No matter how fast his mind raced, Zhuo Si could clearly tell that his thoughts were functioning normally—yet his entire body seemed beyond his control, as if paralyzed by sleep. But now, he wasn’t asleep. He was genuinely being seized by a ghost.
Noon, the hour of the Horse, should have been the time of day when yang energy was at its peak. To give himself an edge, he had deliberately avoided coming at night, thinking that even shadow-dwelling spirits should be somewhat restrained in broad daylight.
Yet… the situation in Xue Family Alley had clearly exceeded Zhuo Si’s expectations.
Do ghosts kill?
Zhuo Si pondered the question silently. If the tropes of horror movies and novels were anything to go by, the answer was undoubtedly yes.
Drowning ghosts dragged victims down as replacements, vengeful spirits demanded lives in retribution, and some even fed on human lives to grow stronger.
A flicker of regret stirred in Zhuo Si’s heart.
The more desperate the moment, the sharper his mind became, piecing things together with chilling clarity.
He frequented the antique district and knew for a fact that one of the masters there possessed real supernatural abilities. If he hadn’t witnessed the anomalies of this world multiple times, he wouldn’t have been so obsessed with chasing after esoteric power.
Only now did it dawn on him—the rumors of hauntings in Xue Family Alley had persisted in Bin City for far longer than a day. If someone could have resolved it, they would have done so already.
And according to the whispers in the underworld, even the real estate developers had been forced to consult a feng shui master to apologize and abandon their plans for the land.
What had possessed him to come here, armed only with haphazard, self-taught scraps of knowledge?
The human mind, once fixated on power, could become so single-minded that it overlooked everything else.
Zhuo Si’s thoughts grew clearer by the second, but there was no undoing his mistake.
Right now, he couldn’t even see the ghost.
All he could feel was the sensation of being lifted, drawing inexorably closer to the door ahead.
He strained to move his eyes, desperate to survey his surroundings, but his body was being dragged forward, his head frozen stiff, allowing only the slightest movement.
The door swung open abruptly—yet Zhuo Si still saw no one.
It opened inward, as if blasted by a sudden gust of wind from outside.
Zhuo Si had no say in the matter as he was hurled into the room. He hit the floor hard, the unseen force discarding him like trash.
His limbs burned with a bone-deep chill, but now, as he flexed his fingers, he realized his body was his own again!
A surge of relief shot through him. He scrambled to his feet, though his movements were cautious, his eyes darting around.
He hadn’t been thrown in here for no reason. This room had to hold a secret.
Rubbing his hands together for warmth, he pressed them to his face, as if reviving himself.
The room seemed empty apart from him, but Zhuo Si wasn’t convinced.
He crept toward the door, careful not to make a sound. There was no latch—pushing outward did nothing, nor did pulling inward.
So, he was locked in.
Stay calm. Gather information from the surroundings.
Zhuo Si had no idea why the ghost in this courtyard had trapped him here. The child spirit from earlier had only wanted someone to play with.
But this time—was he being kept as prey, to be devoured later?
His mind spiraled into wild speculation, especially as he took in the room’s furnishings, his expression darkening.
The house was clearly ancient, yet the interior was surprisingly dust-free. The furniture was neither new nor fully aged, from the folding screen to the tea table—all intact, as if preserved.
These items… by now, they should have been ownerless. Not quite antiques, but how had no one looted them?
A prickle of unease ran down his spine. If these things remained, did that mean someone—or something—still lived here?
He stepped around the screen—and a blur flickered at the edge of his vision.
Zhuo Si spun around, but there was nothing. Front, back, left, right—empty.
He froze, torn between pressing forward or staying put.
He moved deeper behind the screen, its sheer fabric offering a near-transparent view of the other side.
Now, he was certain—nothing lurked beyond the screen.
Inside, he found a vanity with a quarter-length mirror, unmistakably an old piece.
The edges of the glass were smudged, but the center gleamed clean, as if regularly polished.
Zhuo Si took a steadying breath. A vanity—this was a woman’s room. So, the one who’d captured him was a female ghost? Or her servant?
An old mansion, a ghostly woman, supernatural occurrences—it was a nightmare trifecta.
Another blur flashed past. This time, Zhuo Si forced his eyes wide open, refusing to blink, but it was too fast—he still couldn’t make it out.
Near the vanity, he spotted a bed stripped bare of any bedding, stark and empty.
Beside it stood a lacquered wooden stand, about the height of a person.
So far, he hadn’t found any books or letters—nothing with written clues.
The bed was visibly empty from afar, but the vanity, with its array of drawers, taunted him. Where was that fleeting shadow watching him from?
Move, or stay still? That was the question.
