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Join the ServerThe administrative building housed the Vice Principal’s office.
Behind a large mahogany desk, Liu Wendong sat, his fingers unconsciously tapping the smooth surface.
At sixty-six, he was well-preserved, his hair still dark. Only the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and a slight cloudiness in their depths betrayed his true age.
Outside the window, manicured lawns and bustling young students presented a scene of tranquility.
Yet, an inexplicable irritation gnawed at him. For days, a restless unease had settled in, as if some long-buried secret was stirring from the depths of his memory.
A knock echoed.
“Come in,” he called.
Liu Wendong composed himself, resuming the dignified demeanor of a vice principal.
The door swung open, but it wasn’t the academic secretary or department head he expected. Instead, a young man, seemingly in his early twenties, with short flaxen-grey hair and a bright, easy smile, stepped inside.
He wore a simple athletic jacket and jeans, even carrying a half-finished bubble tea. His relaxed posture made it seem as though he had simply wandered into the wrong place.
“You are?” Liu Wendong frowned, his tone clearly displeased.
The administrative building was not accessible to just anyone, let alone his private office.
“Good morning, Vice Principal Liu.” Hua Liang walked in, smiling, and gently pulled the door shut behind him with a soft click.
The sound was faint, yet Liu Wendong’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat.
“I apologize for this unannounced visit. I merely wished to inquire about some… old matters concerning the chemical preparation room on the fifth floor of the old teaching building, thirty-four years ago.”
“The chemical preparation room on the fifth floor of the old teaching building?” Liu Wendong’s face subtly shifted, but he immediately masked it with a stern expression. “Student, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Thirty-four years ago? You weren’t even born then, were you?”
“I am very busy. If this is a prank or if you’ve been listening to rumors, please leave immediately!” He reached for the internal phone on his desk, intending to summon security.
Hua Liang seemed oblivious to his actions. He casually placed his half-empty bubble tea on the edge of Liu Wendong’s expensive mahogany desk—directly on top of a document awaiting his signature.
He took two steps closer, braced his hands on the desk’s edge, and leaned slightly forward. His russet eyes, always holding a smile, fixed directly on Liu Wendong’s visibly flustered gaze.
“Don’t be so hasty, Vice Principal Liu.” Hua Liang’s voice remained light, even tinged with amusement, yet each word carried a strange weight, striking at the defenses of Liu Wendong’s heart.
“I know you have an excellent memory.
During the period from 1989 to 1990, you were a lecturer in the Chemistry Department, also responsible for safety inspections of some laboratories in the eastern section of the Third Teaching Building, correct?”
Liu Wendong’s fingers froze above the phone buttons, a fine sheen of cold sweat beading on his forehead.
He tried to avert his gaze, but found those russet eyes held a hypnotic power, locking his own in place. The light in the office seemed to dim, and the air itself felt stagnant.
“I… I don’t remember! That was so long ago!” Liu Wendong forced himself to appear calm, but his voice was dry. “Student, if you don’t leave now, I will truly call security!”
“Don’t remember?” Hua Liang raised an eyebrow, his smile deepening, yet it sent an inexplicable chill down one’s spine. “Then allow me to help you recall.
One day that year, you were conducting your routine evening inspection. When you reached the fifth-floor eastern corridor, you seemed to hear unusual noises coming from the chemical preparation room… like girls arguing, and the sound of something heavy falling?”
Liu Wendong’s face instantly paled, his lips beginning to tremble uncontrollably.
Hua Liang, seemingly unfazed by his distress, continued in that unhurried tone:
“I wonder if you paused then, hesitating whether to go and investigate?
But in the end, perhaps thinking it better to avoid trouble, or… not wanting to get involved?”
“You merely frowned, shook your head, and continued on your way.”
“Oh, and by the way, when you returned after inspecting other areas and passed by there again, you seemed to see several girls running out from that direction in a panic, almost colliding with you?”
“The one leading them, if I recall correctly, was named Zhou Li?”
“The campus belle at the time?”
