Chapter 25: The Enigmatic Poem (Thanks to all for your generous rewards)

“So our top priority right now is to find a way to destroy this red packet group,” Zhang Xiaofan said, sweeping his gaze over the entire class with a grave expression.

“Xiaofan, what do you think we should do?” Wang Hu asked from his seat. Ever since Zhang Xiaofan had successfully dealt with Zhu Kai, even Wang Hu didn’t dare to provoke him anymore—instead, he became extremely compliant.

As Wang Hu finished speaking, many classmates voiced their support for Zhang Xiaofan.

Zhang Xiaofan nodded with satisfaction, then turned around and wrote on the blackboard with a piece of chalk: “The sea’s breath layers upon towers high, mountain gates shaded by bamboos and blooms. Birds return, the village falls into silence; a tranquil feast within empty woods. With no ghosts or gods to deceive, scholars must hold themselves in esteem.”

These lines were the poem Old Shen had given him. For the past few days, Zhang Xiaofan had studied it every night before sleep, but regrettably, he had yet to divine its true meaning.

“This is a very important clue I received, but unfortunately, the person who gave it to me is dead—right here in this classroom,” Zhang Xiaofan said, pointing at the floor.

“You mean Old Shen who died not long ago?” Murong Feng asked.

“Yes, precisely him,” Zhang Xiaofan replied, taking a deep breath. “Old Shen clearly knew something, but he didn’t dare say it outright. He only gave me these lines of poetry. The next day, he was found hanged in our classroom. I’m certain it wasn’t suicide—he was killed by a ghost.”

The class immediately erupted in murmurs.

“So the ghost wanted to silence him.”

“These lines must hide some secret, but what could it be?”

“Sea’s breath, mountain gates… Could it be referring to a place related to the sea and the mountains?” someone guessed.

Murong Feng frowned at the blackboard, then suddenly let out a dry laugh.

“Murong Feng, did you discover something?” Zhang Xiaofan was puzzled by his reaction.

“Xiaofan, can’t you see? This is such an obvious acrostic poem,” Shen Fengxing chimed in with a sly grin.

Zhang Xiaofan felt a twinge of annoyance—Shen Fengxing always seemed to be picking on him lately, though he had no idea why.

“If you know, then tell us,” Lin Roujia retorted sharply.

With a smug look, Shen Fengxing explained, “It’s obvious—the first line, ‘the sea’s breath layers upon towers,’ must refer to a building. The second line says there are bamboos nearby. The third line mentions birds kept in a bamboo garden. The fourth line describes it as an empty grove now filled with ghosts, and the last line warns us to be careful when entering.”

Zhang Xiaofan shook his head. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Completely wrong,” Murong Feng stood up and said directly. “The answer is simple: ‘Hundred Flowers Village, there are ghosts.’ Just look at the third character of each line. As for the last line—‘scholars must hold themselves in esteem’—the ‘scholars’ refers to us students. It’s a warning to be careful. I think we all know what we should be wary of.”

Zhang Xiaofan recited the lines again and, sure enough, the third character of each line spelled out: Hundred Flowers Village, there are ghosts.

“Haha, Shen Fengxing, all that nonsense you just spouted was completely wrong,” Lin Rou was still holding a grudge over Shen Fengxing’s earlier words.

Shen Fengxing’s face darkened. He snorted and fell silent.

Zhang Xiaofan ignored him, stood up and said, “Alright, now that the riddle’s solved, our next step is to find this Hundred Flowers Village. Has anyone heard of it?”

The classmates all shook their heads; it seemed none of them had.

“In that case, ask the people around you. This concerns all of us, so I hope no one tries to shirk responsibility. If you learn anything about Hundred Flowers Village, report it immediately,” Wang Hu called out loudly.

At that moment, their homeroom teacher, Xu Xiuli, walked in holding a stack of books. The class instantly quieted, though whispers still lingered.

“What’s going on? Why did the teacher come to class right after our killer game ended?”

“Yeah, do you think the teacher has something to do with that red packet group?”

“Who knows…”

Zhang Xiaofan watched Xu Xiuli with suspicion. It was true—she never came during the red packet games, as if she’d forgotten them all, but the moment the game ended, she appeared. It was just too much of a coincidence.

“Miss Xu, why didn’t you come the last couple of days?” Wang Hu voiced the question on everyone’s mind.

Xu Xiuli looked surprised. “I was sick, so I didn’t come. But I arranged for substitute teachers, didn’t I? Hmm, I see some students from first and third year here as well.”

No one responded to Xu Xiuli’s question. Instead, Wang Hu sneered, “No one ever came.”

“Oh, maybe they forgot. It’s fine, the schedule isn’t too tight anyway.” Xu Xiuli spread out her books. “First and third-year students, since you like attending classes here, pay attention and don’t interrupt my lesson.”

She started teaching. When class was over, she hurried out as if she were fleeing, clearly fearful of their classroom.

“This Xu Xiuli definitely knows something,” Zhang Xiaofan muttered to himself, following her. He was determined to confront her and get to the bottom of the red packet game plaguing their class.

Xu Xiuli rushed back to the office and closed the door tightly. Zhang Xiaofan snuck over; though the door was shut, there was a window.

Just as he was about to peek in, the curtains inside were drawn shut. Zhang Xiaofan stared in disbelief—what secret was Xu Xiuli hiding?

Suddenly, smoke began to billow from inside. Zhang Xiaofan was momentarily stunned, then cursed under his breath—was it a fire?

After a moment’s thought, he decided to go in and take a look.

Bang!

He crashed through the door, only to see Xu Xiuli crouched on the floor, burning spirit money—the scene was almost identical to Old Shen’s.

Xu Xiuli was startled, quickly smothered the flames, and demanded sternly, “Zhang Xiaofan, don’t you know to knock before entering? Where are your manners?”

Zhang Xiaofan retorted, “Teacher, why are you burning spirit money in broad daylight? Have you done something you feel guilty about?”

Xu Xiuli froze but quickly recovered. “I’m a teacher, living honestly—what could I be guilty of?”

“Then why burn paper offerings?”

“So many students have died in class. I’m burning these for them, out of respect for our time as teacher and students. I just want them to find some peace in the afterlife.”

It was a convincing explanation—Zhang Xiaofan couldn’t find a single flaw.

So he got straight to the point. “Teacher, I hope you’ll tell me the truth. By now, dozens of students in our class have died, and even the first and third-year classes are getting dragged in. How much longer are you going to play dumb?”

Xu Xiuli waved her hand dismissively. “Enough, I don’t want to hear any more. I know nothing.”

“Hmph. Then let me recite a poem for you: ‘The sea’s breath layers upon towers high, mountain gates shaded by bamboos and blooms. Birds return, the village falls into silence; a tranquil feast within empty woods. With no ghosts or gods to deceive, scholars must hold themselves in esteem.’” Zhang Xiaofan took a deep breath, his gaze burning, “These lines were given to me by Old Shen. The day after he spoke them, he was found hanged in our classroom. Teacher Xu… is there anything you’d like to say?”