Chapter 16: The Dance of the Possessed

Having taken a bath, he felt much more relaxed. Pei Liu let out a lazy yawn, walking with little effort, half-dragging his feet as if his bones had turned to jelly. In such a state, combined with his wet slippers, it was naturally very easy to slip.

Pei Liu stumbled, lost his balance, and fell backward. If he fell, the bath he had just taken would have been for nothing.

However, his backside never got the chance to hit the floor, because just as he started falling backward, a hand casually supported his lower back, allowing him to stand firm once more.

Pei Liu didn’t even realize what had happened; he froze in a daze for a moment before continuing his walk toward the soft, large bed, returning to lie down and sleep.

This time, after falling asleep, he began to dream shortly after.

Perhaps due to poor breathing, he dreamed that he was sinking into the depths of the sea, falling uncontrollably with formless water all around him, offering no point of leverage.

It was pitch black.

It made him feel lost, helpless, and panicked.

Pei Liu’s eyelashes trembled; beneath his thin eyelids, his eyes moved restlessly, trying to wake up, but his upper and lower eyelids felt glued together and refused to open.

His breath was stolen, oxygen ran low, and his chest felt tight with suffocation.

He had no choice but to open his mouth, letting out a cluster of bubbles.

Deep within the sea, a boundless, giant black shadow lay dormant, bobbing up and down in the water like thick, pitch-black fog.

The black shadow drifted and condensed into numerous long tendrils, resembling the tentacles of a deep-sea monster, surging toward Pei Liu and wrapping around his body.

The hazy black mist obscured its true form, an indescribable existence that felt like the barbed tongue of a feline; the skin it brushed against turned red, and as it tightened its hold, the suffocating feeling of being unable to breathe worsened.

Pei Liu frowned and suddenly jerked awake, feeling a slight stinging sensation on the skin of his waist and back.

He instinctively tried to move, only to find a pair of strong arms wrapped tightly around his waist, acting like solid, unbreakable chains that pinned him in place, unable to budge.

Almost simultaneously, he felt his back pressed against a cold, broad chest; it was clear he was being held from behind in the arms of a tall man.

Pei Liu froze on the spot; his brain, already sluggish from the fever, now went completely blank.

Am I… still dreaming?

Layer after layer.

Is this Inception?

Pei Liu was half-asleep and not fully conscious; he didn’t even feel fear and even had the mind to observe the hand wrapped around his waist and stomach: pale, slender, with distinct knuckles and full of strength—it would surely look agile and stunning if it were playing the piano.

Before long, he drifted back into a deep sleep, his breathing growing long and steady.

It wasn’t until the sun sank in the west and the evening glow slipped through the window cracks to climb onto the corner of his quilt that Pei Liu slowly woke up.

Or, to be more precise, he woke up from hunger.

After sleeping for several hours, his fever had broken, and the discomfort of his illness had eased considerably, though he still felt the lingering weakness of having been sick.

Pei Liu stretched, sitting up only to discover that the fabric of the T-shirt at his waist was bunched up into a mass of wrinkles.

How exactly did I sleep to end up like this?

Pei Liu chuckled, put on his shoes, changed his clothes, and prepared to head downstairs to find food, completely failing to notice the signs that someone else had slept on the other half of the bed. Even if he had noticed, he would have simply assumed that his sleeping posture was terrible and he had rolled over.

Having lived in the haunted house for a few days, Pei Liu was already familiar with the layout; he could find his way downstairs with his eyes closed.

As usual, he walked down the corridor.

But the house, which had always been overly quiet, seemed a bit noisy today.

There were very fine, subtle noises—something crawling across the floorboards, nails scraping against the wall, and the clicking of bone joints—a messy cacophony, all interwoven.

…What’s going on? Is it tinnitus or auditory hallucinations?

Pei Liu paused, rubbed his ears, and continued downstairs as if nothing had happened.

He paid it no mind at all.

He walked all the way to the dining room, immediately catching sight of the guests slumped in their chairs, looking like salted fish or dead dogs, all bearing expressions of total despair.

Pei Liu paused, surprised and confused: “What happened to you guys?”

Wu Kai, who had been lying on the table, lifted his head and couldn’t hold back his bitter complaints, recounting their miserable afternoon.

They had gone to the master bedroom together and handed the ghost infant to the female ghost, effectively completing the task. Even though the terrifying-looking female ghost holding the pale, blueish ghost infant with a smile made their skin crawl, they didn’t dare show any fear or disgust, keeping in mind that they needed her help to leave.

