Chapter 132: Children’s Laughter (11)
The living room of the Jing residence was shrouded in darkness. Only a few dim kerosene lamps flickered faintly, barely illuminating a portion of the room.
Under the focused gaze of Yan Shixun and the others, Chi Yan’s slender body trembled ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.
Even though she was eager to go upstairs—hoping to prepare for the worst before something even more terrible occurred—under the weight of such scrutiny, and with no one to rely on, she had no choice but to share part of what she knew.
The movie Li Xuetang was currently shooting was based on a script he had been developing for a long time.
“Director Li had been intending to shoot this movie for at least ten years, but for some unknown reasons, he kept postponing it. Then, two years ago, he suddenly contacted my agent and said he wanted me to play the female lead.”
Under the dim light, Chi Yan’s face looked pale, like a lifeless porcelain doll. “I didn’t want to take the role at first. My health wasn’t good back then, and I was recuperating abroad. But Director Li said he was willing to wait for me. So when I returned to China, I agreed to be in the film.”
“But I really don’t know much. Don’t expect too much from me.”
Chi Yan forced a small smile and said, “Only the director knows the full script. What I received was just a character profile and a few plot hints he mentioned when we discussed scenes.”
Yan Shixun didn’t let her off so easily. He rested his chin on one hand, staring fixedly at Chi Yan, as though weighing the truth of her words. With the other hand, he made a subtle ‘please continue’ gesture.
Chi Yan glanced toward the stairs, gritting her teeth so hard it seemed she might shatter them. But still, she began to speak: “[Binhai Nocturne] is unlike other films. Even though I’m the female lead, strictly speaking, it’s an ensemble piece.”
A century ago, the old city of Binhai was full of turmoil and crisis. Under the darkness before dawn, hidden currents surged. Everyone moved in pursuit of their own secret missions.
For a time, Binhai was on edge, a single spark away from chaos.
Lin Ting, editor of the *Progress Journal*, discovered around that time that someone was targeting her friend, Jing Bin.
It was well known that Lin Ting and Jing Bin had studied under the same mentor and had been pen pals for many years. They had a close relationship. When Lin Ting first arrived in Binhai and had no place to stay, Jing Bin had warmly invited her to live in his home—and she never left.
Many progressive thinkers admired this friendship, calling it a tale as moving as Bo Ya and Ziqi, praising it as a model of progressive camaraderie.
But very few people knew—
Lin Ting and Jing Bin were, in fact, lovers who had been forced apart.
So when Lin Ting received news that someone planned to assassinate Jing Bin, she immediately took action—not just out of loyalty to a comrade, but out of love for her partner. She wanted to find the mastermind behind the plot and stop the assassination.
Because of her work, Lin Ting had access to the most current intelligence. She knew exactly why they wanted Jing Bin dead.
——Jing Bin, a diplomat, was leading the advancement of a major project.
At that time, diplomats often relied more on personal credibility than on official backing. In an era of chaotic power struggles, whether a project succeeded depended entirely on trust in its leader.
If he lived, the project moved forward. If he died, the project would collapse.
For the sake of both her ideals and her love, Lin Ting couldn’t allow Jing Bin to die. She reached out to her contacts across Binhai, gathering intelligence. She planned to publish an article in tomorrow’s newspaper, highlighting Jing Bin’s contributions and bringing the project—once only known in diplomatic circles—into the public eye.
That way, public attention would shift to Jing Bin. The scrutiny would be so intense that anyone considering harming him would have to think twice about whether they could bear the fallout of assassinating such a well-known diplomat.
The enemies remained in the shadows. Lin Ting took a desperate gamble, betting Binhai’s stability on Jing Bin’s survival.
If he died, the city’s many factions would fall into mutual suspicion and probing, and Binhai would be thrown into turmoil. Anyone with sense could see what would happen, and that knowledge would hopefully make them act more cautiously.
This was the only way Lin Ting could buy time—enough time to uncover the person behind it all.
Meanwhile, Jing Bin also received a warning from a friend, alerting him that continuing the project would make him a target of multiple hostile forces.
Yet Jing Bin made a firm decision—he would go on. He entrusted the safety of his wife, daughter, and Lin Ting to a friend, asking them to protect them if he were to die.
In the script, Jing Bin sat through the night at an intelligence exchange post, rising at the first light of dawn, walking resolutely into the backlight.
Those seeking to kill him for profit. Those protecting him out of righteousness or friendship. Those fearing Lin Ting’s powerful pen and desperate to silence her. Those helping Lin Ting out of admiration for her progressive ideals…
The seemingly calm city of Binhai suddenly exploded like oil in cold water. All the factions stirred, ready to act.
In this dark and dangerous backdrop, eleven men and women moved forward without hesitation.
On the path to protect Jing Bin, one by one, people fell—shouting at him to make their dreams come true. Jing Bin wiped away his tears, swearing that his body would pave the way for the ideals of them all.
Lin Ting and Jing Bin were positioned at opposite ends of Binhai. Amid a hail of bullets, they knew nothing of each other’s status. Yet both were prepared to die, each hoping to give the other a chance to live. Each wanted to protect the person they loved—and the people—with their own lives.
But there was a traitor by Lin Ting’s side. Her location was repeatedly leaked to the enemy. She had to flee again and again with the help of friends, trying to reach the newspaper office to hand over her article about Jing Bin—and the evidence she had gathered on the conspirators.
And yet, just as Lin Ting neared the newspaper office—only steps away—a gunshot rang out through the silent early morning street.
At that moment, the first ray of dawn shone upon the earth.
“That’s all I know,” Chi Yan said earnestly. “This was Director Li’s first film after several years of hiatus, so the media had been keeping a close eye on it, hoping to scoop some inside info. But you know how it is with mysteries—the worst thing is for someone to figure out the real culprit on the first page. If the script leaks, the film is dead. So Director Li was extremely strict about secrecy. I’ve already told you everything I know.”
Meanwhile, viewers of the livestream nearly spat out their drinks when they heard Chi Yan talk about keeping it a secret.
[Director Li: “You must keep the script confidential.” Chi Yan: “Okay.” *turns around and tells hundreds of thousands of people*. Moved to tears by this good actress.]
[?? What’s going on? I’m speechless. Sis Chi Yan, did you really just spill a whole mystery script like that? Are you sure Director Li won’t come after you?]
[Director Li: “The worst mistake of my life was casting Chi Yan as the female lead.”]
[No way. You all need to calm down. We’re watching a story-within-a-story right now. This is a side plot of *Binhai Nocturne*. So it’s totally normal for them to alter parts of the original plot in this meta-narrative. Director Li’s not an idiot—he wouldn’t let her spoil the real script.]
[LOL maybe it’s just a ruse for the dumb ones. So when they sit down confidently in the cinema thinking they know who the killer is, the movie turns out totally different, and they’re left stunned trying to figure out what really happened. Director Li’s a master troll.]
[Wait, why does it feel like Chi Yan keeps looking at the stairs? What’s upstairs? Why is she so eager to go up there?]
In the living room, Zhao Zhen hesitated for a moment before turning to Yan Shixun. He gave a slight nod, signaling that he believed Chi Yan was telling the truth.
