Zhang Cheng was rambling incoherently, but Jiang Luo understood what he meant.
When Zhang Cheng bent over in the upside-down pose to look at Zhang Feng, that ghost baby had done the same—bending over, facing him through Zhang Feng’s legs.
Without a trace of hesitation, Jiang Luo knocked Zhang Cheng unconscious. He quickly looked up and shouted, “Zhang Cheng fainted! Someone help me take him to the infirmary!”
Lu Youyi reacted quickly and ran over to support Zhang Cheng. “I’ve got it.”
The usually unbothered Dead Ghost frowned and stepped forward, lifting Zhang Cheng onto his back.
The rest of the people were held back by staff. The four of them quickly made their way to the infirmary. After laying Zhang Cheng on the bed, they used the opportunity to meet with the executive director.
The director greeted them politely and hesitated upon seeing Dead Ghost. “Is he… one of them too?”
Jiang Luo nodded without offering further explanation. The director tactfully didn’t ask more and instead pulled up the footage from the ghost-spotting game.
There were three camera angles. They watched the video attentively. The rear view showed it most clearly—a black shadow flashed near Zhang Feng’s feet.
It was subtle, easily dismissed as the shadow from a camera dolly track. The director played the footage in slow motion several times, rewinding and replaying, but no baby appeared beneath Zhang Feng.
The director felt a chill and couldn’t help but say, “Could Zhang Cheng have imagined it?”
“Director, you’d better hope he didn’t,” Lu Youyi said solemnly. “The things we can see are far less dangerous than the things we can’t.”
The director, a chubby man, wiped the sweat from his brow. “Master, you’re right.”
Jiang Luo stared at the footage, brows furrowed. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something about the video felt off.
Ye Xun flipped through Zhang Feng’s profile and was surprised. “One of the deceased trainees was from the same company as Zhang Feng?”
“That’s right. The trainee who used the bed in your room, Master—his name was Li Zhen,” the director said quickly. “Li Zhen and Zhang Feng joined as a duo. After the initial stage rankings, Li Zhen was rated B, and Zhang Feng was C. Later on, Li Zhen started getting close with two other trainees from different companies—Chen Lezhi and Lin Xiao, who also died.”
“Because of Li Zhen, all four of them were on good terms. They often ate together.”
Ye Xun seemed thoughtful. “No wonder. No wonder Zhang Feng has such strong hostility toward me, saying I took someone else’s place… But I heard Zhang Feng and Li Zhen had conflicts.”
Since the trainees were in a closed-off filming set, most incidents didn’t escape the production team’s attention. The head director said skillfully, “It was just trivial stuff—either because Li Zhen, from the same company, was becoming more popular while Zhang Feng was doing worse and felt uncomfortable, or because Li Zhen didn’t want to associate with him anymore. Nothing more than that.”
Jiang Luo listened absentmindedly while watching the footage, clearly distracted. “You’ve never suspected that Zhang Feng might be connected to the deaths of the three trainees?”
“Of course we suspected it,” the head director gave a bitter smile. “But at the time of their deaths, Zhang Feng was either in the training room or sleeping in the dorm. He had alibis.”
After saying this, he hesitated. “Speaking of Zhang Feng, I do remember one thing. We covered up the trainees’ deaths and told the others they had withdrawn from the competition. No one else suspected anything—but Zhang Feng’s expression was very bad. He took a day off, wrapped himself tightly in his blanket, and even came down with a fever that night… We thought he was just upset because Li Zhen left.”
Was it really just because his company partner quietly exited the program that he felt uneasy?
Jiang Luo didn’t think it was that simple.
Maybe when Zhang Feng received the “withdrawal notice,” he already knew that Li Zhen and the other two hadn’t quit—they were dead.
Was he afraid because of their deaths? Or because of the truth behind those deaths?
Or… was he afraid death would come for him too?
Jiang Luo’s thoughts wandered to another death—besides the three trainees, a behind-the-scenes staff member had also died.
That staff was a plain-looking woman who had no plans to debut, no enviable fanbase, and very low presence at work. If not for the incident, the director couldn’t even remember her name. She had no apparent connection to the three dead trainees.
Outside, a muffled thunderclap sounded again. The computer lagged, freezing the video on a frame where Zhang Feng had just lowered his head.
“What strange weather,” the director muttered. “Really unpredictable.”
Jiang Luo glanced sideways at the screen. “Yeah… the rain came just like that…” His voice trailed off.
Ye Xun asked, “What’s wrong?”
Jiang Luo stared at the computer. “Zhang Feng… doesn’t he not have a shadow?”
Ye Xun was stunned and looked down.
While indoor shadows weren’t as distinct as those outside in the sun, there should still be some.
Ye Xun carefully examined the area around Zhang Feng inch by inch, then nodded. “He doesn’t have a shadow.”
Jiang Luo acted immediately. “Director, get us the videos from right before Li Zhen and the others died.”
The director quickly went to retrieve the footage.
The video was the last recording before Li Zhen and the others died. On close inspection, it showed: they didn’t have shadows either.