The female ghost was very satisfied to have retrieved her younger son, and her attitude toward them improved significantly. She thanked them gently and told them that leaving the villa wouldn’t be easy; her daughter had turned into a vengeful spirit after death with immense ghostly power, and it was impossible to leave without her permission. Naturally, her daughter wouldn’t easily let her toys go, so she could only do her best to suppress the daughter to create an opportunity for them to escape.

The female ghost told them that finding the daughter’s favorite doll and burning it could temporarily weaken her ghostly power. That would be the perfect time to escape, but if they missed it, they would face the ghost’s fury and madness, resulting in indiscriminate, cruel slaughter.

Subsequently, they naturally set out to find that crucial doll. And that was the reason they were in such a sorry state. They hadn’t found the doll, but instead ran into ghosts at every turn.

The moment they pushed open a room’s door, the walls were seeping blood, a pillar of blood geysered from the sink, and a massive clump of long black hair even surged out, partly tangling around them like spider webs—sticky and disgusting.

After running out of that room, a male ghost covered in bandages sitting in a wheelchair came straight at them. They screamed and scattered once again, scared out of their wits; Wu Kai slipped and fell while running, and didn’t even dare turn back to pick up his lost shoe.

Finally, practically gasping for breath and having managed to shake off the wheelchair ghost, they ducked into a room, leaning against the wall to catch their breath. Only to find that the wall was heaving rapidly, as if it were breathing. They looked up in a daze and saw a giant human face emerging from the wall, its features blurred as if tightly covered by a plastic film. The evil ghost sealed within the wall grinned maliciously, letting out a hissing roar.

The scares came one after another, practically offering no chance to breathe. They turned to run, but the door lock jammed, and the wall with the giant human face continued to press toward them, getting closer and closer, threatening to crush them into meat patties. At the moment of peril, Wu Kai exploded with strength and ripped the lock clean off, finally allowing them to escape. But even so, the face was already extremely close to them, almost devouring them.

…

Ultimately, by the time they returned to the dining room, they were physically and mentally exhausted, feeling as though they had died again and again, only to have their corpses continuously whipped.

Wu Kai, a large, burly man, looked at the fair, frail Pei Liu and appeared as though he were about to cry: “It’s too hard; I almost got a heart attack from the scares. It was better when you were around before; this afternoon, I really couldn’t handle it.”

Tong Jiaqi agreed wholeheartedly, looking at Pei Liu and saying: “You’re very rational and bold; with you around, there’s a much greater sense of security. Without you, we were like headless flies scurrying around—it was miserable.”

Zhao Hai also praised him, while Jian Yongge remained unusually silent, his gaze somewhat dark.

Pei Liu felt a bit embarrassed and changed the subject, expressing great curiosity about how the human face on the wall had been achieved; he felt it must have been highly advanced tech, like movie special effects. Has the variety show industry become this fiercely competitive?

Hearing Wu Kai’s description, he even felt regret that his illness had prevented him from witnessing the scene. He wondered if it would appear again later.

Tong Jiaqi saw the eagerness on his face, couldn’t help but turn to Wu Kai, and smacked him in exasperation at his failure to meet expectations: “Look at him, look at how cool his reaction is; a calm boss—you should learn from him.”

Ever since he had screamed in terror earlier, his tough-guy image had shattered, and Wu Kai had given up trying to salvage it, saying bluntly: “I can’t learn it; you do it.”

Pei Liu found their bickering dynamic somewhat amusing.

Zhao Hai and the others also checked on Pei Liu’s health, asking how he felt, if the fever medicine worked, and if he was feeling better.

Pei Liu answered them one by one with a smile, then suddenly remembered something and said to Wu Kai: “By the way, Brother Kai, thank you for taking care of me; sorry for the trouble.”

Wu Kai froze: “This… I never went to your room; not long after lunch, we went to the master bedroom and were busy all afternoon; we only just got back.”

As he spoke, Wu Kai’s face quickly turned pale green, and he stammered: “C-could it be…” A ghost?

Pei Liu was stunned for a few seconds, his mind going blank briefly, and influenced by Wu Kai’s thoughts, he felt his hair stand on end. However, he quickly recovered and said calmly: “Don’t overthink it; it must have been the staff.”

I really am delirious from the fever.

This reasoning made a lot of sense; they were all convinced and much preferred to accept it.

