On the way, the two companions and their driver were treated to a tragic love story so dramatic it defied belief.
Jiang Luo had spent enough time listening to clients vent during his past job. Some clients’ lives were even more absurd than soap operas. He had honed his storytelling skills dealing with demanding clients. Borrowing from TV dramas and actual client anecdotes, Jiang Luo built a complete narrative arc and started performing.
From “you loved me but I didn’t love you,” to “you pursued me relentlessly and I found you annoying,” and finally to “only after your death did I realize I had loved you all along.” The story had sorrow and joy, sweetness and anguish—even the cab-driving uncle who was listening to a comedy show quietly turned it off to focus on Jiang Luo’s tale.
“…When Chi You was working as a TA at our school, he’d drag me to his office for extra tutoring after class. He’d run around campus with me, saying it was to train my feng shui perception. But I thought he was just messing with me,” Jiang Luo leaned back in his seat, his face shadowed, melancholy flowing from his delicate features. “The day he confessed to me, I turned and walked away… Who would’ve thought that the moment I left, he’d die?”
Lu Youyi suddenly understood. “No wonder you were cursing him nonstop those days. I thought you were just jealous.”
Jiang Luo thought, Well, you weren’t wrong.
The original host had been jealous of Chi You’s talent. Chi You wasn’t genuinely kind and gentle—he smiled while tormenting the original host after class, supposedly tutoring him, but really just showing off his abilities. The original host lacked talent but was prideful and narrow-minded. Watching Chi You easily do what he himself couldn’t learn at all twisted his psyche more and more, turning it into hatred.
Jiang Luo gave a bitter smile and shook his head. “Looking back now, I really wish I could return to that time.”
Just as he spoke, a cold gust of wind slammed against the window. The wind howled past the glass like sharp blades. Jiang Luo paused and raised his hand—his pale forearm was already covered in goosebumps.
He turned to look out the window.
Dark clouds gathered, and the frail young trees along the roadside, no thicker than an adult’s wrist, were battered to pieces by the wind and rain, looking pitiful and broken. Raindrops streaked diagonally across the car window, slowly dripping down as if they could no longer bear the weight.
The transparent raindrops gradually turned a reddish hue, like a drop of fresh blood—an omen of life’s decline.
One such drop happened to trail down to the edge of Jiang Luo’s brow.
Jiang Luo’s expression didn’t change. He withdrew his gaze and looked up into the rearview mirror. In the mirror, only the three of them and the taxi driver up front could be seen.
There was no sign of any evil spirit.
Or perhaps there was—but he couldn’t see it.
“No wonder Chi You always kept you in the office during that time,” Ye Xun mused. “So he just wanted to use the opportunity to spend time alone with you.”
Jiang Luo: “…Yes.”
Suddenly, with a sharp crack, the glass window shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.
The three in the backseat stared wide-eyed at the window. Lu Youyi muttered, “Boss, isn’t this window a little too cheap?”
The driver was stunned. “That’s impossible…”
Cold wind seeped through the cracks, brushing against Jiang Luo’s neck with a chill laced with death. It felt as though a hand were toying with his neck, silently warning him not to speak nonsense.
Jiang Luo touched his neck, but only felt a ball of icy air.
The driver kept trying to look back at the cracked window, but he had to focus on driving. After a couple of glances, he turned forward again. Lu Youyi and Ye Xun scooted over to make room for Jiang Luo in a safer spot. Ye Xun continued his questioning, “So was I right?”
Suddenly, Jiang Luo felt his neck tighten. He coughed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly—it was hard even to swallow. The smile on his face widened. He brushed the black hair from his shoulder, and his striking face, a mix of charm and determination, lit up with a bright smile as he confirmed, “Yes, Chi You wanted to spend time alone with me.”
Jiang Luo remembered very clearly.
Chi You couldn’t kill him now.
Even if he could, he wouldn’t do it by simply choking him. According to the original novel, Chi You would use cruel and bloody methods to make him beg for life and death alike.
This kind of surface-level threat felt more like he was being toyed with—like a human teasing a hissing wildcat, finding more fun in its fiery temper. If Jiang Luo backed down now, Chi You would find it boring and might truly kill him without mercy.
Sure enough, after saying that line, Jiang Luo wasn’t hurt at all. The cold sensation around his neck slowly faded, leaving only the damaged window behind.
Half an hour later, the three arrived at their destination.
Jiang Luo was the first to scan the QR code and pay. About thirty seconds later, the driver received the notification—not only was the fare covered, but an extra thousand yuan had been sent with the note: “Window replacement fee (￣︶￣).”
