Chapter 4: The Forbidden Room

Pei Liu walked through the gloomy corridor, heading forward.

On the surface, he appeared to be alone, but that was only because he couldn’t see ghosts.

The corridor was packed to the brim.

A hanged ghost gripped its noose, swinging back and forth.

A headless ghost held its own head while dancing.

A dismembered ghost waved a hand bone.

A seductive ghost performed a graceful striptease and even began peeling off its own skin…

It was truly a scene of “a hundred flowers blooming,” with each ghost vying for glamour.

It was just like ancient concubines gathered on the path the emperor was destined to take.

They recited poetry, sang, and danced, racking their brains to create a sense of presence, desperately trying to catch the emperor’s eye and compete for his favor.

Meanwhile, Pei Liu, this heartless emperor, perfectly ignored the “three thousand ghostly beauties” and walked straight toward the Kunning Palace of the east wing.

The long-tongued ghost had a short fuse.

After fussing for a long time without any effect, it lost its mind in rage and began crawling wildly across the floor.

Pei Liu couldn’t see it and walked right over, unintentionally stepping on the ghost’s tongue as his foot passed through it.

Although there was no physical contact, the ghost still felt uncomfortable.

It immediately jumped up, spitting repeatedly, before tying its long tongue into a knot, rolling it up, and tossing it back into its mouth.

The crowd of ghosts wanted to continue following him.

However, the moment Pei Liu stepped into the east corridor, it felt as though they were separated by an invisible barrier.

Within that line, thick black mist surged and rolled.

Even for a thousand-year-old vengeful spirit, the yin energy there was overwhelmingly heavy.

Despite the fact that they were already dead, they felt a sense of suffocation under this terrifying pressure.

It was as if they were being swept away and swallowed by a monstrous wave, seawater rushing into their noses and mouths with a searing, painful sensation that made it impossible to breathe.

They wanted to move forward, but their legs wouldn’t budge as fear hit them like a tide.

They all realized that an extremely terrifying existence resided there—one that was not to be provoked.

Taking another step forward would result in an end more miserable than having one’s soul scattered to the winds.

Thus, they decisively gave up on the delicious “Tang Monk meat.”

The moment their spectral bodies could move again, they slipped away faster than anyone.

Silence returned to Pei Liu’s surroundings.

It was an eerily quiet atmosphere, as if the vitality of the entire world had withered away.

He assumed it was another trick by the production team.

After only a brief pause, he gripped the ice-cold doorknob, pushed the door open, and walked inside.

The furnishings inside were different in style from the other rooms.

The entire villa was European-style, but this room leaned toward a Chinese aesthetic.

There were wooden beds, low couches, landscape screens, and carved bookshelves.

There weren’t many items, but every single one exuded an air of nobility.

Furthermore, it was clean and tidy, looking as though someone still lived there.

Yet, upon closer inspection, it was cold and lifeless, without a shred of human warmth.

Pei Liu observed the surroundings.

On the other side of the set, after he entered the room, the director asked: “Why weren’t any cameras placed in this room?”

The assistant director thought back but unexpectedly couldn’t remember such a room existing.

He said: “We didn’t arrange any clues there, so there was nothing to film.”

The director nodded.

That room was likely empty, and Pei Liu would probably come out in a moment.

Pei Liu walked to the window and looked down; the view was excellent.

As expected, this spot provided a perfect view of the villa’s ornate gate—the place they had entered yesterday.

At dusk, the figure he had seen had been standing behind the curtains of this very window.

Judging by the silhouette—tall and upright—it should have been a man.

Pei Liu whispered: “Could it be the bald CEO?”

After looking for a few seconds, he turned his attention back to the room.

He suddenly found the entire room exceptionally dim, as if it were filled with a thick, deep-black mist.

It was chilling, sinister, and extremely dangerous.

Pei Liu instinctively blinked.

When he looked again, the room had returned to normal without a trace of mist.

He then turned around to examine the bookshelf, wanting to see if any clues were hidden inside the books.

Unfortunately, he found nothing.

Strangely enough, he kept feeling as if he were being watched.

That cold, probing gaze felt omnipresent.

He turned his head twice but found nothing.

