Chapter 62: Threshold

He Xunye pinched his chin, lowered his head, and kissed him. The man pressed his entire weight down onto him; his broad shoulders and back completely blocked Tan Xueci’s view, leaving him unable to see even the overhead light.

Tan Xueci couldn’t help but push back and struggle, but He Xunye quickly seized both his hands, pinning them firmly above his head.

His lips were sucked until they were sore and numb, and the stark white bases of his ears flushed deep red. His face was wet with a messy mix of tears and saliva, his eyelashes trembled violently, and spasms rippled through his entire body.

“Ah…” Because Tan Xueci was struggling too fiercely, He Xunye slapped him on the waist. With a misty gaze, a flushed face, and blurred vision, Tan Xueci let out a low cry.

He squirmed uncomfortably to dodge the onslaught. His swollen, sucked lips finally managed to catch a brief breath, but He Xunye lowered his head again, forcefully kissing his face.

Tan Xueci had never been intimate with anyone else before, but he could tell this dead ghost of his was absolutely insane. The more uncomfortable Tan Xueci felt, the harder he cried, and the more disheveled and trembling he became, the more excited He Xunye grew.

Moreover, He Xunye didn’t know how to coax him, nor did he know how to stop. He acted just like a male ghost straight out of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, bewitching souls and draining essence. Keeping a face that usually looked cold and abstinent—but was currently dazed and inflammatory—his Adam’s apple bobbed continuously as he swallowed Tan Xueci’s saliva.

Those dark, brooding peach-blossom eyes lifted to look at him. His eyes were originally pitch-black, giving him a cold, aloof appearance laced with a touch of hostility. But right now, staring so single-mindedly and intently at someone’s face, a faint smile seemed to linger in them, causing an intense intimacy to overflow from his gaze.

He didn’t know how to coax Tan Xueci; he only wanted Tan Xueci to recognize reality and plunge into the depths of desire right along with him.

Tan Xueci was flushed from the tops of his ears down to his neck. Clearly, nothing else had happened yet—he had merely been pinned down for a kiss—but his entire body was already shaking as if he had come down with an illness.

This psychopath, He Xunye, had raised his threshold incredibly high. Tan Xueci used to think the educational videos Lu Qi showed him were already way too much—how could humans be so wanton?

He used to think gay men didn’t need to present themselves like that, and even if a straight couple wanted to have children, they should just get it over with quickly like animals and separate immediately.

Looking back now, however, he found those videos utterly dull.

That was it?

It couldn’t even match a tenth of He Xunye’s excessive behavior.

Tan Xueci felt dizzy. His hands had been pinned above his head this whole time, leaving his arms sore and tired. Finally breaking free from the hold, he softly wrapped his arms around He Xunye’s neck.

He Xunye was a bad thing.

If he ever left He Xunye, he would never find another husband who treated him better or made him feel better than this.

Seeing that Tan Xueci had gone completely limp on the bed and looked exhausted, the malicious ghost stopped kissing and licking him.

The evil spirit lowered its head, unable to restrain itself, and buried its face deeply into its wife’s fair, soft neck, nuzzling against it continuously with his high nose bridge, deeply inhaling the fragrant scent of his wife.

In truth, Tan Xueci was easiest to manipulate in this state. His mind was dizzy, his reactions were slow, and he would obediently do whatever he was told.

But he was too obedient, causing a feeling akin to tender affection to rise within the ghost’s heart, making it impossible to be too cruel to Tan Xueci.

This was not an emotion an evil ghost should possess.

Tan Xueci felt his entire spine go utterly numb from the nuzzling. The very bone running through his back lost all strength, turning him into a puddle of mush, leaving him with no choice but to let He Xunye rub against his neck.

It felt like raising a dog.

The ghost’s body was as cold as a block of ice, but Tan Xueci was burning hot, his entire face flushing as if he had a fever.

He forced his eyes open, running his pale, cold fingertips through He Xunye’s black hair; He Xunye’s hair felt quite coarse.

Sometimes he felt ghosts were easier to understand than humans. Even a dead ghost like He Xunye, who put on airs and made it impossible to ever guess what he was thinking, would act like a beast when his emotions ran high.

The man’s eyes were terrifyingly dark, his hands were even colder than usual, and his complexion was a bleak, sickly pale. He would uncontrollably shift into his ghost form, carrying a heavy aura of death, making it feel as if blood might spill out at any second.