He had been on the film set too, and many of the things Chi Yan mentioned matched what he knew.
Though he didn’t know what exactly her script said, the one in his hands showed that the character called “Butler Tang” was indeed constantly receiving messages from the outside world.
During his time infiltrating the Jing Estate, Butler Tang had been suspected once by Mr. Jing, but he cleared himself and proved he wasn’t trying to assassinate him.
Which he wasn’t—because his real target was editor Lin Ting.
Although Director Li had adjusted the story slightly, the connection between Mr. Jing and Jing Bin had never been hidden.
Thanks to that, Zhao Zhen was able to use many details from the Jing household to complete the background of a character he previously knew little about.
Yan Shixun caught Zhao Zhen’s signal, but he still didn’t fully trust Chi Yan.
He rubbed his thumb across the identity badge Zhao Zhen had slipped him, reading the engraved text by touch.
Binhai City Girls’ Middle School — Jing Wan
Judging by the Jing couple’s naming pattern for their daughters, this name and age suggested the badge belonged to their younger daughter.
The problem was, while the identity badge was right there, Yan Shixun hadn’t seen any trace of the youngest daughter in the living room—and even upstairs, there were no signs of her having lived there.
It was as if the youngest daughter simply wasn’t in the house.
“I just got back from outside, so I don’t know what happened here before,” Yan Shixun said, turning to Chi Yan. “Miss Chi, would you mind explaining things to me?”
Chi Yan could barely maintain her stiff smile. For a brief moment, her gaze toward Yan Shixun turned sharp and vicious, and she looked like she was about to storm off upstairs.
But the moment she rose from the sofa with forceful determination, she immediately felt a gaze settle quietly upon her. It didn’t allow any room for resistance—pressing down on her spine and forcing her right back into her seat.
Chi Yan’s face went pale. She looked in disbelief toward the source of that gaze.
Yan Li’s ink-black hair draped over his shoulders, partially concealing the dark markings near his temples, leaving only vague outlines—which somehow made him seem even more dangerous and untouchable.
The old-style long robe he wore, despite its delicate design, radiated a heavy, regal authority—as though a sovereign from a bygone era had stepped through time to sit right there on the sofa, coldly watching Chi Yan.
Even without an expression on his face, Chi Yan still caught a warning in his eyes.
She had no idea who this unfamiliar man was. Before this moment, she hadn’t even noticed his presence at all—or perhaps, even if she had seen him, some unknown force had made her forget.
As for the introduction Yan Shixun had given earlier about this stranger, Chi Yan hadn’t believed a word of it.
How could an ordinary assistant director possibly carry such an imposing presence? He was even more terrifying than a powerful official she had once offended long ago.
Still, even with all her doubts, the silent warning and the invisible pressure left her no choice but to start speaking—though clearly unwillingly—about what had happened after she woke up.
Chi Yan had regained consciousness lying on the carpet in the living room. A shattered wine glass lay beside her, and a dark red stain of spilled wine had soaked into the floor. Her first instinct was that someone had argued with her and tried to harm her, so she’d panicked and fled, looking for a place to hide. It wasn’t until she heard Zhang Wubing’s voice outside that she dared to come out of hiding.
Yan Shixun paused. “You think someone wanted to hurt you?”
Chi Yan nodded. Her frightened expression made her look delicate and vulnerable—like someone who needed protecting.
“I don’t know who it was,” she said, her face still pale. “But it was a woman’s intuition. That’s why I hid.”
Then she added, “Still… your theory just now, Mr. Yan, confirmed something for me. If all of us are playing different roles here, then the person who wants Lin Ting dead definitely isn’t the only one.”
“There’s one right here.” Chi Yan’s gaze landed on Zhao Zhen. “Zhao Zhen just admitted it himself—the butler he was playing was meant to kill Lin Ting.”
Zhao Zhen’s brow twitched. He instantly realized Chi Yan was trying to shift suspicion onto him.
Yan Shixun had just speculated that not only had they been brought here by the mysterious entity behind all this, but their identities and Director Li’s script had also been recreated by that strange force.
If that was true, then everything they were doing now might be unfolding according to the script.
The truth was hidden behind a thick fog. This was a game of role-playing—everyone had a seemingly normal identity on the surface, but whether they were friend or foe beneath that mask was anyone’s guess.
If Zhao Zhen could be someone sent to assassinate Lin Ting, then why couldn’t he have been given two missions—sent here to kill others as well?
—Zhao Zhen knew clearly that this was exactly what Chi Yan wanted everyone to suspect.
After all, the identities of those present had already been confirmed: the Jing couple and their eldest daughter.
Jing Bin had already been warned, and Jing Xiuwen had just escaped an assassination attempt—one that, judging by the method, had likely come from within. The role of the butler was highly suspicious.
As for the eldest daughter, historical records mentioned that both of Jing Bin’s daughters had died young, before reaching adulthood. But since this was a family affair, the records brushed over it briefly, not even naming the two girls, let alone detailing their actual cause of death.
There was even a possibility that the two daughters had been killed by the butler.
Zhao Zhen quickly saw through Chi Yan’s malicious intent.
She wanted everyone to doubt him, to isolate him completely. Worse still, her ultimate goal might be to sow distrust among them all—splinter the group so she could use that paranoia to conceal her true purpose.
But at the same time, Zhao Zhen knew Chi Yan had overlooked one very important detail.
—The existence of Yan Shixun.
Though Chi Yan had leveraged her connections to get the invitation into the Zhang family and passed it along to Yan Shixun, in her mind, he was just an exorcist-for-hire, someone who drove away ghosts for money. Skilled, yes—but just a master, nothing to worry about.
Given Chi Yan’s status and the fact that she’d been mentally exhausted and overwhelmed lately, there was no way she had time to watch the reality show Yan Shixun had appeared on. Naturally, she had no idea what kind of person he really was.
She simply labeled him based on her own experience, categorizing and filing him away in her mind out of habit.
So when she tried to steer the conversation, she didn’t even factor in what role Yan Shixun might play in all this.
—Zhao Zhen fully trusted Yan Shixun. Ye Li only had eyes for him. Zhang Wubing practically hung off his leg like an accessory.
The remaining three people in the room all revolved around Yan Shixun.
Even if you wanted to manipulate the narrative, you’d first need Yan Shixun to believe it.
Unfortunately for Chi Yan, Yan Shixun never blindly believed in appearances.
He had his own meticulous, rigorous judgment.
“Miss Chi, are you saying that after you woke up, you moved around, and no one can confirm where you initially woke up? Is that correct?”
Yan Shixun didn’t follow Chi Yan’s lead at all. Instead, he picked out a flaw in her story with pinpoint precision.
Chi Yan was caught off guard. She instinctively panicked and looked to Zhang Wubing for help. “Director Zhang can vouch for me. He was the one who found me.”
“I did think I was the first one awake, but…” Zhang Wubing blinked and didn’t back her up. “I was on the second floor, and Miss Chi was downstairs.”
The implication was clear—don’t drag me into this. I don’t know anything.
Zhang Wubing: I know exactly who my dad is.
