The crying inside the restroom grew increasingly tragic and sorrowful. Jiang Wei pushed open the door and stood in the common area, turning her head toward the last stall from where the sounds were emanating.
That spot was the furthest from the ceiling light and the dimmest corner of the entire restroom. Fingernails digging slightly into her palms, her body wanted to flee, but curiosity drove her forward step by step toward the direction of the weeping.
The moment Jiang Wei reached the door of that stall, the crying abruptly ceased.
A sudden chill ran down Jiang Wei’s spine. She swiftly expanded her domain, enveloping the restroom stall where the faint weeping had come from.
Her tense heart instantly relaxed. The entity sitting inside was a person, not a ghost.
A young girl was sitting on the toilet, her face buried in her hands as she wept bitterly.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Jiang Wei placed a hand over her chest and offered a helpless, wry smile. Once bitten by a snake, twice shy for ten years, indeed.
After taking a couple of steps back toward the exit, she paused, turned around, and knocked on the wooden stall door again. “Are you alright?”
There was no response from inside. Jiang Wei asked again, “Do you need any help?”
Could she simply be out of toilet paper?
Surely that wouldn’t warrant crying so heart-wrenchingly—or perhaps she had other troubles, and running out of paper was just the final straw that broke the camel’s back?
Still, there was no response from inside. Jiang Wei rubbed her nose awkwardly and turned to leave. Just then, a creak sounded behind her. Turning back, she saw the stall door opened a crack, revealing a pair of swollen, peach-like eyes and a red nose.
“I haven’t seen you around the office before. Are you here to sign a contract?” The young girl’s voice was very soft. She had a very youthful appearance, looking almost like a high school student.
“Yeah, I came over to check things out.” Jiang Wei nodded. Boss Zhang had indeed handed her a contract. However, she still intended to negotiate with him—she couldn’t possibly guarantee several fixed live streams every month.
The girl seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before stepping out of the stall. After checking to make sure there was no one else in the restroom, she walked up to Jiang Wei and whispered, “Whatever you do, don’t sign.”
Jiang Wei was taken aback. “Why? Does your crying have something to do with this?”
At those words, the girl’s eyes turned red once more. Sobbing, she wiped her eyes a couple of times, pulled out a tissue to blow her nose, and continued in a low voice: “In the beginning, they said I could come do live streams at the company, and that they would cover electricity, computers, and other facilities. But in truth, it was just a way to exert total control over me. I’m forced to clock in every single day for streams, otherwise they deduct my full-attendance bonus.”
Reaching the most painful part, she could barely go on:
“I used to be a somewhat well-known streamer before this. I was quite good at singing and dancing, sob…
“Now the live-streaming market is so fiercely competitive, and the scripts the company writes for me are all riding the edge of vulgar content. If I don’t follow them, they dock my pay, sob…
“I don’t even dare tell my mom I’m doing live streams, sob sob sob… making it feel as if I’m doing something shameful…
“When I don’t obey, the company has endless ways to mess with me. Not only do they deduct my pay in every way possible, but they also threaten me with breach-of-contract penalties. Penalties running in the millions—how could I ever afford that? Sob sob sob… I haven’t even made a few tens of thousands to this day.
“Anyway, whatever you do, don’t sign! No matter how sweet he makes it sound, don’t sign, sob sob sob…”
The two of them ended up chatting for quite a while, leaning against the wooden restroom stall door.
The young girl was named Xiao Meng, 22 years old this year. She had been tricked three months ago and was living a miserable existence here. Listening to her, Jiang Wei burned with righteous indignation. How could someone be so wicked? Destroying someone like garbage just for a bit of cash!
“I definitely won’t sign,” Jiang Wei assured Xiao Meng. “Thanks for warning me.”
“If only this studio would go bankrupt,” Xiao Meng said, wiping away her tears and walking over to the sink to wash her hands.
Only then did Jiang Wei finally remember why she had come to the restroom in the first place. Having drank a stomach full of Boss Zhang’s fine tea, she felt immensely relieved after relieving herself.
Coming out to wash her hands, it so happened that Xiao Meng had just finished touching up her makeup.
The two walked out of the restroom one after the other, only to bump into the boss, Zhang Wei, right outside.
Xiao Meng’s expression changed instantly. After greeting Boss Zhang, she hurriedly ran off toward her own streaming room.
