Boom!
There was a loud crash in the bathroom.
Fu Wei was slammed to the ground by Jiang Luo.
The black-haired youth pressed a knee hard into Fu Wei’s neck. Smiling down at him, he gently patted Fu Wei’s cheek. “Don’t do things your Brother Jiang doesn’t like, got it?”
Fu Wei frowned and touched his lips. His mouth was already bleeding. No one would’ve thought that the slim young man pinning him down had such explosive strength.
Jiang Luo tilted his head and smiled warningly. “Blow smoke in my face again, and I’ll put the lit end of the cigarette out on your face.”
As he spoke, he pulled out a talisman from inside his clothes and moved to stick it on Fu Wei.
He hadn’t forgotten the bet with Chi You—he needed to find him.
Fu Wei had some similarities, but also differences. Still, better to act and be wrong than to miss the target. His talismans didn’t cost him anything.
At the critical moment, Fu Wei grabbed Jiang Luo’s wrist and frowned in resistance. “What are you trying to do?”
Jiang Luo couldn’t be bothered to explain. He pushed down harder with his knee. Fu Wei grunted, loosening his grip.
Just as the talisman was about to make contact, someone knocked on the bathroom door.
“You guys okay?” Zhang Cheng’s voice came from outside, laced with both concern and nosy curiosity. “What happened? Someone’s coming in with a camera to film something.”
Fu Wei took the chance to roll to the side and sat up with his back against the sink cabinet. His long legs were propped up, one arm resting on his knee, clearly holding back anger. “What the h*ll is wrong with you?”
Not him. Definitely not.
But if Chi You wanted to play a “guess who I am” game, he obviously wouldn’t make it easy to tell.
The people outside were rushing. Jiang Luo stood up reluctantly, put away the talisman, and opened the door.
Zhang Cheng peeked into the bathroom, and upon seeing the blood at the corner of Fu Wei’s mouth, gasped, “Fu Wei, you’re…”
“What happened?” came a gentle voice.
Jiang Luo looked over and saw another good-looking guy.
It was Xi Si—the second-place contestant on Next Stop, Idol. He looked even better in person than on camera. Courteous, humble, and attentive.
“You’re hurt?” Xi Si frowned. “Don’t touch the wound. Zhang Cheng, go get my first aid kit from my dorm.”
“On it, Brother Xi,” Zhang Cheng said and ran off without hesitation.
Fu Wei sat with a dark expression, silent.
Zhao Ban didn’t dare speak either. Xi Si, seemingly unaware of the tense atmosphere, said worriedly, “You’re filming tomorrow. How are you supposed to be on camera like this? Go ask the dorm supervisor for an egg and roll it over the bruise. Tomorrow, have the makeup artist see what they can do.”
Fu Wei’s face was grim. “None of your business.”
Anyone else would’ve been put off by his attitude. But Xi Si just kept smiling and kindly reminded him, “Fu Wei, take it down a notch. There’s a camera right there.”
Jiang Luo stayed in the background, watching.
He had no interest in stealing screen time, nor did he worry about being filmed. The director had promised to keep his footage out of the final cut. As an observer, Jiang Luo could clearly see the undercurrents beneath the surface of this supposedly peaceful group.
It was quite entertaining.
But while he wanted to be a bystander, not everyone would let him stay that way. Whether out of genuine kindness or something else, Xi Si turned to him and said, “You’re new here, right?”
The camera followed his line of sight and pointed at Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Xi Si.
Xi Si walked over to his bed, glanced at the name tag, and smiled, “Jiang Huan—what a nice name, and beautiful handwriting too. Little Hua, get a shot of our new teammate’s writing.”
The trainee named Little Hua replied with an “Okay!” and obediently stepped forward to film Jiang Luo’s handwriting.
This was clearly a deliberate attempt to give Jiang Luo some screen time.
If Jiang Luo were truly just an innocent trainee, he’d probably feel grateful to Xi Si.
The black camera lens shifted from the name tag to Jiang Luo’s face—round and glassy, like a giant eye without a pupil. Jiang Luo casually glanced at it, then suddenly froze.
A clammy, intrusive sensation crept along his bones, sinking into the cracks, as if fine teeth were gnawing at his flesh. It felt like someone was watching him through the camera—not just now, but for a long time already. Maybe from the moment he first stepped into the Next Stop, Idol location, or when he started probing the others. Someone had been tracking him… only he hadn’t realized.
Now, that gaze surfaced like a predator toying with its prey—deliberately revealing itself for him to notice.
A belated chill shot up his back. Jiang Luo’s face darkened as he stared intently at the camera. Every hair on his body stood on end.
The cameraman stumbled back two steps, drenched in sweat, and quickly lowered the camera, looking at Jiang Luo in horror. “X-Xi-Brother Xi, his eyes are terrifying!”