Chi Yan hadn’t expected Zhang Wubing—one of the top reality show directors—to listen so obediently to an exorcist, treating Yan Shixun’s words as gospel. For a moment, her face went blank. Surrounded by suspicious stares, she had no idea how to respond.
She was starting to feel that she had gravely misjudged Yan Shixun. She’d thought he wasn’t worth worrying about, but somehow, everything was slipping out of her control because of him.
Say what you will about Chi Yan—whatever she might’ve done—she undeniably had a face of stunning beauty.
And when she showed such a vulnerable expression, it was hard for anyone—except perhaps someone like Yan Shixun, who seemed devoid of emotion—to remain unmoved.
Even before the live audience, many viewers softened.
[Ahhhh how can this be? I know Chi Yan probably did something wrong, but seeing her this upset, I can’t help feeling bad for her. I just want to hug her and make her feel safe.]
[I… I’m starting to think I went too hard on her earlier. She’s still just a fragile woman. Even if she did mess up, can’t we at least try to understand her? She’s so beautiful, and in the entertainment world, beauty is a curse. Maybe she only made a mistake because she was trying to protect herself or fight back.]
[Yeah, now that you mention it—Chi Yan’s always been so strong. She never guilt-tripped her fans like some other stars do. She always showed a positive image. But we’re all adults; we know life’s tough. And for someone as high-profile as her, of course she’d face setbacks. She’s probably suffered a lot behind the scenes.]
[Please don’t cry, Chi Yan. If you cry, my heart’s going to shatter.]
[I suddenly get why King You of Zhou lit the beacons just to make his concubine smile. If I had a beauty like Chi Yan, I wouldn’t want her to cry either.]
[Now that I think about it, Zhao Zhen is being kind of cruel. Why does he keep pressing on her wounds? So what if she hid something, or had a miscarriage? People want privacy when they’re hurting. Why rub it in?]
[?? Lmao, are we sure Chi Yan didn’t hire a PR team to flood the comments? What is this sorcery? Some of y’all flipped sides *way* too fast. One second you wanted her gone, the next you’re in love with her. Tsk tsk. Meanwhile, Brother Yan is just quietly watching this mess unfold.]
[LOL I can’t with you guys. Whatever Chi Yan did, you all are comedy gold. You seriously didn’t notice how off she’s been? Brother Yan clearly did. And he’s right—everyone else had witnesses to back up their positions. Does she have one?]
[Yeah, and the script has already changed. With Director Li’s montage style, there could be a huge twist. What if the original female lead is actually the final boss now?]
[Let’s just see what Brother Yan says. At this point, he’s the only one I trust.]
Yan Shixun watched Chi Yan with a calm, unhurried gaze. He didn’t press her, almost as if he saw right through her panic, even giving her ample time to make something up.
Chi Yan felt her muscles trembling. She didn’t know if it was the chill of the autumn night or the thin clothes she was wearing, but under Yan Shixun’s gaze, a cold shiver ran up her spine.
…Just like what she’d felt every night for the past few years.
Chi Yan jolted, and suddenly forgot all about responding to Yan Shixun’s question. She turned around in a panic, glancing behind her.
The Jing residence was a blend of Chinese and Western design. The living room had a fireplace, with a mirror and picture frames set atop its carved mantle.
When she turned around, Chi Yan was facing the mirror above the fireplace.
“Crack—snap!”
Right before her eyes, the mirror suddenly shattered. Spiderweb-like cracks spread across the surface.
As if someone had thrown a ball at it.
From the shards of the splintered mirror, Chi Yan saw countless versions of herself. Each reflection had a different expression—some crying, some furious.
But they all reached out toward her from the mirror, trying to grab her.
It was as if they were trying to pull her in.
‘Come on, Chi Yan, come play with us.’
The “Chi Yan” in the mirror giggled, her blood-red nails flashing like a vengeful ghost’s. ‘Come on, your playmates are all here. You’re the only one missing.’
The other mirror reflections of “Chi Yan” also stepped forward from the mirror depths, pressing their faces to the glass and grinning at her: ‘Chi Yan, come on.’
‘I’m so lonely. Why aren’t you here yet?’
‘You brought us into this world, but now you’re abandoning us? It’s so dark inside the monster’s belly. You should come join us.’
‘Then none of us will be lonely anymore.’
……..
Chi Yan’s eyes were unfocused and vacant. With a terrified scream, she abruptly stood up from the sofa and, in a panic, grabbed her handbag from beside her and hurled it at the mirror.
“Get out! Get out! All of you, get out!”
She screamed hysterically. Her temple hair fell loose from the violent movement, and the diamond hair clip she wore clattered to the ground, crushed beneath her frantic steps. In that moment, she was nothing like the composed, radiant woman she had been just moments before—now utterly disheveled and panicked.
The pearl-studded handbag hit the mirror with a vicious thud. With a sharp crack, the previously intact surface splintered from the point of impact, spiderweb-like fractures quickly spreading outward.
Yan Shixun and the others lifted their heads in shock, staring at Chi Yan, who had suddenly gone mad. None of them could figure out what had provoked her to act this way.
But Chi Yan still seemed trapped in her own terror. Stumbling backward in her high heels, she lost her footing and knocked into the corner of the sofa, collapsing onto the carpet nearby.
She landed right on top of the shattered wine glasses she had seen when she first woke up.
The shards pierced deeply into the palm of her hand as she instinctively braced herself against the floor. Blood gushed from her delicate palm, and she let out a shrill, agonized scream.
Zhang Wubing was dumbfounded by the sudden, senseless turn of events. He couldn’t understand why Chi Yan had smashed the mirror and hurt herself.
Yan Shixun, however, reacted quickly. He immediately stood and strode to Chi Yan’s side, crouching down to help her up.
But she slapped his hand away.
Her hair was a mess as she tilted her head back. Her bloodshot eyes locked onto Yan Shixun, staring at him as if he were a demon. She screamed in complete breakdown, “Get away from me! You monster! You would’ve been dead without me, and now you come looking for me again? Leave! Get out!!”
Ye Li frowned and stepped up beside Yan Shixun, reaching out to pull him away.
Though Yan Shixun didn’t move, his focus remained fixed on Chi Yan’s abnormal behavior, so he didn’t resist when Ye Li took his hand.
Ye Li glanced down and clearly saw the redness blooming across Yan Shixun’s knuckles—Chi Yan’s wild slap had hit him hard.
Without a word, Ye Li tightened his grip on Yan Shixun’s hand. When he turned his gaze to Chi Yan, it was full of growing disgust and icy contempt.
Chi Yan, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to their presence. It was as if she had completely withdrawn into her own world, seeing things no one else could see.
Following her line of sight, Yan Shixun scanned the room several times, but everything in the living room looked perfectly normal. There was nothing that could have frightened her to such an extreme.
He lifted his gaze slightly and looked at Zhang Wubing in silent question.
Zhang Wubing—often treated like a human ghost detector—gave a bewildered shake of his head. There were no signs of a ghostly presence; if there had been, he’d have run into it already.
He was very self-aware about his abilities.
