The moment this idea emerged, Jiang Luo felt it was doable—very doable.
But that raised a question.
How could he get Chi You and the faceless monster to face off?
One obvious method was right in front of him: just like Zhang Feng, make Chi You his scapegoat.
But to make Chi You a scapegoat, they’d need to hug, kiss… exchange bodily fluids.
D*mn it.
Jiang Luo’s expression stiffened.
He remembered the divination he’d done earlier.
Sacrifice one’s own interests to turn the tide—was that what it meant?
…That would be way too much of a sacrifice.
So now what—grit his teeth, disgust Chi You with this method, and trap him while he’s at it? Or think of another plan?
Kissing an malicious ghost was horrifying enough—but to be intimate with someone like Chi You, a complete lunatic? Jiang Luo couldn’t even imagine what that would look like. But if he let go of this chance, he’d feel unwilling.
He bit his cigarette slowly, leaving a perfect ring of teeth marks.
What to do?
As he hesitated, Chi You’s d*mnable face flashed through his mind.
Jiang Luo made up his mind in an instant.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Since that malicious ghost had played with him like that, he’d take it even further in return.
Their assistant pulled up in the car to pick them up in front of the hospital.
The chief director sat in the front passenger seat, still dazed, not fully recovered from the earlier revelations. “Master, this… this faceless monster—what exactly is it?”
“A ghost that fears light, only appearing in darkness,” Jiang Luo said. “In the absence of light, you’ll never know where it is—it could pierce your heart the instant darkness falls.”
“Since it can’t appear in light, and the shadows of the four victims disappeared as well, I suspect this faceless monster is something they summoned. A creature fused with their shadows.”
What he said was logical and well-supported, but the director didn’t understand a word of it.
The assistant in the driver’s seat shifted anxiously and said, “Master, Director, there’s something I need to say…”
The chief director urged, “Don’t stammer. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out.”
The assistant swallowed hard. “Master, you’re trending on the hot search.”
Everyone in the car froze. A bad feeling rose in Jiang Luo’s chest. “Who’s trending?”
The assistant braced himself. “You are.”
Jiang Luo: “…”
Wasn’t his only appearance just that one or two minutes in Fu Wei’s livestream?
The assistant explained, “You told us to handle this properly, and in fact, even before you said anything, I had already sent someone to suppress the news. We stopped the livestream immediately and deleted the replay. We also controlled the comments on the official account. Only a few screenshots have been circulating online. Originally, it was just a small-scale spread, nothing that could make real waves. But what we didn’t expect was… a top-tier celebrity standing up for you.”
Jiang Luo’s brow twitched. He opened his phone and saw the number one trending topic: #Bai Qiu Stands Up for Her Brother.
Just reading the title made it hard for Jiang Luo to breathe. He clicked on it and saw Bai Qiu’s Weibo post.
【@BaiQiu: Is this how your production team treats my brother? He participated in Next Stop, Idol, but there wasn’t a single shot of him in the entire broadcast. His voting channel wasn’t even opened. No one even knows his name. If it weren’t for the livestream incident, to what extent were you planning to bury him? Is this the fairness you preach? @NextStopIdol, I want a direct explanation.】
Attached were two screenshots of Jiang Luo from the livestream.
Bai Qiu rarely came out swinging like this, but when she did, it meant she was serious and wouldn’t back down.
Not long ago, Bai Qiu had dominated the hot searches for days due to her agent’s criminal case. Many netizens were won over by her strength of character, and she gained a large number of fans.
After that incident wrapped up, she threw herself into filming to make up for the losses. This was her first strong statement on social media since then.
And Bai Qiu was genuinely angry.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Jiang Luo had saved her life. She had tried many times to invite him into the entertainment industry—partly because he truly had the charisma to be in the public eye, and partly out of gratitude.
But Jiang Luo didn’t like the entertainment industry, so she had to let it go. Still, she’d once said, “If you ever need me, I’ll give you my full support,”—and she meant it. When she discovered he had joined a talent show, she was shocked and delighted. But after learning about his current situation, her fury ignited.
She once again mobilized her connections.
And no one underestimated Bai Qiu’s network. Starting with the artists under her own studio, more and more celebrities began reposting her Weibo.
