It seemed that cursing wasn’t very effective—after a few swear words, the weight on my shoulders only grew heavier. The little rascal started shrieking hysterically, its barks terrifying. The eye on my body seemed to loosen, and the tentacles gripping me gradually slackened.
I collapsed onto the ground. In that moment, neither the jade ruler nor the compass had reacted at all. What the hell kind of bad luck was this? If it hadn’t been for the little rascal rushing back to save me, I would’ve been crushed under that bloodshot eye, and that would’ve been the end of me.
Quickly, I scrambled back to my feet.
When I turned to look for that eye, it was already gone. The flashlight in Room 502 was still shining, so I turned back to pick it up.
Mo Bai cursed, “Let me go! This place is terrifying!”
“In your dreams,” I snapped back, slapping Mo Bai as a cold shiver ran down my spine. Could it be that even this possessing ghost was scared?
I picked up the little rascal, stroking its head—it had been cut by a piece of glass, but it wasn’t fatal. Either way, the blood wasn’t something to waste, so I smeared it all over my face. Just as I was about to leave, the light in Room 502 suddenly flickered on.
At the same time,
“Sweet as honey, your smile so sweet…” A voice sang from the bedroom of Room 502. I nearly jumped out of my skin. How could that radio still be playing songs? That tape had been completely ruined.
Then, from downstairs, came the soft sound of footsteps.
My ears were sharp enough to catch the sound—it was incredibly light, even quieter than a cat’s steps. It definitely didn’t sound human.
By now, it was almost eight o’clock.
The only explanation was that the ghosts haunting this old building had begun to stir.
The little rascal’s ears were even sharper than mine, so I quickly covered its mouth to keep it from barking. The song “Sweet as Honey” from Room 502 was pleasant, but now, it sounded more like a requiem.
“Come in.”
My Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily.
“I’m coming,” I forced myself to reply. The voice speaking to me was melodious—definitely not a bad person.
Holding the little rascal, I stepped inside, but strangely, I couldn’t see the source of the voice. The Ghost Sect had methods—techniques to sense spirits—so even without the Yin-Yang Eyes, I should’ve been able to see ordinary ghosts.
But right now, I couldn’t. Yet I could still feel its presence. It was like having someone whispering beside you, breathing down your neck, but you couldn’t see who it was. The feeling was maddening.
I sensed the owner of the voice standing less than two meters in front of me. Could it be Ye Wenxin from the black-and-white photo?
“Take a seat. Soon, everyone will come up to dance with me,” the voice said. I glanced at the little rascal’s eyes—damn it, even it didn’t seem to see anything.
The jade ruler and compass remained still, showing no reaction. Nothing felt particularly off, but that only made me more uneasy.
With no other choice, I pulled up a chair and sat down. At some point, a plate of stones appeared in front of me—some red, some green, even black coal fragments.
“Since you’re here, have some candy. And roasted chestnuts—I’m sure you’ll love them.”
I nodded.
Then I heard footsteps approaching the door—something had entered.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
My ears strained, and I nearly lost my mind. It seemed like this was some kind of gathering place for wandering spirits.
Scattered on the floor were grains of rice, and looking closely, I noticed footprints everywhere.
The song “Sweet as Honey” from the SanYo radio ended.
It was replaced by “Wishing We Last Forever.” Watching the shifting grains of rice, I soon realized the footprints were spinning faster and faster. A group of invisible beings had begun dancing.
“Hmm? Why aren’t you eating the candy?” the host’s voice asked.
I had no choice. I picked up a red stone, bit into it—and nearly broke my teeth. The outer layer was red paper, but inside was just a rock.
Ghost stories often tell of late travelers stumbling upon a grand mansion in the mountains, where they’re warmly welcomed and fed delicious braised pork and stewed trotters. But when they wake the next morning, they find themselves half-buried in yellow earth, vomiting up dirt and rotten sweet potatoes.
Unless someone was playing a cruel joke, I was experiencing the exact same thing.
I pretended to eat, palming the stone and slipping it into my pocket.
