In the middle of the night, Lin Wanwan suddenly opened her eyes, feeling an icy chill at the back of her neck, as if someone were pressing an ice pick against her spine.
She didn’t move, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, ears pricked up to listen for any movement around her.
The top floor of the old house had terrible soundproofing; usually, she could hear everything from downstairs. But now, there was no sound at all—an unsettling silence.
Outside the window, the wind blew, causing the old window frame to creak. In the distance, a dog barked, one bark after another, as if it had noticed something.
But the chill at the back of her neck remained, as if someone were standing by the bed, watching her.
She slowly turned her head and looked toward the window.
The moonlight was dim, only revealing the shadow of the old locust tree in the yard and the weeds swaying in the wind beneath it.
There was no one outside the window, but the chill at the back of her neck grew even more intense.
She slowly sat up and stared out the window for a full three minutes before the chill gradually faded away.
Lin Wanwan threw off the covers and walked barefoot to the next room.
The door was unlocked, and she pushed it open gently.
Xu Jia was also awake.
She leaned against the headboard, the faint glow of her phone screen illuminating her face as she stared at something.
“What’s wrong?”
Lin Wanwan sat down on the edge of her bed and remained silent for a few seconds.
“Someone was here,” she said.
Xu Jia looked up at her.
Lin Wanwan described the sensation she had just experienced to Xu Jia.
After listening, Xu Jia said nothing.
She stood up, walked to the window, and pulled back the curtain to look outside.
There was nothing there—only the shadow of the old locust tree swaying in the wind and scattered lights in the distance.
But she didn’t return to bed. Instead, she walked back, took a small object from her bag, and handed it to Lin Wanwan.
It was a personal safety alarm, the size of a fingernail, red, with a small pull ring.
“Keep it with you,” she said. “Whether it’s a false alarm or not, it’s better to be careful.”
Lin Wanwan took the alarm and held it in her palm.
Neither of them went back to sleep.
Xu Jia went to the kitchen to boil water and made two cups of instant coffee—the only drinkable thing in the old house.
Lin Wanwan held her cup, watching the steam rise from it.
“Sister Xu Jia,” she suddenly spoke up.
“Hmm?”
“Do you believe it? That kind of feeling.”
Xu Jia remained silent for a few seconds.
“I didn’t used to believe it,” she said. “But I do now.”
Lin Wanwan looked at her.
Xu Jia lowered her head and stared into her cup, her voice soft:
“Ten years ago, before I was blacklisted, there was a night just like this.”
“I woke up in the middle of the night and knew something was wrong.”
“The next day, all the artists under me terminated their contracts.”
She looked up at Lin Wanwan. “That feeling—it’s hard to explain.”
“But I learned later that whenever something feels off, something is definitely going to happen.”
Lin Wanwan said nothing.
She remembered the skill the System had mentioned—【Danger Sense】.
So, it wasn’t something the System had given her. She had always had it; the System had just turned it into something she could use.
The two of them stayed up all night, unable to sleep.
There was no food in the old house—the refrigerator was empty, and the cabinets only held a few packs of expired instant noodles.
After daybreak, they went out to the nearest convenience store.
It was a ten-minute walk along a secluded path, flanked by abandoned factory buildings. The walls were marked with large “Demolish” signs, the windows all shattered, the dark openings like countless eyes.
Lin Wanwan walked ahead, with Xu Jia following behind.
Halfway there, Lin Wanwan suddenly stopped in her tracks.
She suddenly felt a chill on the back of her neck again, stronger than last night, as if someone had stuck a needle in and was twisting it deeper.
She stood still, unmoving.
Xu Jia also stopped. “What’s wrong?”
Lin Wanwan didn’t answer. Her eyes scanned the surroundings.
To the left was a factory building, its rusted iron door shut, a large lock hanging from it.
To the right was an empty lot, overgrown with withered yellow weeds, tall enough to reach a person’s waist.
Ahead was an intersection, with a large tree whose trunk was so thick it would take two people to wrap their arms around it.
Everything seemed normal, but the chill was gradually intensifying, as if something was drawing closer.
Lin Wanwan slowly walked forward, her eyes fixed on the tree.
When she was about a dozen steps away from the tree, the chill suddenly peaked, as if someone had pressed a knife against the back of her neck.
She instinctively took a step back. The next second, an electric scooter shot out from behind the tree.
The scooter was moving at an extremely high speed, almost skimming the ground. The buzzing roar of its motor pierced the quiet of the early morning.
Its wheels rolled over the spot where she had just been standing, and the body of the scooter brushed past the tip of her nose, the wind it stirred up tousling her hair.
She could even smell the scent of motor oil from the scooter.
The scooter sped out of the intersection, turned into an alley between the factory buildings, and disappeared from sight.
The entire incident, from start to finish, lasted less than three seconds.
Lin Wanwan stood still, unmoving.
Xu Jia rushed over and grabbed her arm with surprising strength. “Are you okay?! Were you hit?!”
She didn’t speak.
She just stared in the direction where the scooter had disappeared. If she hadn’t taken that step back, the scooter would have hit her directly.