Some were serious, others were polite or critical—but all questioned the fairness of Next Stop, Idol. The post spread rapidly across the internet.
Someone from the production staff anonymously revealed that yes, they had deliberately cut out all footage of this trainee—and that the order came from the chief director and the head planner.
After seeing the comments cursing him online, the chief director nearly passed out.
The assistant looked like he was about to cry. “Master, it’s really not that we weren’t prepared this time. We just didn’t expect it to blow up like this…”
Jiang Luo: “…It’s not your fault.”
His mouth tasted bitter.
Jiang Luo looked through the screenshots circulating online. Fortunately, he had only appeared briefly in the livestream and had avoided showing his face. The shots that were circulating—just a few angles, and the quality was blurry.
Images like that would probably fade quickly from the internet.
But Jiang Luo had underestimated himself.
Even blurry, the screenshots made the black-haired young man look like he was glowing through a soft filter. A gif was made of him lifting his hand with a slight smile—his graceful and carefree aura completely captivating.
Jiang Luo scrolled through the comments. In them, netizens had cast him as a poor, bullied trainee, constantly trampled on by others and even unable to get enough to eat…
Some people were just here for his looks, clamoring in the official account’s comment section, demanding more footage of him.
“…” Jiang Luo said, “I’ll explain things to Bai Qiu.”
He called Bai Qiu and held his forehead, trying to find the right words despite his headache.
The call connected quickly, and Bai Qiu’s angry voice came through. “Master, don’t worry. I’ll take care of this. I will get justice for you.”
Jiang Luo: “Actually, I—”
“I was even going to recommend you to this show. Who would’ve thought it would be such trash?” Just thinking about it raised Bai Qiu’s blood pressure. Her voice was firm and powerful. “Master, don’t worry—even if you can’t stay in this program, I’ll use this opportunity to push you into the spotlight and make sure you debut successfully!”
“Wait,” Jiang Luo said quickly. “I don’t want to debut.”
Bai Qiu froze. “What?”
Jiang Luo sighed and explained, “I joined the show to deal with… certain matters.”
They were both smart people. With that one sentence, Bai Qiu instantly understood. She realized she’d caused a huge misunderstanding. She was stunned for a moment, then spoke a little weakly: “So… this was all a mistake?”
The director, panicked, chimed in beside them: “Bai Qiu, the Master is going to withdraw from the show once he finishes his task. But now you’ve stirred up this whole thing—what am I supposed to do?”
Bai Qiu looked embarrassed. When she checked her phone, she saw that over twenty or thirty celebrities had already reposted her Weibo, and the momentum was still climbing rapidly.
“…We’re doomed,” she muttered.
For the rest of the ride, the director kept discussing with Bai Qiu how to clean up this mess. Since he had been photographed while taking Zhang Feng to the hospital, the two of them finally decided to use the excuse that Jiang Luo was in poor health and planning to withdraw from the competition, which was why the production team didn’t include his footage.
But that excuse couldn’t be released just yet.
Under the pressure of public opinion, the show had no choice but to first open up Jiang Luo’s voting channel. Once things calmed down, they would then release the story about him withdrawing due to health reasons.
Even if a bit far-fetched, this was the best option they could think of for now.
The director and Bai Qiu coordinated their statements. Jiang Luo watched the entire exchange, and since it seemed he wouldn’t need to step in himself, he lazily relaxed.
But just as he let down his guard, Lu Youyi, who was scrolling through his phone beside him, suddenly said in alarm, “Cr*p, Jiang Luo—Qin Fan also reposted Bai Qiu’s Weibo.”
Jiang Luo’s temples twitched as he picked up his phone.
Sure enough, Qin Fan had posted a new Weibo.
He had even more followers than Bai Qiu, and within moments, the reposts and comments had shot up at an alarming rate.
@QinFan: His name is Jiang Huan, a very talented trainee. I must say, I like him a lot. I hope the show treats every trainee fairly, and doesn’t let pearls be buried in the sand.
As a top mentor invited to Next Stop, Idol, Qin Fan’s post—subtly calling out the show—hit like a bomb. Whether it was to uphold fairness or specifically for Jiang Huan, media outlets immediately picked up on the scent of something more.