Yan Shixun frowned deeply, his eyes filled with suspicion as he looked at Chi Yan.
If there really had been a ghost, how could all three of them—himself, Zhang Wubing, and Ye Li—have missed it? One person missing it could be chalked up to lack of skill or a momentary lapse in awareness. But all three?
The odds were too low.
Unless… what had terrified Chi Yan wasn’t a ghost.
Yan Shixun stood beside Chi Yan, looking down at her from above, his gaze cold as she sat trembling on the floor, rambling incoherently in pure terror.
Apart from the moment she had injured her hand, she seemed immune to pain. She kept retreating, her slender body wrapped in a qipao trembling like a leaf, looking fragile and breakable.
Eventually, her back hit the sofa. With nowhere else to go, she still babbled in blind panic, saying things that made no sense to anyone else.
“I gave you life. You should be grateful to me! You can’t… you can’t treat me like this…”
“No! Stay away! Please, I beg you, go back to your grave, okay? I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want anything! Can’t we just pretend you never existed?”
“I’ll have incense burned for you! I’ll even build a memorial tomb! Just tell me what you want! I’ll do it! I’ll give you whatever you want, isn’t that enough? I don’t need you anymore—just go!”
“…I’m your mother, aren’t I? I gave you so much—wasn’t it enough? Wasn’t it enough?!”
Chi Yan’s face turned deathly pale. No matter how meticulous her makeup was, it couldn’t hide how ashen she looked, like a ghost herself.
She trembled in fear, completely broken, mumbling to herself, “You’re not… You’re not. It was my fault. I never should have found you in the first place. You’re a demon. A damned demon! I should never have let you out!”
As Chi Yan rambled on, the meaning behind her words slowly began to piece together, and Yan Shixun’s brows furrowed. He glanced at Zhao Zhen beside him.
Zhao Zhen had been staring in anxious confusion at Chi Yan, who was slumped on the floor like a madwoman. When he caught Yan Shixun’s look, he asked, “What is it, Brother Yan?”
With a grave expression, Yan Shixun asked, “You said before that Chi Yan might’ve kept a ghost child… Do you know how many times she’s had miscarriages? What did she do with those babies?”
Zhao Zhen thought for a moment, then shook his head apologetically. “That, I don’t know. Chi Yan’s always been extremely secretive about stuff like that. But I’ve heard she never goes to regular hospitals—not even private ones like the one we went to. She only sees certain private doctors. And she always brings a master with her for every visit.”
He recalled gossip he had heard on set: “People used to joke that she was terrified of death—so scared that she wouldn’t even go to the doctor without a master tagging along.”
“And when she had a miscarriage on set, the hospital doctors said it was critical, but her assistant wouldn’t let go. She insisted on taking Chi Yan to her personal doctor. Everyone said the assistant was insane—like she didn’t care if Chi Yan died.”
Yan Shixun nodded.
Zhao Zhen’s words confirmed what he had been suspecting.
Chi Yan’s ramblings reminded Yan Shixun of what Song Ci had mentioned earlier: that Chi Yan had been seeking help from various masters lately, but none had been able to help her.
And when Yan Shixun first arrived with the crew at the foreign settlement and saw Chi Yan, he immediately noticed an overwhelming karmic burden on her. Hatred between life and death clung to her like vines, waiting to devour her, refusing to let go.
If anyone else had seen what he did at that moment, they would’ve been terrified.
—The karma around Chi Yan was so thick it seemed solid, a heavy black fog obscuring even her face.
At that moment, Yan Shixun understood why Chi Yan was so desperate to find a master.
Once that fog reached the top of her head and covered her crown, she would be doomed—nothing could save her.
All the deaths she had caused had returned to claim their due.
That was why, when Chi Yan tried to approach Yan Shixun, he didn’t even hesitate to reject her.
He wasn’t a god and didn’t know exactly what Chi Yan had done, but he never meddled lightly with others’ karmic consequences.
Especially not consequences born of evil causes—she sowed wicked seeds, now she would reap the bitter fruit.
And now, as Yan Shixun clearly heard Chi Yan’s repeated murmurs, he instantly connected the dots. The puzzle was complete.
—Chi Yan had indeed raised a ghost child.
But it wasn’t like a typical ghost child.
Either some master had given her the idea, or Chi Yan’s own hunger for power had made her reckless. In her desire to strengthen the ghost child and extract even more from it, she had chosen the most effective—and most deranged—method.
—Chi Yan had used her own unborn children to feed the ghost.
That was why Zhao Zhen had heard about her repeated pregnancies and miscarriages. And why the makeup artist who used to work with her—and was later dismissed—had seen children’s toys all over the dressing room, yet never saw any children.
Because the ghost child Chi Yan raised had already surpassed the scope of a normal ghost.
And by consuming unborn lives and absorbing their innate spiritual essence, the ghost had become a true vengeful spirit.
Yan Shixun even suspected that the repeated cycle of death and rebirth had pushed the spirit beyond the limits of life and death as humans understood it.
It might very well be the strongest vengeful ghost he had ever encountered.
And now, the vengeful ghost that should have been firmly under Chi Yan’s control has turned against her.
Most likely, the strange phenomena Chi Yan has recently experienced were caused by this as well.
However…
Yan Shixun lifted his gaze, calmly scanning the living room of the Jing residence.
So far, there wasn’t any trace of a ghostly presence here. Then what on earth had scared Chi Yan to this extent?
Suddenly, a thought flashed across Yan Shixun’s mind.
“If Chi Yan has been constantly afraid of that vengeful ghost, then she must be thinking about it all the time, worrying about when it might show up to harm her.”
He murmured under his breath, “And coincidentally, there’s another thing at play here…”
—Every terrifying image imagined in one’s mind would manifest into reality because of that very imagination.
“Chi Yan is more familiar with that vengeful ghost than anyone could ever be.”
Which meant…
That ghost had already shown up at the Jing residence.
A chill settled over Yan Shixun’s face. He turned around and looked into the deep, heavy darkness.
A small figure suddenly darted out of the shadows, then vanished without a trace.
The next moment, everyone heard a sound that seemed to come right next to their ears—
“Giggle, giggle, giggle…”
It sounded like a carefree, innocent laugh from a young child.
A cold breath brushed against the backs of their ears, as if a child had crept up behind them, playing joyfully just outside their field of vision.
Chi Yan’s eyes widened in terror. She trembled uncontrollably and whispered, “He’s here, he’s here…”
Yan Shixun’s expression darkened.
Zhao Zhen felt a chill shoot straight up his spine. His whole body went stiff, and he didn’t even dare to look back.
“Ye Li!” Yan Shixun didn’t look back either, but sharply called out Ye Li’s name.
Turning around now could mean locking eyes with that ghost child.
With an unknown threat lurking nearby, and without a full understanding of the ghost’s strength, Yan Shixun couldn’t afford to risk everyone’s safety. He had to make a dangerous move.
Among those present, only Ye Li, whose background was still unclear, seemed capable of dealing with the supernatural besides himself. Though Yan Shixun suspected Ye Li might be someone of great power—perhaps a founder of a sect—that was just a hunch, not yet confirmed.