Ghosts and humans were truly different. Even for an evil ghost that looked completely human on the outside, if you stared at it long enough, it still looked very much like a corpse.

Tan Xueci still felt like he was being touched by a dead man. Those pale, cold, stiff, and slightly greenish fingers were even shoving into his mouth, yet Tan Xueci surprisingly didn’t feel any fear.

“Baby.” The evil ghost’s eyes turned entirely black as its sclerae vanished, and it slowly drew closer to Tan Xueci.

Its rosy lips, thick with ghostly energy, looked like a stark, torn gash on its face. Its usually clear voice became somewhat muffled, and yin energy drilled straight into Tan Xueci’s ears as it smiled and said, “I kissed you, so you should reward me too.”

Tan Xueci thought he was already wicked enough for wanting all the benefits, but clearly, He Xunye was much worse.

Isn’t he almost thirty?

Tan Xueci muttered under his breath. He felt He Xunye had a much bigger craving than He Sui. He Sui would never pin someone down and kiss them like he was having an episode, unable to keep his hands off another person’s backside.

“You’re comparing me to him?” The evil ghost’s long, thick eyelashes drooped, its voice turning chilly. “Have you done it with him?”

It believed they hadn’t—Tan Xueci simply didn’t understand—so it hadn’t asked again later, but the dark, dense resentment on the ghost’s body still swelled and surged violently.

He Wuling hadn’t slept yet and was drawing talismans. He had just finished one, but the moment he picked it up, the originally limp edge of the talisman paper suddenly became as sharp as a blade, flying toward him with a wave of celestial fury and malevolent aura.

Startled, He Wuling let go just in time. But even so, half the flesh on his thumb was sliced clean off.

“Old Master!” The assistant beside him gasped in terror.

He Wuling raised his hand to stop him. He was sixty-one this year, and his hair was graying at the temples.

Fingering the cold green jade ring on his hand, his brow furrowed heavily and his expression turned grim. In the dead silence of the night, he gazed in the direction of Tan Xueci’s building.

“No… I haven’t,” Tan Xueci said, his body no longer as soft as a moment ago. He looked at He Xunye with wide eyes and stammered, “Why are you still so…”

…so heavily addicted.

The evil ghost seemed to fall silent for a moment. It tilted its head, pondering, and said, “You think I’m old.”

Tan Xueci didn’t exactly mean it that way, but He Xunye was old; they were nearly ten years apart. He stuttered, unable to squeeze out a single word.

“But baby,” the evil ghost didn’t seem angry. The corners of its bright red lips curled up as it said, “He will grow old very soon and die in a few years, but I will never grow old, and I will never die.”

It remained flawless.

Tan Xueci: “…”

He Sui probably wouldn’t die that quickly.

What kind of ghost talk was this? Yet he actually couldn’t find a way to refute it.

If Tan Xueci were a bit sharper, he would have kept his mouth shut. But at this moment, he failed to read the room.

Thinking He Xunye was done kissing and that they could finally sleep, he turned around to hug his plush sheep, muttering that a relationship master had told them that once a man passes twenty-eight, he’s basically eighty-two.

It wasn’t until the evil ghost’s expression darkened and it pressed over him once more that he finally reacted—but it was already too late.

He was made to count all eighty-two times. He Xunye even forced him to count aloud himself, and if he miscounted, he had to start all over again.

Tan Xueci cried until his vision blurred and he was gasping for breath. In the end, even the tip of his nose turned red from crying. Sobbing, he lay on the bed, counting on his fingers. His brain had turned to mush, and since he wasn’t very good at counting to begin with, he couldn’t keep track at all.

He wailed and cried miserably, never wanting to hear that number again for the rest of his life. After He Xunye carried him to the bathroom for a bath and placed him back on the bed, he aggrievedly curled into a tiny ball, his eyelids damp and his eyelashes still heavy with tears as he drifted off to sleep.

Watching him cry, He Xunye actually smiled. He reached out to pull the tiny, bunched-up Tan Xueci into his arms, kissing his eyes and his lips. Tan Xueci slapped him in his sleep, but he didn’t mind at all.

He had thought that as his body grew colder, Tan Xueci wouldn’t let him hold him anymore, but Tan Xueci had been very obediently hugging him these past few days.

He was incredibly easy to coax; as long as you comforted him once, he would remain highly clingy for days on end.

