x
(Image source: Generated by Novel AI)
19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡASrBTp0wAW
Xia Yue was so startled that she shot upright in bed. Gummy, the orange tabby, dove under the bed in a panic. Lil’ Yu, on the other hand, remained perfectly calm, rolling once across the mattress as if she thought the comforter was exceptionally soft.
The room had only the most basic wooden study furnishings. Xia Yue walked to the window and gazed out at the blue sky and endless green grass. The “description” of the lawn was strikingly simple—just “vast and unbroken”—so different from the intricate narratives she usually perceived.
Maybe what she was seeing wasn’t even real.
“Where are we?” Xia Yue looked at Lil’ Yu in despair. “It’s just sky and grass. Did we get transported to grandma’s old computer desktop?”
Lil’ Yu’s response was to snap a photo of Xia Yue with her phone.
“Now’s not the time!”
“The quickest way to check if something is real or just an illusion is to take a picture, right?” Lil’ Yu replied.
Xia Yue paused. That… kind of made sense?
But Lil’ Yu stared at her phone in confusion—no matter how many times she took a photo, the screen remained completely blank. Even pointing the camera at each other, neither of their images would appear.
“It’s like the screen’s been locked and I’m only taking screenshots.”
While Lil’ Yu pondered her phone, Xia Yue’s gaze caught a shadow twitching in the corner. She gasped—a chill running down her spine.
The little black thread-doll that had always followed her was back, and this time it was bigger than before—almost the size of Gummy.
“Are we stuck here because of that thing...?”
Lil’ Yu jumped up, scanning the room on high alert. But it was Gummy under the bed who reacted fastest, as if finding a familiar toy in an unfamiliar place—he lunged straight for the creepy little figure.
The shadowy doll was tackled and then subjected to a flurry of bites, pounces, and cat punches from Gummy, almost falling apart. Yet this time, it didn’t run away. Instead, it stubbornly held up a small black bowl filled with some unknown, dark substance, as if trying to feed the cat.
Gummy hesitantly sniffed at the bowl. Just from that, the doll suddenly seemed to swell a bit, as if black words were flowing into it from all directions. Some of the writing even stuck to Gummy’s fur, shocking Xia Yue so much that she rushed forward to pull her cat away.
Suddenly, a deafening alarm blared out, as if hundreds of fire bells went off at once. The room’s warm yellow lights turned a blinding red, and the crimson hardcover book on the desk began to float and flip its pages wildly—like a scene straight out of a ghost story.
“Warning! Within 100 meters—”
Xia Yue instinctively hugged Lil’ Yu close. Gummy, fur bristling, gave the doll one last kick before darting back under the bed to curl up in terror.
The floating book suddenly shot a beam of red light at the shadowy doll—but it missed. The doll had already been kicked to pieces by Gummy, scattering to the wind.
The alarms cut off abruptly. The book dropped quietly back onto the desk, the room returned to normal, as if nothing had happened at all.
Xia Yue was still hugging a completely bewildered Lil’ Yu, her mind utterly blank.
“Does that count as getting rid of it? What just happened? Where’s Gummy?”
“Are you okay, Gummy?” Lil’ Yu dangled upside down off the bed, peering under it for the cat.
“Hello, children.”
“Waaah!”
A voice suddenly came from behind, making Xia Yue leap in fright.
A beautiful girl, with an exotic look, was leaning against the desk, smiling and extending a hand. “I am Marelin, the school that will teach you to harness your gifts with words. Welcome, both of you.”
Xia Yue, face flushed, clamped her mouth shut after that yelp, awkwardly clutching the now-standing Lil’ Yu as they stared wide-eyed at Marelin.
She tried to “read” the girl’s description, only to find it was nothing like a living person—her narrative matched that of the mysterious book from before: “A school named Marelin.” Another wrong measure word.
Marelin, hand extended in the air, didn’t seem the least bit awkward, instead speaking kindly: “That last ‘Story-Blight’ must have scared you. Don’t worry, such things aren’t allowed in the school. That one wasn’t destroyed in time, but if it ever appears again, it will be dealt with sooner or later.”