Still… he hoped Ye Li understood what he was trying to convey.
Because Yan Shixun believed the ghost already had some level of intelligence and awareness, he refrained from saying anything directly. After all, whatever he said to Ye Li, the ghost would hear too. He wasn’t sure if Ye Li could handle it, so he decided to say nothing and just hoped Ye Li got the message.
But…
As the eerie chill crept up his back, Yan Shixun let out a silent sigh.
He didn’t feel afraid—he rarely did—but this time, he found it quite troublesome. He still hadn’t fully recovered from his previous injuries. Though he’d been discharged, he was only capable of light activity. Any intense movement might reopen his wounds.
He was getting a headache. He really wanted to just drag that ghost child over and spank its butt.
—Couldn’t it have picked a time when he wasn’t injured?
As for Ye Li, although Yan Shixun had called his name, he hadn’t really expected anything. He kept thinking quickly, mentally reconstructing the layout of the living room and the entire Jing residence, searching for any points he could use to deal with the ghost.
But just then, he suddenly felt a lightness behind him—the chilling presence abruptly vanished.
Ye Li was standing not far behind Yan Shixun, his face so dark it seemed like water might drip from it. In his well-defined hand, he held a strange mass.
“Little bastard.” Ye Li, usually calm, spoke with a rare edge in his voice, his tone even carrying a faint grinding sound. His eyes, lowered to look at the thing in his hand, were dangerously cold.
How dare it get that close to Shixun!
“Hmm…?”
The small child-shaped mass of black mist seemed confused that it had been grabbed bare-handed. Tilting its head in puzzlement, it tried to look up to see what was happening.
Yan Shixun quickly realized that Ye Li had actually understood what he meant and had grabbed the ghost behind him, just like he’d hoped.
He cautiously turned around and saw Ye Li holding that ball of black mist.
There was no time to identify what it was. He rushed to Zhao Zhen and Zhang Wubing to check if there was anything behind them.
He had sensed that when he noticed the presence behind him, the entire living room had gone silent. No one spoke a word. Most likely, Zhao Zhen and Zhang Wubing had also heard the child’s laughter and had something behind them too.
Yan Shixun quickly confirmed his suspicion.
As soon as he got close to Zhang Wubing, he sharply sensed something staring at him from over Zhang Wubing’s shoulder.
In the dim light, he could vaguely make out a pair of wide, jet-black eyes within the mist, quietly watching him, as if judging what kind of person he was.
Just as Yan Shixun reached out toward Zhang Wubing, the black mist immediately jumped down from his shoulder and darted into the surrounding darkness.
The same thing happened with Zhao Zhen.
Yan Shixun didn’t have time to check on Chi Yan’s condition. Once he confirmed Zhao Zhen and Zhang Wubing were safe, he allowed himself to slightly relax, then turned to check on Ye Li’s side.
The mass of black mist in Ye Li’s grip was still flailing, its limbs waving as it struggled to escape—like a small turtle floundering in the air—but no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t break free.
The ghost child seemed puzzled, letting out confused “Ah, ah!” sounds from within the mist, as if asking what was going on.
Raising an eyebrow, Yan Shixun looked at Ye Li with some surprise. “Not bad. I thought you wouldn’t get what I wanted you to do.”
Hearing that, Ye Li’s previously grim expression softened a little. “We’re in sync.”
Yan Shixun gave a small smile and, for once, didn’t retort.
He lowered his eyes to the black mist. “So, what’s your deal?”
As he spoke, he reached out, intending to take the ghost from Ye Li’s hand.
It was better for him to handle the dangerous stuff.
But at that moment, everything changed.
The black mist, which had seemed harmless until now, suddenly split open like a beast’s maw and lunged straight for Yan Shixun’s hand, swallowing his fingers in an instant.
Ye Li’s face changed drastically. His attention snapped to Yan Shixun as he furiously hurled the black mist aside.
*Bang!*
The black mist slammed hard into the wall, making a loud crash.
But Ye Li didn’t spare it a glance. He immediately grabbed Yan Shixun’s hand to check the injury.
Luckily, he’d reacted in time. Before those sharp teeth could close in fully, he had flung the ghost away. It only managed to leave a deep red bite mark on Yan Shixun’s fingertip.
But Yan Shixun didn’t focus on the bite. After giving Ye Li a stunned look, he quickly turned to check where the black mist had been thrown.
The ghost moved fast. It had already scurried along the wall into the shadows, disappearing without a trace.
Where it had touched the once-beautiful wallpaper, streaks of blood were left behind, slowly dripping down due to gravity.
In the darkness, it looked like the aftermath of a murder scene—eerie and terrifying.
This sudden twist of events left Zhang Wubing and Zhao Zhen frozen in place. In just a few seconds, everything had changed so fast they hadn’t even had time to process what was happening.
Everyone was gathered there. Yan Shixun suspected the ghost might be trying to lure them away from something else, so he didn’t chase after it.
On the livestream screen, the scrolling comments had paused for a brief moment—then resumed flooding in.
[AAAAAH where did you all go just now?! Why wasn’t anyone spamming comments?! I nearly died from fright! Please, protect me with comments!]
[What the hell was that?! I swear I just heard a child laughing. Please tell me that was just my imagination!]
[I wish I could say it was… but sadly, it wasn’t. I heard it too. I was lying on my side under the covers and suddenly felt a chill on my neck. Quietly rolled over and tucked myself in tighter. Yep, must be the blanket leaking cold air. Definitely not anything else.]
[Holy crap! What’s up with Chi Yan? This has flipped several times already. Do you guys not use your brains? It’s so obvious she’s hiding something. If you don’t do anything wrong, why would you be scared of ghosts? Just look at how terrified she is!]
[I swear, this time I’m not planning to trust Chi Yan either. Did anyone notice this detail? Brother Yan and the others had no idea what happened to Chi Yan at first. Even though everyone was pretty shaken, Chi Yan was the one who saw that thing first. It wasn’t until she started smashing the mirror that they realized something might be wrong.]
[I’m losing my mind—was this part of the script or was it something personal to Chi Yan?! Listen to what she said just now—wasn’t all of that exactly what the media has been accusing her of for years? Raising ghost child and all that? The way she talked about it—so vivid and detailed—could it actually be true?]
[There’s also the possibility that Chi Yan wanted to use this opportunity to explain herself once and for all. I mean, raising ghost child? That sounds completely ridiculous—how could that be real?]
[Honestly, I was really freaked out by Chi Yan just now. Was that acting? If so, her acting skills are incredible. She even had bloodshot eyes—how do you fake that? …Damn, is this the power of a top-tier grand slam actress?]
[I didn’t see anything that looked fake! Didn’t we all see something just now? And even if Chi Yan was acting, Brother Yan and the others aren’t actors—how could they pull it off so realistically? I’m sure of it—there was definitely something we couldn’t see just now, and it even attacked Brother Yan.]
[I think so too. Brother Yan looked *seriously* intense just now. I was scared out of my mind.]
Yan Shixun gave a deep glance at Chi Yan, who was still slumped on the carpet in shock and hadn’t come back to her senses. He turned to Zhang Wubing and said, “Xiao Bing, help bandage Chi Yan’s hand.”
