The midnight wind seeped into her bones with a chilling precision.
Tong Yang silently typed a question mark in the group chat.
She stared at the screen, scrutinizing every word and phrase—each one familiar, yet the meaning behind them eluded her completely.
[Uh… sis, are you living under a rock? This blew up so big it even made national news.]
[In 2024, there were two murder cases in Yaocheng—one at a bakery, the other in Dongyang Residential Area. The victim was Tong Yang.]
Studying is for making money: [Then what about the college entrance exam?]
Tong Yang’s mind spun into chaos. For the sake of the exam, for a better life, for escaping her beggar-like existence, she had poured every ounce of effort into her studies—no rest, no fun, no friends. She had cast aside everything unrelated to academics, trudging daily past the sites of those bizarre murders like a machine programmed solely for studying.
And now, after sacrificing everything, with success just within reach… she had died before the exam?
If she had to die, couldn’t it at least have been after she took the test?
Was this some cruel prank? Or a hallucination from the unbearable pressure?
After a minute of silence, the group chat posted a news link. The headline glared back at her: Underprivileged Prodigy Tong Yang Dies in Home Invasion 10 Days Before College Entrance Exam; Teachers Mourn: "She Could Have Been the Provincial Top Scorer!"
Her heart stuttered. She tapped the link, and an unfamiliar news page loaded. The timestamp beneath the headline burned into her vision: June 1, 2024.
But today was still May. This article was dated in the future.
"On May 28, Yaocheng police received a report of a homicide in Dongyang Residential Area. A young woman was brutally murdered in her home, the scene too gruesome to describe… Sources reveal the victim, Tong Yang, was a high-achieving high school senior with no living parents… Teachers described her as exceptionally diligent, her scores never dipping below 710, consistently ranking first in the district. The school had pinned its hopes on her as a potential provincial top scorer… A tragic twist of fate, a life cut short… To this day, police have found no leads. The case bears striking similarities to the March 19 bakery murder nearby, prompting speculation of a serial killer. Stay tuned for updates."
By the time she finished reading, every hair on her body stood on end.
The article included photos of her school and videos of interviewees—the familiar track field, the vice principal’s ever-present green thermos—proof this wasn’t fabricated.
"May 28…" Tong Yang’s gaze snapped to the calendar on her desk: May 27. One day left until her death—no, wait!
Her phone displayed 00:19. The 27th had passed. It was May 28. Exactly ten days until the exam.
At that moment, slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the silent hallway.
Her body locked up. A cold dread crawled from her soles up her spine, freezing her in place.
Dongyang Residential Area was a dilapidated relic of the old water factory’s employee housing, slated for demolition. With no individual property deeds, residents wouldn’t see a cent from the redevelopment. Most had already moved out; the few remaining were elderly, long asleep by this hour. No one should be walking around at midnight.
Her grip tightened on her phone, the already cracked screen protector splintering further under her fingers. A sudden gust snuffed out the candle by her window, plunging the room into darkness. The eerie glow of her phone screen illuminated her face as she glimpsed the article’s final attachment—a censored photo of the crime scene, a blurred outline surrounded by dried brown blood.
The angle made it impossible to pinpoint the location.
The footsteps stopped right outside her living room door.
Call the police.
That was her only thought.
Hands trembling, she pulled up the dial pad and punched in 110—only to see the once-full signal bar now read No Service.
Damn it, this is insane!
Knock-knock.
The sound jolted her into action. She rushed to the window, shoved it open, and stretched her arm past the burglar bars, desperately redialing. But Dongyang’s remote location meant spotty service at best; with the power out, her phone was practically useless. Even outside, no signal.
Now that she thought about it, the perfect reception during the blackout had been suspicious from the start.
Click.
When no one answered the door, the lock began to turn.
Her breath vanished. A horrifying realization struck her: The person outside has a key? How?!
Click.
Two twists, then silence.
Tong Yang pressed her back against the window, barely daring to breathe. Her phone screen went dark. Not a sound. Her heart hammered so violently she feared it would burst.
Creeeak—
After a pause, the living room door’s rusted hinges whined.
She scanned the room. There was nowhere to hide. Her home was barren, every corner exposed. Even the bedroom window—her only escape—was sealed shut by welded bars.