Holding Tan Xueci, He Xunye kissed away the tears hanging from his eyelashes, resting a palm on his back to gently pat him.

He stared at Tan Xueci’s sleeping face for a few minutes, then lit another talisman paper—if he had to act like the Little Match Girl, so be it.

He didn’t really want to admit it, but seeing Tan Xueci shivering from the cold and continuously burying his head into his chest…

He truly… felt a deep ache in his heart for him.

With a soft thud, Tan Xueci bumped his head against He Xunye’s chest, sliding his small hand into his pajamas to touch his chest muscles as he continued sleeping.

He Xunye picked up Tan Xueci’s phone and watched that relationship master for a while. The man was still talking endlessly about marriage, and the ghost’s lackluster eyes grew as black as spilled ink in the night.

The relationship master was so invested in his speech that he failed to notice his own shadow on the floor twisting and expanding behind him.

The shadow’s hands had already clamped around his neck, pausing for a few seconds before dissolving away into thin air.

Before vanishing completely, it even slapped a protective talisman onto the man’s back.

If he died, the little sheep would have nothing to watch and would definitely cry.

The evil ghost tossed the phone aside and pulled his wife tighter into his embrace, burying his face in his neck. Nuzzling his tall nose against his wife’s snowy white cheek, he murmured in a low, muffled voice while he slept, “So wicked.”

It really wanted to kill them all, yet it couldn’t kill anyone. It didn’t even know how it had fallen to such a state itself.

The filming was about to start soon, so Tan Xueci had to attend script readings and several pre-filming interviews during this period. He was busy every day, but he was still mindful of the incident involving those seven people.

A few days later, he spotted another trending topic. A female teacher from Beijing Experimental No. 3 High School had been murdered on her way home from work, and her tongue had been cut out.

Her corpse had been hidden under trash and snow by the killer. A corporate worker, who rarely went for morning runs, noticed a roadside trash can had been knocked over with trash piled on the ground. Feeling it was strange, he went over to take a look, only to see a pair of deathly pale legs covered in livor mortis protruding from beneath the pile.

Word had it that he was so terrified that after calling the police, he ended up thirty minutes late for work and had his wages docked. When interviewed, he was weeping bitterly, his resentment stronger than a ghost’s.

Tan Xueci furrowed his brow. He called Yu He to ask about the ghost of that rich second generation.

“I did find him,” Yu He said helplessly, “but he seemed to have suffered an immense fright before his death and can’t answer anything. He doesn’t even know how he died.”

Tan Xueci sat on the bed while He Xunye wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his head on his wife’s back.

Drooping his eyelashes, he toyed with one of his wife’s hands. Seeing that Tan Xueci was ignoring him, his dark eyes lifted, and he suddenly lowered his head onto Tan Xueci’s thigh.

Startled, Tan Xueci almost slapped him. He Xunye turned slightly to face him, lying on his lap, a low laugh vibrating in his throat.

Yu He: “…”

What on earth is that dead sound?

Just as Yu He was about to curse out the ghost, He Xunye suddenly spoke up, “I saw an Illness Ghost at the hospital.”

Yu He froze instantly, completely forgetting to swear. On the other end of the line, his expression turned incredibly grave and heavy.

An Illness Ghost was most likely to appear in hospitals, formed from patients who died of severe illnesses. Their bodies were covered in white hair—though it wasn’t actually hair, but countless illness threads.

It wouldn’t actively harm people, but if it passed by someone and its illness threads entered their facial orifices, that person would fall ill.

Light cases resulted in headaches and fainting, while severe cases could lead to incurable diseases like cancer. The process of dying would be far more painful than that of an ordinary patient; the saying “recovering from an illness is like pulling threads” stemmed from this very concept.

Listening to them talk, Tan Xueci was completely bewildered. Clutching the phone, he asked, “What is an Illness Ghost?”

“It’s that white-haired ghost,” Yu He explained to him, before adding, “In some places, when a child falls ill, the elders will reach out and pluck at the air above their head. That’s called ‘pulling illness threads’.”

Hearing this, Tan Xueci blanked for a moment. No wonder He Xunye had not only covered his mouth at the time but had even tried to cover both his eyes.

“This is getting troublesome,” Yu He scratched his hair forcefully, sounding rather agitated. “An Illness Ghost is an incredibly malevolent entity, far more bothersome than water ghosts or Daolao ghosts. Not every patient who dies of an illness turns into one. In all my years, I’ve only ever seen one before, and their size usually isn’t that large—they’re normally about the size of a small monkey.”