‘As expected, I’m just not used to the celebrity life of always being filmed.’

The cameras must be hidden very well, as he couldn’t see where they were at all.

Pei Liu stood up straight to avoid being filmed with a slouch.

His body proportions were excellent, with a beautiful neck-and-shoulder line, a thin waist, and long legs.

Even a casual side profile was worthy of a close-up.

Fragments of sunlight filtering through the gaps in the curtains fell upon his lowered eyelashes, reflecting a faint golden hue.

His skin was delicate and flawless, making him look like a meticulously crafted “sickly beauty” from a movie.

However, no camera captured this scene.

Besides him, there was only a malevolent entity condensed from black mist in the room.

Pei Liu couldn’t see it, so he had no idea that a man was sitting on the large bed not far away.

The man’s features were exquisitely handsome with deep-set eyes, his face completely devoid of expression.

He wore a set of magnificent ancient silk robes in a dark, reddish-black hue.

Like the man himself, it was a mysterious, chaotic, and dangerously unknown presence.

He had arrived here not long ago for a brief stay and was looking through a book out of sheer boredom when an uninvited guest suddenly appeared.

It would be easy to drive the person away.

However, having been bored for so many years, it was rare for him to see someone with such an abnormal soul, so he allowed it.

‘Not a person of this world. Where did he come from?’

The entity held the book in his hand but didn’t read it.

Instead, he turned his head and watched Pei Liu with cold eyes.

After a while, as if sensing his gaze, Pei Liu turned to look over.

Not only that, but Pei Liu also stuffed the book back into the shelf and walked straight toward the bed.

Reaching the side of the bed, Pei Liu leaned over, propping one leg against the edge.

He leaned into the bed, stretching out his hand to reach for something.

The entity was leaning against the headboard, very close to where Pei Liu had climbed onto the bed.

In this posture, Pei Liu was almost entirely—though unknowingly—leaning half-pressed against the entity’s lap.

It appeared excessively intimate.

At such a distance, the entity only had to reach out to easily press the person into his embrace and hold him firmly.

But in reality, neither of them touched the other.

Pei Liu reached out to grab a corner of the pillow.

He thought he had seen a scrap of paper there earlier, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was just an illusion caused by light and shadow.

Pei Liu was disappointed; he had thought he’d found an important clue.

He began to back away, preparing to get off the bed.

Unexpectedly, his hand accidentally pressed down on the entity’s thigh.

There was no physical sensation of touch, but a faint chill radiated through his fingertips.

More strangely, at the moment of contact, Pei Liu absorbed a wisp of the entity’s yin energy.

Pei Liu paused, feeling as if he had taken a small bite of an ice pop.

It had no flavor, but he inexplicably let out a hiccup, feeling “full.”

It wasn’t his stomach that was full, but his soul.

Pei Liu didn’t know it, but the entity saw it—his mismatched soul clearly became more solid and stable.

All after absorbing a tiny bit of his power.

The entity was slightly stunned, entirely unprepared for such a thing to happen.

His expression became somewhat inscrutable.

It had always been ghosts eating humans; this was the first time an entity like himself had his yin energy eaten by a human.

Moreover, it seemed he had eaten it unconsciously, and the soul actually benefited from it afterward without any adverse reactions.

Pei Liu was completely unaware.

After let out a hiccup, he couldn’t help but cover his mouth with a look of bewilderment.

‘What did I eat?’

‘Why do I feel a bit full?’

Pei Liu paused for a moment before continuing to climb down and stand on the floor.

There were no clues in this room; there was no point in wasting more time.

Besides, he kept feeling that this place was a bit strange.

Pei Liu turned around and decisively left.

As he opened the door, a gaze that couldn’t be ignored felt like needles against his back.

Pei Liu hesitated and couldn’t help but look back.

Naturally, he saw nothing.

Usually, in horror movies, when such a scene is broadcast, there’s a sudden close-up of a ghost’s face after the protagonist leaves.

The ghost seems to be staring at the person outside the screen, giving the audience a jump scare.

However, movies are just movies; they aren’t real.

Pei Liu quickly put it out of his mind, casually closed the door, and left.