Boss Zhang turned slightly, his gaze fixed sinisterly on Xiao Meng’s retreating back for a few seconds before turning back to smile at Jiang Wei. “Vivian, shall we continue our chat~”
Jiang Wei simply felt that although Zhang Wei wasn’t a ghost, he was equally chilling.
He couldn’t have been squatting outside the restroom door eavesdropping the whole time, could he? Just thinking about it was revolting enough.
So as not to drag Xiao Meng into trouble, Jiang Wei pretended to know nothing at all, following Zhang Wei back to his office with a smile.
With great skill came bold confidence; she wasn’t afraid of him in the slightest. At most, Boss Zhang could only resort to petty tactics like cranking up the office heat, serving hot tea, and coaxing with deceitful words—he’d never dare force her hand onto a contract to sign.
See if she wouldn’t break his head open.
Back in the office, Jiang Wei humored Boss Zhang for a little longer before stating she needed to go back to think it over and discuss it with her family.
After trying to coax and persuade her for half an hour to no avail, Zhang Wei had no choice but to drop it.
Yet even if he suspected his deceitful tricks might have been seen through, he displayed not the slightest hint of retreat or embarrassment. Instead, his smile grew even warmer and more genial.
Jiang Wei was willing to bet that even if she pointed at his nose and called him a fraud, he would put on a face of pure innocence and scream that he was a good person.
This kind of dishonest merchant wasn’t just evil; he was completely shameless.
When Jiang Wei left, Boss Zhang still saw her off with full courtesy. On the way from the office doorway to the elevator lobby, Boss Zhang was still trying to persuade her: “If you’re not interested, you can also introduce your classmates over. For every classmate you introduce, I’ll give you a referral cut—just like a headhunter.”
“Sure, sure.” Jiang Wei stepped into the elevator, turning around to press the button.
“All students from film academies are welcome!” Boss Zhang stood with his hands in his pockets, thumbs pressed outside his pants, projecting an aggressive stance of being in total control.
Jiang Wei found his whole look utterly repulsive now. Driving the tricked employees to the point where they only dared hide in the restroom to cry, while he strutted around dressed up like a high-society gentleman.
And what was with putting on the act of a refined scholar? Stacking a bunch of thick classics like the Four Great Classical Novels in his bookcase, sipping tea, and rolling prayer beads to pretend to be a gentleman—when in reality, he was rotten to the core.
“Right, right.” Jiang Wei frantically hammered the door-close button, finally shutting out Zhang Wei’s disgusting face.
As the elevator descended, thinking of Xiao Meng’s state and the plight of those small-time streamers she had mentioned made Jiang Wei’s blood boil. Zhang Wei had even lied to her, saying he would arrange haunted houses all over the country and send her on expeditions. According to Xiao Meng, travel, accommodation, and plane tickets all had to come out of their own pockets, and the company delayed reimbursements heavily, ultimately offsetting them against vague salary deductions.
Didn’t that mean she’d have to run around the country at her own expense, earning non-transparent money where they could give her as much or as little as they pleased?
Did she look like a fool to them? Trampling on young people’s trust and innocence like that.
She was furious.
Stepping out of the building, Jiang Wei came to a halt on the green lawn in front of it.
The more she thought about Zhang Wei’s smug expression, the more hateful it became. She absolutely had to rip that expression right off his face!
…
Zhang Wei’s studio operated on afternoon shifts, finishing in the early morning hours. But the boss didn’t get off work at midnight—he had his own night life to enjoy.
After confirming that the employees in every streaming room were streaming diligently and focused on selling goods, he grabbed his car keys to head home. When leaving, he even turned off all the lights in the common area—saving every bit he could.
Humming a little tune as he took the elevator straight to the underground garage, Zhang Wei still felt a trace of regret in his heart for not landing Jiang Wei today. What a fine prospect she was—a young, naive college student, great appearance, novel subject matter.
He’d contact her again later; perhaps he could still sign her. If successful, he shouldn’t squeeze her too hard right at the start. It’d be best to see if her roommates or classmates were interested and sign them all together. When gold came rolling in daily, he could pay off the loan he took to buy his car as quickly as possible.
Imagining a life of riches in his head, he nearly burst out laughing. The survival of those young people still working their butts off upstairs to make money for him was entirely outside his scope of concern.
Taking a turn, Zhang Wei suddenly came to a halt as he walked.
He seemed to hear some strange noises—what sounded like a child crying from very, very far away.
What the hell, in the middle of the night in a pitch-black underground garage—how eerie is it to hear something like this?