“You… who exactly are you?! How do you know all this?!” Liu Wendong abruptly leaned back, his chair scraping loudly. He stared at Hua Liang as if he were a monster, fear completely overriding his composure.
These details, these secrets he had buried deep within his heart, not even his family knew!
“Who I am is not important.” Hua Liang straightened up, pulling out a very old, slightly cracked MP3 player from his pocket and gently placing it on the desk. “What’s important, Vice Principal Liu, is that what you didn’t see, didn’t know, back then… perhaps you should see it, and know it, now?”
He pressed the play button.
An extremely noisy audio stream, as if recorded through a door, spilled out.
One could vaguely discern girls crying, pleading, harsh curses, sounds of pushing and shoving, finally a dull thud and a brief, dead silence, followed by hushed, panicked whispers—
“—What do we do?! She… she’s not moving!” (A frightened female voice)
“Don’t panic! Think of something, quickly!” (Another calm female voice)
“Why are you panicking? She fell herself!” (A weak female voice, feigning composure but with a tremor—it was a young Zhou Li)
“But… there’s so much blood…” (A third female voice)
“—Forget it! Hang her… hang her up! Make it look like suicide! Hurry!” (Zhou Li’s voice, with a desperate ruthlessness)
“Where’s the rope? Use this curtain! Quickly!” (Rustling sounds)
“We… we really…” (A tearful voice)
“Shut up! If you want to live, do as I say! If anyone breathes a word of what happened today, I’ll make sure their entire family can’t stay in N City!” (Zhou Li’s threat)
The recording abruptly cut off there.
Liu Wendong’s face was ashen.
This recording… the voices in this recording, though blurred, he remembered Zhou Li’s distinctive imperious tone! And the voices of those other girls… that night, when he encountered the panicked Zhou Li and her companions at the stairwell, their unnaturally pale faces and flickering eyes…
Where did this recording come from? And what exactly did he want?
Hua Liang went straight to the point. “I want the truth from thirty-four years ago!”
“Truth? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liu Wendong replied.
‘And don’t think you can fool me with fakes.’ He feigned composure.
“Fake?” Hua Liang chuckled, picking up the old MP3.
“This little device was secretly placed in the fire cabinet opposite the chemical preparation room by a student with a ‘special hobby’ back then, used to record idle chatter from the art department girls next door… Who knew it would record something else entirely.”
He certainly wouldn’t mention that he had used demonic arts, combined with residual resentful energy, to “recreate” and capture these sound fragments at specific spatial nodes.
A mix of truth and falsehood was most effective at breaking psychological defenses.
“Vice Principal Liu,” Hua Liang leaned in close to Liu Wendong, who was almost collapsing in his chair, his voice dropping to an alluring whisper. “Zhou Li has been dead for over thirty years.
The sins of that year should finally see the light of day. You’ve hidden this secret for thirty-four years; do you sleep soundly at night? Has Chen Wan never visited you in your dreams? Why do you think I know about this?”
With that, Hua Liang pointed behind Liu Wendong.
Liu Wendong spun around, seeing the bloody, utterly terrifying afterimage of a girl. He clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, but Hua Liang’s voice seemed to bore directly into his mind.
“Chen Wan died with grievances, so I’ve brought her to find you.”
Liu Wendong’s face was etched with terror…
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Chen Wan. I had no choice back then. Principal Zhou had great power, and I had a family to support. I had no choice, truly.”
“If you don’t want Chen Wan to haunt you…” Hua Liang’s voice became calm, yet more oppressive.
“Write down everything you know—how Zhou Li later used her father’s power to threaten you, how Zhou Rende subtly warned you to keep your eyes and mouth shut, and how they later compensated you and helped your career prosper.
Write it all down, sign it, and put your thumbprint on it.
Also, clearly explain any physical evidence that might have been left behind that year, and any unusual details you observed.”
“I… if I write it… Chen Wan won’t come for me, then? And if I tell the truth… what about my current position?” Liu Wendong asked, a hint of reluctance in his voice.
“I have no interest in your career or your imprisonment.” Hua Liang straightened up, resuming his nonchalant smile. “However, if you don’t reveal the truth, Chen Wan won’t let you off the hook.
