This is a deep and dark corridor.
Dim firelights flicker on both sides, emitting an unusual halo, resembling the fluorescent lights of a past life. Shawn suddenly realizes his memories are becoming clear. He attempts to analyze everything happening at the moment with reason, and his brain starts operating frantically, recalling everything from past life memories, be it from movies and novels or other fragmented memories. All the shattered memories that can explain the situation are being recalled frantically.
"Calm down!"
"Your mind's spark is too dazzling!" The woman's cold voice echoes.
A cold finger.
The skin is extremely delicate and soft, yet not warm, a bit chilly, gently touching Shawn's forehead. He tries to evade, but he can't avoid it. In an instant, he's forced into {calm}, his mind unprecedentedly clear, yet his brain is very 'lazy'.
It refuses to recall those fragmented memories.
The brain is resisting him.
Just like an old and decrepit desktop computer, even running a small program makes the fan roar, and that sharp tinnitus sound rings again, already beginning to affect the operating power of the brain.
"This is not scientific, nor is it very magic!"
"But it is very crazy." Shawn's brain has mutinied.
The brain rejected him.
Refused to recall those broken memories, at least not so intensely because those shattered memories brought a familiar shriek.
The brain became sluggish.
"What is that?" Shawn's body is paralyzed once again.
The deep corridor is changing.
He sees flickering fireflies, shadows breed in the darkness, as if a spreading curtain. Numerous obscure words and patterns appear on the corridor's walls; these are 'knowledge', impossible to discern, yet seem intent on imprinting themselves in his mind.
The brain is trembling!
It betrayed Shawn; it wants to embrace that knowledge, remember those emerging obscure patterns.
It even tries to control Shawn's eyes to gaze at the reflected curtain spreading in the darkness.
The brain has its own thoughts.
"Lord of the dark."
"A very powerful and strange ancient presence, also a very famous writer, loves some crazy and grotesque ideas. He wanders in the deepest parts of people's memories." The woman's voice is no longer calm. She chants spells Shawn cannot understand, luminous gleams appear at her fingertips, as if an azure blue ghostly flame. Her rare tremor carries a slight magnetic hoarseness, slowly saying: "He was drawn to you. Perhaps you were a writer in your past life?"
"No." Shawn blurts out, completely beyond his control.
"That's good." The woman disperses the reflected darkness with the gathered gleam in her hand, softly saying: "Artists are a troublesome bunch."
"Their mental sparks are too active."
"Easily summon some things that shouldn't be touched."
"Lord of the dark."
"He is often attracted by some crazy grotesque minds; you better keep your thoughts restrained, at least here, do not think too much."
Shawn saw the words.
An ancient language unknown to him, spreading along the corridor's walls, as if a magnificent epic masterpiece. Angelic outlines emerge in the curtain, but it is not the kind of angel Shawn perceives; it is a swirling mass of flesh, writhing, spreading wings, with a scarlet eye in the center, a pair of enormous, pristine wings, each white feather contains slowly opening eye pupils.
"Are you really not a writer?" The woman is silent again, voice magnetic, very tense.
"No." Shawn hesitated, cautiously saying: "But I occasionally write some absurd stories."
A swearing countryside slang.
Shawn is very sure the other person cursed, swearing, and unpleasant, although he doesn't understand it, his brain does.
Oh!
Damn it.
My brain has betrayed me; it no longer follows my command.
Or perhaps.
I am not obeying my brain?
"Stay rational, I'll take you out." The woman's magnetic voice trembles slightly. She grasps Shawn's palm, cold to the touch, low body temperature, a bit tense, softly saying: "If you still wish to live, please stop thinking about anything."
"Otherwise, I'll have to take your corpse to report back to the mentor."
It might be made into a mummy.
Because right next to the morgue, are rows of mummies.
Oh!
Damn it!
Need to stop thinking anything!
Eyes also start to betray themselves; they shift their gaze towards the weird words on the walls, trying to imprint those grotesque, bizarre words and symbols into Shawn's brain.
"The first lesson in survival here."
"Learn to control yourself."
"Including thoughts."
The woman fiercely drags Shawn through the spreading shadow, countless shadows transformed into tentacles seeming to retain him, or possibly retain Shawn's brain, the sparkling mental sparks. The dark curtain shifts into endless obscure symbols, some so familiar yet strange; these are knowledge, alive, conscious, obscure mysterious knowledge.
Shawn only needs to reach out, grab them, and then stuff them into his brain; he can become a learned scholar.
Or perhaps a writer with infinite inspiration!
Oh!
Damn it!
My brain is starving; it craves knowledge, the knowledge visible to the naked eye, touchable by fingers. Just a gentle touch, and knowledge floods in, no need to learn, no need to strive, endless knowledge at your fingertips.