Especially his line “I like him a lot”—it was enough to stir Qin Fan’s entire fanbase into a frenzy.
To outsiders, it looked like Qin Fan was just speaking up righteously, showing support for a likable contestant.
But to Jiang Luo and his crew, this was a huge headache—a cherry on top of an already chaotic situation.
Ye Xun sighed. “His timing is way too perfect. Didn’t Qin Fan know we were new trainees? It makes sense that we wouldn’t appear in earlier episodes… Or—did he know the production team was planning to cut all our footage?”
This move by Qin Fan was like pouring oil on fire, pushing Jiang Luo—already in a tight spot—further into the eye of the storm.
Jiang Luo was momentarily stunned by Ye Xun’s words. Then he suddenly let out two cold laughs and began searching for Qin Fan’s photos.
This manipulative push behind the scenes reminded Jiang Luo of a certain malicious ghost.
But Qin Fan had personally drunk the talisman water Jiang Luo gave him, which had made Jiang Luo dismiss him earlier when he was trying to figure out who Chi You really was.
He had thought, Would Chi You really go so far as to drink that water just to make me lose?
But on second thought, maybe he would. This wasn’t just anyone—Chi You was that lunatic who could still laugh wildly even after being weakened nearly to death by Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo opened a photo of Qin Fan smiling, zoomed in on his lips, and studied them closely.
Lu Youyi tried to comfort him. “It’s fine. That reason we just made up is solid. We’ll deal with the faceless monster, leave the show, and a few months later, no one will even remember your name.”
Jiang Luo replied absently, “You’re right.”
He compared Qin Fan’s lips to the ones in the photo Chi You had once sent him—about a 50% match. Then he searched for pictures of Fu Wei and zoomed in on his lips too.
But all these photos had been edited and smoothed, making even different people’s lips look somewhat similar.
Jiang Luo stared at the two photos.
His eyes were cold, but his face showed little emotion. He rested his head lazily on one hand, his gaze deep and distant.
***
Inside a shabby little internet café.
The owner was making instant noodles when three shadows loomed across the counter. Looking up, he saw a sickly-looking man grinning at him. “Boss, give us three computers.”
Behind the man stood two odd-looking individuals—one wore a baseball cap and appeared bald underneath, the other had long hair down to the waist and was wearing a flashy fox mask.
The boss blinked. The sickly man gently knocked on the counter. “Boss?”
“Oh—right, right,” the boss snapped out of it and powered on the machines. “Minimum one hour, three yuan per hour. Overnight’s twenty. How long you staying?”
The sickly guy stroked his chin. “All night.”
The long-haired man in the mask blurted out in disbelief, “Overnight?”
His voice was sharp, almost animalistic, and made the café owner visibly uncomfortable.
The boss gave them another quick look.
Still smiling, the sickly man said, as if he hadn’t heard a thing, “Boss, machines ready?”
The owner hurried to hand them cards. “Ready, ready. Numbers 13 to 15.”
The three of them sat down. The sickly man, Liao Si, helped Huali log in as well.
Huali crossed his arms, face dark as ink. “Liao Si, why the h*ll are we in an internet café voting for Jiang Luo?”
Liao Si wagged a finger. “Huali, we’re not just voting. We’re also going to act as his fan army. That show needs to realize their mistake and fix it.”
Huali muttered darkly, “Why do we even care?”
Beside them, Ge Wuchen had already pulled up a browser with practiced ease. His strikingly pretty face held a faint smile. “Huali, you’re always this stupid. Sometimes I seriously question why the master accepted your surrender.”
“You—!”
“Hey, don’t fight,” Liao Si said cheerfully. “Come on, make some accounts. Time to vote for Jiang Luo.”
Huali didn’t move. Ge Wuchen registered on a gaming site and casually picked the username “I’mYourDad,” then drawled, “Our master’s lover is on TV. Voting overnight and acting as his fan army—this is called sincerity.”
Huali suddenly froze. “Master’s lover?!”
Liao Si sighed and looked at him with pity. “Huali, haven’t you noticed the special way the Master treats Jiang Luo?”
