Zhang Wenda continued searching for white Go stones in the Go‑room filled with tables, chairs, and stools.
Although he had given half to Little Fatty, it wasn’t long before his first plastic bag was already full.
He had already found the pattern: white stones mostly stuck to the upper‑left corners of desk drawers, while black stones clung to the insides of stool legs.
And basically, once a white stone was removed from one side of a desk drawer, the chance of finding another there was quite low.
Zhang Wenda noted down these observations, planning to use them next time.
When he’d filled half of the second bag, he realized he’d nearly searched all the tables, chairs, and stools.
He judged that continuing to search here wouldn’t yield much, and just as he was preparing to recheck some corner drawers, he suddenly stopped—his eyes fixed on a black stone on a nearby stool.
“A black stone? Collect that? Old Man Ding said to collect white stones, didn’t he?”
While Zhang Wenda was still thinking, he suddenly noticed that the black stone in the distance had vanished—it was as if it had only been an illusion.
> “Kids, please note—teachers at the Youth Center only collect white stones; black stones are not needed. If you see a black stone, pretend it doesn’t exist.”
> “1: If you’ve seen a black stone more than three times, notify other students and leave the Go‑room.”
> “2: If five or more black stones appear lined up on a table, and strange noises start in the game room, immediately return to the entrance, inform Teacher Rabbit, and you can go home early to watch cartoons today!”
Seeing that, Zhang Wenda’s tense heart finally relaxed—he could now be one hundred percent sure that the Youth Center Xiaoming had gone to years earlier could never have been .
Although Old Man Ding’s tone was humorous, Zhang Wenda didn’t find anything amusing—the place was clearly wrong and dangerous.
“So… what exactly are we here to do?” he thought, looking at the classmates still focused on finding stones.
Someone as carefree as Little Fatty might not sense it, but Zhang Wenda clearly recognized that these rules were not right.
The so‑called “going home early” basically meant that the appearance of five black stones signaled something very bad was going to happen.
He didn’t know what it would be, but it certainly wouldn’t be good.
Judging by how severe the rule punishments were for just skipping class, breaking Youth Center rules might cost one’s life.
“They’re ruthless—bringing kids to such a dangerous place? Aren’t the parents worried? Or is this normal where they come from?” Zhang Wenda thought.
At this moment, he had packed his things and didn’t plan to search further.
He squeezed toward the Go‑room entrance, ready to evacuate at any sign of trouble.
It was indeed dangerous—but at least the danger followed logic.
As Zhang Wenda waited anxiously, time passed bit by bit.
When he saw the black stone for the second time, his chest tightened and half his foot was already in the hallway.
Fortunately, he’d taken most of the white stones, so the other kids, finding little, drifted out one by one from the Go‑room.
After the last classmate left and closed the big door again, Zhang Wenda finally let out a heavy breath: “Thank goodness, at least that stage is over for now.”
He grabbed Pan Dongzi’s right hand, glanced at his plastic watch, and saw it was only 2 PM.
The Youth Center ended at 6 PM—he still had four hours to spend here.
At that moment, Zhang Wenda truly felt what it meant for “a day to seem like a year.”
Soon the other classmates split off in groups of threes and twos, heading to various rooms—in general, going where they got along best, which made Zhang Wenda hesitate.
Just then, Little Fatty stood at the corner outside the model‑aircraft room and waved toward Zhang Wenda. “Mouse, come on! Come quick! It’s more fun here!”
Zhang Wenda thought about it and quickly walked over.
Since his friend had been here before and got along well with him, tagging along probably wouldn’t harm him.
When they entered the model‑aircraft room, they saw various small planes hanging by strings from the ceiling.
“Mouse! Look at that!”
Zhang Wenda then saw Pan Dongzi pointing at a Boeing B‑737 single‑aisle narrow‑body plane, waving his arms excitedly: “I’ve seen that one before! One time, I was reciting on my balcony when it flew from across the fourth‑floor building to my house.”
“I was so happy! I wanted to catch it with a cage, but my sister later chased it away with a broom.”
“Really? Then your house is pretty big.” Zhang Wenda could no longer pay attention to his friend’s nonsense.
He buried his head in the Youth Center guidebook, searching for rules about the model‑aircraft room.
Compared to puzzles about what that little plane that flew into the living room was, he now cared more about what they were here collecting and what dangers lay ahead.
“You don’t need to look at that—I know this place! I’ve been here several times!” Little Fatty said as he dragged Zhang Wenda inside.
But he didn’t go touch the model planes or the large globe in the room’s center.
Instead, he stood by the yellowed wall, pressed against it, and looked up.
Suddenly it seemed he saw something, and he hurriedly waved at Zhang Wenda. “Bottle! Hurry and get a bottle.”
When Zhang Wenda took the transparent glass bottle handed to him, Pan Dongzi stood on tiptoe and held the mouth of the bottle against the wall, lifting it high.
While Zhang Wenda had no clue what his friend was doing, he then saw pale‑yellow liquid seeping from the wall and sliding into the bottle.
Pan Dongzi swayed left and right; the liquid soon filled the bottom of the bottle.
Sweating from exertion, he handed the bottle to Zhang Wenda and said, “Here! Drink some—it’s good stuff!”
“I won’t drink it.” Staring at that cloudy liquid with impurities, Zhang Wenda quickly shook his head—he was no Indian who’d eat anything.
“It’s tasty, really—it’s not like you haven’t tried it before.” Pan Dongzi said this and took the bottle mouth to his own lips, sipping a bit. His face instantly lit up with a look of bliss.
“What is it?” Zhang Wenda had just finished speaking when a scar suddenly appeared on his back, causing him to stiffen from the pain. “Damn!”
Grinning, Little Fatty once again held the bottle up to Zhang Wenda.
“This is joy—liquid joy. The orange‑flavored lollipop you ate earlier had this too.”