There was also a saying: When the Illness Ghost arrives, the sovereign laments.

This kind of ghost typically wouldn’t manifest unless there was a massive plague or a catastrophic loss of life. Therefore, the appearance of an Illness Ghost was practically synonymous with widespread devastation, a harbinger of a fallen nation or an annihilated race.

While it didn’t always turn out that tragic, these entities were highly elusive and indeed very difficult to subdue.

Even with so many deaths in Yanjia Village, no Illness Ghost had appeared there. For such a thing to suddenly manifest in a hospital… Yu He pondered for a moment before saying, “How about this? I’ll head back to the Taoist temple in a bit and ask my master about it.”

“That day at the hospital,” Tan Xueci suddenly recalled something and lowered his head to ask He Xunye, “the things I saw were completely reversed from usual. Was that also because of the Illness Ghost?”

“Yes and no,” the dead ghost remained resting on his wife’s lap, refusing to get up. From this angle, his eye sockets didn’t look quite as deep or oppressive; instead, he looked somewhat lazy as he said, “The yin energy in that hospital is too heavy. Although it’s still the living world, it’s no different from half the underworld. Buildings in the underworld are built inversely to those in the living world.”

Tan Xueci’s eyes filled with confusion. “So I went to the underworld?”

“Not quite,” the evil ghost caught his hand and kissed it, saying, “At most, it counts as a Yin-Yang borderland—a place existing right between the two worlds.”

Yu He didn’t want to listen to their lovey-dovey chatter and was about to hang up, but Tan Xueci quickly stopped him to share his theory.

“I feel,” Tan Xueci hesitated, “could someone be trying to kill everyone who was in the private box that night? But it’s impossible for me to have offended the same person they did, so it shouldn’t be for revenge.”

After listening, Yu He didn’t say yes or no. Only when Tan Xueci mentioned that He Xunye was one of them and might have been killed by the same culprit did he fall into a bizarre silence, before hanging up abruptly with an air of profound mystery.

Tan Xueci had no other choice but to wait for news.

Fearing public panic, the police initially wanted to keep the news under wraps. However, because the corpses of these victims had been dumped right out on the streets, multiple people had seen them, making it impossible to conceal.

Furthermore, absolutely no clues regarding the killer had been found yet. The culprit might very well strike again, so they could only issue a public notice warning residents near the hospital to be careful when going out.

At the same time, patrols in that area were stepped up.

Tan Xueci scrolled through his phone for a while. Online discussions were rampant, especially on supernatural forums, which had completely exploded.

[With this modus operandi, is it a serial killer case? Everyone died from excessive blood loss.]

[Ahhh, don’t scare me! I work at this exact hospital. What do I do? I don’t even dare to work the night shift anymore, it’s so sinister.]

[Too many strange things are happening this year. Does anyone still remember the Entanglement crew? I recall someone dug up details back then saying Wen Yaochuan and the others privately ate human flesh. Maybe it’s the same thing this time—otherwise, why collect so many people’s organs?]

[Eating organs alone seems a bit weird. I feel like it’s some sort of black magic. A bar near the hospital also seems to have had a death. I wonder if there are others; I feel like the body count isn’t high enough yet.]

…

People online were saying all sorts of things. Unable to make heads or tails of it, Tan Xueci sent a message to Jin Chen.

Jin Chen knew the bar owner, so Tan Xueci asked him to help check whether the female waitress whose eyes had been gouged out had ever gone into their private box on the night he and He Sui went to the bar.

Jin Chen returned his call very quickly, telling him, “She did. She delivered wine to your box. Why do you ask?”

Tan Xueci’s heart skipped a beat. Forcefully pushing away He Xunye who was lying on his lap, he began asking around for information again.

In the past, no one would have paid him any mind. But now that he was married into the He family and had become the wife of the He family’s eldest young master, a casual phone call was enough to have people immediately look into it for him.

Relying on his ghost’s influence, Tan Xueci had effectively become an elite little sheep whom everyone sought to please and respect.

Sure enough, this female teacher was also connected to them.

Xiao An and the ghost that had been skinned had actually just graduated from high school not long ago and were only twenty—even younger than him. This female teacher had previously been Xiao An’s homeroom teacher.