The driver looked up in surprise, only to see the three already walking away.
129 Hotel was a local internet-famous hotel located on North East Third Ring Road. It was tucked away in a remote spot, but its popularity came from its beautiful environment, unique design, and heavy investment in marketing.
The hotel’s exterior resembled a fairytale castle, painted in bright pink and yellow—absolutely eye-catching.
After the earlier conversation, it was clear Lu Youyi and Ye Xun had accepted Jiang Luo. Lu Youyi took the initiative to ask, “Did you look up any info on 129 Hotel before coming?”
Jiang Luo shook his head honestly. “No.”
Lu Youyi gave him a sympathetic look, clearly assuming he hadn’t prepared because of Chi You’s death. “It’s okay. Everything will pass.”
Jiang Luo cooperatively gave a brave smile.
Lu Youyi continued, “Let me summarize for you. Have you heard of 129 Hotel before?”
Jiang Luo nodded. “I’ve heard of it.”
Most local university students who liked to go out had heard of 129 Hotel. It promoted a fairytale aesthetic and claimed to let guests escape real-life troubles and live out their dream fantasies. It had many themed rooms—Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, and so on. At its peak, rooms were booked solid for months.
Lu Youyi said, “129 Hotel was so popular that people would travel from other provinces just to stay there. But about six months ago, business suddenly declined.”
“Online ratings plummeted, and guests began filing frequent complaints. According to them, they experienced mysterious headaches, insomnia, and mental fatigue while staying there—and after returning home, their luck turned terribly bad.”
Ye Xun picked up the story: “But even then, the hotel’s owner didn’t realize anything was wrong. Until a month ago, a group of tourists from another province came and—three people mysteriously disappeared while staying there.”
Jiang Luo: “There’s no surveillance at 129 Hotel?”
“That’s the thing—because the surveillance system failed and the disappearances were so strange, the authorities concluded it was likely a metaphysical incident. So the store manager submitted a request, and the dean passed the task down to us,” Ye Xun said casually, then suddenly lifted his bunny plush to his eyes and turned to Jiang Luo and Lu Youyi with a deadpan expression, trying to act cute. “I asked Little Pink about it, and it said if I finish this job, I’ll have enough credits to enter the competition in Yunnan.”
Lu Youyi looked envious. “I still have a long way to go.”
Then both turned to Jiang Luo. Jiang Luo thought about his original self’s grades, paused a moment, and said, “I have… 3 credits.”
Lu Youyi and Ye Xun: “Hiss.”
How embarrassing. Absolutely humiliating. As someone used to being a top student, Jiang Luo now wanted to dig up his predecessor and give him a good beating.
The competition Ye Xun mentioned was the major event in the metaphysical world held every four years. This year’s location was Yunnan. Each event attracted massive attention from practitioners and was considered a grand occasion in the metaphysics and feng shui circles.
The competition also had a deceptively scientific name—just like their major: National University Natural Science Challenge.
Among the various universities, students in the metaphysics department need a minimum of 20 credits to qualify for the competition.
Lu Youyi and Ye Xun were a bit surprised but then remembered Jiang Luo’s past behavior and weren’t too shocked. Lu Youyi suspected Jiang Luo might’ve never paid attention in class. “Your credit score is just embarrassing. Jiang Luo, did you ever actually learn anything in class? Let me test you—look around and tell me about the feng shui of Hotel 129.”
Jiang Luo stopped and glanced around.
The original body’s mind was practically empty, lacking any specialized knowledge. But Jiang Luo had studied design, and design students learn some feng shui basics to avoid taboo mistakes.
He first looked at Hotel 129. The fairy-tale styled building stood out amidst green mountains and clear waters. Jiang Luo raised an eyebrow. “A mountain at the back, grass at the front, water on the left, a long path on the right. Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise—all four are present. This is a feng shui treasure land.”
No wonder the hotel’s business used to thrive.
Jiang Luo continued scanning the surroundings and suddenly said, “Huh? There’s a courthouse nearby.”
Ye Xun said flatly, “It was built two years ago. Before that, it was a slaughterhouse.”
Jiang Luo chuckled and pointed at the windows on both sides of the hotel. “The windows face directly toward the courthouse. Whether it’s a slaughterhouse or a courthouse, both are extreme yin or yang places. That’s harmful for people—this is called ‘window evil’ in feng shui.”
Slaughterhouses are filled with the scent of blood, and the malicious spirits of slaughtered animals create a negative magnetic field. People working or living nearby for long periods may become irritable, aggressive, or fall into unexplained sadness. Courthouses, due to their strong righteousness, are overly yang and can also cause negative effects.