Who the f brings a kid to work overtime and only leaves at this hour?*
Listening quietly for a few breaths, he heard no further sounds. He let out a sigh of relief, suspecting he might have misheard. Looking up, he spat on the ground. No wonder he felt the garage was unusually dim today—it turned out the lights on this stretch of the corridor were broken.
Is the park management running out of money? Collecting property fees without doing any work, making the atmosphere so creepy late at night.
A chill seeped in from all directions. Zhang Wei stomped his feet as he walked, pulling his collar tight and quickening his pace.
“Ying ying, ying ying ying…” Once again, the eerie crying of an infant echoed faintly from near and far, sounding sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right—exceedingly uncanny.
The dim stretch of the corridor was empty. Most cars had already been driven away, leaving only a scattered few parked silently in the darkness.
Zhang Wei suddenly began to doubt the plausibility of “a mother being in an underground garage with an infant at this hour.” He stopped again to look around; aside from grotesque shadows stretched long by the dim lights, there was only terrifying darkness.
When he stopped, the crying vanished. Taking a step forward, his footsteps echoed in the vast environment—”tak tak…” “ba-tak…” The elongated, distorted echoes made his scalp tingle.
For the first time, he complained that his parking space was too far from the elevator lobby. Why hadn’t he reached it after all this time?
Rubbing his nose, Zhang Wei couldn’t help letting his imagination run wild: Could it be that I got someone pregnant, she had an abortion, and the kid came back to take revenge on me?
His vivid imagination made things feel increasingly horrifying. Zhang Wei accelerated his pace, rounded a corner, and finally spotted his car. His tense emotions relaxed; he suspected he was getting a bit paranoid from watching Vivian’s ghost-hunting videos.
Walking up to the car, Zhang Wei took a step back to admire his newly purchased luxury car. Even in the dim light, the metallic emblem gleamed with a texture full of luster. His mood finally brightened up. Pulling down his sleeve, he wiped away a streak of dust on the hood. Seeing the hood rendered shiny enough to act as a mirror again, Zhang Wei opened the car door in satisfaction and climbed inside.
The infant’s crying suddenly rang out in his ears again. His heart clutched, goosebumps inexplicably rising across his back. His movement into the car grew rushed—a loud “bang” sounded as he bumped his head, making him gasp in pain.
Without time to rub his head or check if the door frame was damaged, he hurriedly locked the car doors, pressing close to the window while darting his eyes around to look everywhere.
His heartbeat inexplicably accelerated—thump, thump—and his breathing grew ragged and heavy.
Who the f brings a child to work overtime, doesn’t soothe the child, and keeps wailing in the garage like a funeral mourning? It gets creepier the more I listen.*
Rubbing his throbbing head, Zhang Wei uttered a couple more low curses before starting the vehicle. Just as he pulled the handbrake, the uncanny crying of an infant rang out outside the car once more.
Gripping the handbrake, he switched on the high beams, eyes wide as he searched everywhere. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, terrified he might actually see an infant spring onto his front windshield.
Swallowing hard, he tried to smile to express his speechlessness, but his lips twitched and failed to form a smile. Because that eerie, cackling weeping grew closer and closer—the “jie-jie ying-ying” sounds shifted left and right, as if countless ghost infants were surrounding his luxury car, trying to crawl inside.
His breathing turned increasingly rapid, and that feeling of wrongness grew stronger. He yanked the handbrake hard, shut off the high beams, and prepared to shift gears and launch the car. But just when he thought all he needed to do was drive out to leave this cursed place and escape that uncanny crying, the eerie weeping suddenly detonated beside his ear, so loud it nearly made him jump right out of his seat:
“Wu-wa, wu-wa-wa-wa-wa…”
At this very moment, Zhang Wei was finally certain—that crying wasn’t a hallucination! It wasn’t!
And it was coming right for him!
Because that sound was inside the car, pressed right against his ear!
Zhang Wei could even feel a sudden weight added to his shoulder, along with a blast of bone-chilling cold striking his face directly.
It was as if an invisible ghost child was crouching on his shoulder, wailing at the top of its lungs.
“Er… er-aahhhh…” Unintentional sounds of terror slipped from his throat. His hands trembled violently as he gripped the steering wheel, teeth chattering, feet stomping toward the gas pedal.
Yet the moment the sole of his foot touched the accelerator, his body suddenly froze. A heavy weight slammed down on his chest, and Zhang Wei discovered he couldn’t move a single finger.
