked quickly, impressed at the classmate’s observation and skills. “Lawyer Liu, your observational skills are remarkable. Despite the danger, you managed to recall so much detail.”

“Don’t be silly Gao Ming, I can’t compare to you,” Liu Yi replied modestly, turning her phone face down on the table. Her tone slowed, more contemplative. “I’ve attempted to visit you thrice, but you were never home.”

“You were looking for me?” Gao Ming reflected on a recent occurrence when he had been confined to his home for three days, missing Liu Yi’s visit and consequently diverging into a different timeline.

In essence, had Gao Ming not retained his memories through the Flesh Immortal and completed the game ahead of schedule, his paths with Liu Yi might never have crossed.

“Actually, I owe you my gratitude. Without your guidance that night, I might have remained trapped in that tunnel indefinitely.”

“You followed me?” Gao Ming sensed a discrepancy. “I was carried out of the tunnel by a woman.”

A flicker of puzzlement crossed Liu Yi’s eyes as she spoke, “But I only saw you. You were engaged in a conversation, though with no one visible. You spoke of chaos, of ghosts wreaking havoc, and a series of bizarre events. The games you’ve designed, inspired by real murders and urban legends, they seemed to be turning into reality.”

Gao Ming, outwardly calm, felt a familiar unease stir within him. His pupils involuntarily twitched, a reaction born of hearing these sentiments repeatedly. “What else did you hear from that voice?” he inquired, his voice steady.

Liu Yi’s brow furrowed as she endeavored to recollect. “My memory is hazy,” she admitted. “But the voice implied that your death was imminent, yet it offered you a chance to live. It seems you struck some sort of bargain with it.”

At these words, Gao Ming rose abruptly, a shiver coursing through him. This echoed the conversation he had with Xuan Wen in their last meeting. Xuan Wen had spoken these exact words.

After surviving the tunnel and bearing the weight of his own demise, Gao Ming had hoped against hope that Xuan Wen would spare the other eight female leads. It seemed Xuan Wen’s destiny might have shifted, yet now, Liu Yi was the one recounting Xuan Wen’s words to him.

If Gao Ming were to lose his memory once more, it would be Liu Yi’s recounting of these events that he’d hear, reinforcing the reality of his game turning tangible and a mysterious agreement made in the tunnel.

This revelation filled him with a profound sense of dread, the kind that comes with realizing that all efforts might be futile, that every path taken leads inexorably to the same predetermined destination. “Is this what fate is?” he wondered aloud.

It seemed as though everyone and everything were mere pawns in a larger scheme, inevitably drawn back to their predestined courses.

Sensing Gao Ming’s distress, Liu Yi stood up and approached him, offering reassurance as she patted his back. “You shouldn’t dwell on those words,” she advised, pouring a cup of hot water for him. “Whatever was said in the tunnel, if it troubles you, just dismiss it as nonsense.”

The contrast between Liu Yi and Xuan Wen was stark. Xuan Wen had an uncanny ability to understand the psychology of others, subtly guiding them to fulfill a collective objective. Liu Yi, on the other hand, relied more on her personal judgment, aspiring to inspire and empower those around her to achieve their goals.

“I didn’t come here just to discuss this,” Liu Yi said, changing the subject. She reached into her bag and pulled out a graduation photo, placing it in front of Gao Ming.

Upon seeing it, Gao Ming’s gaze was instantly captivated.

The photo, rendered in grayscale, bore an eerie quality. The students, appearing ghostlike, had some of their faces obscured or scratched out, adding to the photo’s unsettling nature.

Most of the figures were also in black and white, but five individuals stood out.

There was Gao Ming, positioned in the left corner; Liu Yi, crouched in the front row; Song Xue beside Liu Yi; the huge Zhuo Jun in the back row; and a boy in the center, his face completely scratched off.

As Liu Yi recounted her story, there was a certain calmness in her voice, yet the details she shared were unnerving. “Song Xue was with us on the bus that night. We were heading back from Han Jiang after acting as bridesmaids.” Her tone was steady, but the gravity of her words hung heavily in the air. “The bus flipped over, and Song Xue… she died instantly when her head was crushed. I found this photo with her belongings. It’s baffling why she would have such a photo. What’s more haunting is that after I escaped the tunnel and returned home, I received a text from Song Xue.”

She opened her phone to display the messages. Song Xue, along with a few classmates, had been planning a reunion in Hanhai. Despite their yearly intentions to meet, they never managed to follow through. This year, however, they seemed resolute in their decision.

“Did you get Song Xue’s message as well?” she asked.

Gao Ming, frowning, pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages. Sure enough, there was Song Xue’s invitation, which he had missed while convincing Brother Zhao Xi to choose life over committing suicide.

“The idea of a deceased person organizing a reunion is unsettling. And look at this photo,” Liu Yi said, pointing to the boy in the center whose face was scratched out. “Do you recall who this person is? I can’t seem to remember our class having such a student.”

Gao Ming shook his head in confusion. “I don’t remember either. Are we misremembering, or is reality distorted?”

The thought of this paradox made Gao Ming’s head throb. He muttered to himself, half in jest, “If it gets too confusing, maybe we should just eat the entire class.”

“What was that?” Liu Yi asked, not quite catching his words.

Gao Ming quickly covered, “I said, if it gets too complicated, we might as well treat the whole class to a nice meal.”

He turned the black and white photo over. The back was blank, devoid of any familiar writing or ominous shadows.

As Gao Ming navigated through these events, he felt himself being pulled into the timelines he had previously missed. He was unsure whether he was heading into a trap set by fate or a genuine escape route.

Liu Yi tucked away the memorial photo, her voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and apprehension. “They’re planning to meet after the rain stops, to see how everyone has changed over the years.” She paused, then suggested, “If you’re not too busy, why don’t we go together? It’s always good to have someone to watch your back.”

Gao Ming, his mind elsewhere, responded, “I’m working on a game for a major client right now. I’ll head over once that’s finished.” His interest in his classmates’ lives and careers was minimal; his current focus was on dealing with the future Eastern District Investigation Bureau Chief before anything else.

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