The director couldn’t believe it. After watching it several times, he slumped in his chair and muttered, “It really is haunted…”
“This has something to do with Zhang Feng,” Jiang Luo said. Now that they had a lead, he actually felt better. “He might be the breakthrough.”
After watching the footage, they said goodbye to the director.
The rain outside was heavy, the sky as dim as evening. But at least there was still some light. Jiang Luo quickly made his way to the dorms, remembering that the monsters only came out in the dark.
His umbrella was nearly torn away by the wind. By the time he reached the dorm building, his shoes were soaked. As he put away the umbrella, the wall of the first floor was soaked through, revealing a humanoid wet imprint—
—as if someone soaking wet had slammed into the wall.
Lu Youyi asked, “Jiang Luo, what do we do now?”
Jiang Luo retracted his gaze. “Zhang Cheng just said there was a ghost beside him, and Zhang Feng had such a strong reaction—he definitely knows something. He just refuses to say it. Let’s try a roundabout approach, find a way to provoke him.”
Wasting no time, the four of them went to Zhang Feng’s dorm room.
But Zhang Feng wasn’t there.
Jiang Luo hid on the balcony and called the director. The director sounded incredulous: “Impossible, someone from the team saw him enter the dorm building. Wait, let me check the security footage.”
Five minutes later, the director called back. “He went into the dorm, grabbed something, and left in a hurry. We don’t know where he went.”
Jiang Luo fell into thought.
Then he heard a voice from the director’s end: “Director, who are you on the phone with?”
It was a magnetic voice with a teasing tone—Qin Fan.
The director silently cursed. He’d nearly forgotten this guy. He chuckled, “Teacher Qin, sorry, there was a sudden emergency—hope you weren’t too frightened?”
Qin Fan had just asked casually, not trying to pry. He smiled as he sat next to the director. “I’ve always been timid. Honestly, I was startled. Just now I was wondering if there really was a ghost in that hall.”
He paused, then added lightly, “Still a bit shaken.”
The director had been scared too. Ever since he realized there really were ghosts, he felt like something was always watching him from the shadows. Projecting his own fear, he asked worriedly, “Teacher Qin, are you feeling unwell at all?”
Their conversation reached Jiang Luo’s ears. He leaned against the dorm bed, eyes closed, quietly listening.
After chatting for a bit, the director stepped away and lowered his voice to speak to Jiang Luo: “Master, Teacher Qin has a slight fever from the scare. I’m afraid… something unclean might’ve latched onto him. Can you come take a look?”
Then he added, “The rain is too heavy today. We’ve arranged a room for Teacher Qin. If Master can come over, you won’t need to go back. There’s a vacant room right next to Teacher Qin’s—it’s better than the trainees’ dorms.”
Jiang Luo said nothing, waiting patiently.
The director cautiously probed, “Master, how about I add to your fee?”
Jiang Luo lifted his eyelids, half-smiling, “Then I’ll make a trip.”
Wind and rain accompanied him. By the time Jiang Luo arrived at Qin Fan’s door, half his clothes were already soaked. Qin Fan opened the door, looking pale and drained. “Come in.”
Jiang Luo walked in unceremoniously, wet soles tracking dirt onto the clean floor.
Qin Fan didn’t mind and kindly brought him slippers. “You’re soaked. Why don’t you take a hot shower first?”
This big-name celebrity bustling about—only Jiang Luo could sit there calmly while he did so. He changed into the slippers. The damp clothes were uncomfortable, and the rejection he had prepared stayed in his throat. “Then I’ll trouble you.”
Qin Fan found him a set of clothes. Jiang Luo stepped into the bathroom.
Since it wasn’t his place, Jiang Luo kept it simple. He took a hot shower and changed in five minutes. The clothes fit Qin Fan’s size and still had tags on—they were brand new.
He rolled up the sleeves, hair damp and steam clinging to him as he stepped out.
Qin Fan was sitting on the sofa waiting for him, pouring coffee, looking easy-going. “The director told me about you, Master,” he said, suppressing a laugh. He seemed amused by the title. “So, how are you planning to treat me?”
“Simple,” Jiang Luo ignored the coffee and raised a brow. “Got any beer?”
Qin Fan brought him a cold beer. Jiang Luo took a sip and leaned back comfortably on the sofa. “Teacher Qin, I’ll need a white porcelain bowl and a cigarette.”
These weren’t hard to find, and soon they were laid out on the table.
Jiang Luo lit a talisman and tossed it into the bowl. Once it burned to ash, he poured clean water in.
The water turned murky. Jiang Luo lit the cigarette, took a slow drag, droplets still falling from his damp hair. He turned to Qin Fan with a faint apology, “Sorry, Teacher Qin. No sandalwood available—this will have to do.”
With that, he tapped the ash into the bowl. Before Qin Fan could react, he stirred the water with the cigarette.
“Drink this bowl, and you’ll be fine,” Jiang Luo set the soggy cigarette aside with a smile. “You won’t have nightmares tonight. You’ll sleep like a baby.”
Qin Fan stared at the bowl, expression complicated. “I really have to drink this?”
Jiang Luo said, “Didn’t you say you were scared?”
Qin Fan sighed and downed the bowl in one go.
Jiang Luo watched him closely. Qin Fan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He really drank it all.