Have the materials ready and hand them to me before midnight tonight.” He pointed to his eyes, a strange light swirling deep within his russet pupils. “I can bring Chen Wan here, so naturally, I also know the truth of that time.
If you are perfunctory, or try to seek help from anyone, or cover it up…” Hua Liang smiled, and Chen Wan, whom he had condensed with demonic energy, suddenly lunged towards Liu Wendong.
“I’ll write! I’ll write!” Liu Wendong completely broke down, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll write it all! I’ll tell everything! Please… don’t…”
Hua Liang no longer looked at him. He picked up the now cold bubble tea from the desk, took a sip, and frowned.
“Tsk, it’s not good when it’s cold.”
With that, he opened the door and, like any ordinary student, strolled out, closing the door behind him.
Only Liu Wendong remained in the office, slumped in his chair, utterly disheveled and seemingly aged ten years in an instant.
***
At the same time, in G City, at the high-speed rail station exit, Lu Yang stood with a backpack, full of energy despite the obvious dark circles under his eyes—he had been too excited and hadn’t slept well the previous night.
Beside him, Xue Li wore her usual simple light-colored dress. Her exquisite beauty and serene demeanor drew many sidelong glances, but she remained oblivious, simply standing quietly.
“Xue Li, should we go to the hotel first to drop off our luggage, then head to the middle school where Chen Ming… oh no, Teacher Chen Zhi works, according to the address Qin Xuan gave us?”
Lu Yang held his phone, navigating, and sought Xue Li’s opinion.
Although Hua Liang had instructed Xue Li to protect him, he dared not treat her like a servant, demanding her assistance with overly deferential language.
“Mm.” Xue Li responded faintly, her gaze calmly sweeping over the bustling crowd and traffic around them.
She didn’t feel much about human cities, but she keenly perceived that the atmosphere of this southern city differed from N City—it was more humid, and more… chaotic.
Various mixed ‘auras’ drifted in the air, but for now, there was no specific malice or abnormality.
The two hailed a taxi and went to their pre-booked hotel to check in.
Lu Yang had intended to book two rooms, but Xue Liu stated there was no need to waste money; she didn’t require sleep and could stay in Lu Yang’s room to ensure his safety.
Lu Yang was momentarily stunned, his understanding of ‘yokai’ deepening—so a Yuki-onna didn’t need to sleep!
After a brief rest, the two departed for G City Seventh Middle School, where Chen Zhiyuan taught.
This was an ordinary public middle school located in the old city. The school gate looked old, and the teaching buildings appeared dated, but the campus was shaded by trees and adorned with vibrant flowers, adding a touch of vitality to the old institution.
It was recess, and the clamor from the playground could be heard.
They didn’t rashly enter the school. Instead, based on the vague information provided by Qin Xuan, they began to wander through and inquire in several residential communities around the school.
Lu Yang employed his naturally outgoing and thick-skinned personality.
Under the pretext of ‘distant relatives searching for someone,’ he asked neighborhood guards, convenience store owners, and elderly people on their strolls about ‘Teacher Chen Zhiyuan’ or ‘the history teacher formerly named Chen Ming, who came from X Province.’
Xue Li followed behind him, mostly silent.
Occasionally, when Lu Yang asked, she would add a sentence or two in her clear, melodious voice, often with remarkable effect—after all, no one would easily refuse the polite inquiry of such a distinguished ‘girl.’
Perseverance paid off.
Around three in the afternoon, in a relatively newer residential complex behind the school, they received concrete information from a warm-hearted neighborhood committee auntie.
“Teacher Chen Zhiyuan?” she asked. “Oh, I know him! He lives right here in Building 3, apartment 502! He’s a good teacher, good-tempered, and teaches diligently; his classes always have good history scores!”
The auntie was very talkative. “I’ve been to his home too. His wife works at the street office, and his son is in junior high, a very sensible child. Teacher Chen is very amiable, it’s just… he doesn’t seem to like talking about his hometown much?