In that instant, he had genuinely felt like this man wanted to kill him.
Everyone turned to look at Jiang Luo.
But Jiang Luo’s expression looked completely normal. He glanced back, puzzled, “What’s so scary about my eyes?”
Little Hua stared at him, dumbfounded. Jiang Luo’s gaze was completely normal—there was even a ripple of amusement in his upturned eyes. Not only was it not scary, it was actually strikingly good-looking. So normal that it made him question if what he saw earlier was just a hallucination.
“…Sorry,” he finally said.
Xi Si and the others didn’t stay in the room long. After such a commotion, it was getting late. Jiang Luo washed up and laid down in bed. Just before sleep, Zhang Cheng went to turn off the lights when Fu Wei’s irritated voice rang out from the top bunk: “I’ve said it many times—don’t turn off the lights.”
Zhang Cheng instinctively looked at Jiang Luo. “Jiang Huan, is it okay if we leave the lights on while sleeping?”
Jiang Luo lazily said, “I don’t mind.”
Fu Wei shot a cold look at Zhang Cheng. “If you don’t want to die, then don’t turn off the lights.”
Zhang Cheng thought Fu Wei was threatening him. He took a few deep breaths and returned to bed with an ugly expression, hanging his clothes on the bed’s edge like a curtain.
The room quieted down. Jiang Luo dozed off for a while but woke up around midnight. The others were all asleep, their breathing steady. Hiding under the light, Jiang Luo pulled his phone from under the covers.
“When are we moving?”
Lu You replied: “Someone here’s still awake. Might have to wait a bit longer.”
Ye Xun chimed in: “Same here. There’s a weird guy in my room. He’s very hostile toward me.”
As they were chatting, a message popped up on Jiang Luo’s phone. He opened it casually. It contained just five words: [Have you found me yet?]
The number was unfamiliar, and there was no name, but Jiang Luo instantly knew who had sent it.
He turned off the screen and quickly leaned out of bed to look up at the top bunk.
Fu Wei laid with his back to the room, seemingly without a phone in hand.
Jiang Luo laid back down, only for another message to come through.
[If you’d found me on day one, there might’ve been a little surprise.]
Plain words—but in Jiang Luo’s eyes, he could see Chi You’s face, the one that made him grit his teeth in hatred. He let out a short, cold laugh and called the number back.
From outside the door came the faint sound of a phone ringing.
Jiang Luo threw on his coat, slipping it over his shoulders, and walked out swiftly—his steps nearly flying. The corridor lights were on, but not a soul was around. A few moths buzzed around the fluorescent lamps.
“Ring ring ring.”
The phone was ringing at the end of the hallway.
Jiang Luo adjusted his coat and stepped into the darkness.
At the end of the corridor was an emergency stairwell. The light there was out. A phone laid on the floor, vibrating relentlessly.
It was a crude, stupid trap. Jiang Luo scanned the area around the phone.
The stairwell was pitch-black. There was no reason why the well-lit hallway would suddenly give way to an unlit staircase—a much more dangerous area. Then Fu Wei’s words suddenly echoed in his mind: “If you don’t want to die, then don’t turn off the lights.”
Was that really a threat?
What would happen if the lights were turned off?
The unanswered phone eventually stopped ringing. Jiang Luo sent another message:
[The only surprise I want is for you to disappear for good.]
After sending it, Jiang Luo kept his eyes locked on the phone. It lit up for a moment—he wondered if Chi You would appear.
But after a short pause, it was his own phone that lit up.
The untouched phone in front of him had sent another message:
[You’re so interesting. How could I bear to leave you?]
Jiang Luo: “…”
Expressionless, he put down the phone and looked around. On the wall, he found the switch for the hallway lights.
He was gutsy and skilled—and right now, he was pissed. Without hesitation, he switched off the lights.
A muffled curse rang out from the darkness.
Three corridor lights went dark.
And in that instant, Jiang Luo saw it—standing in the far end of the dark hallway was a dried-up, upright human-shaped shadow. It looked like a person.
He froze. Then immediately turned the lights back on.
With the light restored, the hallway was empty. The spot where that figure had been was now vacant.
Jiang Luo’s fingers idly brushed the switch. Then he flipped it off again.
The shriveled human-shaped shadow appeared again. But this time, unlike before, it had turned around and was now facing Jiang Luo.
That unsettling sensation of being watched by something crept up again, sharp and distinct.
Jiang Luo’s breathing grew shallow. He switched the lights on—nothing.
But the empty corridor felt as if something invisible to the human eye was lurking there. The unknown breeds fear. Jiang Luo turned off the lights once more.
But this time, the black figure that had been twenty meters away earlier suddenly appeared just three meters in front of him.
Jiang Luo hastily turned the lights back on.
The shadow vanished.
Even in that brief moment, cold sweat had already formed on Jiang Luo’s forehead.