Meanwhile, a wisp of black mist suddenly drifted from the shadow beneath his feet.

It silently wrapped around his slender, white ankle, spreading upward like intertwining vines or chains.

Slowly, it seeped beneath his skin and vanished, merging with him.

Pei Liu only felt a slight itch on his ankle for an instant.

Thinking it was just a mosquito, he didn’t take it to heart at all.

On the way back, however, he rounded a corner in the corridor and collided with someone without warning.

He instinctively prepared to apologize, but the other person acted as if they had seen a ghost.

They staggered back several steps, eyes wide with panic.

It was Jian Yongge.

“Are you okay?” Pei Liu asked.

Once Jian Yongge saw it was him, his expression quickly returned to normal.

He gave a smile and said distantly: “I’m fine, thank you.”

Pei Liu wasn’t stupid; he could sense the change in the other’s attitude toward him.

So, he didn’t force any enthusiasm and said plainly: “Then let’s go back to Teacher Zhao and the others.”

Since they weren’t far away, they soon regrouped with everyone.

Jian Yongge suddenly said: “By the way, Brother Pei, where did you just go? I was very worried when I didn’t see you.”

Pei Liu told the truth.

“How could you go alone without saying a word? What if something happened and we couldn’t get to you in time?”

Jian Yongge looked full of concern, and it didn’t seem fake.

Pei Liu felt a bit of a subtle vibe and replied: “Since it was quite close and you were all searching so diligently, I went ahead to scout the path. I did tell Brother Kai.”

Wu Kai only then remembered. At the time, he had seen the eyes of the person in the photo seem to move, which had scared him half to death, leaving him a bit distracted.

“Oh, right, he did tell me.”

Jian Yongge’s expression faltered for a moment before he appeared to breathe a sigh of relief.

“That’s good then.”

“Sorry for worrying you,” Pei Liu said apologetically before shifting the subject.

“By the way, you seemed so flustered just now. Did something happen?”

Jian Yongge, still shaken, explained.

He had just heard a sound coming from the corridor.

When he went out to look, he saw a child carrying a box running out of the secondary bedroom.

He had followed, but she ran so fast he could barely keep up.

As he passed the window, he suddenly discovered that the child had no shadow at all.

Instantly, a chill shot from his spine to the top of his head, and he turned and ran without a second thought.

Then, he collided with Pei Liu.

Seeing Jian Yongge’s poor complexion, Zhao Hai and the others offered words of comfort.

Pei Liu also said: “Fortunately, you’re okay. Although clues are important, Yongge, you should also pay more attention to your safety.”

“There shouldn’t be any other living people in this villa besides us. Even if the ghosts have clues, they aren’t as important as you are.”

“Running out so recklessly… what if you had been hit with a debuff?”

In the previous season, a guest had actually been turned into a ghost.

Pei Liu spoke these words with genuine sincerity, and they mirrored the logic Jian Yongge had used on him earlier.

Wu Kai and Zhao Hai didn’t quite catch the subtext at first; they simply thought Pei Liu’s words made a lot of sense and that they should act cautiously.

Tong Jiaqi, however, seemed to have thought of something after hearing this.

She couldn’t help but curve her lips into a smile, though she immediately pressed them together to hold it in.

Jian Yongge’s expression stiffened slightly.

Then, with a look of apology and frustration, he said: “I was just too anxious to find a use for the key and acted in haste. I’ll be more careful next time. Sorry for causing trouble for everyone.”

Pei Liu patted his shoulder and comforted him with a smile: “It’s fine, you had good intentions.”

Jian Yongge gave a forced smile: “…Thank you.”

Following that, they found several more fragmented clues.

They weren’t very useful on their own, but they were like puzzle pieces—unimpressive at a glance, but slowly capable of piecing together the truth of the story.

Night arrived once again.

They returned to their respective rooms.

Tong Jiaqi was reluctant, but the production team had a rule that guests must sleep in their own rooms, so she had to comply.

After a full day of searching, his body was covered in dust, so Pei Liu went straight to the bathroom to shower.

At that moment, the door to his bedroom slowly opened and then closed again.

It was as if an invisible person had walked inside.