Chapter 19: Late-night Diner
Hiroshi Nohara’s words were like a heart stimulant, injected into the heart of everyone in Suzuki’s Classroom. The despair that was almost crushing people was torn open by the powerful confidence emanating from him, letting in light.
Yes, they hadn’t lost yet.
What they held in their hands was an unprecedented sharp blade named 《An Shizhi》. Its edge needed time to ferment and reputation to hone.
“I… I’ll go buy coffee!” Yō Kitagawa suddenly stood up, forcefully wiping the reddened corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, a strong smile blooming on her face again: “Everyone, perk up! We still have work to prepare for the second episode today!”
“That’s right! We can’t let Nohara-kun charge ahead alone!” Roji Hase slapped the table, as if shattering all the previous dejection.
The stifling air in the office was swept clean, replaced by a do-or-die fervor.
Kiyoto Suzuki looked at this group of young people who had rallied again, then at Hiroshi Nohara standing calmly in the center of the crowd, his expression always as still as water, and felt a mix of emotions. He knew that this young person had become the true soul and pillar of the entire classroom.
Hiroshi Nohara nodded to everyone, said nothing more, and turned to leave the office.
What he needed to do was done.
Next, it was up to time, and that 1.75% of the audience.
He believed that those gripped by the terror of 《An Shizhi》 in the dead of night would absolutely not stay silent.
This was, after all, a result verified in his previous life!
……
1 a.m., Shinjuku.
The neon lights and revelry gradually faded, leaving only late-night pedestrians and still-open late-night shops to retain the last bit of warmth for this city that never sleeps.
Xiang Shuishang’s late-night diner was the warmest spot in that warmth.
The small shop wasn’t big; the L-shaped bar counter could barely seat about ten people.
Xiang Shuishang stood behind the bar counter, silently wiping a freshly washed white porcelain bowl.
He was a man of few words, in his early thirties, with clear and refined features, always wearing a faded white apron, his movements unhurried, carrying a calming tranquility.
At this moment, there were still six or seven guests in the shop.
“Boss, another big mug of fresh beer.” A middle-aged man in a suit, his tie askew, slumped over the bar counter and waved his hand drunkenly.
He was a staff member at a nearby advertising company, named Mr. Tanaka, who came by three or four times almost every week.
“Mr. Tanaka, drink a little less; you have work tomorrow.” Sitting next to him was a young woman with exquisite makeup, named Akemi, who worked at a bar not far away and had just gotten off work.
She picked up a piece of tamagoyaki, eating it in small bites with elegant posture, somewhat out of place with the surroundings yet oddly integrated.
“Work? What work!” Mr. Tanaka suddenly lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes full of resentment: “That damn guy revised my plan seventeen times! Seventeen times! And in the end, he used the first draft! I really want to smash that stack of waste paper in his face!”
While cursing, he took a big gulp of the beer handed over by Xiang Shuishang, then slammed the beer mug heavily on the table with a dull “bang.”
No one found it strange; such complaints played out every day in the late-night diner.
To ease the oppressive atmosphere, Akemi turned her gaze to the old television in the corner, smiling as she changed the subject: “Speaking of which, didn’t you complain last week about that horror program on Tokyo Television Station, Mr. Tanaka? You said it was uglier than your client’s face.”
“Ha! Don’t remind me!” At the mention, Mr. Tanaka seemed to find a new outlet, instantly perking up: “That so-called 《Shivering Space》 reality show? Total garbage! They get a few third-rate actors, splash some tomato sauce, hide in cabinets and scream a couple times, and think they can scare people? Let me tell you, its terror level isn’t even as good as the department head’s grim reaper face I saw this morning!”
His words drew a burst of laughter.
At the other end of the bar counter, a young person who looked like a university student wearing glasses pushed them up and chimed in: “It’s indeed pretty bad, no originality. Last last week, I stayed up late to finish a paper and watched an episode; it was about an abandoned hospital story, but that ‘bound earth spirit’s’ white robe still had the laundry tag on it—totally immersion-breaking.”
“Exactly, not scary at all. Better to air animated films earlier.” Akemi also giggled in complaint.
Xiang Shuishang listened quietly, the corners of his mouth slightly curving up.
He stayed open until 4 a.m., and this television was his silent companion; he had watched almost every episode of Tokyo Television Station’s late-night slot. The guests were right—that 《Shivering Space》 was indeed so shoddily made it was infuriating.
At that moment, the TV screen suddenly flickered, turning into a patch of noisy snow.
“Oh? Broke?” Mr. Tanaka pointed at the television with bleary eyes.
Xiang Shuishang walked over, gently tapped the top of the old television twice, then turned the somewhat faulty knob.
The snow disappeared, and the image became clear again.
It was Tokyo Television Station Channel.
“Tch, that crap program again.” Mr. Tanaka saw the Tokyo Television Station logo and couldn’t help sneering, preparing to continue drinking.
But the sound from the television made everyone freeze.
It wasn’t the exaggerated cheap sound effects from 《Shivering Space》, but a distant and eerie children’s singing, accompanied by “thump, thump, thump” small drum beats.
A man wearing a yellow mask with a creepy smiling face painted on it appeared beside an old bicycle, with a small wooden stage on the bike’s rear seat.
“Passing by, don’t miss it—An Shizhi time has arrived…”
The voice from under the mask was hoarse and flat, devoid of emotion, yet like an icy cold hand silently stroking the back of everyone’s neck.
“Huh?” Akemi let out a surprised sound, “They changed programs?”
“Ha! That 《Shivering Space》 must’ve been so garbage that ratings tanked and it got axed!” Mr. Tanaka laughed gloatingly: “Serves it right! For not making a proper program!”
The university student-like young person also looked at the screen curiously: “What’s this? Paper puppet theater? The art style is so weird…”
Xiang Shuishang also stopped his work, his gaze falling on the television.
As professional film and television production staff like Masao Iwata would see “crude,” “shoddy,” “color fills a mess.”
But as ordinary audience, Xiang Shuishang and his guests saw something entirely different.
That deliberately aged, water-stained and scratched yellowish paper tone resembled a long-forgotten old photo, exuding a musty aura. The characters in the drawings had simple lines, flat colors, no light and shadow, no gradients, making them appear especially rigid and eerie.
Especially that masked man—clearly smiling, yet giving no warmth, only bone-deep chill.
The late-night diner, which had been chatting and laughing, unknowingly fell silent.
Everyone’s gaze was firmly drawn to that small screen.
The masked man pulled open the curtain of the wooden stage, revealing the first picture card.
【An Shizhi · Fu Nü】