Zhang Wubing, who had just been called by name, suddenly snapped out of it and hurriedly grabbed the first-aid kit he’d pulled out earlier.
Yan Shixun seemed like he was about to say something else, but suddenly felt a cold touch gripping his hand.
It was cold—but also grounding and reassuring.
“Before you start worrying about someone with blood on their hands, could you maybe check on yourself first?”
Ye Li’s voice, low and magnetic, carried a trace of anger, though he held it back for fear of scaring Yan Shixun. He tried to sound calm as he added, “You’re injured too.”
“Brother Yan?!”
Zhang Wubing shouted in surprise. He was originally heading toward Chi Yan, but instantly changed course toward Yan Shixun. “You’re hurt? Where? Is it serious? Let me take a look!”
Before Yan Shixun could reply, Zhang Wubing was already trying to check him over. “Didn’t the doctor say your previous injuries hadn’t healed yet? You still have to go in for regular dressing changes! What if it gets infected again?”
Yan Shixun laughed and lifted his leg to lightly kick Zhang Wubing. “Relax, I’m not dying. You’re always so dramatic.”
But despite his words, Zhang Wubing’s obvious concern did ease the heavy feeling in Yan Shixun’s heart a bit.
Zhang Wubing looked him up and down several times in worry. Once he confirmed Yan Shixun was really okay, he scratched at his two little tufts of hair with a silly grin before being kicked off to tend to Chi Yan.
Yan Shixun turned his gaze down to the hand still being held by Ye Li. With a faint smile, he asked, “Where exactly am I hurt? I think the worst injury I’ve got right now is from your death grip.”
He curled his fingers and tried to pull his hand free. “Still not letting go? Planning to hold on forever?”
Ye Li obediently let go, but the moment Yan Shixun hissed in pain, his expression darkened, eyes flashing with anger. “That ghost child…”
“Thanks, by the way.”
Yan Shixun said, nodding slightly at Ye Li. He didn’t seem to care about the fact that the ghost had nearly bitten his hand off. With a smile, he added, “Didn’t even break the skin—hardly counts as an injury.”
Ever since his master Li Chengyun passed away, and before he met Ye Li, Yan Shixun had always wandered alone. In moments of danger or hesitation, he’d had no one to rely on but himself, often enduring injuries from evil spirits and ghosts, trading wound for wound, becoming long accustomed to the pain.
If you were going to deal with vicious ghosts, can you afford to be afraid of getting hurt?
Yan Shixun was clearly indifferent to the injury, but Ye Li stared at him. In that brief moment of stillness, the cold in his eyes softened with a trace of heartache.
It was like a god, having touched the emotions of mortals, now carried the warmth of the living.
Though there was no blood from the bite, Yan Shixun’s fingertips were stained a deep red.
He hadn’t even looked at his injury yet, but now he raised his fingers to eye level, examining the bite mark thoughtfully.
The teeth marks were tiny—barely the size of a grain of rice… This ghost must’ve just started teething.
—Though the sharpness of those teeth was definitely not something a normal child would have.
That gave Yan Shixun a rough idea of the ghost’s age.
Earlier, it seemed Chi Yan had seen something no one else could. Terrified by the ghost, she spiraled into madness. The things she screamed made Yan Shixun suspect that the ghost was likely taken from somewhere else—maybe even stolen. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have begged it to return to its grave.
Unlike humans who grow with age, ghosts can only “age” by growing stronger. Their appearance changes only with their power. Judging by the ghost’s current “age”…
If it only reached the teething stage after devouring several of Chi Yan’s unborn children, then it must have died very shortly after birth in its previous life.
That conclusion made Yan Shixun’s gaze toward Chi Yan turn even colder.
Chi Yan was still shaking violently, cowering behind the sofa. Zhang Wubing knelt on one knee, trying to bandage her hand, but she repeatedly pushed him away in a panic, mistaking him for another ghost.
Her bloody palm had smeared all over Zhang Wubing, making him look like he’d just come from a murder scene.
He tried to soothe her, but she kept pushing him back. Even he, with his normally gentle temperament, was beginning to frown. His opinion of Chi Yan had dropped to rock bottom.
Just then, Yan Shixun placed a hand on Zhang Wubing’s shoulder. “Let me handle it. You go change clothes first.”
Each person had their own assigned room, complete with a wardrobe showing signs of normal daily life. The level of detail was impressive—it wasn’t just a single costume.
Zhang Wubing’s current appearance was downright terrifying. No one liked wearing bloodstained clothes, after all.
He nodded and sighed as he stood up. “What the hell happened to Chi Yan? She looks way more terrified than I was when I saw a ghost.”
Of course she did.
Yan Shixun glanced at Chi Yan without expression.
When Zhang Wubing saw a ghost, it was because his spiritual constitution naturally attracted them. The ghosts didn’t have a particular grudge against him. But in Chi Yan’s case, the ghost came specifically for her, as punishment for the horrible things she’d done.
Naturally, the consequences were not the same.
Since the ghost child had fled and no one knew where it went, Yan Shixun told Ye Li to go upstairs with Zhang Wubing.
But Ye Li remained motionless, his aura chilling the air so much that Zhang Wubing shivered beside him. In a small voice, he said, “I can go up by myself. No need to trouble the assistant director.”
Zhao Zhen glanced at him, and the livestream audience burst out laughing.
How refreshing—when the director was too intimidated to trouble the assistant director. Anyone watching would think the director was the one with lower status.
[My sweet baby Bing, hahaha, he’s too cute! How did he even come up with that? I’m dying!]
[For real though, Director Zhang looks so pitiful right now, haha.]
[My source of happiness has returned! I was terrified by Chi Yan earlier, but now I’m feeling normal again thanks to Zhang Wubing.]
[Zhang Wubing’s outfit… yeah, he really needs a change. He looks scary as hell. Chi Yan is totally ungrateful—he was just trying to help.]
[When fear reaches a certain point, the brain just stops functioning. Totally normal.]
Yan Shixun looked up quietly, locking eyes with Ye Li.
As soon as their gazes met, Ye Li’s intimidating aura dissipated. He nodded, as if giving in to Yan Shixun, and went upstairs with Zhang Wubing.
Off to the side, Zhao Zhen, who knew what roles everyone was playing, hesitated and said, “So… is this like a mom taking the kid to change clothes?”
It kind of fit their characters a little too well.
Yan Shixun couldn’t hold back and let out a laugh. On the stairs, Ye Li’s shoulders visibly tensed. He glanced at Zhang Wubing with a complex look.
Zhang Wubing panicked. “No, wait! Sure, Brother Yan is my dad, but Assistant Director, you don’t have to be the mom! I swear, I never thought of it that way!”
Ye Li’s tone turned dry and quiet. “Then do you want Lin Ting to be your mom? Or do you think Chi Yan and Shixun should be together?”
Although he had no idea where this conversation was heading or why it had suddenly turned to Chi Yan, Zhang Wubing shouted on instinct for self-preservation, “I didn’t think that at all, really!”
He had never wanted a mom!
