自創小說的集合地

You just discovered you've forgotten eighteen years of your life. Your memories are being reconstructed, and three different versions of your 'past' are battling it out in your head. You can't make decisions alone." "So what?" "So I'm going down with you." Lin Jing walked up to him, close enough to see the fire flickering in her pupils. "You've forgotten one thing, Chen Mo. That negotiation three years ago – the woman who claimed to be your 'sister' – I looked into her." Chen Mo's heartbeat skipped a beat. "What did you say?" "I looked into it. She's not your sister. But she is from Fog Valley." Lin Jing's tone was calm, but something glinted in her eyes. "She's two years younger than you, the last child to move out of Fog Valley village. She was killed during that negotiation, not because the perpetrators wanted to kill her – but because she wanted to die." Chen Mo felt a tightness in his chest. "She wanted to die?" "She wrote a letter before she died, sent to my lab. By the time I received it, your negotiation had been over for three days." Lin Jing pulled a folded piece of paper from a crevice in her notebook, its yellowed edges showing the passage of time. "I didn't give it to you then because you had already broken down once. But you should see it now." Chen Mo took the paper, his fingers a little stiff. He unfolded it. The handwriting was that of a young woman, neat and delicate, but every stroke was pressed down hard: "Mr. Chen Mo: I am the hostage taken by the perpetrators you were negotiating with today. You don't know me, but I know you. When we were young in Fog Valley, we used to under the banyan tree together (To be continued)

Lao Zhou, you heard that tape, what do you think it means? Leaning against the bookshelf, Lao Zhou put his hands in his pockets and was silent for a few seconds before speaking, "I think what that sentence means is – you think there's an answer behind the door. But behind the door, there are only more questions." "Then you should definitely go alone," Chen Mo said. "If something happens to me, at least you guys will still have someone outside to figure things out." "That logic doesn't hold up," Xu Ziqian walked over from the top of the stairs, his expression complicated, the 'S' tattoo glowing faintly red in the firelight. "If there's danger inside, going alone will only get you killed faster. If there's no danger inside, then it's fine for us to go together." "Of course you'd say that," Chen Mo turned to him, his gaze calm. "Because you're Zhang Zhenyu's son. You've known about this door since you were a child. How can I be sure you're telling me the truth?" Xu Ziqian's body stiffened slightly. He lowered his eyes, as if struck in a soft spot by that sentence. Silence stretched for a few seconds, then he looked up, his voice softer than before: "Chen Mo, I won't hurt you. Neither will my father – his suicide was so that when you came here, no one would stand in your way." There was a very subtle tremor in his voice. Chen Mo heard it. He was silent for a few seconds. "Okay," Chen Mo said. "You come with me. Everyone else stays here." "No." Lin Jing closed her notebook and stood up, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Chen Mo, your judgment is impaired right now. You just discovered you've forgotten... (To be continued)

An old iron key, stained with rust. "The door is behind the old wine cellar," he said. "It's been eighteen years. Time to end this." Chen Mo looked at the key. In his mind palace, the door he had never opened was trembling. He didn't know what he would see when he opened it. But he knew one thing: if he didn't open it, the blizzard tonight wouldn't stop. "Take me there," he said. --- Chapter Seven: The Door Below The key felt cold in Chen Mo's palm. Everyone stood up. The fire in the hearth burned fiercely, casting long, overlapping shadows on the wall like puppets tethered by invisible strings. Chen Mo gripped the rusty iron key and walked towards the hidden door of the wine cellar. "Wait a moment." Lin Jing's voice came from behind, calm to the point of sharpness. "Chen Mo, are you sure you want to go down alone?" "I'll go with you." Fang Guodong stepped forward, standing beside Chen Mo. "I'm coming too." Old Zhou placed his whiskey glass on the coffee table. His movements were slow, but his eyes were clear, unlike someone who had been drinking. "No," Chen Mo said. He turned to look at them. The firelight danced on his face, reflecting the fatigue deep in his eyes and something more stubborn. "You all stay here." "Why?" Lin Jing frowned. "Because I'm not sure what will happen when that door opens," Chen Mo said. He tightened his grip on the key, the metal's teeth digging into his palm. "Zhang Zhenyu's tape said there's nothing I'm looking for behind the door. Old Zhou, you heard that tape..." (To be continued)