“Er… er… er-er-er—” His pupils contracted, a chill climbing straight from the soles of his feet to his crown. Low groans escaped his mouth continuously as he used every ounce of strength to break free, yet he merely broke into a drenching sweat without moving a single hair.
Zhang Wei felt the pressure on his shoulder and chest grow heavier and heavier. That icy pressure clearly belonged to two hands and two feet. This realization made him clearly aware that he had explicitly encountered a ghost. The symptoms were just like sleep paralysis—he couldn’t break free at all, unable to even cry out for help.
I’m going to die, I’m going to die…
If I had known, I would have stayed up late working overtime with the streamers… If I had known, I wouldn’t have rented this office building… Could it be an exploited streamer stabbing a voodoo doll of me? If I had known, I wouldn’t have pushed them so hard…
His chest felt so heavy. Life was already flashing before Zhang Wei’s eyes—in this lifetime of his… he still had unspent money, yet he was about to die. He’d rot inside the car, remaining undiscovered until he was unrecognizable…
As he panicked, Zhang Wei suddenly felt a wave of heat in his lower half—he had actually wet himself out of fear.
Tears blurred his eyes in streams; his fear intensified until he felt completely broken.
Just as he felt he was about to suffocate, the weight on his body suddenly eased, the icy sensation vanishing alongside the crushing pressure. Coming back to his senses with a jolt, he let out a sharp shriek, his body snapping straight in a spasm as his foot slammed hard on the accelerator.
The engine roared loudly, tires emitting a harsh gripping noise as the luxury car lunged forward, crashing “bang!” into a concrete pillar beside the opposite parking space.
Hiding behind the concrete pillar on Zhang Wei’s side of the parking space, Jiang Wei poked her head out. Once Zhang Wei drove out of her domain’s range, she could only watch with her naked eyes.
Under the dim lighting, the hood of Zhang Wei’s luxury car was crushed inward, completely buckled up. The gas pedal was still being stomped dead down, the wheels and fuel tank producing ear-splitting noise.
Jiang Wei was dumbfounded. Did I go too far?
Boss Zhang isn’t dead, is he?
Avoiding his line of sight and the only surveillance camera in the distance, Jiang Wei quietly crept closer, only to see the airbag deployed, pinning Zhang Wei tightly between the car seat and the airbag.
He was still alive, crying at the top of his lungs with plenty of breath: “Sob sob, my car, my Mercedes…”
“…” The corner of Jiang Wei’s mouth twitched. She quietly stepped back into the shadows at the edge of the garage, bypassed the camera, and slipped out of the garage.
If Boss Zhang wouldn’t let others live peacefully, he shouldn’t get to live peacefully either.
On her way out of the park in a taxi, Jiang Wei passed right by the ambulance Zhang Wei had called for himself. It seemed in the coming days, he’d have to nurse his injuries, repair his car, and digest the terror of being haunted by a ghost child—he probably wouldn’t have the energy to mess with anyone else for a while.
…
When Jiang Wei returned to the dorm, it was already very late. Fortunately, she had informed the dorm manager auntie in advance.
Lying back on her bed listening to her roommates’ steady breathing, Jiang Wei’s heart surged with excitement. One moment she worried she had scared Boss Zhang too severely and his mental state wouldn’t hold up; the next moment she found it immensely satisfying, wishing she could scramble back up, chase him to the hospital, and string Boss Zhang up on a lamppost.
In the pitch black, she opened her domain and scooped the little ghost out, placing it on the bed. Although the small entity seemed to have become an item devoid of self-awareness, she still patted its cold, wrinkled head, expressing approval for its work.
Not bad, very good—that was a solid scare.
Scaring Boss Zhang this time didn’t just vent her anger; it yielded extra rewards too. The unscrupulous capitalist turned out to be quite the coward, contributing tens of points in fear value—quite generous of Zhang the Exploiter.
Tossing and turning for a bit without being able to sleep, she opened her phone and logged into Bilibili; the comments beneath her ghost-hunting video were packed with requests for updates.
Her previous abandoned house exploration video in Shenyang had a strong long-tail effect; although comments and traffic grew slowly, they accumulated continuously. Jiang Wei was gradually becoming familiar with a few active fans who repeatedly left comments in the section.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t host a live stream while scaring Boss Zhang tonight; otherwise, Boss Zhang’s genuine performance would surely have garnered massive traffic. Scaring Boss Zhang like this—could she be considered a good director for once?
Flipping through the dark-framed app on her phone, Jiang Wei alternated between reminiscing, imagining, checking what fear value could buy, and expanding her domain to inspect her surroundings—drifting off to sleep amidst this process of “fiddling here” and “looking there.”