At that speed—at least forty kilometers per hour—a collision would have meant serious injury or worse.
“Did you see who it was?” Xu Jia’s voice trembled.
Lin Wanwan shook her head.
The scooter had been too fast, and the rider was wearing a fully enclosed black helmet, making it impossible to see anything.
But she remembered the rider’s silhouette—thin, wearing a gray jacket, hunched over while riding.
The scooter was black, with a white delivery box attached to the back.
Lin Wanwan walked over to the back of the tree.
There were fresh tire marks on the ground, along with a few cigarette butts.
She crouched down to look, picked up the cigarette butts, wrapped them in a tissue, and put them in her pocket. Then she stood up and looked at the tree.
The space behind the tree was just large enough to hide an electric scooter. The rider had been hiding there, waiting for her to approach.
The two of them didn’t go to the convenience store. Instead, they returned directly to the old house.
Lin Wanwan opened her phone, hesitated for a few seconds, and then started a live stream.
It wasn’t to play the victim, but to recount what had just happened, to let everyone know.
Within moments, millions of people flooded into the live stream, and the comments exploded:
“Did someone deliberately try to hit her with an electric scooter?!”
“Did you see who it was?!”
“Call the police! Call the police right now!”
“She can’t go outside anymore!”
“Is this a warning, or is there something else going on?”
After finishing her story, Lin Wanwan immediately called the police.
This time, a female officer answered the phone. Her voice was steady, and after listening to Lin Wanwan’s account, she said, “Stay where you are. We’ll be there right away.”
Twenty minutes later, two police cars pulled up in front of the old house.
The person who arrived was still Captain Zhou from the day before, and his expression was grim.
The police reviewed the surveillance footage from around the convenience store.
In the footage, Lin Wanwan and Xu Jia appeared on the small path.
They were walking slowly, as if talking as they went.
When they reached the large tree at the intersection, they stopped.
Lin Wanwan stood in place, as if waiting for something, then she took a step back. The next second, an electric scooter rushed out from behind a tree.
It was moving fast, without any attempt to brake, speeding straight through the intersection and disappearing off-screen.
Captain Zhou slowed the footage down, then slowed it further, and finally zoomed in, finally seeing it clearly.
Before rushing out of the intersection, the electric scooter had been parked behind the tree for a full minute, its engine still running, taillights on. Then, just as Lin Wanwan reached that spot, it suddenly accelerated and charged out.
Captain Zhou looked up at Lin Wanwan.
“This wasn’t an accident,” he said. “It was intentional.”
Xu Jia asked, “Could you see the person?”
Captain Zhou shook his head. “The helmet covered too much. Couldn’t see the face.”
“What about the scooter? Did it have a license plate?”
“It did, but we checked—it’s a fake plate. You can buy those online for ten yuan.”
“What about the delivery box? Can we trace which platform it’s from?”
Captain Zhou gave a bitter smile. “Those boxes can be bought online for a few dozen yuan.”
“It wasn’t a real delivery person.”
He closed the laptop and looked at Lin Wanwan, his expression complicated. “Ms. Lin, this isn’t an ordinary threat.”
“This is intentional harm.”
“Yesterday it was a bullet casing, today it’s this. What about tomorrow?”
He paused. “We recommend you temporarily move to a safe location and avoid going out alone.”
Lin Wanwan didn’t speak.
She pulled a cigarette butt wrapped in tissue from her pocket and handed it to Captain Zhou.
“Found it behind the tree,” she said. “Fresh.”
Captain Zhou was taken aback for a moment, then took it and examined it before passing it to the technician beside him.
The technician took it, glanced at it, and said, “This brand is strong—young people don’t smoke it. Usually, it’s only heavy smokers.”
“There might be DNA on it.”
Captain Zhou looked at Lin Wanwan, something more in his eyes.
“You’re really brave,” he said.
Lin Wanwan didn’t respond, only recalling the chill on the back of her neck last night and that step back. If not for those three seconds, the consequences would have been severe.
Hot search updates in real-time:
#Lin Wanwan Attacked!# (Explosive)
#Electric Scooter Intentionally Hits Person!# (Explosive)
#Is This Not an Accident but Intentional?# (Trending)
The entire internet exploded. Topic views surpassed five billion in an hour.
Comments section:
“Yesterday it was a bullet casing, today it’s an electric scooter, what will it be tomorrow?!”
“She can’t go outside anymore! Those people really want her dead!”
“Protect Lin Wanwan! Now! Immediately!”
Major official media outlets spoke out again:
@Jiangcheng People’s Daily: “[Brief Comment] From bullets to electric scooters, the threats are escalating. This must be thoroughly investigated; violence cannot be allowed to succeed. Any attempt to achieve goals through threats will face severe legal punishment.”
@Jiangcheng News: “[Breaking News] Artist Lin Wanwan suffers another intentional attack. Police have intervened and established a special task force to fully investigate.”
@Jiangcheng Police Online: “All surrounding surveillance footage has been retrieved, and efforts are underway to track down the perpetrator. Case updates will be announced promptly.”
