Chapter Nineteen: The Back Room and the Students’ Experiment

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At the stroke of midnight, two figures moved quietly through the darkened corridor. They held up mirrors as they advanced step by step within the hallway. Should anyone pass by, the sight alone would be enough to chill the soul.

The one leading the way walked with eyes closed, yet a single eye swirled eerily at his brow. As he surveyed his surroundings, he muttered under his breath.

“Where is this place, where is this place, it’s so dark here. May I come to you?”

Unlike Chen Qing’s composure and ease, the woman behind him, Jiang Wan, grew increasingly tense. The walkie-talkie in her hand emitted nothing but static; at this hour, there should have been the regular security patrol reporting from downstairs, perhaps even the late-night news. Now, there was only silence.

She stopped by a window. The outside world had become a hazy blur—neither shapes nor people could be discerned. Regaining her focus, she hurried after Chen Qing.

“Have we already entered the Backrooms?” she asked.

Chen Qing nodded, then added, “In theory… we’re in the passage leading into the Backrooms.”

He turned around and, following the last step of the ritual, set his mirror at the stairwell’s corner. Back and forth he paced, chanting softly all the while.

At the instant his final words fell, an indescribable force seemed to shift everything around them. They could not say exactly what they were experiencing, but both were certain: in that moment, they had entered the Backrooms.

The mirrors reflected only emptiness. Their senses sharpened to a razor’s edge.

Returning upstairs, what should have been the dead of night was now dazzlingly bright. The source of the light resembled an immense shadowless lamp, enveloping the entire campus. Every access to the outside world was flooded with glaring brilliance, each window pierced through by the same intensity.

The two exchanged a glance and, wordlessly agreeing, left the corridor for the nearest classroom. It happened to be the very one Zhang Lan had once occupied.

They pushed open the door. The instant both crossed the threshold, some unknown force slammed it shut behind them with such strength it seemed the rules themselves had changed.

Frowning, they peered out the windows—the terrifying brilliance had vanished, and night returned.

Within the classroom, a handful of dim lamps cast a faint glow. It was enough to make out every word on the walls.

Chen Qing surveyed the room and took a seat in the front row, propping his chin in his hand, eyes fixed on the blackboard.

“What are you looking at?” Jiang Wan sat beside him, curiosity piqued by the child-sized desks and the decades-old atmosphere.

“I’m wondering…” He frowned at the blackboard. “What exactly are these ‘entities’ they speak of?”

“In theory, once the Backrooms’ rules are understood, the threat should decrease dramatically… Could Zhang Lan really have escaped twice without discerning any pattern?” Jiang Wan nodded in agreement. “Do the rules in the Backrooms change?”

He shook his head, then fell silent for a moment. “Perhaps they do. Who can say for certain what the underlying rules are?”

He pondered, recalling that Backrooms could be constructed by human hands.

“Is it truly impossible to change them…”

As they conversed, the sound of writing echoed from the blackboard before them. Broken chalk scrawled out new words:

“Don’t leave here… don’t leave.”

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“They’re all man-eating beasts! No… no! I absolutely cannot die here!”

“Don’t go! Don’t go!”

Then, a few faint lines appeared:

“Hold on… survive.”

“Keep going, we believe in you… you must believe in us too… we’ll be back.”

But these hopeful words vanished almost instantly, overwritten by furious and despairing phrases filled with malice.

“You… now it’s your turn… they didn’t come back, so you must be safe; go, hurry, go!”

“It’s fine… you can refuse me, anyone has the right to refuse me… really.”

“It smells so good… so good! I want more. I’m so hungry.”

“They’re coming again… coming… sobbing. Sister, I was wrong… I shouldn’t have eaten you; I’ll drag you out now, you go die for me instead.”

…

Chen Qing frowned, tapping rhythmically on the desk, the measured sound lending a trace of life to this eerie place.

Aside from these meaningful messages, the rest of the graffiti depicted the actions of those who had come before—scenes of madness, a figure prostrate and kowtowing at the door, all rendered in simple stick figures.

