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墨書 Inktalez
07:58 | Broadcast Activated
"Good morning, students. Today is September 18, 2024, Wednesday. Attention, third-year students: there will be a venue adjustment for the Mock Exam. Class Three of Year Three will move to the Fifth Floor First Classroom for the exam. Please complete the relocation before the second period.
The weather today is clear, with a morning temperature of 28 degrees Celsius. Please remember to stay hydrated to avoid heatstroke. Maintain silence during morning study time and prepare for today’s lessons and the Mock Exam content."
08:02 | Broadcast Continues
"A reminder to double-check that you have all necessary exam supplies. The invigilating teacher will enter promptly at 08:30, and latecomers will not be given extra time.
Once again, a reminder for Class Three of Year Three:
Please remember to bring all photocopied notes—original materials are not allowed today.
Do not communicate with the student seated at number 44. That student should not be present today; if anyone resembling them appears, please do not engage and keep your head down while answering."
08:03 | Operator's Note: "The script did not include any reminders regarding 'seat number 44.' It has been confirmed that this is not content I am broadcasting; I am attempting to terminate the system."
08:04 | Broadcast Distorted
"The exam is about to begin; all students should take their seats. There is no need to remember which class you come from; today we are all in the same testing room. If the exam questions do not match your memory, do not panic—the answers have already been written.
This Mock Exam will focus on listening comprehension and will play low-frequency sound segments; please do not block your ears. Tinnitus is a normal phenomenon; do not report it to the invigilating teacher.
Remember:
Scores will be based on your understanding of the sounds.
If you hear your name, do not look up.
If you see an empty seat being filled, do not inquire where that person is from.
If you forget your seat number, return to the position you occupied on your first day here.
A spot has already been reserved for you."
08:06 | Operator's Handwritten Note: "Power has been cut off without effect; audio source was not released by this station; screen displays blank."
The voice gradually shifted to a whisper, accompanied by non-verbal low laughter and the sound of pages turning. Some students reported being unable to recognize the faces of those around them during the broadcast and witnessed a chair that was originally stacked beneath the Platform "turning towards the front by itself." At the same time, three students simultaneously reported seeing the back of seat number 44.
The last segment of the broadcast (now muffled and low) stated:
"Sit tight, listen carefully, do not let the empty seat remember you. He is counting people; he will always leave one extra behind."
Today's lesson involved reciting an old text. Please interpret the following Old Ministry of Education Secret Text:
"Veris annorum mensuram capite inclinato numerabis. Quattuor sedebunt. Quintus erit superfluum. Nomen eius dele. Manus eius ligabis. Oculos eius retro vertere non permittas."
(Translation note: The one who counts years with a bowed head, four will sit down, the fifth is superfluous, erase his name, bind his hands, do not allow him to look back.)
He has come to listen to your recitation; he sits behind an empty desk in the corridor. He has no class schedule, but you cannot let him be absent.
Every classroom must have an empty seat.
Every exam must have a blank paper.
Every bell must stop for one person.
If you become that extra one—please mute yourself and do not disturb others during the exam."
(Record ends here; the operator was sent to Health Room and repeatedly uttered, "I didn't say those things; I just pressed start.")
Title: "Mock Exam Broadcast on That Day Did Not Come from the School" — A Journalistic Investigation
Reporter | Second Year Class Three Xiao Yunhe, Jian Ruizhe
The unusual broadcast incident that occurred during our school's Mock Exam on September 18 has sparked widespread concern and panic among students. Based on informal interviews conducted by our school's Student Reporter on the morning of the incident and a compilation of Record during lunchtime that day, we have organized the following information for readers' reference:
The authorities denied any unauthorized content being played but refused to provide audio recordings. We repeatedly requested complete recordings of the broadcast from the Academic Affairs Office and Broadcast Control Room, all of which were dismissed with the reason that "the system did not automatically back up that day." The Broadcast Operator himself declined further interviews after being sent to the hospital.
Three Students claimed they "simultaneously heard their names being called."
Third Year Class One and the students of Third Class reported hearing their names called out over the loudspeaker during the exam period, in a low, emotionless tone.
During an interview, our reporters were obstructed and warned. On September 19, when we attempted to interview relevant personnel in the broadcasting room, we were stopped by an unnamed Student Affairs Office staff member. They dismissed us, stating that the Broadcast Incident Investigation was still ongoing, and hinted that any forced recording or publication would affect the Club Evaluation.
We encountered phenomena that are difficult to explain. That afternoon, a "splotch" appeared on the ceiling of the newsroom office, and the number 44 materialized on the wall before disappearing on its own within ten minutes. The equipment of the Photography Team had its Memory Card inexplicably formatted, leaving only dozens of out-of-focus photos of neatly arranged chairs in an empty classroom.
Regarding that Secret Text. We attempted to transcribe and translate the Old Ministry of Education Secret Text read during the broadcast. During our second discussion of this content, Deputy Editor Jian Ruizhe suddenly had a nosebleed and briefly lost his hearing (which has since recovered). His recording device also unexpectedly burned out the following day.
We cannot prove whether there is a direct connection between these events, but one thing is certain: the broadcast on the day of the Mock Exam was not the kind of voice we usually hear.
We are still investigating and will continue to write until someone is willing to explain why That Chair turned toward us.
【Supplemental Record | Student Reporter Xiao Yunhe Personal Memo | Unpublished Manuscript】
September 20, 2:12 AM
I decided to go back to the broadcasting room myself. Jian Ruizhe said we should stop pursuing this, but I know he is just scared. I brought a spare recording device, a flashlight, and a copy of the translation of the Secret Text.
The door was not locked. I was sure it had been locked by School Staff when we left yesterday afternoon, but today it was ajar.
There was no one inside. However, that Operation Desk looked as if it had been burned by high temperatures. The wood was charred and warped, marked with irregular curves and intersecting geometries that resembled handwritten text but more like some creature's crawling traces.
I slowly shone my flashlight over it and saw a sentence I had never seen before:
"You are too noisy; He cannot concentrate on the class."
Those words were burned into the surface, deep within the wood grain. I wanted to touch it, but as my hand approached, I felt warmth… as if it were still hot.
Then I heard a whisper.
It didn’t come from outside; it seemed to emanate from within me, as if my shadow was speaking to me. I couldn’t make out the words clearly, but I understood part of it:
“It’s not the broadcast that’s faulty; it’s that you talk too much. Silence is needed to hear the answers.”
I turned to leave, but as I pushed against the table, my hand got stuck.
It really was stuck. The surface of the table felt damp and sticky, almost like skin, as if I were being drawn in. I pulled my hand away with force, and the corner of the table emitted a sound like a muffled breath.
On the floor lay a small notebook, its owner unknown. When I opened it, there was only one line repeated over and over:
“If you can still read these words, it means you haven’t yet been absent.”
I took several photos.
But when I returned, they had all vanished; there was nothing in the memory card.
Only that phrase remained—captured in the last segment of my voice recorder's automatic transcription, as if it had spoken for itself:
“We are not here to answer questions; we are part of the question.”
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