I, the screenwriter, have experienced a resurgence of inspiration.

The once bustling Jiangcheng University has now become a cold, lifeless landmark.

It drifted slowly along the main road at the end of the Song Dynasty, leaving no trace.

"Da, da, da."

Armed police officers walked past her, the metal parts of their riot guns gleaming coldly.

She even walked around the makeshift command center for a long time.

According to her initial estimate, the artificial lake checkpoint would result in at least two casualties.

Talking about Jasmine's poor health, Chow Sang Sang is arrogant and conceited.

But things didn't go as she expected.

Tan Moli, who was the weakest, completed the daily check-in task first, while the arrogant Zhou Shengsheng was simply tough as nails.

In fact, this group of players had a chance to be wiped out.

When the ever-burning candle in the pavilion in the middle of the lake went out, it was she who spent twenty script points to use the [Butcher] profession card on Zhao Weilai.

It was originally just an experiment, but unexpectedly, Zhao Weilai really had a breakthrough in his life, stabbing the water ghost in the eye socket with a stick and saving Tan Moli in the process.

—The other party is practically a superman.

However, this gray card was originally a randomly dropped item, and its creation of a special audience member can be considered a good use of it.

Song Mo stroked his chin.

There was also a green professional card lying in the backpack. It was of slightly lower quality than Liu Guilan's clay sculptor card, but it should still be a useful card.

Actually, she originally thought highly of Weng Yang—he was calm, observant, and with a doctor's profession, he might become the core of the team.

Fu Qinqin is also good. She looks quiet, but she is actually meticulous and bold. She dares to take risks and make choices at crucial moments.

However, since the two had already left the instance, Song Mo didn't want to waste a chance to gain a skill.

Unlike the players, she sees complete instance information—like building information in a mini-game:

[Copy: High School Ghost Stories]

Status: Running (28st hour)

[Number of surviving players remaining: 4/6]

[Unlocked Classes: Butcher (Gray) x1, Clay Sculptor (Blue) x1]

[Estimated crafting points gained from this dungeon: 1500]

[Current number of ghosts in the instance: 3 (Water Ghost, Jumping Ghost, Toilet Ghost)]

[Materials obtainable from the dungeon: Rouge Mud, Waterweed, Shady Moss, Gold Ingots, Real Money, Low-level Materials, Green-tier Job Cards, Items...]

……

The numbers aren't actually that impressive.

Ten people went in, and two have died so far. The mortality rate is less than half, which means the difficulty is relatively low and it is suitable as a beginner dungeon.

"After all, it's a beginner-level dungeon, good for practicing—we can consider increasing the difficulty for the next dungeon, Azhu."

Song Mo called out softly, and a faint black mist rose in the air behind her. One of the twin ghosts, dressed in red, appeared behind her:

"grown ups."

"Keep an eye on the instance and report any unusual activity to me immediately," Song Mo instructed. "Especially that Liu Guilan, and the subsequent official response."

"Yes." A'Zhu bowed in response, her figure disappearing back into the black mist.

Song Mo touched the empty space behind his head.

She always felt that since she came back from the dead, the part of her that belonged to "humanity" seemed to be getting smaller and smaller.

As for what happened in that world, the joys and sorrows, laughter and tears... when I think about it now, it all feels vague, like looking through a mirror.

Their emotional fluctuations were pitifully few, and they only showed a few scattered feelings of regret over the loss of life.

—I don't know if this change is good or bad.

But she wanted to live.

Song Mo knew very well what he wanted.

……

……

There are still relatives of the missing persons lingering at the entrance of Jiangcheng University.

An elderly woman sat on the steps by the roadside, sobbing in front of the camera.

Many reporters were stopped outside the cordon, holding up their cameras and taking quick photos of the area outside the school gate.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Song Mo took it out and tapped the screen.

On Weibo's trending topics list, the hashtag #JiangchengUniversityGasLeak# appeared at the end, followed by a gray "Recommended" label.

Clicking through, you'll find a brief announcement from the official account of Jiangcheng University.

The gist of the report is that an old pipeline on campus ruptured, posing a risk of gas leakage. Students and faculty have been evacuated immediately, and there have been no casualties. The investigation into potential hazards is ongoing.

However, the comments section didn't seem to buy it.

[Is a gas leak really necessary to seal off the entire school? And even bar people from the surrounding residential areas?]

[Gas leak? Call the fire department! Why are all the people who went in being military and police...]

My brother is studying there. He called me and said he didn't smell any gas at all. They were kicked out in the middle of the night, and they weren't even allowed to take their luggage.

[Is there anyone on the inside who can tell me if something like that has happened again? I've already packed my things and am preparing to leave Jiangcheng.]

[The expulsion of tens of thousands of students—how serious is this? I heard some missing students have already been found?]

[If they find out, the authorities will definitely issue a report. Something's not right, something's very wrong.]

Now you know why we Jiangcheng people buy glutinous rice, right? There's been trouble every day this month, it's terrifying!

……

Comments were refreshed very quickly. A few appeared at the end of the day, and the next second, that comment was completely deleted.

The entry was also dropping at a visible speed, and within a minute, it completely disappeared from the list.