Tan Xueci’s brow locked tightly as he continued analyzing. He felt the matter was growing more complex, and he had absolutely no leads.

Far from helping, He Xunye wrapped his arms around his waist, hanging off his back as he murmured, “Little Sheep, stop thinking about it. Let’s sleep.”

Tan Xueci forcefully pushed He Xunye’s face away. He scrambled out of bed and even picked up a pen, wanting to draw a character relationship diagram. Before he could even set the pen to paper, he felt a chilling cold behind his back.

Turning around, he saw an evil ghost staring at him with heavy, dark eyes, its expression bordering on resentful.

So clingy.

Tan Xueci’s heart was as hard as iron; he completely ignored the dead ghost. Yet in the end, he didn’t write anything down anyway.

Because aside from his own name, He Xunye’s, and barely He Sui’s, he didn’t know how to write anyone else’s name.

Tan Xueci blanked for a moment. He slumped his small face and chewed on his finger for a bit, before creeping back to bed to sleep with the dead ghost.

Before the case could be resolved, it was time for Tan Xueci to shoot his promotional photos. When he played Zhou Xia before, he barely needed any makeup since he naturally looked gloomy and sickly, but his face had filled out quite a bit recently.

Though still thin, he no longer carried that frail appearance.

His past poor health had been due to a congenital condition, compounded by the Tan family’s abuse, his frequent late nights, and his poor diet.

Now that he was being managed by He Xunye, he couldn’t play with his phone for very long at night, and his meals were regular, allowing his health to gradually recover. The makeup artist applied powder to tone down his healthy complexion.

By the time the promotional shoot finished, it was already past eight in the evening. Tan Xueci awkwardly let He Xunye hold his hand as they walked together toward the underground garage, only to spot a little girl there.

The girl looked about seven or eight years old, wearing a school uniform and carrying a backpack. Her chin was pitifully thin, making her eyes look exceptionally large. Tan Xueci was startled.

He thought she was a ghost, but she didn’t quite look like one.

“Brother,” just as Tan Xueci froze, the little girl clutched her backpack straps and approached him timidly. She was already somewhat scared, and upon locking eyes with the evil ghost’s pale, desolate face, she shivered in fright and said very nervously, “Un… Uncle…”

The evil ghost remained expressionless and paid her no mind, merely pulling Tan Xueci’s hand as he said, “Let’s go, baby.”

Tan Xueci’s footsteps hesitated. He looked at the little girl, sensing she had something she wanted to say.

“Brother,” the little girl finally mustered the courage to speak, her voice tiny and delicate. “Have you seen my mommy? My mommy’s hair is this long, and she looks a lot like me…”

She reached out to gesture the length of her mother’s hair.

Tan Xueci shook his head. The crew had many female staff members; based on that description alone, he couldn’t tell who it was.

The little girl seemed rather disappointed. She thanked them softly and turned around, intending to look for her mother elsewhere.

Even though Tan Xueci considered himself quite wicked, he knew it was already so late and a child shouldn’t be running around alone outside. He called out to stop her and asked for her family’s phone number.

The little girl was quite obedient and gave it to him. Tan Xueci dialed the number, and a man picked up, sounding like the girl’s father. His tone was anxious, as if he were currently searching for the child.

Hearing Tan Xueci say he had found his daughter, the man thanked him repeatedly and said he would come over to pick her up immediately.

Tan Xueci held the little girl’s hand as they waited in the underground garage. The man arrived very quickly, running inside from the entrance in about half an hour.

“I’m so sorry,” the man shook hands with Tan Xueci. He looked to be in his thirties at most, but his temples were already graying, and his face bore an incredibly exhausted expression. He said to Tan Xueci remorsefully, “I’m truly sorry. Her mother passed away last week. She probably misses her mother, so she always claims she sees her and runs out in the middle of the night. Sigh, it’s my fault for not watching her properly and causing trouble for you.”

Before Tan Xueci could speak, the little girl’s eyes welled with tears. She tried to yank her hand from her father’s grip, but no matter how hard she pulled, she couldn’t break free. Her tears spilled over as she argued, “I really did see Mommy.”

“Alright, alright,” the man sighed, choosing not to argue with her. “You saw her. Let’s go home.”

He clearly didn’t believe her. Lowering her head, the little girl wiped her tears, ran over to her father’s car, retrieved a picture frame, and held it up for Tan Xueci to see.