But if death was inevitable, better to die knowing the truth.
Gritting his teeth, he approached the vanity, sidling up to it cautiously. From his backpack, he pulled out a black cloth and draped it over the mirror, instantly feeling safer.
But the next moment, he realized—the vanity held more than just the covered mirror.
A small, open-faced hand mirror materialized, as if it had always belonged there.
Zhuo Si’s scalp prickled as he stared at it. Before he could fish out another covering from his bag, the mirror’s surface rippled—and a face appeared.
Peach-blossom beauty, fair skin, red lips, ink-black hair, and large, alluring eyes. A smile so enchanting it could steal a man’s soul.
The angle of the mirror made her gaze slant toward him, sly and knowing.
Their eyes locked—and then, in a blink, she vanished, as if it had all been his imagination.
"Did you like what you saw?"
A voice, soft and eerie, whispered directly into his ear. His heart rate spiked to 180 on the spot.
Zhuo Si didn’t dare turn.
Yet the face appeared before him anyway—not the stunning beauty from the mirror, but a skeletal visage, eyes burning with ghostly flames.
He recoiled instinctively, stumbling behind the screen—only for the skeleton to transform back into the beauty when viewed through the sheer fabric.
She stepped gracefully from behind the screen, the same breathtaking woman from the mirror, and slid an arm around his shoulders.
Once again, Zhuo Si found himself being hauled up like a helpless chick and firmly planted onto the small stool in front of the vanity. The black cloth covering the mirror was yanked away, and now, staring into the reflection, he saw only himself—no one else.
The vanity drawer slid open. Zhuo Si’s face stiffened as his eyebrows were scraped as if by a razor blade, his skin dusted with pale powder. He couldn’t lower his head, but he could feel the crushing pressure on his feet—his toes were being forced into shoes several sizes too small. Something was smeared over his lips, and a realization dawned on him: he was… being made up.
Why? Was the female ghost the one doing this to him?
The stool beneath him suddenly dropped—no, he was being yanked upward. Zhuo Si was pulled to his feet, his gaze snapping toward the bed. Where there had been nothing before, a wooden stand now held a blood-red wedding dress.
So that was a clothes rack!
The wedding dress… A sense of foreboding crept over him.
The crimson garment floated toward him, draping over his body without even removing his backpack.
Damn it! A bloody wedding dress?
Was this the truth behind the urban legend—some woman from Xue Family Alley forced into marriage? But in the records Zhuo Si had dug up, there was no mention of such a thing. Then again, stories like this were practically cliché in horror movies.
Once the dress was on, the next step should be the wedding procession, right? Maybe he’d finally get to leave this room, this courtyard. If he could just escape the courtyard, he could bolt straight out of the alley!
His excitement lasted all of three seconds before a ghostly female voice whispered in his ear:
"Happy?"
Was she talking to him… or to the ghost from her memories?
Zhuo Si guessed this was a reenactment of the ghost’s past. Maybe all he had to do was play along as a puppet—even if he was the wrong gender.
The ghost clearly didn’t need his answer, but what happened next caught him off guard.
The wedding dress was on, but instead of a procession, he was hauled onto the bed.
Wait—straight to the wedding night? That didn’t seem right!
And the bed was completely empty!
No, it wasn’t a bed at all.
The moment Zhuo Si was laid down, his back hit hard, unyielding wood. Stretching his arms, he felt the same rigid confinement. The space around his head was wide, but his feet were squeezed into a painfully narrow space. Above him, the last sliver of light faded away.
This wasn’t a bed.
Wider at the top, narrower at the bottom—this was a damn coffin!
He’d been stuffed straight into a casket!
Holy hell, was staying alive really this hard?!
Inside the coffin, he regained control of his body, but the wedding dress wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he tugged.
"Hello?!"
"Someone help me!"
He pounded on the coffin lid, unsure if anyone outside could hear him. Despair clawed at his throat. Even the dagger from his backpack couldn’t pry it open. He was going to suffocate! His screams grew hoarse.
Then, abruptly, light pierced through. Two faces peered down at him, and his heart leaped.
"Save me!"
Yan and Jue Jue stared at Zhuo Si in the coffin: "…"
They’d heard about a volunteer testing the haunted house attraction. After confirming he wasn’t part of their team but some poor soul who’d wandered in by mistake, they rushed to pull him out—only to find it was their intern buddy!
Look at you, half-dead already! This is why they say "curiosity killed the cat"!
As they hauled him out, Zhuo Si blinked at the vaguely familiar couple, slowly placing their faces.
He didn’t know their names, but they were his saviors, no doubt about it.
"Benefactors, accept my deepest bow!"