Over the next few days, Jiang Wei watched horror movies, played horror games, and searched online for horror novels and TV series. Though slow, she accumulated fear value continuously.
She stopped carelessly spending fear value to buy gold beans or similar items, merely browsing through the [Sacrificial Items], [Blessings], and [Abyss] interfaces every day to check for changes—becoming so familiar with the dark-framed app bit by bit that even with her eyes closed, their appearance and contents would float into her mind.
Before considering her next ghost-hunting live stream, Jiang Wei hosted a casual stream to chat with viewers, gathering urban legends and locations within Jianghai City to brainstorm ideas.
When the stream ended, she noticed a vaguely familiar name on the tipping leaderboard.
Staring at it for a moment, she remembered it was the account of Xiao Meng, whom she had met briefly at that MCN company earlier. The other party’s handle was “Big-Eyed Mengmeng.”
Clicking in, she discovered the girl had over ten thousand followers, and the view counts on her singing, dancing, and stream-highlight clips were all decent.
After browsing for a moment, she finally opened a private chat, leaving a message to thank her for the gifts and asking about her recent situation out of concern.
A few minutes later, they added each other’s contact information, and Xiao Meng sent a message right away:
[You wouldn’t believe it—on the very day of your interview, our boss actually got into a car accident!]
[Wow, that’s rough.] Jiang Wei scratched her head with a guilty conscience.
[Rough? He was completely stupid! He managed to get into a car accident inside an underground garage! The front of his luxury car was totally crushed. Before he even got discharged from the hospital, he frantically asked a friend to sell the car without even repairing it first.] Xiao Meng then sent over a photo showing Boss Zhang sitting on a hospital bed, head wrapped up like a mummy, complexion sallow, his eyes lacking their former spirit—looking as though he had been thoroughly drained by something. [Look at his miserable state, hahaha. We went to visit him together, specifically took this photo, and passed it around happily.]
[Hahaha, wicked people really do get what they deserve.] Looking at Zhang Wei’s miserable state in the photo, Jiang Wei couldn’t help laughing along.
It seemed Boss Zhang hadn’t made a big fuss about encountering a ghost; otherwise, Xiao Meng would definitely have shared it with her as gossip. Presumably, he felt that saying it out loud would make him look even dumber—after all, no one would believe it, and everyone would just think he was such an idiot to fabricate such a ridiculous story.
[A few of us streamers from the company went to celebrate with a feast after visiting Boss Zhang at the hospital, hahaha.] Xiao Meng’s joy was palpable.
Jiang Wei chatted a bit more with Xiao Meng before saying goodbye. She touched her face, feeling like a unsung hero doing good deeds without leaving a name.
An ordinary person—or perhaps even less than ordinary. She had no father or mother, and as a child, she often felt like an outcast because of it, the kind of outcast that made her want to hide away and dislike those stares.
Suddenly, she possessed a phone that “would always belong to her,” and through the dark-framed app hidden inside it, Jiang Wei had gained an unparalleled opportunity.
An opportunity to forge a unique path in horror live streams, an opportunity to grow into a positive, unique kind of “outcast,” and an opportunity to quietly play the hero.
A youth venturing across the world with a sword—such a line used to feel completely unrelated to the Jiang Wei of the past.
Now…
Holding her phone and staring at the white wall in front of her, Jiang Wei felt an inexplicable surge of excitement.
This phone let her know that the world had changed, and she had changed along with it. Yet she didn’t seem to dislike this “difference,” even if it meant facing terrifying entities like ghost children.
Jiang Wei thought that perhaps she could become even stronger.
…
…
Early winter in Jianghai City was damp and cold, and the continuous overcast sky made the people living in this city appear somewhat gloomy as well.
Even gloomier than the dark weather were the aging residential neighborhoods, which had raised a generation and seen another generation off.
Some of the old houses were renovated for new families to move in, while others had no new occupants after their previous owners passed away.
The open space beside the east gate of the residential complex was originally a small leisure plaza where elderly residents often sat to chat when the weather was nice. Now, it was also used to set up funeral canopies whenever an elderly resident passed away.
While old lives passed away, young lives grew vigorously. A group of children rode their bicycles, swooping past the funeral canopy in the small plaza, chasing one another and shouting intermittently.
“Do you guys know who died?” The lead child suddenly brake-stopped his bike beside a residential building in the old complex, turning to ask his friends.
