自創小說的集合地

In the special class, my classmates all had companion beasts that awakened various abilities. Common mental types include Calm, Soothe, and Frenzy. Hypnosis types: Sleep, Suggestion. Skill types: Lockpicking, Stealing, and there was even one who awakened 'Monkey Steals Peaches'! What is that? It looks like a monkey, but how can something so outrageous be considered an ability? The scariest part is that this child is a girl. As mentioned before, companion beasts are a true reflection of the owner's personality. Therefore, after her companion beast's ability became known, this girl successfully became the person universally recognized by all male beings in the entire class... no, the entire school, as absolutely not to be provoked. According to those who overheard, this monkey's ability, once activated, is guaranteed to hit. It can be called a causality-based ability, though it's only comparable, not a true causality ability. However, this skill is ineffective against companion beasts because companion beasts have no gender. There are also special categories, like mine. All rare and powerful abilities are classified in this category. Besides the special class, there are also regular and professional classes. Regular classes, as the name suggests, are for those whose companion beasts have no special abilities and only general ways of functioning. Of course, if they awaken abilities later, their class will be adjusted. Professional classes are for those who have awakened special abilities, but they are divided into classes for things like healing, attack, defense, support, and life functions. Currently, within the academy, there are 10 regular classes, 3 professional classes, and 1 special class, with each class having 10-50 students. That's right, the one with 10 students is our special class.

After the commotion, my mom also sent me to bed, reasoning that children shouldn't stay up late. Once they confirmed I was asleep, my parents privately discussed needing to check the family tree to see if any legendary figures existed among our ancestors. "Honey, since both of our genes are so excellent, why don't we... have a second child? I want a daughter this time." "It seems... feasible." And so, while I was fast asleep, the house was in an uproar all night. The wind tonight was particularly boisterous. Thus, the next day, I officially began my routine of commuting between school and home. Of course, my mom still drove me. However, on the second day after my awakening, after dropping me off at the academy, she first took me to the academy's administrative office to register. Because my little furball indeed falls under the category of awakening a special ability, and although its true effects are not yet apparent, it needs to be registered according to regulations. Then I was assigned to a special class. This is a class for those whose companion beasts have awakened special abilities. Later, during class, I learned that among those whose companion beasts awaken abilities, spontaneous awakenings are exceedingly rare, occurring in only one out of a hundred. This is why awakened ability users are separated; otherwise, it can easily cause confusion during teaching. However, these past few days, besides attending school normally, I suddenly noticed that my mom looked radiant every morning. Compared to my dad's withered and exhausted appearance, how could I, with the soul of a nearly 40-year-old, not understand? So, at the dinner table, I quietly poured my dad a cup of beast milk to help him recover. Dad, you've worked really hard. Maintaining family harmony isn't that easy either.

Shen Jing returned to his hometown for the Lunar New Year and met an old woman at the train station. The old woman handed him a red envelope and said with a smile, "Young man, happy new year. This is for good luck." Shen Jing felt awkward refusing, so he accepted it. When he got home and opened it — there was no money inside, only a yellowed red paper with his name and birthdate written on it. He found it bizarre and casually tossed it into a drawer. That night, he started to have a high fever, and a voice in his dream kept saying, "If you accept it, you agree." Three days later, Shen Jing's mother found the red envelope in the drawer. When she opened it, the name on the red paper had changed. It was the old woman's name. And Shen Jing stood at the door of his room, saying expressionlessly, "Mom, I'm going out for a bit." He never came back. Later, neighbors said that every Lunar New Year, there's a young man at the train station handing out red envelopes. He smiles just like that old woman from that year.

A high-pitched cat's meow, accompanied by a furry paw attack, sent the husky crashing headfirst to the ground, paying homage to me, its little master. "Who told you to let out the husky?" Mom's angry roar instantly stunned Dad, who had just snapped back to reality and couldn't think straight. "Uh, I forgot, I forgot. I got too excited and forgot we can't let dogs out in the house." The commotion caused by the husky at home ended with the husky being recalled, under the suppression of Mom and the kitten. "Mom, Little Furball says she's hungry." This statement shocked both parents because bonded beasts don't need food; they only need spiritual energy, which comes solely from their master. So my words completely shattered their long-held beliefs, leaving only one thought in their minds: Is my baby this special? Later, through communication with Little Furball and attempts by my parents, we discovered that Little Furball wasn't hungry. It turned out she had a very small space within her, which was her ability. Her growth method involved placing meat in this space, and the space would slowly absorb the nutrients from the meat, gradually expanding. This astonished my parents even more because it meant my Little Furball had a space attribute. Through my parents' explanation, I learned that Mom's kitten was wind-attributed, and Dad's husky was metal-attributed. Normally, the chance of a child inheriting their parents' attributes is about 90%, with the rest being almost entirely ancestral attributes. I was also puzzled by this, wondering if any of my ancestors had a space attribute.