At that moment, Lin Wanwan sat in the old house, looking at the hot searches on her phone.
The back of her neck chilled again, but this time it was faint, like a reminder, not a warning.
She looked up and out the window—nothing there, only the shadow of the old locust tree swaying in the wind.
But in her mind, the System’s voice rang out:
[Ding!]
[Host has successfully avoided a fatal danger]
[Danger Sense skill verified]
[Skill Level Up: Beginner → Intermediate]
[New Function: Warning range expanded to 50 meters, can sense danger direction 3 seconds in advance]
Lin Wanwan was momentarily stunned.
She looked down at her hands; her palms were still sweaty.
Just after finishing her instant noodles, her phone rang.
An unknown number.
Lin Wanwan stared at the string of digits on the screen. A sudden, sharp pain shot through the back of her neck, as if someone had jabbed a needle into it.
She took a deep breath and answered. Silence greeted her for three seconds.
Then, a man’s voice spoke. It was hoarse, sounding processed through a voice changer, not quite human: “This is just a warning.”
“If you keep digging, next time it won’t be an electric scooter.”
The call ended.
Lin Wanwan held the phone, motionless.
Xu Jia looked at her: “What’s wrong?”
Lin Wanwan handed her the phone.
Xu Jia checked the call log and immediately dialed the number back from her own phone.
The number was out of service.
She looked up at Lin Wanwan.
Both their expressions darkened.
Lin Wanwan started a live stream again.
This time, she didn’t speak.
She simply placed her phone on the table and played the recording of that call.
From “This is just a warning” to “next time it won’t be an electric scooter,” every word was there.
After playing it, she looked into the camera and said:
“You all heard it.”
The comments exploded:
“That’s a threat!”
“Who called?! Find them!”
“Sis, don’t go out!”
“We’ll protect you!”
Lin Wanwan waited for the comments to calm down a little before continuing: “They told me to stop investigating.”
“Said if I keep digging, next time it won’t be an electric scooter.”
She paused, her gaze steady on the camera, her expression calm:
“Then let me tell you…”
“I’m going to investigate anyway.”
“To the very end.”
An hour later, the Jiangcheng police issued a statement:
“Regarding the threats received by Ms. Lin Wanwan, our bureau has established a special task force to fully investigate the matter. The suspect’s identity has currently been identified, and a full-scale pursuit is underway. We once again remind all citizens to report similar situations to the police immediately and not to handle them privately. We will resolutely crack down on any illegal activities that endanger citizens’ personal safety in accordance with the law.”
The comment section was flooded with hot takes:
“Pursuit? Until when?”
“Is this still just a threat?”
But some also noticed one line in the statement:
“The suspect’s identity has currently been identified.”
Xu Jia had been investigating non-stop—the phone number, that electric scooter, anything she could find.
At three in the afternoon, she suddenly looked up at Lin Wanwan.
“That number, even though it’s deactivated, the activation date can be traced.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Lin Wanwan looked at her.
Xu Jia continued: “The location where it was activated was a service center near the Xingyao Media building.”
“The ID card used for registration…”
She paused: “belonged to a man named Wang Jun.”
“Jiang Man’s driver.”
At that moment, Lin Wanwan sat by the window, looking out at the gloomy sky.
Xu Jia sat beside her, also silent.
After a long while, Lin Wanwan spoke: “Sister Xu Jia.”
“Hmm?”
“Why do you think she’s so afraid of me?”
Xu Jia thought for a moment and said: “Because you know too much.”
“Anything else?”
“Because you have too much support now.”
“Anything else?”
Xu Jia turned to look at her: “What are you trying to say?”
Lin Wanwan was silent for a few seconds. Then she stood up, walked to the desk, and opened that old, battered laptop.
The computer screen remained frozen on the surveillance footage: the electric scooter parked behind a tree, waiting for her to approach.
“What she’s afraid of,” Lin Wanwan said, “is something I don’t know yet.”
Xu Jia looked at her.
“What is it?”
Lin Wanwan shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“But there must be something.”
“Otherwise, she wouldn’t be in such a hurry.”
Her phone rang again—still an unknown number. Lin Wanwan suddenly felt the chill return to the back of her neck, though lighter than before.
Lin Wanwan answered.
This time, it was a woman’s voice.
Her voice was soft and slow, as if spoken through gritted teeth: “Lin Wanwan, stop investigating.”
“If you keep digging, the people around you will be in danger too.”
The call ended.
Lin Wanwan held the phone and looked at Xu Jia.
Xu Jia looked back at her.
“Did you hear that?” Lin Wanwan asked.
Xu Jia nodded.
“Are you scared?”
Xu Jia smiled.
“Scared of what?”
She paused, her voice soft but firm: “Anyone who wants to hurt you will have to go through me first.”
Night had fallen completely.
Lin Wanwan sat by the window, gazing at the darkness outside.
The shadow of the old locust tree swayed in the wind, like countless hands beckoning.
Occasionally, a chill would brush the back of her neck, then vanish—as if someone were watching her from afar, then walking away.
Her phone vibrated once. A text message from an unknown number, containing only one sentence: “Today was just the beginning.”