After Teresa Teng’s song ended, another of her songs began.
While they danced, I took advantage of the moment to pull out my jade ruler. Damn it—it was useless. I silently chanted an incantation, squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them abruptly—but still saw nothing.
Damn it.
Had Dong Lingzi lied to me?
Then I remembered something he’d once said—some ghosts were just too strange to see normally. But there was one method: bending down and looking through your own legs.
I grabbed a piece of coal, pretended to drop it, and bent down to pick it up. Peering between my legs, I finally saw them—a dozen elderly men and women dancing in the living room.
Moving gracefully to “Wishing We Last Forever,” they performed an old-fashioned ballroom dance, their steps simple but charming.
As I crouched, I tried to catch a glimpse of Room 502’s host. Finally, near the doorway between the living room and bedroom, I spotted her.
Where were her eyes? I scanned quickly but still couldn’t see them. Afraid they’d grow suspicious, I straightened up. But as I sat back in the chair, my vision adjusted—now I could see them clearly.
The woman standing between the bedroom and living room looked just like the girl in the photo—only older.
It had to be Ye Wenxin. Looking closer at the elderly dancers, I recognized them—back in school, I’d seen their photos in historical records. These were the old professors from decades ago.
Now, at night, they came out to stretch their legs and dance.
“Ahem…” I coughed twice and stood, preparing to leave. Just then, Ye Wenxin approached. “Leaving so soon?”
I nodded. “My family’s waiting for me to eat. Can’t stay long.”
Ye Wenxin shook her head. “You should wait a while longer. There’s a monster in this building—if you go down now, you’ll suffer. Last time, a little boy ran into it. I had to hide him here.”
My heart skipped a beat. So Xu Xiaokang had met his end here—but this wasn’t the first crime scene.
It was that monster.
“Was it the eye?” I asked.
Ye Wenxin frowned. “What eye? We’ve lived here for years. Never seen any eye.”
I was baffled. Had I imagined it? Was it all in my head?
Taking a deep breath, I watched the old professors continue dancing.
“Do you hold dances every night?” I asked curiously.
Ye Wenxin nodded. “Yes. Later, I’ll make braised pork and stewed trotters. Stay and eat before you go. There’s always room for one more.”
Her tone left no room for refusal. The dancing professors also turned their heads toward me.
“Young man, you must try Professor Ye’s cooking,” one said. “Especially the trotters—unmatched in flavor. A rare treat.”
I forced a smile. “Then I’ll give it a try.”
But inside, I was dreading it. What exactly were these “trotters” made of?
Ye Wenxin returned to the kitchen, beckoning me to help. The little rascal stayed quiet, so I set it down and followed.
Old dormitories usually had shared kitchens in the hallway, but Ye Wenxin’s two-bedroom unit had a private one—likely a perk of her status.
The kitchen was covered in cobwebs. A rusted pot lid sat on the stove, surrounded by ingredients—pebbles, dog fur, scraps of cloth. Probably substitutes for spices like tangerine peel, fennel, and pepper. A few jars of murky liquid stood nearby—no doubt the “soy sauce,” “vinegar,” and “cooking wine.”
Dear lord. Was I really expected to eat this?
Then I saw it—a shoe sole.
My heart sank. So this was the “trotter.”
Well, at least it was better than the idiots who woke up eating dirt.
After all, everyone knew shoe soles could be boiled down into gelatin.
Ye Wenxin handed me a knife and tossed over the sole. “What’s your name? I never asked.”
If I gave my real name now, I’d be an idiot.
Thinking back to Yunnan, when Ruan Nan had asked, I’d almost given Lin Danan’s name.
“I’m Lin Danan,” I said, mentally apologizing to Lin Danan a hundred times.
Friends were for betraying in times of crisis.
“Ah, Danan. Could you chop up the trotter for me?” Ye Wenxin smiled, a sly gleam in her eye.
I examined the shoe—size 42.
I was about to ask how one trotter could feed so many people when Ye Wenxin pulled a bag from under the counter and dumped out five more shoes.
Well. That should be enough.
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