"So, so, what kind of awakened beast did our treasure awaken? With my genes, it must be handsome, imposing, and incredibly powerful, right!" Seeing my dad's proud and curious expression shatter the moment he saw Little Furball, I found it quite amusing. It seems Little Furball's appearance really didn't meet Dad's expectations. "Don't mind your dad, let him space out over there. Good treasure, come, let's eat first." "After eating, Mom will teach you some things. You try them out." After dinner, I followed Mom in trying various things to see if Little Furball had any special abilities, but we found nothing. "How is that possible? Er Gouzi, come out!" Dad finally snapped out of it. At the same time, I saw his awakened beast for the first time. It was a creature that was terrifying in my previous life. Although this creature is friendly to humans, it is extremely destructive to property. This creature is--- a Husky. Dad's awakened beast was a very purebred-looking Husky. With those intelligent eyes, I could feel that it had many ideas about the home's interior design. "Er Gouzi, from now on, you'll be in charge of teaching my son's awakened beast. We can't do anything about the appearance, but we can't lose in terms of presence!" The Husky excitedly ran towards me. Judging by its momentum, Mom should probably call an ambulance, and I could legally take a leave of absence tomorrow. "Meow! Meow~~!" (Stupid dog! You asking for a beating!)

"This diary, you wrote it, didn't you?" Fang Guodong asked. "I don't know," Chen Mo replied, his voice hoarser than he expected. "I have no recollection at all. But I can't deny—" He flipped to the title page. Inside, in the same pencil script, was a name and an address: Fog Valley Village, Number Thirteen. Beside it, a small banyan tree was drawn. Chen Mo closed his eyes. The palace of memory in his mind trembled—he tried to find any memory fragments related to Fog Valley, but all the rooms were empty. No Fog Valley, no banyan tree, no face of that young woman. Only a blankness, as if deliberately erased. "One more thing," Fang Guodong pulled an envelope from the bottom of the leather case. "There's a letter inside, addressed to 'Future Chen Mo.'" Chen Mo opened the envelope. The paper was already yellowed, and the handwriting was adult, neat, and strong: "Chen Mo, by the time you read this letter, I should no longer be in this world. You were the last child of Fog Valley Village. We sent you away so you could survive. But the price was that you had to forget everything here—that ritual, the people in black clothes, and what happened that night. If you have returned now, it means that person has also returned. He didn't succeed back then, but he never gave up. He will use all sorts of methods to make you remember the past, because only when you remember can his ritual be completed. Do not trust your memories. Do not trust anyone. Including (To be continued)

The child's wrists were tightly bound by ropes, his face streaked with tears, yet he dared not cry out. That child was him. The faces of the people in black were blurred, but he recognized the build of one of them. Tall and thin, shoulders slightly hunched forward, with a slight drag of his right foot when he walked. That build belonged to someone he knew. Right here, in this manor. Chen Mo's eyes snapped open. "Commander Fang," he said, "Let's go back." "You know who it is?" "Not for sure. But I can confirm one thing—" Chen Mo put the letter back in his pocket. "The killer isn't Xu Ziqian. Because when that ritual happened, Xu Ziqian wasn't even born yet." He walked to the garage door and pushed it open. The blizzard hit him again, but he didn't stop. "The real killer," he said into the wind, "was the one standing outside the circle, directing everything back then." And he had been waiting in the manor for eighteen years. --- Chapter Six: Everyone's Secret When they returned to the hall, the atmosphere had changed. Shen Yuehua sat by the fireplace, cradling a cup of hot water in her hands. Her face was still pale, but her eyes were calmer than before. Lin Jing sat opposite her, a notebook open on her lap, writing. Old Zhou was curled up in a corner of the sofa, his hat brim pulled low, appearing to be asleep but breathing unevenly. Xu Ziqian stood at the entrance of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest, watching Chen Mo enter. "Find anything?" he asked. Chen Mo didn't answer immediately. He walked to the coffee table, (To be continued)