“What did they encounter here…” he murmured.

Jiang Wan did not reply, but asked instead, “Do you think… this person was one of the club’s students?”

Chen Qing shook his head, certain. “Zhang Lan returned here of her own accord after escaping successfully. That doesn’t fit these accounts. And by the records, there were at least three people staying here at one time… It seems others have entered as well.”

“Who could they be?” she hesitated, leaving her suspicion unspoken.

“I think… it’s them,” Chen Qing sighed, his fingers drumming more heavily.

“From these messages, the rule in this Backrooms seems to be to avoid a certain entity, or to stay inside during a set time. Objectively… that’s not a difficult rule.”

He narrowed his eyes, talking to himself. “Could someone as composed as Zhang Lan really fail to figure out such a simple rule?”

He shook his head. Something felt off.

“We have to check the other classrooms.” He looked up at Jiang Wan.

“Definitely. Should we split up?”

This time, Chen Qing laughed at her. “Are you kidding? In horror movies, the person who suggests that is always the first to die.”

Their banter eased the tension, but the problem remained.

They knew the rule was not to leave the room, but the time limit was unknown. Even so, they had no choice but to risk it.

By slipping out the back and in through the front, they reached the adjacent classroom in the shortest time possible.

But the messages on the blackboard here were utterly different.

These words radiated goodwill, doing their utmost to encourage.

“It seems more than one person left these messages,” Jiang Wan observed, stepping closer. The handwriting was clearly from different people.

But behind her, Chen Qing frowned as he read the board.

“Something’s off.”

“What is?” Jiang Wan turned to him.

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“The content is off.” He approached, and saw the words on the board slowly fading.

“The encouraging words don’t fit.”

“Why not?” Jiang Wan frowned. “The last room was filled with malice. Can’t there be kindness here? They simply have different philosophies.”

“Still, the content doesn’t add up.” Chen Qing shook his head and sat at a front desk.

“Keep going! We’ll definitely find a way out!”

“Don’t give up… never give up. Look, every round trip brings us a week’s worth of food. It’s okay… none of us will die.”

“As long as you make it to the end of the corridor, there will be enough food for all of us.”

“The strongest must hold them off, the fastest must bring back supplies… we have to hold on. Each of us… must sacrifice for the group.”

“I’m doing this for you… we all have to survive. Keep going, this is the last supply run. We’ll make it until rescue comes.”

“Really… truly… this is the last time.”

He read the blackboard and asked Jiang Wan, “Do you really think the person who wrote this… was kind?”

He stood, facing her. “Suppose I have a child with me. For her sake, I ask you to sacrifice yourself. Is that kindness?”

She frowned but shook her head.

“And if, after your sacrifice, only the child and I are left—knowing full well that escape is impossible, that we’ll both die—if I end her suffering early, is that kindness?”

Her eyes widened; she whipped her head to the last line on the board.

“Suppose the one who wrote these words believes the ‘last kindness’ for their companions is to let them die painlessly. If they guide those who come later toward death to end their suffering quickly—is that kindness?”

“That… how could that be? Isn’t kindness supposed to—!” She faltered, unable to finish as Chen Qing’s cold tone silenced her.

“Kindness depends on the recipient. It depends on what it’s rooted in. To be kind to a demon is to show them the world’s most dreadful horrors.”

He paused to let the moment settle before continuing, “But from the messages in these two classrooms, the rule here seems fairly simple.”

“Simple?” she echoed, troubled.

“Remember what Zhang Lan said she heard?”

‘Don’t leave the box.’

“Yes. ‘The box.’ I don’t think of it as a literal box. It’s more a concept—here, it could mean the classroom.”

‘Don’t leave this classroom.’ See? That’s what both blackboards urge you not to do.

The kind urge you toward the corridor’s end for food, tell you to avoid danger.

The malicious say, ‘If you want to die, go out. Please, go die quickly.’

Both are utterly pure in their intent, so much so…”

He paused, his expression growing strange. “So much so that it’s as if they’ve been changed by some rule.”