After dinner, the group didn’t linger in the dining room and returned to their respective rooms. After all, a full day of being frightened, running, and screaming was physically exhausting. Although Pei Liu hadn’t participated in the afternoon’s recording, his illness wasn’t fully cured, so he wasn’t faring much better than the others.

When saying goodnight at their doors, Wu Kai and the others reminded Pei Liu to definitely speak up if he still felt unwell; he shouldn’t hesitate to wake them directly.

Pei Liu thanked them with a smile.

Because his throat was dry from the illness, Pei Liu finished his water not long after returning to his room, so he planned to go downstairs to refill it.

By now, the sky was pitch black. The corridor had only a few dim wall lamps placed far apart, leaving most of the field of vision in darkness. Outside the window, the tree shadows swayed, the twisted, bizarre branches resembling ghostly figures that emitted a resentful, weeping sound as the wind blew.

An ordinary person would have been terrified by such an environment. But Pei Liu ignored it completely, taking his cup straight downstairs, successfully pouring a glass of water, and returning.

Or perhaps it couldn’t be called successful; he simply couldn’t see the ghosts wandering and tangling in his path.

Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob to return to his room, Pei Liu suddenly heard a slight noise. Turning his head, he spotted a figure wearing a long white dress drifting back and forth at the other end of the corridor.

Pei Liu froze, initially thinking the production team was pulling a stunt late at night, but after getting a clear look, his expression became bizarre and subtle.

Because the person in the dress was none other than Jian Yongge. He was dancing gracefully with a look of intoxication, his arms wrapped around himself, leaning deeply backward, with the tips of his red dancing shoes touching the ground.

Pei Liu: “…”

I didn’t expect Jian Yongge to have such a fetish.

Of course, hobbies that don’t harm others deserve respect. He simply disliked Jian Yongge as a person.

Thus, Pei Liu turned a blind eye, silently opened his door, and returned to his room.

As a result, he failed to notice that Jian Yongge was surrounded by dense ghostly energy, his limbs stiff like a puppet controlled by strings, and the long dress he wore was one of those from the master bedroom’s walk-in closet.

In the dark corridor, Jian Yongge twirled lightly, the large hem of the dress looking like a blooming white paper flower. He spun for a long time before stopping; then, holding the dress with both hands, he bowed deeply, like a dancer taking a curtain call.

His body remained still while his head slowly lifted; a sweet smile curled on his deathly pale face, his lips as red as blood.

Because he had slept so much in the afternoon, Pei Liu couldn’t fall asleep right away, so he dug a novel out of the nightstand, leaned against the headboard, and began reading.

Since the production team had confiscated their phones, they had provided a few books to alleviate boredom. However, in a haunted house, no one usually had the mood to read. After all, the production team was incredibly sadistic and had provided horror novels.

Reading horror novels in a haunted house—only they could come up with such an idea. Are they afraid the guests lack immersion and aren’t scared enough?

During the second season, when a guest discovered this and complained, the bullet comments nearly died of laughter, everyone transforming into “haha monsters.”

Pei Liu thought the experience was quite novel; since the production team had painstakingly set up a haunted house, it would be a shame not to try it. So, he genuinely started reading the horror novel.

The horror plots were cliché, but the author’s writing was excellent and they knew how to build atmosphere, making readers feel as if they were right there, their hearts pounding and skin crawling alongside the protagonist.

Pei Liu wasn’t very scared, but he read with great relish, even looking toward the places described in the book as he read.

When the protagonist turned their head and saw dense, bloody handprints appearing on the window, along with twisted, eerie, grinning ghost faces, Pei Liu also looked toward his window; the curtains were drawn tight, not a sliver of glass visible, and he was too lazy to get out of bed to check.

He continued reading: another protagonist was taking a shower in the bathroom, saw a blurry figure behind the shower curtain, thought it was a friend playing a prank, but violently pulled it back to find empty space. Relaxing slightly and mocking himself for being paranoid, he turned around, only to meet the eyes of a ghost.

Pei Liu looked toward his bathroom; due to the angle, he could only see a corner of the door, and with the light off, it was pitch black and nothing could be seen. Only if a ghost suddenly crawled out of there could it scare anyone.

Next, Pei Liu read about two protagonists being intimate on a bed when a ghost crawled out from underneath and suddenly grabbed the woman’s ankle. The icy temperature made her scream; the man, confused and annoyed at being interrupted at a critical moment, turned around to see the ghost as well, and was scared out of his wits.