He opened his eyes. "The organizer," he said. "Zhang Zhenyu." "But he's dead," Shen Yuehua said. "We saw it with our own eyes—" "Yes," Chen Mo said, his voice very soft. "One Zhang Zhenyu is dead. But there's another." He turned towards the staircase. A person stood there. It was Xu Ziqian. But Xu Ziqian's expression had changed. His body leaned forward slightly, his right shoulder lower than his left—a very subtle difference, but in Chen Mo's memory palace, that figure perfectly overlapped with the man in black from eighteen years ago. "Xu Ziqian" spoke, his voice low, with an accent Chen Mo had never heard before. "You finally remembered, Chen Mo." He raised his right hand. The scar on the inside of his wrist glowed a dark red in the firelight. It wasn't from rope abrasion—it was a tattoo. A small "S" inked into the skin. The mark of the last night watchman of Fog Valley Village. "Zhang Zhenyu is my father," he said. "He sent me out, let me live. But he also passed the responsibility to me—the responsibility to keep that room closed forever." "But you're killing people." Chen Mo said. Xu Ziqian—or rather, the real person—shook his head. "I didn't kill anyone. Zhang Zhenyu committed suicide. He tied the noose around his own neck and took poison. He left a note telling me that if I wanted to end all this, I had to make you remember. You are the only one who can close that door." He walked to the fireplace and took a key from his pocket. An old iron (To be continued)

Then there was a very faint sigh, almost inaudible. Then a child's voice said, "Grandpa, who are you talking to?" End of recording. The lobby was so quiet you could hear everyone's heartbeat. Chen Mo stood there, the palace of memories in his mind reeling wildly. That child's voice—he recognized it. It was his own voice, from a night eighteen years ago, standing in a certain room, asking an old man. And now he stood here, in the snowy night of eighteen years later, surrounded by people connected to Fog Valley. Everyone had a secret, and everyone had been drawn here. He suddenly understood. "This seminar was a sham from the beginning," Chen Mo said. "Zhang Zhenyu didn't gather us all here for a meeting. He brought us together—because a ritual in Fog Valley back then required six specific people to stand in specific positions." He looked at Lin Jing's relationship map, the direction of those five ropes. "Our pasts, the six of us, were already arranged. The disappearances in Neihu, Director Zhou's suppressed report, Commander Fang's assault, Dr. Shen's foundation, Xu Ziqian's land—it was all the same thread. Someone moved us into this position as if playing chess." "Who?" Fang Guodong asked. Chen Mo closed his eyes. In the palace of memories, the figure in black reappeared. Tall and thin, shoulders hunched forward, dragging his right foot. He had seen this figure—the moment he entered, at dinner, when everyone shook hands. He opened his eyes. (To be continued)

Similarly, Di Bi's and my information was shared with the two of them, but fortunately, they didn't look at me with prejudice. Instead, they paid close attention to Di Bi's actions, especially when he went to the restroom, the black sphere had to be kept in sight of everyone, at least one person had to be able to see it. After all, Di Bi's actual combat performance had already caused a stir throughout the academy due to an anonymous leak. Currently, among the new students in the academy, the top individuals to pay special attention to are me in the eyes of the teachers, and Di Bi in the eyes of the students. I am considered a ticking time bomb by the teachers, while Di Bi is seen as a walking "shit bomb" by the students. Thus, our nicknames successfully made it to the front page of the academy forum on the very first day of school. Title: XX Academy's New School Tyrants, Ruffians and Scoundrels Have Arrived

Why do I know these things? It's simple, because dietary therapy is also an important part of culture. And dietary therapy doesn't necessarily require medicinal herbs to be considered as such. Supplementing nutrition through regular diet, like replenishing iron and calcium, or dispelling heat and dampness, all count. Even eating mung bean soup can clear heat, detoxify, and promote urination, so why wouldn't it be considered dietary therapy? Unfortunately, this world only has boiled meat chunks and beast milk left, with too much knowledge lost. For survival, no one researches these things, so I truly have a long way to go. After receiving the new academic year textbooks, there was dormitory assignment. No need to think about co-ed living; it's definitely separated by gender. It's better for your physical and mental health to reduce wild fantasies during normal times. The dorm is a four-person room, and of course, Di Pi and I are in the same room again. A true combination of ruffians, we're inseparable now. Our other two roommates are Zeng Haoyi and Jia Wuqing, respectively. All four of us are members of the special class. Zeng Haoyi awakened a 'Sunny Doll' companion beast, with the ability of illusion. His talent is 'Water Mist,' allowing him to create mist within a certain range around himself, which pairs well with the Sunny Doll's illusions. The downside is that it's indiscriminate to friend or foe. Jia Wuqing awakened a companion beast that resembles a tabby cat, with the ability to 'Amplify.' It's not literal amplification; it amplifies specified sounds. His talent is 'Eavesdropping,' but not the espionage kind. He can eavesdrop on a target's inner thoughts for a short period. Paired with that cat, he can directly amplify and broadcast the target's inner thoughts. Oh my god, the person whose thoughts are broadcast would absolutely face social death. Similarly, Hou Taotao also has three roommates, but I don't know them yet.