With tears in her eyes, she said to Tan Xueci, “Brother, my mommy looks like this. If you see her, can you call me? I saw her walking toward this area.”

Looking at the photograph, Tan Xueci’s gaze froze instantly. This little girl’s mother was the female teacher whose tongue had been cut out.

Perhaps she really had seen her mother’s ghost; children had weaker constitutions and stronger spiritual energy, making them highly susceptible to encountering ghosts.

“Okay,” Tan Xueci agreed, reaching out to pat her head. “If I see her, I’ll let you know.”

Beside them, the little girl’s father merely assumed he was kindly comforting the child. The man also had tear stains in his eyes as he led his child away, thanking Tan Xueci and He Xunye once more before leaving.

Watching their departing figures, before Tan Xueci could speak, his phone suddenly chimed.

It was a message from Grandpa Wang’s son.

Grandpa Wang was the fellow patient who used to sleep in the hospital bed next to him, frequently watched the relationship master’s livestreams, and shared them with him.

Grandpa Wang’s son was named Wang Yong. He had seen the variety show Tan Xueci filmed online and noticed Tan Xueci seemed to know a Taoist.

Although Tan Xueci used to spend whole days fast asleep in the ward and rarely pulled back his curtain—meaning they weren’t very close—Wang Yong truly had no other options left and could only turn to Tan Xueci for help.

[Wang Yong: Xiao Ci, sorry to bother you. I wanted to ask if you happen to know a Taoist? My dad has been acting extremely strange these past few days, and I think I encountered a ghost in the hospital.]

Tan Xueci pursed his lips. He actually disliked Grandpa Wang, who always snored right next to him. Moreover, their ward was filled with schizophrenia patients, and Grandpa Wang always believed he was a mushroom, frequently crouching in the corner in the middle of the night and giving him a fright.

However, whenever Wang Yong brought fried pork chops for Grandpa Wang—bringing three pieces—Grandpa Wang would always give him two.

Tan Xueci bit his finger and replied to Wang Yong, saying he would head over to the hospital to take a look shortly.

He Xunye offered no opinions from beginning to end; wherever Tan Xueci wanted to go, he simply accompanied him.

When Tan Xueci and He Xunye arrived at the hospital, Wang Yong was still scolding Grandpa Wang with a long face, “You old coot, are you ever going to stop?! Being a mushroom wasn’t enough for you? I want to see what kind of trouble you can stir up next!”

With his eyes closed, Grandpa Wang looked as detached as an immortal, completely unbothered by his son’s scolding. Seeing Tan Xueci, he waved him over mysteriously and said, “Xiao Ci, look over there. What’s in that spot?”

He pointed at the corner of the hospital ward for Tan Xueci to look.

Tan Xueci tilted his head in confusion and glanced over. It was just a stark white wall. He said, “There’s nothing there.”

“How can even you say that?!” Grandpa Wang flared up instantly. His old face fell as he pulled up the blanket and lay down, ignoring them completely.

Wang Yong let out a sigh, speaking with a mix of helplessness and resentment, “Xiao Ci, you see that, right? He insists there’s a woman in the corner. Where on earth is there a woman? I think he’s completely lost his mind.”

Despite saying so, his body silently drifted away from that corner, clearly harboring misgivings in his heart.

Tan Xueci felt dizzy, feeling like he was about to have an episode himself. He stopped Wang Yong from cursing any further and asked, “Brother Wang, you mentioned you encountered a ghost. What happened?”

“It was just the night before last,” Wang Yong recalled, still feeling some lingering fear. “I came over to stay by his bed. In the middle of the night, I got up to use the restroom and heard someone knocking on the ward door. I thought it was a doctor, so I opened it.”

It was indeed a doctor, but that male doctor was collapsed on the ground, both his legs drenched in a pool of blood.

Wang Yong’s throat instantly seized up. No wonder he had found the knocking sound so strange—it sounded like it was coming from the lower half of the door. As it turned out, the person was crawling on the floor.

He wanted to slam the door shut in a flash, but the ghost kept crawling forward, its bloody hands firmly gripping the edge of the door.

In the end, it was only because his old man suddenly let out a cough that the ghost seemed to realize there was more than one person in the room, finally retreating.

At that moment, Wang Yong had been terrified out of his wits, urine trickling down his pant leg. He hid on the sofa shivering the entire night, not daring to get up to change his pants.