Just one more second and he felt like the thing would’ve pounced.
Though it was close, Jiang Luo managed to clearly see what the shadow looked like: a shriveled, tall and thin frame, arms hanging down beside its knees, and a face without any features.
What the h*ll was that thing?
Jiang Luo mentally retraced every detail of the figure, committing it to memory. Slowly, his heart rate began to return to normal.
If turning off the lights really caused such a thing to appear, then Fu Wei definitely knew something.
Jiang Luo thought back—where had the monster first appeared when he turned off the lights?
As he lifted his head to walk toward the spot it had stood, his phone suddenly rang.
But Jiang Luo clearly remembered setting it to silent.
He stopped walking and pulled out his phone. On the screen was a call from an unfamiliar number—the same number that had sent him texts earlier. Chi You’s number.
Jiang Luo pressed his lips together and turned to look at the stairwell. In the stairwell, the other phone was still vibrating endlessly.
He answered and put the phone to his ear.
“I haven’t given you permission to leave yet,” the man chuckled lowly. “How can you just walk away?”
Jiang Luo was about to hang up.
But just then, the farthest corridor light flickered off.
Jiang Luo froze, hand stiff in mid-air. He raised the phone again. “Chi You, are you threatening me?”
He stared into the distant darkness. The lanky shadow did not appear.
But Jiang Luo knew—it was hiding in the dark.
“I just want to keep playing with you,” the man replied, ignoring the question. “Now, it’s time for you to answer mine.”
Chi You’s patience with Jiang Luo was surprisingly abundant.
But he himself didn’t seem to realize it.
Jiang Luo pressed his fingers against his temple. Every time Chi You appeared, he could easily rile him up. This evil ghost joked and laughed while stomping on Jiang Luo’s nerves—while Jiang Luo just wanted to chop him into a thousand pieces.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jiang Luo sneered. “Mr. Evil Ghost, the game you set up—it’s fundamentally unfair.”
A faint chuckle came through. “Oh?”
“I have to find you and refrain from destroying the Chi family. Only if I meet both conditions do I win. But you’re different. You just need me to fail at either one and you win.”
Mr. Demon gave a low “hm,” sounding as if he had just realized something. “That’s true.”
Jiang Luo said coldly, “You were someone in life, and even in death you’re still a evil ghost—do you have to bully people like this?”
The evil ghost chuckled again. “You’re right.”
“Then let’s change the rules.”
Somewhere, Chi You stretched out a pale hand.
He caught a stray cat passing by.
The cat gave a sharp cry, but as Chi You gently brushed its head with his cold fingers, the cat quickly melted into his touch, even tilting its head up, inviting his ghostly hand to stroke its chin.
Chi You gently curled his fingers around its neck.
The prey stayed meek in his hands, as if Jiang Luo himself had bowed before him.
He spoke with delight, even as he tightened his grip. The cat, now trapped, had nowhere to escape.
“If you want fairness, then you shouldn’t use your talismans or your bracelet,” the evil ghost said in a low voice. “If you manage to complete both conditions, I’ll give you an extra secret. But in exchange, you’ll need to give me something too.”
“Each night, you must tell me one guess about who you think I am. If you guess wrong—”
The evil ghost paused, pondering.
“—then you’ll receive a little punishment.”
With that, the call ended.
Chi You gently stroked the cat and muttered to himself, “Now what would be a fitting punishment for him…”
In his hands, the wild cat seemed to transform into Jiang Luo. Just as the cat was on the verge of suffocating, it suddenly bit hard into Chi You’s palm, claws flailing. Its sharp nails drew blood—and in a flash, it leapt out of sight.
Jiang Luo clenched his phone, his eyes dark and cold. He turned to walk toward the spot where the creature had stood—only to find himself back at his own dorm room.
He pushed open the door. Inside, everything was quiet. Outside the window, the leaves swayed gently, as if a cat had just leapt past.
Jiang Luo sat down on the edge of his bed.
What was that shadowy monster? Why had it been standing outside this room? Was it a coincidence—or did it mean something deeper?
That b*stard Chi You.
Always causing trouble.
Jiang Luo glanced around the room.
Even though the dorm was brightly lit, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment the lights went off, that thing would still be right behind him.
Three meters last time—if he turned off the lights now, it might already be face-to-face with him.
Jiang Luo simply got up and went into the bathroom. From his pocket, he pulled out three copper coins.
In Jiang Luo’s understanding, fortune-telling and divination were technically two different things. Fortune-telling used broad hexagrams to reveal general signs; the questions asked were vague and unclear. For example, the “great misfortune” hexagram Feng Li had cast for him during the third trial—it only showed the overall result was disastrous, but didn’t reveal any of the details.
Divination is more detailed—it can yield precise answers. For example, if someone loses something, a hexagram reading might only tell you whether you can find it or not, but divination could reveal the direction in which it was lost.