The day Chen Cheng moved into his new rented room, he found a doll on the floor by the door. It was palm-sized, made of plastic, wore a red dress, its eyes half-closed, and the corners of its mouth turned up slightly. He thought it was left by the previous tenant and casually placed it on the shoe cabinet. That night, he dreamed the doll was sitting by his bed, looking down at him. "You found me," the doll said, "so you have to take responsibility." Chen Cheng woke up in a cold sweat. He walked to the door; the doll was still on the shoe cabinet, its posture unchanged. But he remembered he had placed the doll facing the wall before going to sleep. The next night, he dreamed of the doll again. This time, the doll was sitting on his chest, very heavy. "You didn't place me properly yesterday," the doll said, "this won't do." Chen Cheng wanted to move but couldn't. The doll slowly leaned down, opening its mouth, revealing a pitch-black void inside. "You have to play with me," the doll said, "until I'm satisfied." The next morning, Chen Cheng put the doll in a plastic bag and rode his bike to a distant riverbank to throw it away. When he returned home, the doll was sitting by his front door. "You threw me away once," the doll said, "so you have to play with me one more time." Chen Cheng knelt on the ground, cupped the doll in his hands, and placed it back on the shoe cabinet. He even got a clean towel to pad it. "Is this okay?" his voice trembled. The doll's eyes moved, then slowly turned towards him. "Yes," the doll said, "but you have to promise me one thing." "What is it?" "From now on, when someone moves in, you have to leave me for them too." Chen Cheng froze. The doll smiled, its mouth splitting to its ears: "Because

When we attended middle school, we needed to choose a primary cultivation direction. And continuously train, in order to perform better when assessed for higher education in the future. Because higher education is no longer civic education, but requires joint admissions with an acceptance rate of about 10%, among which practical combat tests have the highest weight. Of course, there are other vocational schools, such as technology, engineering, education, etc., not including the acceptance rate calculation. Because these other vocational schools no longer teach combat and wilderness-related knowledge and skills. They all serve various aspects within the city, which is the ordinary person class. Only those on the front lines have the potential for high income and high status in the future. In this dangerous era, only military merit is the primary standard. Of course, if you can develop more powerful weapons or technologies that are more threatening to wild beasts, they will also be converted into military merit. It's just that compared to the front-line battlefield, it takes a long time and the probability is not high. There are also some personnel who are constantly researching plants, but the direction is whether they are poisonous, just to ensure that personnel who go out to explore do not die from food poisoning. There is no detailed distinction of medicinal effects, taste, flavor, and nutritional value of plants from the previous life. I sometimes wonder, what would their expressions be if I were to meticulously copy a Compendium of Materia Medica and throw it in their faces? Unfortunately, I am the only one who understands these things now. Even if I were to write them down, I might be considered a heretic or a false theory.

"Of course, the cultivation and application of talent are also necessary items. Especially for specific individuals in this class, I am notifying you in advance that a teacher must be present during talent cultivation and application, unless the higher-ups revoke your observation." As Yan Lili said this, her eyes were fiercely staring at me. Although she didn't name me, it was pretty much the same. "A few of you, come out with me to move the textbooks for the new academic year." Because the number of students in the middle school is a collection of several basic education academies, there are as many as three special classes. You should know that out of our original twelve people, only the three of us were assigned to special classes after awakening our talents. This shows how many students from the basic education academies are needed to fill three classes. As for combat skills, there's an interesting thing in this world: cultural inheritance has been broken. But perhaps because of the pressure of surviving in the outside world and the genes in the ancestral bloodline. Something similar to the martial arts in novels and movies from the previous life has appeared. It's just that due to the cultural discontinuity, it's not called martial arts but combat skills. And it's not as detailed as before, with only general classifications like knife, spear, staff, axe, sword, dagger, bow, whip, throwing, grappling, technology, etc. Compared to the great sects of Shaolin, Emei, Wudang, etc., each with its own characteristics in the previous life, it's inferior, and there's even no effect of movement techniques, qi cultivation, or mind cultivation. However, due to spiritual energy and the fact that they usually eat meat containing demon bloodlines, everyone's physique is very good, emphasizing 'one force conquers ten skills'.