And so, Pei Liu put down his book, lay on his stomach at the edge of the bed, and peeked underneath, nearly falling off because he leaned too far out. But there was still nothing.

Pei Liu wasn’t disappointed; he was just playing around anyway. He knew ghosts didn’t exist in the world, and reading horror novels was just for the thrill. Who would actually believe it?

He fell backward, lying casually on the bed. His fine, slightly curled black hair spread across the quilt, and his two long, straight legs hung off the edge of the bed, swaying carelessly back and forth.

Pei Liu, who didn’t believe in ghosts or gods, could never have imagined that sitting on his bed was an entity that even vengeful spirits feared, and that he was resting his head right on its lap.

Inside the haunted house, although Pei Liu frequently felt as if someone was watching him, he attributed it to his discomfort with the cameras. Moreover, his illness had significantly dulled his perception.

He picked up the horror novel to continue reading, but his arms soon grew tired from holding the book up, nearly dropping it on his face. He had to sit up, lean back against the headboard, and burrow under the covers.

As he read, his eyes began to droop; lethargic and sleepy, his body slowly tilted to the side, his hand resting on the surface of the quilt.

His hand was very beautiful—cool white, slender and straight, yet possessing a distinct sense of bone structure. He kept no excess nail length, trimmed perfectly into neat curves. Due to his sickly constitution, the color was paler than an average person’s—a pale white touched with a very faint pink, without a single lunula.

It looked like an artwork meticulously carved from white jade—delicate and lustrous, impossible to look away from.

From the moment Pei Liu rested his head on his lap to when he leaned over to touch his shoulder, the entity’s expression hadn’t changed much; his gaze swept over him lightly, much like watching a little lamb frolic nearby.

Finally, his attention shifted to Pei Liu’s hand. He paused, looked at it for a while, and for some reason, the memory of the rose bushes came to mind. His eyes darkened slightly; he grabbed Pei Liu’s hand, pulled it closer, lowered his head, and took a bite.

A stinging pain at the fingertip.

Pei Liu’s eyelashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes slowly, a look of bewilderment on his face. Half-asleep, his reaction time was slow; it took two seconds before he turned to look at his hand, but he didn’t spot any issues.

And so, he let out a lazy yawn, closed the book, casually tossed it into the nightstand, turned off the lamp, and lay down to sleep.

The drowsiness hadn’t faded, and he soon fell asleep.

The thin quilt rose and fell, and the silhouette of a human form appeared on the other half of the bed beside him. The entity reached out and pulled the person into his embrace, a posture of claiming his possession, fully justified.

At first, Pei Liu felt uncomfortable and struggled unconsciously, but the more he moved, the tighter those iron-chain-like hands squeezed. Even in his sleep, his instincts for self-preservation kicked in; he stopped moving and obediently let the other hold him.

Until dawn.

Pei Liu hadn’t slept well that night at all. When he woke up, his back ached, his limbs felt weak, and they were even slightly numb. If he didn’t know he had been sick, Pei Liu would have thought these symptoms closely resembled the legendary “ghost paralysis.”

But of course, that was just a joke; it was impossible.

Pei Liu rubbed his sore lower back, frowned, walked to the bathroom, washed up, changed clothes, and went downstairs to regroup with the others.

Seeing Jian Yongge sitting at the dining table, Pei Liu couldn’t help but recall the scene he had witnessed last night, feeling that it was very bizarre.

He didn’t know if Wu Kai and the others had seen it; if they had, they would have likely thought it was a female ghost in white and screamed out loud. Since he hadn’t heard any commotion last night, he assumed he was the only one who saw it.

Pei Liu pretended nothing had happened and lowered his head to eat breakfast as usual. Inadvertently meeting Jian Yongge’s gaze, he was shocked by his dull, haggard complexion—he looked as if he hadn’t slept for days, resembling a sick patient even more than Pei Liu did.

Their eyes locked for two seconds; Jian Yongge smiled at him, but there was not a trace of a smile in his eyes: “Is something wrong?”

Pei Liu: “…Nothing.”

For a split second, he actually felt that Jian Yongge resembled a villain in a crime film. His gaze was chilling.

Afterward, they naturally began searching for the doll the female ghost had mentioned. She had described it: a rather crude handmade doll with long black hair, a red dress, and arms of unequal length.

