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In this room, there were definitely more than just the elusive Mountain Spirit and Xiao Mei. Zhang Long lay on the sofa, feeling helpless and on the verge of tears. All he wanted was a good sleep, but in a half-dream state, he suddenly noticed countless dark shadows appearing beside him. These figures, humanoid yet unmistakably not human, circled silently around the sofa.
It was daytime, a bright and sunny noon, yet he found himself lying in a place more terrifying than a Haunted House, watching as ghosts surrounded him. Who could explain to him why ghosts would appear in broad daylight?
The culprit had left without a sound, just as quietly as these entities had appeared. The tightly shut doors and windows, along with the heavy curtains blocking out the light, mocked his carelessness. Indeed, how could he have believed that Xiao Mei would let him sleep peacefully?
Well then. Zhang Long stopped trying to struggle and simply lay still on the sofa, curious to see just how badly Xiao Mei would lead him astray.
The dark shadows continued to circle around the sofa endlessly, as if he were a sacrificial offering on an altar, and they were using him to pray for the ghost king's blessings. What could a group of doomed spirits possibly ask of the ghost king? To be reincarnated as humans? Or perhaps to become ghosts that would never be caught?
Suddenly feeling devoid of hope, Zhang Long found a strange sense of relief. He closed his eyes, attempting to numb his body with darkness, telling his brain that it was simply nighttime and time to rest. He imagined lying in the large bed in Jiang Family Courtyard, covered by the soft quilt with blue floral patterns that Uncle Meng had picked out for him, ready to drift off into dreamland.
After all these years, what kind of monsters had he not seen? Upon reflection, there weren't many. He was turning thirty this winter—an age of maturity—with a girlfriend, his own house, and a stable job. What a wonderful life! He was merely here to help a friend through a tough time; saving a life is worth more than building a pagoda. Truly, he was quite the benevolent person.
He felt almost moved by his own noble actions and couldn't help but think of Xiao Mei. This child who had returned from the brink of death—what exactly was he trying to accomplish? Although Zhang Long knew some insider information about that significant event, no one had ever explained the details to him thoroughly; even Xiao Mei himself never revealed much.
Poor child! He lost his family at such a young age and was abandoned by his master. Living alone in this Haunted House for three years was all for this day. He recalled that night three years ago when the frail figure knelt before the house in torrential rain for three days until Zhang Long finally carried him to the hospital while he was unconscious.
“Xiao Mei! Oh Xiao Mei!” Zhang Long couldn't help but sigh. “Is this how you repay me?” Unable to calm down enough to sleep, he opened his eyes in frustration. He couldn't swallow this bitterness nor accept being put in such a predicament. The coldness brought by the spirits had already penetrated through his coat; his feet felt as if they had vanished entirely. Paralyzed by fear and coldness, he finally let go of his rationality.
His roar stirred the spirits into chaos; the once-gentle shadows began to boil over. Some even approached him closely, brushing past his head—if they got any lower, they could touch him directly.
Zhang Long felt as if breathing was becoming difficult; escape was impossible. Fortunately, he heard a faint creaking sound nearby—it didn't seem like human footsteps.
The shadows suddenly froze in place, maintaining their grotesque forms without moving. He looked around and noticed that a faint white mist had risen from the ground at some point, now binding all the shadows at their ankles.
It was the Mountain Spirit.
The Mountain Spirit that had been trapped here by magic and had abandoned its divinity.
Spirits could consume other souls as material for their cultivation. If deceiving humans allowed them to become mountain gods, then devouring ghosts could transform them into even more terrifying entities.
As the white mist thickened, the ghosts began to scream; their piercing cries made Zhang Long feel as though countless hands were tearing at his ears—some seemed intent on burrowing into his brain like firewood being struck.
Fortunately, this cacophony did not last long before hands covered his ears. In a daze, he opened his eyes to see Xiao Mei.
The boy's smile bore an insanity he had never witnessed before—as if those being devoured were nothing more than cabbages. When Xiao Mei lowered his head and met Zhang Long's gaze, he saw a bloodthirsty emotion that sent chills down his spine.
“Soldiers Block the Enemy, Water Covers the Ground; Water Comes, Earth Covers.” Since they wanted to come here, then let them come without return.
Song Bunan didn’t know when he had fallen asleep; after being jolted awake from darkness falling around him, he took stock of his surroundings and spent quite some time confirming that he was indeed at home.
This dream was far more terrifying than before, the setting shifted from that house to the outside. He found himself bound hand and foot in a dilapidated courtyard, dressed in pajamas, with a pile of firewood beneath him that reeked of gasoline.
Surrounding him were countless voices calling his name, some sharp, others deep, all filled with resentment and bitterness, as if they wanted to drag him down to hell with them. The old woman, leaning on a cane, stood beside him, trembling as she spoke. One hand clutched a matchbox, and though her voice quivered, each word struck his heart like a hammer. She said, "Do you hear them? Everything here wants you. If I ignite you now, you will become part of this house—forever trapped in darkness, a ghost with no future."
As she spoke, she pulled a match from the box and struck it against the side. With a soft hiss, a red flame flickered to life. The flame danced at the tip of his nose, its heat searing his skin, and he could even feel his hair beginning to curl from the intense heat.
Who are you! He couldn't open his mouth to speak; it felt as if something had glued it shut. His bound body struggled to move but lacked the strength; he could only watch helplessly as the old woman tossed the match toward him.
Everything seemed to transform into a scene from a movie—the falling match and flame began to move in slow motion, as if time had been stretched. He watched helplessly as his clothes caught fire, the red flames beginning to rage wildly.
"Return to where you truly belong; we are all waiting for you." The old woman cackled like a skeleton crawling out of a coffin in a horror film. He couldn't hear what she said next because the flames had consumed everything before him; all he could see was red.
Why doesn’t it hurt? A drop of boiling water would cause pain for a long time, yet he was clearly being burned now—why couldn’t he feel anything? In his panic, Song Bunan suddenly realized he could move his hands.
Like someone who had just received a pardon, he desperately reached out to extinguish the flames on his body but felt himself plummeting as he did so. This sensation was familiar; he had often experienced this when waking from dreams.
The flames followed him as they gradually extinguished in the rushing wind of his descent, and the scenery around him began to change. A blue chain flashed by—he recognized that chain.
When he awoke, his eyes were still blurry, reminiscent of the static snowflakes on an old television screen when there was no signal. Gasping for air, he finally confirmed that he was indeed home, in his own bed.
The first day at work was easy; without any assignments given to him, he spent nearly the entire day reviewing materials at his desk. Only during lunch did he see brother Xinyi. When they returned home together that evening, feeling inexplicably drowsy, he was ordered to go to bed early and fell asleep almost immediately after lying down.
When he opened his eyes again, it was just past midnight.
Unable to fall back asleep quickly, he sat up and noticed the light filtering through the curtains illuminating Black Notebook on his desk. That notebook hadn’t been touched for many days but now seemed incredibly enticing.
He climbed out of bed and turned on the lamp, leaning over to see what else was inside.
【Haunted House has both good and bad aspects; I believe you have encountered some of its villains. If you cannot recall when you met them, take time to reflect on any unusual occurrences in your life—that is your connection to this house. I believe you will find many answers within it.】
【Study Room is where I created my Magic Circle, making it the safest place in this entire area. If one day danger arises in the house and you cannot exit through the front door, make sure to head directly into that study and wait until sunrise.】
【 Second Disciple Eighteen: there will be tribulations in your fate. If you pass through safely, your life will no longer be fraught with difficulties; if not, it is fate that cannot be defied.】
【Wishing you peace and safety.】
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