Chen Tutu was so furious that she pointed at my nose and scolded me relentlessly, eventually swaying weakly and nearly fainting. I wanted to step forward to support her, but Chen Tutu firmly ordered me to stand aside.
Just yesterday, I had even carried her in my arms, yet now she wouldn’t let me help her. Truly, a woman’s heart is unfathomable.
When swiping the medical insurance card later, the nurse said enviously, “You’ve got such a good boyfriend. He took care of you all night, and you clung to his hand so tightly—it must have hurt. Yet I didn’t see him move his hand even once.”
A flicker of guilt flashed across Chen Tutu’s face, quickly replaced by a hint of pride. When it was time for her to go to work, she staggered unsteadily, clearly not fully recovered.
“Enough. Go home, sleep, cook some porridge, drink it, and then sleep,” I said, picking Chen Tutu up and placing her on the motorcycle. Xie Xiaoyu got on behind her, and within ten minutes, we were back at Chen Tutu’s home under the Second Bridge.
Opening the window, I gazed at the Yangtze River flowing past. The property prices here were steep, so Chen Tutu’s financial situation couldn’t be too bad.
After cooking the porridge and watching her drink it, I ordered her to lie down and sleep. Chen Tutu seemed much more compliant—some women just shouldn’t be treated too gently. Once she was asleep, I kept the remaining porridge warm in the rice cooker so she could have two more bowls when she woke up. What she ate for dinner was beyond my concern.
I went to a hardware store to buy a large sledgehammer, then to the market where chickens were slaughtered and sold to get two jars of chicken blood. I also managed to procure some dog blood. I ground the remaining Spirit Ghost Stones into powder and drew dozens of Donglingzi Ghost-Catching Talismans.
By 3 p.m., I tightened the red thread on the peachwood figurine.
Mo Bai yelled, “You little brat, let me out! Or I’ll kill you!”
“Stay put and get used to it. Soon enough, you’ll love your peachwood body.”
Finally, I double-checked the chicken blood, dog blood, sledgehammer, jade ruler, and compass. With Little Rascal and the jade corpse Xie Xiaoyu in tow, the motorcycle roared as we returned to the old building. I took a deep breath.
Nearly ten days had passed since I last entered.
The old building remained deserted. This time, I was here for the eye—if I didn’t figure out what it was, I wouldn’t sleep soundly.
I wore three watches on my left wrist to avoid timing errors. Anyone seeing me now would call me “Three-Watch Guy.”
Exactly 4 p.m.
As I entered, the sky darkened, and a strange wind blew—rain was imminent.
With the sledgehammer on my shoulder, I rushed straight to the third floor and turned into Room 302. Little Rascal and the jade corpse followed closely.
At that moment, I ran faster than a dog. Over the past ten days, countless clues had tangled and overlapped in my mind. Faces—Zhou Liangliang, Guo Furong, the homeless man, Ye Wenxin—flashed before me, fueling my determination. No matter what, today I would break this mystery and uncover the origin of the eye.
In Room 302, dim light filtered through the shaky window. Two blackened cotton pads—likely the homeless man’s—lay nearby, along with chicken feathers and bones. On the wall, large characters read: “Tomorrow is a good day,” probably the homeless man’s self-encouragement.
Tomorrow is a good day. As long as hope remains, it will always be a good day.
I spat twice into my hands, gripped the sledgehammer, and punched the sealed door. The wall thudded twice, echoing loudly.
“Who’s up there? There’s a ghost up there—get down now!” Someone shouted from below, probably the gardener chasing me.
“I am the ghost,” I replied in a deliberately eerie voice, scaring him off.
Without hesitation, I swung the sledgehammer again. Suddenly, an invisible force gripped my hands, making it impossible to lift the hammer. After just two strikes, something was restraining me.
I smirked, spun sharply, and splashed chicken blood and dog blood from the pouches on my belt. The force weakened and vanished.
In an instant, I slapped a Ghost-Catching Talisman on my back and recited a protective chant to ward off spirits.
“Let’s see what kind of eye you are. Let’s see what kind of monster you are—driving Guo Furong to madness and death, making the homeless man feel a man’s touch every night.”
I smashed the hammer into the door again. It broke quickly, revealing bricks behind it. I pulled one out.