I think I heard him say before that his parents passed away early, and he had an older sister who also… passed away early. Ah, he’s a tragic figure, but at least he’s settled now.”
Lu Yang and Xue Li exchanged glances, their hearts settling. They had found him, and it sounded like Chen Ming’s current life was indeed stable and his family harmonious.
This matched Qin Xuan’s expectations and was crucial information that might stir Chen Wan’s lingering resentment.
After thanking the auntie, the two arrived near Building 3 and found a spot with a good view that wouldn’t draw attention.
Lu Yang took out his phone, adjusted the focus, and pretended to photograph the scenery, but in reality, he aimed at the unit entrance.
Xue Li subtly closed her eyes, and an invisible chill subtly diffused from her, sensing the flow of energy inside and outside the building, ensuring there were no anomalies.
They needed to wait for Chen Zhiyuan to return home from work, or for his family to appear, to capture some natural photos or short videos reflecting his daily life.
Directly approaching him posed too great a risk, potentially triggering unnecessary wariness and emotional fluctuations. Remote observation and obtaining visual data was the safer option for now.
The dismissal bell rang.
Soon after, a thin, spectacled middle-aged man in a simple jacket, carrying a briefcase, chatted with a few other teachers before walking into the residential complex.
Lu Yang’s spirits lifted. This must be Chen Zhiyuan! He quickly adjusted his lens, capturing several side and back profile photos of Chen Zhiyuan bidding farewell to colleagues and heading toward the unit entrance.
The man’s demeanor was calm, his steps steady; he appeared to be an ordinary yet diligent middle school teacher.
About half an hour later, a gentle-faced middle-aged woman in an apron returned from another direction with a basket of groceries, arriving downstairs almost simultaneously with a school uniform-clad boy on a bicycle.
The boy cheerfully called out “Mom,” and the woman smiled, patting his head. They went upstairs together. This was clearly Chen Zhiyuan’s wife and son.
Lu Yang successfully captured a heartwarming scene of the mother and son interacting. As they went upstairs, a light flickered on in a fifth-floor window, and he could vaguely see Chen Zhiyuan’s silhouette busy in the kitchen.
“A harmonious family, stable job, sensible son…” Lu Yang murmured to himself, looking at the images on his camera, his mood somewhat complex.
On one hand, he felt relieved that Chen Wan’s younger brother could lead a peaceful life.
On the other hand, thinking of Chen Wan’s tragic death in a foreign land and her soul trapped for thirty-four years, while her brother might be completely unaware or his memories long blurred, he felt an immense pang of sorrow.
“The information is sufficient,” Xue Li’s voice broke his thoughts. “Qin Xuan needs objective data to prove his living conditions. Too much emotional involvement is unhelpful. We will confirm the surrounding environment is safe tonight, and can return tomorrow morning.”
Lu Yang nodded, putting away his equipment. The mission had gone more smoothly than expected, but after the initial excitement, a heavier feeling settled in his heart.
The weight of truth was far more than simply solving a puzzle.
***
At N University, in the Supernatural Research Club activity room, Qin Xuan’s computer screen displayed several open windows simultaneously.
His fingers moved rapidly between the keyboard and several external devices, the lenses of his glasses reflecting a faint blue light.
Su Mian sat opposite him, a photocopy of an ancient text from Xiao Moyuan on basic spiritual and demonic energy control and precautions for communicating with spirits spread open before her. However, she found it hard to concentrate, frequently looking up at Qin Xuan, then out the window.
“Hua Liang should have already contacted Liu Wendong,” Qin Xuan suddenly spoke, his voice steady. “Given his efficiency and… methods, we should obtain the crucial testimony by tonight at the latest.
Lu Yang and Xue Li are progressing smoothly in G City. They’ve confirmed the target and his family’s status and are collecting visual data. They are expected to return tomorrow morning.”
Su Mian hummed, somewhat absentmindedly. She knew everything was proceeding according to plan, and with astonishing efficiency.
Qin Xuan’s strategy, Hua Liang’s execution, Lu Yang’s initiative, coupled with Xue Li’s protection, made this hastily assembled team operate surprisingly smoothly.