Huali stiffened like a stone and muttered, “But hasn’t Master almost killed him several times?”
“You said it yourself—almost,” Liao Si replied. “As long as Jiang Luo is still alive, we’d best not harbor any bad intentions toward him. Now, if the Master does end up killing him…”
He smiled faintly; the cold indifference at the corners of his lips flickered and vanished. “It wouldn’t stop us from acting close to him now.”
When it’s time to show affection, they would show affection. But if one day the Master told them to kill Jiang Luo, they wouldn’t hesitate for even a second.
After all, people like them… were rotten to the bone, weren’t they?
***
Back at the filming site, the director asked Jiang Luo and the others to go rest, forcing a smile as he said, “Master, don’t worry. Miss Bai Qiu and I will handle this matter properly.”
Jiang Luo smiled faintly. “You’ve worked hard.”
He pulled out two talismans and handed them to the director and his assistant. “These are peace talismans I wrote. They’re not the most powerful, but better than nothing. Please accept them.”
Ye Xun murmured, “There’s no talisman more useful than the ones you write.”
The director had heard of the metaphysics world and knew that talismans were rare treasures. He’d also heard whispers that Jiang Luo’s talismans were among the best of the best. His face lit up in delight, and he didn’t dare refuse out of politeness—he accepted them with both hands, treating them like gold. “Thank you, Master!”
The assistant quickly followed suit.
After saying their goodbyes, Jiang Luo hurried toward the dorm building.
“What’s up with him?” Dead Ghost asked from behind.
Lu Youyi raised a finger and shushed him. Then, with a sigh: “When a man becomes famous, it’s like a pig getting fat—trouble follows. Jiang Luo’s just too good-looking; it’s stressing him out.”
Dead Ghost, unable to understand human thoughts, frowned. “Isn’t being good-looking a good thing?”
Ye Xun glanced at him. “It is. Throughout history, people who looked good were always admired.”
Dead Ghost frowned even more. “Then why is he upset?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Ye Xun said, shaking his head.
Dead Ghost thought to himself, Humans really are weird.
Their dorm was on the third floor, but when they reached the second-floor corner, Jiang Luo suddenly stopped.
He stared at the smooth, white wall to his left. There was a faint yellowish human-shaped stain on it. Jiang Luo frowned and asked the others behind him, “Was this always on the second-floor wall?”
Ye Xun stepped forward and looked closely. “No.”
“I remember yesterday when it rained, there was a similar human-shaped mark on the outside wall of the first floor,” Jiang Luo said in a low voice. “I thought someone soaked through and slammed into the wall.”
“Probably just shoddy construction—looks nice on the outside, but cutting corners inside,” Ye Xun said, placing his hand over the stain. “It’s slightly damp.”
Jiang Luo stood still for a moment, then continued upstairs, changing the subject. “Do you guys still smell the stink on us?”
Already used to the stench, the three replied, “…Yes.”
They quickened their pace back to the dorm.
Inside, only Fu Wei was present. He stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing, lost in thought.
Jiang Luo squinted at him for a while, then walked over.
Fu Wei turned at the sound, his side profile cold. “What?”
Jiang Luo studied his lips carefully. After a moment, he curved his own lips, half-smiling. “Fu Wei, your lip shape is pretty decent.”
Fu Wei raised an eyebrow, waiting for Jiang Luo to continue. But Jiang Luo only grinned wider. “Smile for me?”
“…” Fu Wei frowned. “Jiang Huan, are you sick?”
He caught a whiff of Jiang Luo and his frown deepened. “Where did you go? You smell awful.”
“Went somewhere fun,” Jiang Luo shrugged, flexing his wrist. “Just a smile. No hidden meaning. You know I don’t have the best temper.”
Fu Wei, face dark, finally gave a reluctant smile.
Jiang Luo asked him to raise the corners of his lips more, add a little madness. Fu Wei complied one by one. After observing the final result, Jiang Luo seemed thoughtful. With a serene smile, he thanked Fu Wei and went to the bathroom with a change of clothes.
He took a long shower.
The water dripped softly, the trickle audible all the way to the balcony.