Nothing unexpected happened at the end of the Song Dynasty.

She was already familiar with the official procedures.

Suppressing trending topics, finding excuses, dispersing crowds, and sealing off the scene—the whole operation was executed flawlessly.

It was the same at Taiping Cemetery that time, and it's the same this time.

It's just a bit of a hassle for her.

She originally thought that the university town had a large flow of people, and opening a dungeon there would help filter out many potential viewers and players.

As a result, the authorities cleared the area, and tens of thousands of students and faculty members evacuated overnight.

The once vast campus is now as empty as a ghost town; apart from the military and police, there are hardly any living creatures to be seen.

The copy she painstakingly wrote was defeated by the official response speed.

Damn it.

I have to work overtime again to write a new script.

The screenwriter, Song, let out a sob, covered her face, and drifted away.

……

……

The alleys in the old town are narrow and deep, and most of the streetlights are broken, leaving only a few dim yellow lights illuminating the bumpy cement road.

As Song Mo drifted into the rented room through the window, a sharp sound suddenly came from downstairs—the sound of a bowl shattering.

She glanced at the time; yes, it was early morning.

Then came the muffled shouts of a man, and the piercing cries of a woman and a child.

He had excellent hearing at the end of the Song Dynasty and could hear everything clearly.

Liu Laosan is beating his wife again.

With a "bang," the security door downstairs was kicked open.

With a cigarette dangling from his mouth, Liu Laosan scurried downstairs, deliberately making heavy footsteps in the stairwell.

The hallway was quiet; no one made a sound, as if everyone was fast asleep.

Song Mo's face showed disgust—she didn't have much emotion towards Liu Laosan, just like a person seeing a cockroach in the corner.

Stepping on it is dirty, but not stepping on it is an eyesore.

……

"grown ups."

A soft voice sounded beside me, carrying a hint of cold resentment.

Ah Yan floated out, dressed in red, her face pale, with undried tears of blood still clinging to the corners of her eyes.

She watched Liu Laosan's departing figure, her eyes filled with an intense, unyielding resentment, and her fingernails unconsciously grew longer.

"This kind of scum who only bullies his wife and daughters is a menace to be kept around."

Ah Yan's voice was soft and extremely obedient, "Should I take care of him? Swallow him whole, I guarantee there won't even be any bones left, and no one will be able to find a trace."

Song Mo turned his head to look at her.

The female ghost in red lowered her eyes, her long eyelashes covering her eyelids.

Two lines of bloody tears slid down his cheeks, dripping onto the ground and etching small pits.

The red-clad ghost was also someone who had faced dire straits in his previous life.

Even when she was alive, she screamed until her throat was hoarse, but no one came to her rescue.

So when the vengeful ghost saw someone like Liu Laosan who took pleasure in torturing others, it couldn't suppress its resentment.

"Kill me if you want."

Song Mo pulled out the chair in front of his desk and said lazily, "But even if you kill him, the mother and daughter's lives will only be a little easier, and they won't be grateful to us."

Ah Yan's resentment grew even stronger.

She knew her master was right.

But she just hated it.

I hate these bullies who prey on the weak, and I hate even more those who passively accept their fate and dare not resist.

It's like seeing myself from back then.

Song Mo glanced at her, taking in her reaction.

Her fingertips unconsciously rubbed against her cuffs, and a thought suddenly occurred to her:

What was she thinking about just now?

Oh right, why does she care whether Cao Fang is grateful or not?

She's not a philanthropist.

She's just a lousy screenwriter; what she needs is material and emotion.

Liu Laosan is someone like that...

Just as predators clean up carrion around their nests to avoid attracting flies.

She lives upstairs and finds the noise from downstairs quite annoying every day.

I cleaned it up casually; it's nothing serious.

It can also help Ah Yan vent her anger and gather some material.

Even a tiny mosquito is still meat.

"Go," Song Mo said calmly, uttering words that were anything but bloody. "Don't make too much of a commotion. And bring his soul back with you. I've always wanted to see what the difference is between a soul and low-level materials."

Ayan suddenly raised her head, her eyes instantly flashing with light, and her tears of blood flowed even more freely.

"Thank you, sir! You are truly kind!"

Her voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement, and her red dress fluttered as she disappeared through the window.

Song Mo scratched his head.

Instead of letting this kind of garbage pollute the air, we should reuse it and turn it into materials.

She crossed her legs and began to think about a new script.

The story of Liu Laosan gave her some inspiration.

The authorities can shut down the venue, clear out the crowd, and suppress trending topics.

But they cannot suppress human desires, nor can they stop human despair.

People fear so many things: poverty, hunger, disease...

There are people in this world who have nowhere else to turn every day.

The official authorities can stop ordinary people, but what if players enter the dungeon on their own initiative?

If those magical items from the game appeared in the real world, like the rouge mud, someone would definitely try every means to get their hands on them.

She can use the promise of "fulfilling wishes" as bait to lure players who are willing to risk their lives.

At the end of the Song Dynasty, a finger lightly tapped in mid-air, and ink dots fell, forming the two characters "许愿" (make a wish).

The ink blotted out, like a drop of blood.