Lu Youyi looked at him with newfound respect, realizing he had been judging Jiang Luo unfairly. “Jiang Luo, I used to think you only had a face worth looking at, but now I see you’re at least as knowledgeable as my second aunt’s sister-in-law’s elementary school granddaughter.”
Jiang Luo: “…” Sometimes he genuinely wondered how Lu Youyi made it this far in life.
The three of them walked into the fairy-tale castle. The manager was already waiting anxiously. When he saw them, he let out a sigh of relief. But upon noticing how young they looked, despair crept back onto his face. “Why are there three kids?”
He glanced at Ye Xun and the bunny plush in his arms and immediately broke down crying, covering his face.
Ye Xun, expressionless: “He called us kids.”
Lu Youyi touched his face, beaming, “Well, he’s not wrong.”
Jiang Luo could see a bit of silent accusation on Ye Xun’s face—clearly, he had been dismissed or looked down on many times because of that stuffed toy. Since Ye Xun had just helped him earlier, Jiang Luo stroked his chin. “I have a way to make sure no one ever calls you a kid again. Want to try it?”
Ye Xun immediately nodded. “Yes.”
Jiang Luo asked Ye Xun and Lu Youyi to step back. Then he walked up to the boss alone and knocked on the table. “Boss, why are you crying?”
The boss choked up, “Three little kids came. Why wouldn’t I cry?”
Jiang Luo said, “Do you know the saying ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’?”
“If the three of us were sent here to take your commission, that means we’re capable of handling it.” Jiang Luo pointed at Ye Xun. “That guy? He’s terrifying. Even ghosts are scared of him. What are you afraid of?”
The boss looked skeptical. “What’s so scary about a kid with a bunny doll?”
Jiang Luo sighed. “Let me tell you the truth. That bunny he’s holding? It’s not a toy. It’s a cursed item made from the combined resentment of over a hundred malicious ghosts. Normal people would be cursed just by holding it. But he’s fine. Do you know why?”
The boss started to look nervous. “Why?”
The atmosphere grew eerie. The boss cautiously looked at the plush in Ye Xun’s arms—and saw its lifeless eyes suddenly move!
He froze, face pale, nearly falling out of his chair.
Jiang Luo didn’t notice the toy moving. His tone turned cold. “Because he eats ghosts. When he’s unhappy, he eats. When he’s happy, he still eats. He may look young, but he’s actually 58 years old. He stopped growing because of the extreme yin-yang imbalance from consuming too many ghosts. Even that resentful spirit plush fears the energy coming off him. Your hotel had such a huge supernatural event, and we dared to come. That’s only because he’s with us.”
The boss shivered and didn’t dare look at the plush again. “I—I understand.”
Jiang Luo knocked on the table, lowering his voice. “Remember, don’t tell anyone about this.”
The boss stiffly nodded. He took a deep breath, walked over to Ye Xun and Lu Youyi, and forced a smile. “Sorry, students! I completely trust your abilities. What I said before was just a joke—ha ha ha! Don’t take it seriously. Why don’t I take you to the room where the last guests went missing?”
Ye Xun gave a slight smile and nodded calmly. “Let’s go.”
Jiang Luo followed behind. Lu Youyi curiously asked, “What did you tell the boss?”
Jiang Luo said with a sigh, “The boss is a good guy. I told him Ye Xun doesn’t like being called a kid, and he instantly admitted his mistake, swore to never say that again.”
Lu Youyi nodded repeatedly. “It’s rare to see such responsible uncles nowadays.”
Hotel 129 had a large courtyard-style layout, almost like a small theme park. It felt more like a scattered residential estate than a typical hotel.
As they passed through a small pavilion, they saw an elderly woman and a young child relaxing on a rocking chair.
The boss explained, “That’s my mom. I brought her here to stay for a month or two. That brat is my kid—just turned three.”
The child had fallen asleep from the rocking of the chair. The elderly grandmother greeted them politely, then slowly walked away carrying her grandson.
Jiang Luo stared fixedly at the child’s chubby, lotus-root-like wrist, doubting his own eyes. Otherwise, why would he see a cloud of black mist on that arm?
“Lu Youyi,” Jiang Luo nudged him while still staring at the retreating child, “did you see the black mist on the kid’s arm?”
Lu Youyi looked confused. “What? I didn’t see anything.”
“You didn’t see anything?”
Lu Youyi shook his head.
Jiang Luo frowned, deep in thought as he followed the boss.
He had complete faith in himself. Just because Lu Youyi didn’t see it didn’t mean he was wrong. So, what exactly had he seen?