“I knew it was you, you bastard!” The gardener arrived with two colleagues.
I slumped to the ground. As the brick came loose, seven white skulls rolled out like marbles, clattering onto the floor.
A floor full of skulls.
The gardener and his colleagues paled. I rolled aside, scanning for the eye, but found nothing.
“Call the police! Call the police!” I shouted.
The gardener fumbled with his phone, but it wouldn’t dial. His colleague’s hands trembled. “Use mine!” Still, no luck.
We seemed to be in a dead zone—no signal at all.
Suddenly, a violent force flung all three men into the wall. Blood oozed from the back of their heads as they collapsed, motionless.
Too intense—I hadn’t even seen what hit them.
The jade corpse growled and charged, smashing through the wall. Bricks rained down.
Her eyes turned white as she scanned the room.
I followed her gaze but saw nothing—just an immense, invisible force.
Skulls and scattered bricks surrounded me. The three gardeners lay unconscious.
I gripped the jade ruler, summoning a blue glow, and called the jade corpse to stand behind me. Little Rascal barked incessantly, his eyes darting around.
I pulled out the compass. Its needle spun wildly, restless in every direction.
I dashed out of 302, down the hallway, but the unease faded as quickly as it came.
Still no phone signal. I shook the gardeners—they were out cold. I slapped Ghost-Suppressing Talismans on them to protect them from the unseen force.
The compass needle twitched again. My scalp prickled as I sensed a terrifying presence. I chased it, the needle spinning faster.
Two minutes later, I reached the fifth floor.
Empty. Nothing.
The jade corpse knocked down three more walls, but the thing eluded us—as if it were toying with us.
I pasted Ghost-Catching Talismans on the walls and yelled, “Show yourself! Let me see what cowardly thing you are, hiding like this—”
No response. It ignored me.
“Back to 302,” I muttered through gritted teeth, feeling duped.
The answer lay behind that wall. I retreated to 302, every step cautious, nerves taut.
That eye had deceived even Ji Ruyue, who raised starving ghosts, and the peerless Yimiao.
Its power and cunning surpassed my expectations.
It toyed with perception—there when you sought it, gone when you ignored it, even lurking behind you, climbing onto your shoulders.
Only one way to deal with it: find its nest.
Seven skulls lay on the floor of 302—no more, no less.
I picked up the sledgehammer and smashed the remaining bricks. Behind the door was a small space—no more than two square meters.
Inside stood a large red wardrobe, sealed with black tape.
My tension spiked. A strange wardrobe like this invited dark associations.
I remembered the red Siemens fridge in the madman’s house in Baishui Village. When its door opened, a Huangshi had leaped out.
Human memory fixates on terror, weaving connections effortlessly.
This red wardrobe, bound in black tape, didn’t seem ancient. The tape looked recent, but the wardrobe itself was older.
Such red wardrobes were once household staples—holding clothes, hiding candy, even loose change for mint sweets.
A cold wind blew through the window. Rain began, light at first, then heavier, drenching passersby and scattering my thoughts.
Outside, the downpour intensified. Autumn grew colder with each rain.
The wind stirred the seven skulls, making them shift slightly.
The light in 302 dimmed. I had the jade corpse shine a flashlight on the wardrobe.
Unlike the Huangshi fridge, this wardrobe’s black tape made it impossible to open from inside.
Ignoring the storm, I cut the tape with a knife.
A gap appeared. The compass needle spun wildly.
My heart raced, pounding in my throat.
If a giant eye stared back when I opened this, I might lose it. The jade corpse’s flashlight beam focused on the gap.
I hesitated, hand hovering. Fear held me back. Little Rascal cowered on the floor.
I withdrew my hand, then reached again.
I recalled a story from my village during Spring Festival. Two siblings, seven or eight, played house while their parents gambled next door.
“Let’s celebrate a birthday,” the sister said. They lit a candle in a red wardrobe, shut the door, and before finishing their song, the clothes caught fire.
They burned to death.
Every horror story involving red, wardrobes, or rectangular shapes flooded my mind—red-clad female ghosts, red coffins, late-night high heels.
Like a fast-forwarded film reel, it all flashed by in five minutes.
“A real man fears no ghost…”
I reached out and opened the wardrobe, just as I once did to steal coins from my father’s pockets…
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