The classroom door wasn’t locked, not even latched—just casually closed, so it could be easily pushed open with a little force.

But what sent chills down everyone’s spine was that the old man in the black robe, his body covered in corpse spots, didn’t push the door open. He just stood stiffly outside, knocking on the door, showing no intention of coming in.

Yet, even though the old man hadn’t entered, the ink-black darkness from the corridor outside surged in rapidly.

The entire classroom began to undergo unimaginable, drastic changes.

The once pristine walls became mottled and moldy, the paint peeling off in chunks, leaving behind an uneven surface. Black-green mold sprouted from the pitted walls, emitting a cold, damp, and musty odor. The books on the seats yellowed and rotted at an alarming rate, and even the cement floor began to weather away, exposing rusted steel bars. In some places, the floor even started to collapse.

It was as if, in an instant, decades had passed here, ravaged by time.

Yet the classroom lights still struggled desperately against the darkness. The white, bright light was like a candle flickering in the wind, giving off a final, dim glow, as if it could go out at any moment.

Fear appeared on every student’s face—some screamed, some called for help, others trembled...

The only one who remained calm was Eric Clark at the podium.

He stood motionless, his eyes scanning the room, alert to any movement around him.

A ghost of this danger level, one that could even possess a ghost domain... this was not something he could handle.

“Eric Clark, look.”

At that moment, Jason Carter suddenly called out, his face especially grim as he pointed at a few classmates sitting at their desks.

No one had noticed before, but now, seeing it, they finally reacted.

“Dong, dong dong.” The knocking sounded again.

Just then, a male student who had been standing alive among the crowd suddenly shuddered all over, then collapsed stiffly to the ground.

“David Thompson, what’s wrong?”

“How could this happen, how could this happen, someone please save us!”

A female student, terrified, collapsed to the floor, crying.

“He was fine just a moment ago, how did this suddenly...?” someone stammered, their voice trembling.

Beside them, Jason Carter’s face was ashen: “Stop shouting! There’s a ghost outside the door. We could die in any way. You’ll soon find out just how terrifying a ghost that can create a ghost domain really is.”

The others stared at him in terror, each one like prey trapped in a cage, full of fear and trembling uncontrollably.

“Eric Clark, haven’t you thought of a way yet? If you don’t, we’re all going to die here,” Jason Carter said angrily again.

He was trembling inside too, because in a ghost domain, anyone could die—including him.

“Shut up. If you can’t wait, then try escaping yourself. Don’t count on me.”

Eric Clark also looked anxious, not daring to act rashly.

“Running around in a ghost domain will get you killed even faster. You think I don’t know that?” Jason Carter retorted.

“Then just stand there and stay put. If we’re really going to die, you think you’re the only one? Everyone’s the same. Don’t think you’re special just because you know a few things. In front of a ghost, everyone is equal,” Eric Clark said.

“Damn it.”

Jason Carter couldn’t help but curse.

At this moment, Brian Cooper’s hands and feet were ice-cold. He forced himself to calm down, because this was no time for jokes.

But when he happened to glance at the blackboard, which was about to fall off the wall, he froze.

His gaze landed on the three sentences Eric Clark had written earlier, especially the last one: Discern the ghost’s pattern.

“Eric Clark doesn’t dare to act rashly because he’s also observing the old man outside the door, trying to find his pattern. Only by figuring out the pattern will he dare to act. Think, think, what pattern does this old man have...”

His mind began to race wildly,

Recalling everything recorded in that forum story, and connecting it to what was happening now.

There had to be something in common, there had to be similarities.

That netizen called Benjamin Franklin was at home, and his door was closed. The old man stood outside, knocking... then came in, then went to the bedroom door, knocked again, and came in again.

Now, this ghost appeared outside the corridor, also knocking... but hadn’t come in yet.

Why did the old man enter at that netizen’s house, but not here?

Same situation, same event—what caused the difference?

Was it not enough time?

Then what time wasn’t enough?

Could it be that there hadn’t been enough knocking?

Maybe this was the key.

No choice.

Suddenly, Brian Cooper mustered his courage and shouted, “Eric Clark, it’s the knocking!”

“The knocking?”

Eric Clark’s eyes sharpened, staring intently at the student who had suddenly spoken up. “Explain.”

Brian Cooper suppressed his fear and said, “It’s just a guess, but I think this thing is killing people through the knocking. Maybe the old man is timing something, maybe it’s something else, but it must be related to the knocking. If we can stop it from knocking, maybe it’ll work...”

Killing by knocking.