However, divination requires a clearly framed question—what was lost, when it was lost. But in metaphysics, most people seek answers to unresolved or unknown matters, so it’s often impossible to ask such specific questions. Just like now—Jiang Luo doesn’t know who Chi You really is. He can’t even ask a more specific question. All he can do is use vague wording to try and glean a general result.
For the first reading—a warm-up—Jiang Luo asked a question he wasn’t even sure would be useful: “How should I deal with my enemy?”
He tossed the three coins several times. The resulting hexagram appeared before him: the “Loss” hexagram.
Jiang Luo: “…”
Just the name alone already spelled bad news.
And indeed, the Loss hexagram is considered a most inauspicious one—but it’s a rather unique type among them.
Its appearance doesn’t necessarily indicate a bad outcome. If reversed properly, it could signify a win-win situation—or conversely, a serious loss for the opposing party.
The meaning of the Loss hexagram is about balance between gain and loss.
It suggests that Jiang Luo may need to sacrifice some of his own interests, but if he uses that loss as bait and counters hardness with softness, he could subdue a stronger opponent and gain greater benefits.
It’s even possible that Jiang Luo could use that bait to inflict serious damage on the other party.
Though it’s one of the worst hexagrams, there’s still a chance to turn things around. After consoling himself with that, Jiang Luo was still stuck on one thing—what exactly does “using his own loss as bait” mean?
Forget it. If he can’t figure it out, he won’t bother thinking about it for now.
Jiang Luo picked up the coins and began calculating hexagrams for Fu Wei, Zhang Cheng, and Zhao Ban.
He couldn’t directly ask if any of them were Chi You, so he had to go the roundabout way: “Are they harmful to me?”
The results were unexpected—aside from Fu Wei, who yielded a neutral hexagram, both Zhang Cheng and Zhao Ban showed some hostility toward Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the mirror and found it made sense.
After all, to them, Jiang Luo was a rival.
He tossed the coins back into his pocket—no more readings. It was getting boring.
So, divination turned out to be a dead end. There were clearly more people in this place who bore hostility toward Jiang Luo than just Zhang Cheng and Zhao Ban.
Fu Wei’s neutral result—neither enemy nor friend—was what he really needed to keep an eye on.
It was nearly 1 a.m. when Lu Youyi and Ye Xun finally came out of their rooms. The three of them tiptoed out of the dorm building and headed for the auditorium.
But they didn’t find anything in the auditorium and returned to the dorm empty-handed.
“Oh right, Ye Xun,” Jiang Luo asked, “what was that about someone in your dorm being hostile toward you?”
Ye Xun shook his head. The warm light of the streetlamp reflected in his dark pupils. “His name is Zhang Feng. I heard a lot of gossip—he had some conflicts with the trainee in my dorm who died. When I was assigned to that trainee’s bed, he shoved me and said, ‘Why should you replace him?’ Sounded like he was grieving for the dead.”
That was the strange part.
Their relationship in life hadn’t been good, so why show such resentment toward Ye Xun for taking the spot of someone he didn’t even like?
Ye Xun had a vague feeling about it.
Zhang Feng wasn’t really mourning the dead. He was simply using it as an excuse to unleash his fear and anger on Ye Xun.
The first night here yielded only more questions. The next morning, Jiang Luo lazily trailed behind the others, yawning as he slowly walked into the recording hall and stood at the back of the crowd.
The crowd effectively blocked him from view. Lu Youyi and Ye Xun also stood at the back. The three of them looked like dried fish, clearly with no interest in being seen.
But they hadn’t expected there would be someone even more unmotivated than they were.
A staff member scowled, “Si Gui is late again?”
The crowd erupted with laughter.
Someone said mockingly, “Why is he even here if he’s so unenthusiastic?”
“Always looks so menacing—ugh, I share a room with him and I swear I’m gonna die of fear.”
“Hahaha don’t tease, Jiao Jiao’s actually super cute!”
Lu Youyi muttered, “I have a friend named Jiao Jiao too, he’s super cute.”
Jiang Luo paused, then patted the person in front of him. “Bro, who’s this Jiao Jiao?”
The guy in front stifled a laugh. “Jiao Jiao’s the worst-performing trainee here. Can’t sing or dance, always has a poker face. But honestly, he’s hilarious. On the first day during evaluations, the instructor asked his name, and he said his official name was Jiao Jiao, but his nickname was Dead Ghost. Don’t know what accent he had, but he said ‘Si Gui’ and it sounded just like ‘Dead Ghost.’ Pfft… sorry, we all lost it. Even the instructor was trying not to laugh. Then she asked why he was here, and you know what he said?”
“He said someone told him if he appeared on the show, his friend would see him. And when his friend saw him, they’d come looking for him.”
Author’s Note:
Dead Ghost: That’s right—it’s me.