Jiang Luo turned off the water, dried himself off with a towel, changed into clean clothes, and walked out. The shower had made him sleepy; he yawned and told Lu Youyi and the others he was going to nap. He set an alarm for five and bundled himself under the covers.
Fu Wei slowly approached his bed. “Tomorrow is another evaluation. Aren’t you nervous?”
He said, “Jiang Huan, you don’t seem like a trainee at all.”
“Idiot,” Jiang Luo poked his head out from the blanket. His cheeks, flushed from the steam, looked dazzling. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but there was a captivating charm in them. Propping his head lazily, he replied, “I stand on stage and don’t even have to do anything, and people still vote for me in droves. Got it?”
With that, he turned his back and went to sleep.
Fu Wei murmured, “Fair enough.”
***
Jiang Luo planned to make Chi You go up against the faceless monster—but this plan, of course, couldn’t be shared with his companions.
When he woke up, he discussed ways to deal with the faceless creature with his team, deliberately skipping that part.
Everything was in place now. All he had to do was wait for Chi You’s call.
This time, Jiang Luo wasn’t seeking the right answer—he wanted the wrong one. He was deliberately trying to lure Chi You out.
Probably knowing he was in the dormitory, the malicious ghost didn’t call Jiang Luo until midnight, when the night was deep and silent.
A flicker of amusement flashed in Jiang Luo’s eyes. He stepped into the bathroom. “Hello?”
“The second night of the game has begun,” the malicious ghost said elegantly. “Tonight, did you figure out which one is the real me?”
Jiang Luo said, “Same rules—send me a photo first.”
A moment later, Dead Ghost sent a photo of a left hand.
The fingers were slender, and there was a tiny mole on the side of the palm, nearly invisible.
Jiang Luo had already been close to figuring out who he was. Once he saw this photo, he confirmed his guess. But he deliberately said, “Fu Wei.”
“What a pity, you’re wrong again,” the malicious ghost said in mock regret. “You’ve gotten it wrong twice now. That makes me very unhappy. Tonight’s game—I’ll be inviting your teammates to join, so they can be the audience when you’re punished.”
With that, Dead Ghost hung up.
Jiang Luo clicked his tongue, unable to tell for a moment if this was a good development or a bad one.
With Ye Xun and the others joining him, their overall strength would improve—but if they saw Chi You, how was he supposed to set Chi You up?
He casually pushed open the door and stepped out—but the moment he left the bathroom, the dormitory transformed into a hospital ward.
Jiang Luo looked down. His clothes had changed into a blue-and-white-striped hospital gown.
Another illusion from the malicious ghost.
But this illusion was different from the last. This time, it merged seamlessly with the actual layout of the trainee dormitory building. Every detail was disturbingly real. Jiang Luo walked with his eyes closed toward where his bed should be—but surprisingly, he couldn’t feel anything.
He opened his eyes. The spot where his bed used to be was now completely empty.
His heart sank. Cautiously, he opened the ward door.
Outside was a hospital corridor. Blood was splattered across the pale walls and clean tiles. Corpses sliced in half by saws laid everywhere. Some were men, some women—patients and doctors alike. Their faces were frozen in terror, and their guts were strewn across the floor.
Jiang Luo averted his gaze and carefully crept along the wall to the left.
He didn’t encounter a single person along the way and made it safely to the nurse’s station. But it was deserted too—no nurse in sight. Medicine was scattered across the ground, and a blood-soaked lab coat was hanging on a rack.
The entire hospital looked like the slaughterhouse of a deranged serial killer.
Jiang Luo searched the nurse’s station and found a scalpel—and a newspaper.
The newspaper read: “Chainsaw Killer Injured During Arrest, Sent to Third Hospital for Emergency Treatment.”
Jiang Luo glanced at the nameplate on the nurse’s desk. The gold-embossed lettering read: Third Hospital.
Jiang Luo: “…”
He looked around and found another line of words written in blood on the tiles beneath the counter.
The person who wrote it must have been terrified. The writing was jagged and shaky, the blood half-dried and radiating dread:
“The killer is disguised as a doctor! He’s already killed so many people! He’s too dangerous—run!”
Author’s Note:
Chi You: My favorite part—the acting segment—has arrived.
Patient Luo Luo: Excellent :)