This wasn’t a calming talisman, but a suppression one—one of Jiang Luo’s finest. Drinking it was much more effective than wearing it. If Qin Fan was a puppet controlled by a malicious ghost, this would sever the link. If he was being possessed—then the Ghost would suffer serious harm.
But Qin Fan merely grimaced and put down the bowl, half-laughing. “That tasted… awful.”
Nothing happened. Casually, he added, “But I do feel better. Maybe it’s just psychological—but I really feel more relaxed. Even a little sleepy.”
Jiang Luo couldn’t detect anything. Was Qin Fan not Chi You?
He sighed almost imperceptibly and stood. “Rest well, Teacher Qin. Once you wake up, everything will be fine.”
Qin Fan couldn’t stand the taste any longer. He headed into the bathroom to rinse his mouth, calling back as he went, “Alright, you go get some rest too. Thanks for today.”
The door shut.
In the bathroom, Qin Fan lifted his head from the sink. His face was wet, and the usual warmth in his features now held a strange, sinister allure.
A few seconds later, a line of bright red blood slid from the corner of his mouth.
He wiped it off, staining his lips red, and slowly curved them into a strange smile.
***
Jiang Luo returned to his own room.
All afternoon, the rain outside grew heavier, and Zhang Feng still hadn’t come back.
Jiang Luo took a nap. After waking, he went to the bathroom. His room had the same layout as Qin Fan’s—with a large, enticing bathtub in the bathroom.
The shower he’d taken that morning had been too rushed. Jiang Luo wanted to enjoy it properly now and started filling the tub with hot water.
The dark-haired youth took off his clothes. His beautiful back was revealed, shoulder blades like butterfly wings. As he placed his hands at his waistband, about to undress further, he suddenly lifted his eyelids and looked to the side.
A small window in the bathroom faced the dark night. Rain streaked down the glass. That feeling of being watched returned.
Jiang Luo walked over and, expressionless, yanked the curtain shut.
That sense of being shadowed—his observer hidden who knows where. The unknown represented fear and uncertainty. Jiang Luo finally understood why Chi You chose this method for his game.
Because the malicious ghost knew—so long as he didn’t show himself, Jiang Luo would remain tense, always thinking: Who is he? What is he doing? In this unknown, he would be mentally inflating his enemy—mysterious, powerful, terrifying. The imagination would deepen the fear. If Jiang Luo never found Chi You, he would stay trapped in this loop.
At this point, at least half of Jiang Luo’s thoughts were preoccupied with figuring out who Chi You was.
Wasn’t that exactly what th malicious ghost wanted?
Jiang Luo’s teeth clenched. He forced himself to calm down and sank into the tub.
The water was on the hotter side, very comfortable.
Half an hour later, Jiang Luo lazily opened his eyes and picked up the phone placed nearby.
There was one unread message from ten minutes ago.
[Tonight’s game has begun.]
[My dearest beloved, have you figured out who I am?]
Jiang Luo checked the time—it was only 9 p.m.
Last night, the malicious ghost hadn’t started bothering him until after midnight. Tonight, he had started a full three hours earlier.
The malicious ghost’s excitement was obvious to anyone.
Jiang Luo didn’t respond to the message. Two minutes later, the malicious ghost called.
Jiang Luo also didn’t press to answer, but as if the malicious ghost knew exactly what he was thinking, the call picked up on its own.
The other party’s voice sounded helpless, as if Jiang Luo declining the call was some great offense. “You doing this—it feels a little like you’re brushing me off.”
“If you had eyes or a brain,” Jiang Luo’s tone carried lazy indifference, as he idly played with the water, “you’d know it’s not a little. It’s very much brushing off.”
The malicious ghost sounded aggrieved. “Aren’t I the one you love?”
“By that logic, I’m also the one you love. You’ve had a secret crush on me for ages, chased me for who knows how long, wouldn’t let go even after dying, and now you’re making ghost calls from the underworld,” Jiang Luo said. “Your ‘love’ for me is really… unique.”
The malicious ghost chuckled dully, then started laughing louder and louder, like a madman. “Don’t you like it?”
He thought the dark-haired young man would say no. But instead, all he heard from the other end was the lonely sound of water. It seemed like the youth had stood up from the bath. Water trickled down from his chest to the sides of his legs. Then came the sound of bare feet on tile.
The rustle of clothing followed, chaotic but detailed—so much so that one couldn’t help but wonder whether this phone call was a death threat or… some sort of auditory peep show.
Chi You’s previously delighted mood shifted into something more complicated.
The feeling was like a single fallen leaf floating into the vast ocean. A tiny, fragile leaf that didn’t affect the sea at all. The ocean remained deep, heavy, and unfathomable.
But the malicious ghost’s focus had wavered.
His fingers tapped listlessly on the table from time to time.
He liked interesting things, and waiting for the dark-haired youth to get dressed was undoubtedly dull. He should have spoken up, offered a playful reminder, or impatiently cut to the chase.
But for some reason, the malicious ghost stayed silent.
Finally, the rustling stopped.
The young man’s voice returned.
He let out a soft laugh. “No. I quite like it.”