“Story-Blight? What’s that? Will it come back?” Even though Xia Yue was fairly open-minded about weird stuff, her head was spinning with questions. “Are you a teacher? Where are we? How do we get home?”
“No, I am the school itself. And you’re inside my halls right now. If you want to leave, I can send you home at any time.”
Seeing Xia Yue still looking skeptical, Marelin added with a gentle smile, “This place isn’t like the schools you’re used to, with land and buildings. Whether it’s the study, the landscape, the girl you see, or the textbooks, they’re all part of me—a school that educates Storycrafters.”
“Storycrafter?”
“Children who can see narrative text—the ‘descriptions’—are called Storycrafters.”
Xia Yue’s questions were practically spilling out of her ears, so she went with the flow: “So I’m a non-material bank—if you give me money, I’ll be a Moneycrafter.”
Marelin simply smiled, unbothered by Xia Yue’s little rebellion. “Don’t worry, child. Let me show you.”
She picked up a pen and wrote in the air: “The power that Storycrafters use, derived from narrative—”
As the glowing strokes formed a sentence in midair, the center of the desk sprouted a tender sapling the color of ivory paper.
“This is called Story-Command.”
The sapling quickly grew into an ivory-colored tree, a silver-grey fountain pen coiled among its branches.
Xia Yue stared in shock as a tree grew out of the desk. “Magic?”
Marelin smiled. “If you want to call it that, go ahead. But to be precise, it’s called Story-Command—a power that manifests through creative writing.”
Xia Yue nodded, not quite understanding, but her mind was on something else: “What about the Story-Blight? Is it dangerous?”
“Story-Blight isn’t allowed in the school. Usually, it’s not that dangerous, so don’t worry too much.”
As she spoke, Marelin wrote in the air again, projecting a magnified image of a book page for everyone to see.
“Before you can understand Story-Blight, you need to learn what Story-Command is. But don’t worry—our curriculum is designed for beginners, so everyone can get started step by step.”
On the page was written:
《Introduction to Story-Command》
Instructor: Mr. Luo Hong Tai
Course description:
1. Introduction to the origins of Story-Command, how it’s formed and used.
2. Improve students’ perception, reasoning, and expression skills. Foster good writing habits and help build the core of Story-Command.
3. Explanation and prevention of Story-Blight, as well as self-help techniques in case of an attack.
Fee: Free
Next session: September 6 (today), 5th period
Location: New Sprout Hall—Forest Classroom
Seats: 16/30 (class opens with at least 10 students)
Enrollment: Not registered
There were also classes like Story-Command Appreciation and Penmanship, all writing-related.
Only sixteen students? This magic school really seemed short-staffed—like a cram school desperate for enrollment, stuffing strange books into people’s hands just to get them in the door for a round of magical marketing.
Still, nerves aside, the realization that this really was a magic school filled Xia Yue with excitement. After all, it had everything to do with her lifelong ability to read narratives—how could she not be interested?
But she still reminded herself not to get carried away. Better safe than sorry—there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
“It’s free for now, but will you start charging later? What’s the tuition?”
“We charge in squares.”
Xia Yue was again full of question marks. Charge in squares? What, were they selling game tokens?
Just then, the screen changed to a new page.
Mission 1
Goal: Select a work from the Story-Command Archive and generate Story-Command.
Reward: 10 squares
Marelin explained, “You’ll have missions, and when you complete them, you’ll earn ‘squares.’ Squares are used for classes, meals, supplies—everything here is paid with squares. Other than beginner classes, you’ll need squares for all other courses.”
Xia Yue quietly mocked herself—she should’ve known from the table of contents this was just a game system. There would probably be a ‘first top-up bonus’ soon enough.
Marelin clearly regarded them as incoming students and immediately recommended the admission aptitude test. The tree on the desk projected golden letters displaying a series of questions.
“This test analyzes your writing tendencies—think of it as a personality quiz.”
Not long ago, Lil’ Yu had been alert and cautious, but now she was already dozing in the soft covers as if enjoying five-star bedding, completely ignoring Marelin’s speech. Meanwhile, Gummy peeked his round head from under the bed, keeping a close eye on Marelin.
