Midnight Movie Viewing (8)
Could it be that Yu Li ran into an emergency?
Ying Yan suddenly became tense.
She focused intently on the gradually sharpening image on the wall, a strong urge to go out rising in her mind.
Though Yu Xiong Xiong looked imposing and powerful, his actual combat ability was paper-thin.
He could handle bullying bees, but faced with a ferocious wild beast, he’d be helpless.
Under the alternating green and red lights, the wall revealed a dilapidated, desolate courtyard.
Two dark, unidentifiable trees shot straight upward, frantically clawing at the gloomy sky.
Something’s wrong!
Yu Li never mentioned a courtyard on the snow-covered mountain.
At that moment, a terrified voice rang out from the darkness.
“Is anyone there? Help me! I’m trapped! This house is too scary… it eats people. Everyone else is dead… it’s just me left…”
The voice alone, without a visible person, added an extra layer of horror to the plea.
Ying Yan stepped forward, placing her hands on the semi-transparent wall. With a gentle push, some kind of restriction collapsed with a crash.
The next second, she found herself standing on the damp ground of the courtyard.
The two rampant trees froze mid-motion; countless branches subtly recoiled, suspended in midair, restoring the scene to its initial, eerie backdrop.
The ground trembled faintly, as if something underground was scratching.
It gave the uncanny feeling of a frantic corporate worker unexpectedly running into the boss on inspection.
After the branches halted, a panicked young man was revealed atop the green tiles.
He had fallen onto the roof tiles, legs as limp as noodles. His bare feet and lower legs were covered in bruises, likely from being whipped by the frenzied branches.
Clutching an old-fashioned telephone like his last hope, Wang Lu hadn’t expected that merely watching a movie would land him in such a perilous house.
Most of his fellow moviegoers were already dead, scattered and broken.
Among all the films, this documentary titled Encountering the Supernatural looked the most ordinary.
Yet the description never mentioned the whole house being haunted!
He had helplessly watched his companions get dragged down by the two trees below, panicked into fleeing to the backyard, only to be attacked by the twin trees again. Desperation forced him to dial for help.
Little did he know, what arrived was a death omen.
Before him, a woman’s long black hair fell, obscuring most of her pale face.
She was draped in blood-red silk, like a white sculpture soaked in thick blood, exuding a chilling, uncanny beauty.
Even the menacing trees cowered at her feet, trembling.
Overwhelmed by fear, Wang Lu somehow found strength.
He pulled up his pants, climbed off the roof, and bolted, leaving behind the shoes ripped off by branches.
Barefoot on the tiles, the sensation was terrible, but life mattered more than comfort.
Ying Yan watched the desperate boy running the wrong way, momentarily stunned.
In ghost stories, ordinary people rescued by spirits always ran joyfully toward them, never in terror.
This was the first time she experienced the opposite.
But within a minute, Ying Yan remembered her current form—a ghost.
Oh, never mind then.
Following the principle of taking whatever she could, she fully leveraged her species advantage and floated after him.
Wang Lu huffed and puffed for over an hour.
Luckily, the smooth roof tiles spared his feet further injury, but it forced him to move cautiously, as a slip could be fatal.
Glancing at the black shadows on the ground, he shivered.
Just as he thought he had escaped the clutches of the death omen, a small figure suddenly leapt into his path.
Wang Lu quickly realized it was the madam’s black cat.
And cats can scale walls and roofs!
Oh no, he was doomed!
The black cat looked normal, but its green eyes glowed eerily in the darkness.
It prowled forward, baring sharp teeth at the “little mouse.”
Its black fur bristled, tail stiffened, ready to pounce and crush the fragile throat.
The next moment, the back of the cat’s neck was grabbed.
Its legs kicked in the air, back arched, tail tucked.
The transformed cat’s ferocity was awakened, reluctant to give up its prey, crying out in protest.
Other apparitions shied away from Ying Yan due to her heavy aura.
But during her experiment with “floating,” she found she could only access about one percent of her assigned abilities—like trying to scoop water from a vast ocean with a tiny cup.
This one scoop allowed her to float and pass through walls; everything else, she couldn’t.
In other words, like Yu Li, she was a paper tiger—impressive until actually challenged.
She couldn’t fight the entire courtyard physically.
But as long as she intimidated the black cat, there was no need to strike.
With this in mind, Ying Yan lowered her eyelids, her voice cold and emotionless.