But a vague unease lingered in her heart, like the calm before a storm.
“Qin Xuan,” Su Mian couldn’t help but ask, “even if we get Liu Wendong’s testimony, find Chen Ming’s testimony, address Chen Wan’s family’s peace, and compile Zhou Rende’s criminal evidence… how do we use these things to tell Chen Wan? What will… her reaction be?”
This was the core, and the most unpredictable, part of the plan. Chen Wan’s resentment had been confined, distorted, and strengthened for thirty-four years, making her a formidable entity, not a reasonable neighbor.
Good intentions might not be conveyed, and the truth could provoke her into even greater madness.
Qin Xuan paused his work and looked at Su Mian, his gaze still calm behind his glasses. “That is your task, Su Mian. We are responsible for collecting the keys, and you are the only one who might find the keyhole and insert the key.
Xiao Moyuan mentioned your special affinity with spirits, which is the foundation for establishing communication. Training you in demonic energy control is precisely for this purpose.
Deep within the core of Chen Wan’s extreme resentment, she must still retain a certain degree of kindness; otherwise, why would Lin Juan’s fate be so much better than Zhou Li’s?”
Su Mian felt there was some truth to that. “Can I… can I really do it?” she asked, lacking confidence.
“You have that potential. Xiao Moyuan recognizes your ability. And we,” Qin Xuan paused, “will make all necessary preparations to minimize external interference and risks during your communication.
This includes Xiao Moyuan maintaining the seal’s stability on-site during the final attempt, while Hua Liang and I handle any potential overflowing resentment.”
His arrangements were calm and thorough, accounting for almost all variables. Su Mian felt a little relieved, but the pressure remained immense.
***
Night fell upon the apartment. That evening, in Xiao Moyuan’s apartment, Su Mian finished another round of tedious but necessary demonic energy control practice, collapsing onto the sofa, her tail drooping.
Xiao Moyuan sat beside her, silver spiritual energy swirling like threads between his fingers. He was reviewing the results of her day’s practice and fine-tuning the training plan for the next day.
Su Mian informed him of Qin Xuan’s findings regarding abnormal surveillance and the frequent occurrence of nearby incidents.
Xiao Moyuan listened, his spiritual energy momentarily pausing before returning to its calm flow. He looked up, gazing into the deep night outside the window, his eyes profound.
He turned his gaze back to Su Mian’s small, tired face, which she was trying hard to keep alert. ‘Qin Xuan’s judgment is correct; we must accelerate.’
Chen Wan’s resentment was the core, and it might attract more unstable elements. They had to resolve this biggest problem before the situation spiraled completely out of control.
He reached out, gently smoothing her slightly furrowed brow. “Tomorrow is crucial. Practice cannot stop, but you must also conserve your energy. Get some rest early tonight.”
His fingertips were cool, his touch gentle. Su Mian closed her eyes, feeling the reassuring touch; the tension and fatigue accumulated during the day seemed to dissipate somewhat.
“Xiao Moyuan,” she suddenly whispered, “If… if tomorrow, my communication with Chen Wan fails, or something unexpected happens… what will you do?”
After asking, she felt a little foolish. What else could he do? Xiao Moyuan would certainly act, resolving it in his own way. Yet, she couldn’t help but ask.
Xiao Moyuan was silent for a moment. Just as Su Mian thought he wouldn’t answer, his deep, clear voice resonated:
“I will ensure your safety.”
“As for the rest…” He didn’t finish, but Su Mian could feel that his unspoken words contained the implication of potentially having to resort to more direct and dangerous ultimate measures if communication failed.
She didn’t ask again, only clutched a corner of his clothes more tightly.
“Is there a way to temporarily enhance my control over demonic energy?”
Xiao Moyuan hesitated for a moment before replying, “Yes… However, that method requires my purest spiritual energy and vital essence to guide it within your body… and the method of guidance…”
Xiao Moyuan didn’t elaborate, but Su Mian understood.
Her face flushed slightly. ‘Is it… dual cultivation?’
Xiao Moyuan: “…”
That night, many remained sleepless.
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