Don't trust your memory. Don't trust anyone. Not even yourself. — Fog Valley, the Last Watchman" There was no signature. But a dark red fingerprint was pressed onto the bottom of the letter. Chen Mo folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. He looked up at the garage's vent window. The snow had stopped for a moment, and the sky had brightened slightly, but the clouds in the distance were still thick, as if they would never disperse. "Who was that person?" Fang Guodong asked. "I don't know," Chen Mo said. "But that person is in the manor right now. And he killed Zhang Zhenyu—the village chief who sent everyone away back then." He paused. "He's going to kill a second person." "How do you know?" Chen Mo took out the note he found by the electrical box from his pocket and spread it out in front of Fang Guodong. "'Answer correctly and win a prize,'" Chen Mo said. "This is a game. The killer is testing us—or rather, testing me. He wants to see when I'll remember." Fang Guodong was silent for a long time. The sound of the wind outside the garage gradually subsided, and the world seemed to enter a brief, eerie tranquility. "Chen Mo," he finally said, "what about the 'ritual' you mentioned?" Chen Mo didn't answer. Because in the memory palace of his mind, the door to a room suddenly opened. He saw it. It was a night many years ago, in the temple at the center of Fog Valley village, the firelight flickering. A group of people in black clothes formed a circle, and in the center, a child was tied up. That child (To be continued)

But he had forgotten everything. Fang Guodong took out two diaries from the bottom of the box. One had a blue cover, and the other was red. The blue cover was inscribed with crooked pencil handwriting: "Chen Mo". Chen Mo opened the first page. The date was a day in September, eighteen years ago. The handwriting was childish, and some of the phonetic symbols were misspelled: "Today the teacher said we have to move down the mountain. I don't know what's down there, but I don't want to go. The knot on the banyan tree hasn't been untied yet, Grandma said it protects us." He flipped to the middle, and the date jumped forward a few months: "Someone came. They were wearing black clothes, and Grandma said not to look at them. But I peeked, and they put something in the temple. I don't know what it is, but the lights were on all night that day." The handwriting on the last few pages became hurried and frantic: "They said they were taking us away. The adults were arguing. Grandpa said no, but the village chief said we had to go. At night, I heard cars outside. I wanted to run out and see, but Mom held me. She said, 'Don't make a sound, don't move, it'll be fine when morning comes.' I asked her where we were going, but she didn't answer." The last page had only one sentence, written with such force that the tip of the pen almost pierced the paper: "Morning never came." The diary ended here. Chen Mo closed the diary. His fingers were cold, but his palms were sweating. The air in the garage was cold and damp, yet he felt a burning heat in his chest. "You wrote this diary, didn't you?" (To be continued)

"Where are you guys going?" Old Zhou asked. "The garage," Chen Mo said briefly. "We'll be back in half an hour." He and Fang Guodong put on their jackets and went out through the side door. The wind and snow hit them, reducing visibility to less than ten meters. The garage was about fifty meters to the right of the main manor building, a separate wooden structure. The two walked through the accumulated snow, each step sinking to their ankles. There was no light in the garage, but the daylight filtering through the snow provided enough visibility. Fang Guodong walked to the tool cabinet in the corner, squatted down, and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside was a dark brown leather suitcase. Chen Mo took the suitcase out and placed it on the workbench. The clasps were indeed rusty but not completely seized. He gave one a hard pull, and with a 'snap,' the clasp sprang open. Inside, dozens of photos were neatly arranged, all scenes from Fog Valley Village—the banyan tree at the village entrance, the stone paths, the low-slung houses, the distant mountains. There were also a few portraits: a group of adults standing in front of a building that looked like a temple, their expressions stern; a young woman holding a baby, smiling under the banyan tree; a little boy squatting by a stream playing with water, with dense bamboo groves in the background. Chen Mo picked up the photo of the baby and examined it closely. The young woman's face was blurred by time, but her eyes—Chen Mo recognized those eyes. Because they were the same eyes he saw in the mirror every morning. His mother. He was sure now: he had indeed been to Fog Valley. He had seen this banyan tree, seen this stream. But he had forgotten everything. (To be continued)