Without a smile, her expressionless face radiated an aura honed by years of life-and-death trials, adding a chilling, oppressive presence.
The red silk over her shoulder flapped in the cold wind, reflecting the murderous intent in her black eyes.
“He… mine… do you want to steal him?”
The black cat’s fur bristled; rationality returned instantly.
It realized whoever held its neck could not be defeated.
The cat collapsed into a helpless, flattened heap.
Ying Yan released her grip, and the cat bounced away.
She stepped forward, the vibrant red silk falling over the only living human on the roof.
Wang Lu shivered violently from the cold; his survival instinct surged.
He cast a fearful glance at Ying Yan and turned to flee.
Ying Yan followed deliberately, adjusting speed: if he fell behind, she sped up; if he got close, she slowed. When he veered from the exit, the red silk swooped and wrapped him up.
One human, one ghost, maintaining a subtle harmony.
In this courtyard, ordinary humans couldn’t see the exits apparent to ghosts, instead perceiving them as impassable walls.
Except for a few lucky ones, anyone entering the courtyard would be trapped.
Seeing Wang Lu precisely dodge the exit and blindly fall into the trap set by the local ghosts, the red silk effortlessly enveloped him, tossing him into the exit like trash.
The moment Wang Lu was wrapped, thinking he was doomed, he suddenly landed with a thud on the cinema seat, the prelude of near-death flashes over.
“Ding—The Abandoned House Cinema sincerely reminds you: immersive viewing mode has ended. Please continue watching the remaining film.”
Ying Yan retraced her steps to the courtyard, taking some time to find the red old-fashioned telephone.
During this, countless local ghosts, capable of instantly tearing her apart, cast surreptitious glances, attempting to find her weaknesses.
Ying Yan remained calm, intimidating each without revealing a single flaw.
The local ghosts were stunned—a normal reaction.
After all, these spirits were centuries-old veterans; encountering a seemingly powerful enemy, they would vanish into their imagination, never to act.
Result: no ghost dared approach.
After fiddling briefly, Ying Yan dialed the phone in the booth.
Holding the red handset, she vanished into thin air, the long, flowing red silk spreading and slowly extending.
Time in the “Abandoned House” ran differently than on the snow mountain.
Ying Yan felt she had spent less than three hours in the courtyard.
Yet outside, the snow mountain sky was already bathed in golden sunlight, and Yu Li had nearly exhausted the phone.
Listening to Yu Xiong Xiong’s endless chatter, Ying Yan felt the care and worry in it.
She patiently comforted him, promising to avoid reckless adventures, stabilizing his emotions.
As the bear went out to forage, Ying Yan immediately broke that promise.
She placed the acquired telephone between the two lamps, experimenting with dialing out.
To gather more information and increase survival odds, exploration was necessary.
Within half a minute,
the red and green lights lit simultaneously, revealing an old rental apartment ahead.
Walls covered in old newspapers hid dirt and grime.
On the table were two boxed meals, inside bags labeled “Everyday Delivery.”
Two elderly people sat shoulder to shoulder; one held a phone, trembling as they pressed the answer button.
—The call went through.
“Hello, hello, any clues about Yin Bao? Money’s no issue!”
Ying Yan frowned, her tone calm: “Sorry, wrong number.”
As expected, a disappointed sigh came from the other side, and the call ended.
She noted the number and dialed the next one.
In a single day, Ying Yan fully displayed the “overachiever” spirit—from orphanage to top university.
Leveraging her ghostly body, requiring no food or water, and relentless human will, she successfully dialed over a hundred calls.
On average, Yu Li received one every five minutes or so.
Ying Yan stretched, rubbed her temples, relieving the headache from information overload.
Within just half an hour, she picked up the “overworked cabbage” phone, aged drastically in this short time, and dialed out again.
In the high-tech living room, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy reclined on the sofa, legs crossed.
“Hello, who’s this?”
Before Ying Yan could speak, he snorted, “It’s the 22nd century—who still falls for these low-level scams?”
Immediately, he hung up mercilessly.
Ying Yan jolted, the chaotic information in her mind connecting into a thread.
She realized this phone could reach different points in time.
This was a crucial point, though she had no use for it yet.
Her curiosity to test it was bubbling. Energized, she dialed the next number.
This time, the green and red lights flashed briefly, then went out. On the wall appeared a line of bleeding text:
“Monday to Friday, no overtime! (Signed: Butterfly)”