It wasn’t until the doctors came for morning rounds the next day that he finally dared to get out of bed, drawing several suspicious glares from the doctor, who nearly pinned him down to take medication as a mental patient too.

While Wang Yong was speaking with Tan Xueci, a nurse happened to come in to deliver medication to Grandpa Wang. By all accounts, she shouldn’t have spoken up—she shouldn’t be discussing such matters with a patient and their family—but her face was pale, and she couldn’t resist murmuring, “I saw it too…”

She was the very nurse online who had commented about working the night shift at the Beijing First People’s Hospital. She had been a bit scared at the time, but hadn’t thought much more of it after posting that comment.

Until she went to work her night shift, and upon walking up to the hospital building, she casually glanced upward, nearly causing her heart to stop.

A person was swaying on the top floor of the hospital. Beneath the dense, black night sky, only the faint moonlight cast a shadowy glow on the figure, adding an extra layer of eerie strangeness.

Thinking someone was about to jump, she didn’t stop to wonder how they had managed to get up there and wanted to call for security. However, before she could open her mouth, the figure leaped.

Thud—

A dull impact echoed at the base of the hospital building in the dead of night.

She had been terrified, but as a medical worker, she thought that in case the person could still be saved, she should rush over.

There was indeed a man lying in a pool of blood, still wearing a doctor’s white lab coat.

She squatted down, intending to check the severity of his injuries. Yet before she could extend her hand, her ankle was gripped in a death grip by a pale, frigid hand. The ghost doctor’s skin was a sickly green, his parted mouth a stark crimson, and his gums flooded with dark, stagnant blood.

She let out a piercing scream before collapsing to the ground in a faint. The security guards, hearing her scream, rushed over to rescue her.

“He…” The nurse’s lips were bloodless, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if shivering from the cold. “He seems to be a doctor who fell to his death at our hospital a while ago. He was called out to a patient’s home for a visit, and the patient’s family pushed him off the building. For some reason, both his legs were amputated, and he died on the operating table.”

Listening to the story, Tan Xueci secretly grabbed He Xunye’s arm, his own small face turning slightly pale.

So many ghosts.

He sent a message to Yu He. Yu He had sworn to eliminate every evil ghost in this world and never refused when asked to exorcise spirits, so he immediately replied to Tan Xueci that he would arrive shortly.

Tan Xueci planned to stay at the hospital tonight to see what was truly going on with that ghost doctor. Since both He Xunye and Yu He were present, though he was afraid, he wasn’t that scared.

If it were a few months ago, Tan Xueci certainly never would have imagined he would actively stay somewhere to encounter a ghost.

Yu He had gone back to the Taoist temple to find his master and would need a few hours to rush over, so Tan Xueci and He Xunye waited in the corridor.

It was already past ten-thirty, well past the bedtime for psychiatric patients. The hospital at night was always frighteningly quiet, with only the occasional doctor or nurse hurrying past.

“Why don’t you care at all?” Tan Xueci held it in, but finally couldn’t resist looking at He Xunye. “Maybe we can find out how you actually died.”

Tan Xueci paused, his dark, beautiful sheep-like eyes wide as he poked He Xunye, muttering, “Or do you already know yourself?”

Dead thing.

He never tells me anything.

He Xunye didn’t answer the question. His narrow dark eyes swept over, his tone incredibly irritating as he hooked Tan Xueci’s hand to clasp it in his palm, saying with a half-smile, “Do you feel bad for me?”

“…” Tan Xueci tried to struggle, but couldn’t pull his hand free. Terrified of being seen by others, the tips of his ears turned slightly red as he hissed in a tiny, fierce voice, “Who feels bad for you?”

Even though he was married to He Xunye, He Xunye’s scandalous behavior always made him feel that pulling and tugging with him in public was a particularly shameful and secret affair.

He Xunye looked up. “You’re being stubborn.”

“You’re harder than me,” Tan Xueci retorted defiantly.

He had never seen a ghost so tight-lipped. What on earth was so unspeakable that he refused to say anything at all?

He had spoken too quickly, failing to realize the double meaning in his words. By the time he reacted, the bases of his ears turned a deep crimson in an instant.

“Indeed,” the evil ghost let out a low laugh, staring at him with curved peach-blossom eyes. He didn’t deny it, drawing out his words in a teasing, irritating tone that carried a profound meaning. “Whether I’m hard or not, Little Sheep knows better than I do.”

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