Seeing Lil’ Yu unmoved, Marelin just kept explaining. Xia Yue understood her sister’s personality—no one could push her—so she simply offered Marelin a look of sympathy and, under her guidance, picked up the fountain pen and started answering.
She wrote her answers, the questions and her script soaking into the wood like water, fading away. Magically, the tree on the desk changed from pale yellow to silver white, glowing with a gentle silvery light from its heart, as if the whole tree had become transparent.
After the test, the desktop displayed her results: Flaremarch 15%, Verdance 30%, Cerulink 5%, Inkarbor 10%, Silvalean 40%.
The multi-colored tree transformed into a silver potted plant, radiating golden-green starlight as it floated up to the ceiling, turning the ceiling into a nebula night sky. If you looked closely, the nebula’s colors matched her test results, as if the sky belonged to her alone.
“So pretty!” Xia Yue couldn’t help but marvel.
Lil’ Yu shot her a lazy glance before burrowing deeper under the covers.
“My highest are Silvalean and Verdance. What does that mean?”
Marelin smiled, “The five academies are based on the core style of your works. Silvalean focuses on character-driven stories, where the plot centers on characters’ actions and choices. Verdance emphasizes fun and creativity—students there often try new genres and varied uses for Story-Command.”
“What about the others?”
“Cerulink values logic and realism. Flaremarch pursues marketability and commercial value. Inkarbor prizes theme expression and literary technique.”
Xia Yue instantly understood why she didn’t score high in the others—she wasn’t very interested in those aspects.
She couldn’t help but quip, “So it’s not a magic school, it’s a writing bootcamp.”
Turns out it really was more like an after-school class—Marelin said the courses wouldn’t replace real high school, since, after eight class periods and two breaks in Marelin, only half an hour would pass in the real world.
Enrollment wasn’t mandatory, either. If you chose not to enter, you’d forget everything about this place after leaving—like waking from a dream you can’t remember. Even the odd book would revert to a normal book or notebook.
But Xia Yue had already decided she wanted to enroll, especially after hearing the introduction to the study room.
“You said once I enroll, this will be my personal study?”
“That’s right. You can even use Story-Command to shape your study however you like.”
But what she really cared about was, “Does time really stop here?”
“Yes. You can check your phone—it hasn’t changed since you came in.”
“What if I stay in here too long—will only I grow old?”
“Nope! Most people don’t stay too long anyway—food and loneliness are pretty good motivators.”
Xia Yue could hardly contain her glee. She will be a billionaire of time!
“Awesome! I’m in! Where do I sign—do I have to sell my soul?”
“No, just start attending classes as I taught you. We’ll go over the school rules later—go explore for now.”
Marelin handed her the Marelin High book and flipped to the table of contents. “Just draw an arrow toward the place you want to go, and you’ll be transported there.”
Xia Yue nodded, turning to ask Lil’ Yu where to go—only to find her sister blissfully asleep. Once again, she marveled at her sister’s nerves of steel.
“Wake up! I want to check out the Story-Command Archive!” Xia Yue shook Lil’ Yu awake, and in her groggy state, she nodded at everything Xia Yue said.
Just as she was about to draw an arrow, Xia Yue thought of another question. “You said this is a school for Storycrafters—so does that mean everyone who can see narrative comes here?”
“Most gifted kids are able to find their way.”
Xia Yue beamed. From the moment Marelin mentioned this was a school for Storycrafters, she’d been hoping to meet others like herself.
All her life, she’d only ever met one other girl like that, and it was just once—they’d crossed paths, but she couldn’t remember her face, only a cute pink dress. She never got any contact info, but maybe, just maybe, they’d meet again here.
As they left, Marelin handed a copy of Marelin High to Lil’ Yu, who barely glanced at it before ignoring it completely.
Xia Yue gave Marelin an awkward smile, but the school-girl spirit didn’t mind, offering only blessings and a brief farewell. Xia Yue waved, pulled her sister close, and drew an arrow. In the blink of an eye, they vanished from the study room.
Under the bed, Gummy was still huddled, completely forgotten.
ns216.73.216.197da2