“An old man died. There’s a picture up there.” Innocent words from children—they seemed not to have developed any fear toward the word “death” yet.
“It’s Tongtong’s grandpa.” Li Xiaocong, riding at the very back, mimicked the lead child, supporting himself with one foot on the ground.
“Tongtong’s grandpa won’t turn into a corpse and rise, right?” a child suddenly asked.
“Hahaha…”
“Hahaha!”
The fearless laughter of the children pierced the dark night, echoing between the old buildings. A streetlamp in the residential complex ahead flickered slightly, as if responding to these “hahahas.”
Li Xiaocong was wearing an old padded jacket that his older brother had outgrown. Feeling a bit cold, he wanted to go home. He twisted his handlebars, but just as he was about to speak up, the lead child suddenly pointed at the abandoned building ahead and said, “Do you know why that building was abandoned?”
“Why?” Everyone asked at once.
“Why?” Li Xiaocong actually knew why—he had heard adults talking about this place—but to stay in sync with everyone, he repeated their words and asked along.
“A lot of people were burned to death in there.” The lead child suddenly lowered his voice, pretending to be mysterious. Making his friends shriek in fright, he laughed triumphantly.
“Do you dare to go inside and take a look?” The lead child dragged his feet on the ground to nudge toward the abandoned building, looking provocatively at his friends. “I dare to go—do you?”
“I do!” a child in a blue sweater immediately responded.
“Count me in!” another child declared.
“…” Li Xiaocong stayed silent; he wanted to go home.
“Li Xiaocong, do you not dare?” The lead child suddenly pointed a finger at Li Xiaocong.
“Who says I don’t dare?” Li Xiaocong hurriedly pedaled his bicycle to follow them.
A group of children flooded toward the abandoned building, none willing to lag behind. They dumped their bicycles higgledy-piggledy beneath the charred window and peeked inside.
The ghost-hunting spot visited by streamers one after another had now become an adventure park for children.
“It’s so dark.”
“Oh my gosh, there won’t be ghosts, right?”
“I’m a little scared.”
“There are no ghosts in this world.” The lead child was the first to push open the broken window frame and vault inside. Shining his Xplora smartwatch light around, he turned back and said, “Danger eliminated—it’s safe! All of you, follow me in!”
The children looked at one another. Although somewhat fearful of the dark, unfamiliar environment, none wanted to be looked down upon, so they braced themselves and followed him inside one after another.
Li Xiaocong walked at the very back, looking behind him from time to time. Although there was streetlamp light around, the old lightbulbs had long been covered in grime, making the illumination extremely dim.
Shrinking his neck, he hesitated for a moment. Although he wanted to leave, having to ride his bicycle alone through the dim residential complex right now made him prefer staying with his friends. Glaring at the wildly dancing tree shadows once more, Li Xiaocong gritted his teeth and vaulted through the window frame as well.
“Slow down, guys—wait for me!” Li Xiaocong jogged to catch up with his friends, suddenly noticing two kids breaking away from the group and walking toward the entrance of the abandoned house.
This house had long ceased to have a proper door; at the entryway, there was only a pitch-black opening leading to a pitch-black staircase.
Li Xiaocong suddenly hesitated—should he follow the lead child deeper into the room, or follow these two friends toward the staircase?
“Where are you two going?” Li Xiaocong took two steps toward the friends heading for the staircase, asking softly with a trace of fear.
The kid behind the two was wearing a blue sweater. He turned back to look at Li Xiaocong and said, “He said he’s taking me to the rooftop to play—there’s fun stuff up there.”
“Who is ‘he’?” Li Xiaocong squinted, trying to make out who was pulling the blue sweater kid in the dark. But that child was wearing a strange, colorful padded jacket, his face hidden in the shadows without turning around once—Li Xiaocong couldn’t recognize who it was at all.
Among their group of friends, there didn’t seem to be anyone wearing that kind of clothing.
“Are you coming?” Blue Sweater was held by the hand as they walked out of the room, turning back in the dark hallway to wave at Li Xiaocong.
Now Li Xiaocong couldn’t even see Blue Sweater’s face clearly. He instinctively took a step toward Blue Sweater, then stopped. Turning back, he saw the lead child and the others all using their watches for light, playing lively in the master bedroom. Twisting his feet around, he ran toward the bright, noisy, and crowded room instead—tuning his watch light to the brightest setting as he ran.
Standing at the doorway of the room where the lead child and others were, Li Xiaocong looked back toward the pitch-black stairwell again; there was no longer anyone there.