On the other side, Ye Li was dragging the dejected Zhang Wubing upstairs, and the smile on Yan Shixun’s lips slowly faded.
He crouched down slowly in front of Chi Yan, bringing himself to her eye level, and asked, “Want to explain what’s going on with that kid?”
Chi Yan still seemed disoriented, like she couldn’t even hear Yan Shixun’s voice.
This time, however, Yan Shixun didn’t hold back. He grabbed her hand and gave it a hard squeeze. The wound from the glass shards immediately started gushing blood, and Chi Yan screamed in pain.
Zhao Zhen flinched and quietly stepped back half a pace.
He had a feeling that Brother Yan was truly angry this time… and this whole scene weirdly resembled an intense interrogation under torture.
Yan Shixun sneered coldly. “Clear-headed now? Can you hear me? Want me to keep going?”
Before Chi Yan could respond, he squeezed again. Her delicate hand turned pale and started twitching from the force, fresh blood trailing down her fingers in a slow, winding drip.
Chi Yan’s screams echoed through the living room, chilling to the bone in the dim shadows.
A small figure nearby widened its eyes in fascination, staring at Yan Shixun with curiosity. Whatever it had originally intended to do, it had now stopped, more interested in watching what Yan Shixun would do next.
This exorcist seemed very different from those cruel uncles who used to hurt it so badly. Strange… this man wasn’t hitting it together with Mommy…
The pleas and vulnerability of a beautiful woman could soften even the hardest of hearts.
Unfortunately, Yan Shixun wasn’t in that category.
He looked down at Chi Yan with a blank expression. “We could do this all day. No one’s coming to save you. You’d better think carefully about your next move.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Yan Shixun moved as if to do it again.
But Chi Yan stopped him in panic. “W-Wait! Please!”
Her eyes filled with terror as she looked at Yan Shixun, like she was staring at some deranged lunatic. “I heard you, I did! Mr. Yan, what do you want to know?”
How could someone be this crazy—actually laying hands on her?
Seeing that Chi Yan had dropped the whole act of being too frightened to respond, Yan Shixun let out a mocking snort. He released her hand with evident distaste and stood up, walking a few steps to the side.
“Zhao Zhen, help her bandage it up,” he said, glancing at Chi Yan with eyes as cold as ice. “I’m sure she’s fully conscious now and willing to be bandaged. If she’s not…”
“Thank you,” Chi Yan quickly turned to Zhao Zhen, thanking him over and over with none of the madness she’d shown earlier when she was shoving Zhang Wubing around.
Zhao Zhen paused as he reached for the bandages. Sensing something, he turned to look at Yan Shixun as if asking for confirmation.
Yan Shixun gave him a small nod.
At first, Chi Yan really had been frightened. In her panic, she blurted out a lot of things she shouldn’t have—things that would bring her no benefit.
Once she came back to her senses, she immediately realized her mistake. So she decided to go with the flow, continuing to act terrified to avoid further questioning, while secretly observing and searching for any opportunity to fix the situation.
After all, when someone was thought to be mentally broken from fear, people around them instinctively assumed they couldn’t hear or process conversations. They stopped seeing them as threats, and sensitive matters wouldn’t be kept from them.
This would have been the perfect disguise.
Unfortunately, Yan Shixun had looked into the eyes of far too many people who had broken down in fear and gone insane—he knew exactly what kind of expression that should be. No matter how good Chi Yan’s acting was, the kind of fear that came from the soul wasn’t something she could fake.
That was why Yan Shixun did what he did—to tell Chi Yan: either take the way out I’m giving you, snap out of it, and answer my questions, or continue suffering.
When Chi Yan was first cut by the glass, it had been completely real. The shards from the broken wine glass had pierced the soft, pale flesh of her palm, and then Yan Shixun had mercilessly gripped her hand, making the wound even deeper. Blood streaked across her palm, cut up by the glass.
When she held her hand out to Zhao Zhen, her muscles trembled uncontrollably.
Zhao Zhen sighed at the sight, a wave of sympathy washing over him.
What was the point of putting on an act in front of Brother Yan? She was just suffering in vain. Wasn’t it obvious that Brother Yan had seen right through her from the start? If she had just spoken up earlier, she wouldn’t be this badly hurt now.
But Zhao Zhen didn’t question Yan Shixun’s actions. After all, the two of them were sharing information now. When he heard Chi Yan admit with her own mouth that she had actually done the things people had whispered about, Zhao Zhen realized she was far from the weak and innocent image she portrayed.
If Yan Shixun hadn’t acted decisively, who knew how long Chi Yan would’ve kept deceiving them with her performance?
So Zhao Zhen lowered his head and silently focused on picking the glass shards out of Chi Yan’s wounds. He neither comforted nor scolded her—he said nothing.
This silence made Chi Yan, who had been hoping Zhao Zhen would soften, frown in disappointment as she looked at him.
But Zhao Zhen was quick on the uptake, and he knew a lot. It didn’t take long for him to figure out why Yan Shixun had done what he did. The viewers watching the livestream, however, wouldn’t understand so easily.
Most people were always trapped by what they saw on the surface, easily swayed by a false image.
Even those who had just been questioning Chi Yan relentlessly now couldn’t help but feel soft-hearted when they saw how pitiful she looked after being injured.
[Chi Yan looks kind of pitiful… Whether she did something wrong or not, isn’t this a bit much?]
[Is Yan Shixun crazy? Is he even human? That was way too cruel! Chi Yan’s hand is cut up so badly. Does he really think he’s some old-school Binhai power figure using torture for confessions? Poor Chi Yan, stuck with a psycho like this.]
[I’ve always liked Brother Yan, but that was just too harsh. He could’ve just asked her directly, right? Why do this? If it was a misunderstanding, they could’ve just talked it out.]
[Ha, you’re being too naive. Do you really think Chi Yan managed to stay at the top of the industry for ten years just because of her acting and looks? In the entertainment world, without some real tricks up your sleeve, beauty alone is a death sentence. Acting skills? The industry doesn’t care about that. People in the know already knew Chi Yan was ruthless—she just played her role so well that you all fell for it. It’s laughable how stupid that is.]
[Here we go again—these so-called “industry insiders” spreading gossip. Aren’t you just jealous of Chi Yan’s success? Instead of making up stuff, go tell your own idol to work on their acting.]
[This time, it’s actually real… My old company worked with Chi Yan before, in home cleaning services. Several housekeepers came back in tears, saying her house felt haunted—covered in blood, handprints on the walls and windows, even sounds of children playing at night. A few of them were so scared they quit. I didn’t say anything before because of a confidentiality clause, but I’ve quit now, so whatever.]
[Here’s something you didn’t know: a big shot in Beijing with the surname Jing has been trying to blacklist Chi Yan for years. He even hired a master to deal with her. That’s why she ran overseas. You really thought she went abroad to “study”? Only gullible kids would believe that.]
[I won’t say who I am, but it’s true—Chi Yan offended that big shot. Everyone around him knows he’s been furious multiple times. Supposedly, Chi Yan stole something from him, and he wants it back. I don’t know the details, and I didn’t dig—some of us still want to stay alive.]