With a general image in their minds, searching for something barely larger than a palm in a massive villa was truly no easy task.

They tried putting themselves in the child’s shoes, pondering where she might hide things, while simultaneously guarding against the little ghost suddenly popping out to mess with them.

But today’s progress was incredibly unsmooth.

Based on what the diary said, Pei Liu purposely crouched in the dark, sunless corners the little girl used to frequent to see if there were any good hiding spots.

Curled into a ball like a mushroom growing in the corner, Pei Liu was focused on his search when a sudden, gruff scream pierced his ears, completely without warning, startling him.

Pei Liu froze for a moment, quickly realized it was Wu Kai’s voice, got up, and ran over.

Wu Kai was shivering, pointing at the window, his facial features contorting so wildly he couldn’t even form a normal expression. When he saw Pei Liu approaching, he immediately lunged at him as if he were a savior, clinging tightly to Pei Liu’s arm like a damsel in distress.

“Fvck… there’s a ghost, a ghost…”

Cursing when frightened out of one’s wits is humanity’s most primal reaction.

Pei Liu was forced to shake along with him, but when he looked at the window, it was empty. Apart from dust and cobwebs, there was nothing on the glass.

When Pei Liu pointed this out, Wu Kai wasn’t comforted; he only felt even more terrified.

He had just looked up and seen a human head outside the window, waving at him. This was the third floor! How could anyone stand outside? In the next second, the ghost began slapping the window with a sinister grin; the glass trembled violently as numerous bright red handprints appeared, and bloody water streamed down.

Spiderweb-like cracks appeared on the glass, as if the ghost would smash the window and barge in the very next second—Wu Kai screamed on the spot. But when Pei Liu arrived, the ghost was gone, the handprints and cracks completely vanished as if they had never existed. It had only been a few seconds; how was that possible? It had to be a ghost.

Tong Jiaqi already suspected the villa was haunted, and hearing this only fueled her anxiety: “Stop talking…”

Pei Liu changed the subject, bringing up some relaxing topics. Gradually, the atmosphere eased.

“Let’s continue,” Tong Jiaqi said.

Forcing herself to calm down, she analyzed: “Since it’s the daughter’s doll, it might be hidden in her room.”

Because they had searched there thoroughly before, and considering it had been burned and contained a corpse, everyone had subconsciously avoided it. But in truth… there was one place they hadn’t checked.

Pei Liu quickly realized: “Under the bed.”

“Right,” Tong Jiaqi nodded.

The group headed toward the burned room. Jian Yongge walked at the very back, mostly obscured in shadows; his face was deathly pale, his footsteps floated lightly, and he had completely lost his previous drive to occupy the center position. He didn’t even make a sound, as if he were walking on tiptoes.

The foul odor hit them again. Before arriving, everyone couldn’t help but think of the corpse in the wardrobe, preparing themselves mentally to see it again. However, when they entered the room, they found the doorless wardrobe completely empty.

Their footsteps stalled.

No corpse—somehow, that was even scarier!

If it were there, at least they would know its location. Its absence meant it could be anywhere, ready to jump out at any moment. The terror level instantly doubled, and they all wanted to turn around and leave.

Wu Kai and Tong Jiaqi took a synchronized step back, making Pei Liu and Zhao Hai, who had stayed put, stand out as if they had taken a step forward.

Zhao Hai smiled helplessly: “I’ll do it this time.”

There was plenty of space under the bed—more than enough to fit a small suitcase.

He bent down and indeed spotted a box. He reached out to pull it out, but it was a bit far; he had to practically lie flat on the floor to reach it. After finally grabbing the handle to drag it out, just as it was about to emerge, he looked closely and discovered that it wasn’t just a box coming out—there was a ghost clinging to it!

It had a massive head and a tiny body, its skin wrinkled like crocodile hide, and eyes as large as brass bells. It stared at Zhao Hai with the horrifying gaze of someone looking at food and reached out to grab his hand.

Terrified, Zhao Hai hastily withdrew his hand and scrambled up from the floor, his face pale and grim.

“What happened?” Pei Liu and the others asked in confusion.

Zhao Hai was older and possessed a steadier personality; he was considered one of the braver guests. But that scene had genuinely terrified him—he hadn’t screamed only because he temporarily lost his voice.

He couldn’t help but doubt: ‘Was that really just an NPC arranged by the production team? Could makeup really achieve that level of detail? Even up close, I couldn’t spot a flaw.’