Blue Sweater had been taken away by that unfamiliar child.
“One, two, three…” Li Xiaocong stood in the room, counting heads one by one. Five people, plus him, plus Blue Sweater—that made seven in total. They were supposed to be seven people; that child dressed so showily definitely wasn’t one of them.
“Who went to the rooftop with Blue Sweater?” Li Xiaocong asked.
The kid in the blue sweater had been brought along by the lead child to play with them; Li Xiaocong didn’t even know Blue Sweater’s name yet.
“Who?”
“Didn’t see.”
“Where is he? Was he scared and ran away?”
“Hahaha, ran away!”
“Ran away!” Hearing the phrase “ran away,” the children found it novel and repeated it one after another like repeaters.
“Let’s go home. I have school tomorrow,” Li Xiaocong proposed nervously, finding a reasonable excuse.
“I haven’t played enough! Are you scared too?”
“Wah! Wah! I’m a ghost!” A mischievous boy placed his smartwatch under his chin, the light casting upward to make his face look ghostly and eerie.
“I~ am~ a~ ghost~ too~” Another child followed suit.
“Hahaha.”
Just as everyone was laughing, chasing, playing around, and scaring one another, a loud bang suddenly rang out from outside the window—
“BANG!”
The children’s laughter was cut short by the sound, and everyone froze. They had never heard a sound like that—huge and heavy.
The lead child was the boldest. Holding up his left hand with the smartwatch, he walked over to the window with the light shining. The watch light struck the mottled concrete ground outside, illuminating blue and red.
The blue was still—it was the color of a sweater. The red was flowing, curving and gushing out from around the blue sweater.
“AHHH—”
The scream of a child pierced the night sky, growing higher and higher, filled with terror and panic.
“AHHH—”
“AHHH AHHH—”
Scream after scream overlapped, accompanied by wailing.
Li Xiaocong fell paralyzed by the window in fright, covering his eyes and crying bitterly.
When an adult carried him away from the abandoned building, he leaned over the adult’s shoulder and looked back. Through tear-filled eyes, at the top of the abandoned building, there seemed to be a child wearing a colorful padded jacket, waving at him.
…
…
On another weekend, while her friends went out shopping and eating good food, Jiang Wei went to an internet cafe alone.
She actually quite enjoyed watching horror movies in an internet cafe now—in a small, dark space, an unfamiliar environment that gave a slight sense of insecurity, putting on headphones provided an incredible atmosphere.
Ordering a bowl of Malatang via delivery at the internet cafe that evening, Jiang Wei finished watching the American horror TV series she was on today and glanced at her phone. The fear value had increased, but the numbers weren’t very ideal. Right now, the only advantage of watching horror movies was the low threshold for gaining fear value; if she wanted volume, she still had to rely on real-life ghost hunting or scaring people.
Closing the TV series page, Jiang Wei logged into her live-streaming account, opening a stream while munching on potato chips.
She casually chatted with viewers about the show she had just watched to maintain her popularity. Occasionally, someone would send gifts—later on, the money exchanged from gold beans using fear value could be explained as earnings from stream gifts.
Just as she was poking fun at common cliches in American horror shows, a bullet-chat comment suddenly caught Jiang Wei’s attention:
[Vivian, someone said you died! Hurry and check it out!]
“Huh? Someone’s spreading rumors about me?” Jiang Wei couldn’t believe it—she wasn’t even a big-shot streamer.
Besides, she had heard plenty of yellow rumors, but this was her first time hearing rumors about someone dying.
Asking for the source, Jiang Wei clicked into the stream mentioned by the viewer—it was a ghost-hunting stream, and the host was exploring the very same fire-damaged abandoned building she had visited.
Flipping through the bullet chats, sure enough, people were claiming that two people had already died in this place—one was the female streamer Vivian, and the other was a kid living nearby.
Jiang Wei posted an angry message: [Who said I died?]
Seeing her message get swept away in the chat with no one noticing, she copy-pasted and posted ten messages in a row to flood the screen. Fortunately, this stream wasn’t overly popular, so the host, Junnan, quickly spotted her comments.
The male streamer stared at his phone for a while, confirming that Jiang Wei’s account was indeed the real deal, before awkwardly greeting her and making a solemn clarification:
“There was an accident earlier where a kid died. No streamer died, okay? Don’t spread wild rumors, everyone.”
Hearing that a child’s death had been reported in the news, Jiang Wei couldn’t help frowning. She searched for news online and began reading carefully.