[I don’t know the inside story, but I think Brother Yan didn’t do anything wrong. Did you all forget this house is messed up? Zhang Wubing imagined a ghost and then a ghost actually appeared! That terrifying child earlier might’ve been something Chi Yan conjured. Of course Brother Yan had to get to the bottom of it.]
[Maybe the method was intense, but if everyone ended up in danger because of Chi Yan, wouldn’t that be worse?]
Yan Shixun didn’t soften at all in the face of Chi Yan’s sobs and cries of pain. He sat on the sofa, and under the swaying dim light, he looked as cold and ruthless as a vengeful ghost.
“So, what’s the deal with the kid ghost?”
Chi Yan bit her lip, then lifted her head with a hateful glare. “If Mr. Yan had listened to me in the first place and helped me deal with this, none of this would’ve happened.”
“You committed the sin. You raised the ghost. And now you’re blaming me?”
Yan Shixun raised an eyebrow. “Miss Chi, are you confused about something? I wasn’t the one who used my own unborn child to raise a ghost. I didn’t profit off that ghost child.”
After Yan Shixun finished speaking, Chi Yan’s face went pale instantly. “You… how much do you know?”
“I don’t know much. But if you lie to me, I’ll find out.”
He raised a hand in a beckoning gesture. “If I don’t know the full truth, I can’t help you—or anyone else here. So for the sake of your own life—please, Miss Chi.”
Chi Yan took a deep breath and finally began to speak, her voice trembling.
Twenty years ago, when she had just debuted, Chi Yan landed a top national award for her very first role. Surrounded by applause and admiration, she had become conceited and proud.
But without any follow-up success to maintain her status, she was soon labeled as someone who peaked early, unable to sustain her rise.
Young and arrogant, Chi Yan had already experienced the glitz and praise of the industry’s highest levels—how could she accept fading into obscurity?
She didn’t want to work her way up slowly. She only wanted to return to that dreamlike time when everyone chased after her.
But in showbiz, stardom was all about fate.
Chi Yan tried everything but got nowhere. On the verge of despair, she visited a famous fortune-teller in the industry. That was when she first heard that some actresses gained fame and fortune by raising ghost children.
In her desperation, Chi Yan saw it as her last lifeline—and grabbed hold tightly.
If others could do it, why couldn’t she? She wanted to be famous too!
So she steeled herself and sought out a master who specialized in such things to help her raise a ghost.
Not long after, she received an invitation from an unknown director.
Initially, Chi Yan wanted to turn it down, but the ghost signaled for her to accept. Skeptically, she took the role, and to her surprise, the small-budget production quickly became a national sensation. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t know about the show.
Chi Yan rose again, winning Best Actress and firmly establishing her place in the entertainment world.
After that, she followed the ghost’s guidance in everything—from choosing roles to attending events or rejecting endorsements. She avoided every risk, and each project she picked became a hit. Her career skyrocketed. She swept domestic and international awards, becoming the uncontested queen of the industry.
“I didn’t do anything wrong! Why are you all treating me like this?”
Chi Yan shouted bitterly. “Yes, I raised a ghost—but I’m not the only one! That actress who won Best Actress last year—she raised one too! She’s been doing it even longer than I have. So why am I the only one in trouble?”
The audience, hearing Chi Yan admit all this herself, was stunned. The livestream exploded, the comments in chaos.
[Holy crap! Chi Yan just admitted it—it’s actually true!]
[So that ghost earlier… was really because of her? She’s endangered everyone!]
[How could she do this? I genuinely trusted her before.]
[Wait, what? Last year’s Best Actress too? Damn, Chi Yan just sold her out. That actress is gonna hate her.]
Yan Shixun looked at Chi Yan, whose expression bore not a hint of remorse. He lowered his eyelashes, concealing the cold gleam in his eyes.
“But to be so heartless as to feed your own fetus to the ghost child—only you could do that,” Yan Shixun’s voice was icy. “Chi Yan, tell me—how many times did you feed them?”
Chi Yan had not intended to speak of this at all, but she hadn’t expected Yan Shixun to expose her secret so bluntly. For a moment, she stared at him in shock, unsure of how to respond.
Yan Shixun’s face remained expressionless. “What? You thought I didn’t know?”
He pointed through the air toward Chi Yan, indicating the black mist clinging to her body—something unseen by ordinary people, constantly writhing and trying to consume her. “Since you went to such lengths to seek me out, you should’ve been prepared for me to see everything. If I couldn’t even recognize this how would I be able to solve the problem?”
A flicker of panic and disarray flashed across Chi Yan’s face. She shrank back slightly, as if trying to hide herself on instinct.
“J-just once.”
Clearly, Chi Yan still had no idea what kind of calamity she had stirred up. She was still trying to conceal the truth.
Yan Shixun sneered coldly and was just about to step forward when a furious scream suddenly rang out.
In that instant, everyone’s vision blurred as a shadow streaked across the ceiling above.
The next second, Chi Yan’s wretched scream pierced the air.
Yan Shixun immediately looked over and saw Chi Yan clutching her face with both hands, her eyes wide with terror. Blood was seeping through her fingers.
It seemed whatever that thing was—it had struck her face.
But Yan Shixun had no time to worry about whether Chi Yan’s face had been ruined. He quickly looked up, tracing the path of the shadow he had just glimpsed.
Yet with that one glance, even Yan Shixun couldn’t help but suck in a breath, a chill spreading down his spine.
Zhao Zhen, who had followed his gaze in confusion, was caught off guard. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the couch in shock.
—Up on the living room ceiling, several clumps of black mist were clinging to it.
They had nearly merged with the darkness, invisible if not closely examined. Only pairs of glassy black eyes stared unblinkingly at the people below. Who knew how long they had been watching from that blind spot?
Yan Shixun suddenly recalled the scene of the master’s death in the hotel stairwell. At the time, he had suspected that the killer might have moved along the ceiling.
But what he hadn’t expected—was that there wasn’t just one of these ghost children. There were many. And right now, they were all lurking on the living room ceiling, coldly observing their every move.
The ceiling and the space directly behind a person are natural blind spots—most people never pay attention to what might be lurking there.
This made Yan Shixun start to wonder… had these ghost children been watching them from the ceiling all along? Silently spying?
—Be careful above your head.
There, the vengeful ghosts were watching you.
In the suffocating darkness above, Yan Shixun stood tall and upright. He raised his head, his gaze icy and piercing, entirely devoid of fear.
In the shadows, one of the black mist-like entities rolled its eerie eyes and let out a cheerful, high-pitched giggle.
It was as though that laugh had flipped a switch. In the next moment, laughter rang out through the quiet mansion—high and low, from all directions, like the giggles of countless children. They blended together in a maddening chorus, dizzying and bone-chilling, making the hair on one’s neck stand on end.
The entire house had become a playground for these ghostly children. Only… their toys were living, breathing humans.
If you love what Ciacia is doing, then consider showing your support by supporting a cup of tea for her at Kofi. If you can’t wait for the next release chapter, subscribe to advanced chapters membership on her Kofi to get access to up to 10 chapters!