The building’s sole other occupant was a septuagenarian grandmother. Anyone else would take at least three minutes to wake and respond. Screaming wouldn’t save her; it’d only provoke the killer. And she had nowhere to run.
Her only advantage? She knew this darkness. Knew every inch of this two-bedroom apartment. Maybe she could use that to evade the intruder, slip out, and call for help.
Sweat slicked her palms as she snatched a screwdriver from her desk, gripping it like a lifeline. She kicked off her slippers and crept toward the door, ducking behind it.
For once, she was grateful she never slept with the door closed—and that she’d sent Tong Le to stay at school.
The footsteps resumed, slow and methodical, crossing the living room. She held her breath. The other bedroom stood directly opposite, its door and window shut tight to keep out dust in Tong Le’s absence.
According to common sense, a room with its door shut tight in the dead of night would seem occupied. If the killer entered the opposite room to search, Tong Yang could seize the chance to escape. Though she wasn’t particularly athletic, her physical test results ranked among the top for girls. As long as she could leave the room, she was confident she wouldn’t be caught.
The footsteps gradually approached the hallway outside the two bedrooms. Pressing her ear against the door, Tong Yang strained to discern the direction of the killer’s steps. In the dark, silent environment, the pounding of her own heart echoed loudly in her ears. A shadow flitted past the narrow gap beneath the door, pausing between the two bedroom doors.
Tong Yang didn’t dare make a sound. Through the gap, she could only see a pitch-black silhouette—shift even half a step forward, and it vanished from sight.
A moment later, the figure moved toward the opposite bedroom, gripping the doorknob and turning it gently. With a soft click, the lock disengaged.
Tong Yang exhaled in relief. The curtains in the opposite room were drawn tight, leaving it pitch-black and impossible to see inside. As long as the killer entered to search, she could definitely escape.
The person turned the knob and pushed the door open slightly, creating a narrow gap. But then, for some reason, the movement abruptly stopped.
Realizing this, Tong Yang’s heart leaped into her throat. It was as if the killer was toying with her, deliberately teasing her—then, without warning, they turned and strode straight toward her!
Terror surged through her. Why hadn’t the killer gone inside? Did they already know the room was empty?
The figure stepped into her room. As they passed the slightly ajar door, a sharp weapon glinted in their hand, its tip dragging lazily across the wooden surface with a faint, grating sound that scraped at Tong Yang’s nerves, as if the blade were slicing into her own flesh.
Thud—thud—
The killer reached the door, tapping the handle lightly with the hilt of the knife before stopping right outside, separated from Tong Yang by nothing more than the door.
Nervousness made her mouth water, and she swallowed reflexively—a tiny, involuntary sound.
Under normal circumstances, no one would notice such a faint noise. But in this suffocating silence, with only a door between her and the killer, Tong Yang couldn’t be sure if they had heard.
Thud—
The tapping stopped abruptly. Tong Yang clenched the screwdriver in her hand so tightly her nails nearly pierced her skin, using the pain to force herself to stay calm.
The figure paused for a heartbeat—then took a step forward.
The shadow of death looming over her finally receded slightly, giving her strained, nearly shattered nerves a fleeting moment of relief.
Thank goodness. I wasn’t discovered.
The space behind the door was too cramped—she couldn’t even turn her head. Tong Yang couldn’t see anything inside the room, relying only on her hearing. But after entering, the killer made no sound at all, as if they had vanished into thin air. Not even a breath.
Had they really not noticed she was gone?
Yet she hadn’t heard any footsteps leaving.
What was going on?
With great effort, Tong Yang turned her head. Her body had stiffened from staying in the same position for too long.
Through the narrow gap between the door and the wall, the faint moonlight outside illuminated her desk, cluttered with study materials she had used. A cold breeze drifted in, lifting a corner of the math test paper covered in her handwriting.
Suddenly, Tong Yang felt a warm, sticky gust of air brush against her ankle. Instinctively, she looked down.
A woman with an unnatural posture lay sprawled on the floor, slowly raising her upper body. Half her face was hidden behind the door, the other half obscured by tangled hair. Her eyes were stretched impossibly wide, bulging as if about to burst from their sockets, staring unblinkingly up at Tong Yang from below.
Her cracked lips twisted into a grin, thin trails of blood seeping from the corners.
"Found you."