She read several reports in a row, each with a different focus—some emphasized that the abandoned building should have been renovated long ago and had inherent safety hazards, while others said society lacked safety education for children. The attribution mostly seemed to fall on the rooftop’s safety railing.
However, in some attached photos in the news, it was visible that although the building was abandoned, the railing remained intact and was quite tall. Why would a primary school student go through the trouble of climbing such a high railing?
Having experienced a ghost child firsthand, Jiang Wei couldn’t help letting her thoughts wander. She recalled that a huge factor in her video going viral was the debate over “whether the paper doll raised its head,” coupled with the fact that she chose to go there because horrifying urban legends circulated around that abandoned building… Now that someone had actually died, it felt like that place was a bit dangerous.
Closing the news page, she returned to continue watching Junnan’s stream. Jiang Wei kept her own stream running as well, chatting with everyone haphazardly and discussing Junnan’s stream content from time to time.
……
Holding up his phone, Junnan live-streamed while inspecting his surroundings, checking bullet chats from time to time to converse with viewers—multitasking busily.
This house had already been explored by more than one ghost-hunting streamer. Junnan had gathered information before coming; through Tiger Brother’s and Vivian’s streams, he was quite familiar with the layout and floor conditions of this house, walking without much difficulty.
Junnan had been bold since childhood—he wasn’t afraid of bugs or animals, nor was he particularly afraid of the dark. He didn’t believe in ghosts or monsters at all, let alone fear them.
To do live streams, however, he had to pretend to be scared, which was thoroughly exhausting.
Crossing the hallway, Junnan hunched his shoulders and faced the camera with a tense expression: “Behind this door is where the body was found. Wow, I’m breaking out in a sweat.”
Taking a deep breath, he wiped away non-existent sweat, holding up his phone to ask everyone for encouragement to help him bravely charge inside while shining his flashlight forward.
“Brothers and sisters, tell me—is this spooky or not—” Holding the camera toward himself, he turned toward the pitch-black room, choking on his own saliva mid-sentence: “Cough, cough, cough!”
Junnan, who had been pretending to be scared all along, felt his heart leap into his throat—Damn it, nobody told him there’d be a kid in the room in the middle of the night!
“Why are you here in the middle of the night?” Junnan looked in shock at the child standing near the wall by the window. Inspecting him up and down, he noticed the child was wearing a colorful padded jacket, skin pale, cheeks rosy—looking neither cold nor scared, in quite a good state.
Shouldn’t an eight- or nine-year-old child staying in this pitch-black room in the middle of the night feel terrified?
Various possibilities flashed through Junnan’s mind instantly—Could someone have kidnapped a child and hidden him here temporarily?
Seeing that the child didn’t speak, Junnan pressed on: “Little buddy, it’s so late—why aren’t you going home? Where are your parents?”
Though bold by nature, Junnan was starting to feel a bit panicked now, faintly sensing that something was off.
The child still didn’t speak, merely leaning against the wall, tilting his face up to stare at him.
Junnan sucked in a breath, speaking to the screen: “This is really strange—could he be lost?”
As he stepped closer to the child, Junnan could see him even clearer. His eyes are so big—why are his pupils so black?
Also, why has this child been staring at me without speaking? Could he be deaf and mute? Was he abandoned by his parents?
Junnan approached. To show he wasn’t a bad person, he squatted beside the child and smiled up at him: “How about uncle takes you to the police station—”
Mid-sentence, Junnan looked at the flashlight beam illuminating the child’s face, and his heart leapt into his throat—he almost jumped up. A normal person illuminated by such bright light would mostly shield their eyes. The child’s gaze followed him continuously, so he clearly wasn’t blind, yet he made no movement to dodge the bright light at all.
After discovering this eerie detail in horror, Junnan quickly realized something even more spine-chilling—after all this time, the child hadn’t blinked a single time.
“Hiss—” Gasping in horror, Junnan prepared to jump up and dodge backward, but before he could even straighten his body, the child who had remained motionless suddenly reached out a hand and grabbed his wrist in a tight grip.
Junnan’s movement to stand up was forced to an abrupt halt by the child’s pull; he felt as though his wrist were clamped by iron, pain unbearable.
Junnan tried to raise his arm to break free but found it completely impossible, his body yanked into a stumble. Unprepared, he fell straight toward the child, his phone tumbling to the ground with a “clatter-clatter-bang.”
Lhaozi’s Note: ngiiiii *chills*