“This feels amazing!” Liu Dashao set down his enamel mug and said, squinting his eyes. He then turned to the mirror in his living room and, damn it all, began to comb his hair. But just as the comb drew downward, he unexpectedly caught a flash of a white shadow darting past in the reflection.

When he looked again, the shadow was gone.

“Just my eyes playing tricks on me, just my eyes…” Liu Dashao gave a self-mocking laugh, put down the comb, and went to clear the cobwebs from the ceiling.

“Dashao, open that small storage room for me and clear it out; this year’s harvest is stored in there,” the voice of Old Man Liu sounded from outside.

“Damn it, how many hands do I have!” Liu Dashao cursed inwardly, replied with an acknowledgment, gave the feather duster a couple of casual flicks, and ran to open the door to the small room.

This small room was essentially what would now be called a storage closet—very narrow, but capable of holding quite a bit.

However, the door itself was quite peculiar; it only opened a tiny crack before being stopped, as if something was blocking it from the inside.

“Dad, this door won’t open! Did you lock it?”

“Lock it? Nonsense. This door doesn't even have a keyhole. The bolt is on the outside, too,” Old Man Liu replied while mending a hole in the roof from the ladder outside.

“Huh?” Liu Dashao looked and saw that, indeed, the small door had no keyhole, and the bolt was thrown open. It was likely stuck because it hadn't been opened in ages. He then drew upon his qi reservoir, gathered his strength in his palm, and struck the door.

With a ‘creak,’ the door shifted open a bit more. He couldn't fit his body through, but he could push his head inside. After that, no matter how much effort he mustered, pushing with all his might, the door wouldn't budge an inch further.

“Something’s wrong, maybe that old ghost is hiding something in there again!” Thinking of this, Liu Dashao stuck his head inside, trying to see what was blocking the door.

Although the house was reasonably bright during the twilight hours, the small room was pitch black. Its only small window was tightly shut, admitting no light whatsoever.

The floor was covered in dust, and cobwebs had formed in the corners where the walls met. They were so dense they seemed to obscure everything. Liu Dashao didn't dwell on it, assuming it was just the natural result of time passing.

He strained his neck, leaning his head to the side to look behind the door.

The moment he saw, his heart gave a sickening jolt—the space behind the door was empty; nothing was placed there.

Yet, despite nothing being there, the door refused to open. As Liu Dashao puzzled over this, a sudden force pressed against him. A chilling wind swept over his back, causing every pore on his spine to instantly prickle open. The wind felt malicious, like a woman's lips exhaling breath near his ear, accompanied by a slow current of air and an indescribable, strange odor. Before he could properly decipher the scent, the door began to swing shut on its own!

But at that moment, his hand was still gripping the doorknob, and his neck was still protruding into the doorway. The blast of wind slammed the door, causing him intense pain, and he instinctively yanked his hand back, desperately trying to pull the door open. But the force felt as if it descended from heaven; his own strength was utterly useless. The doorframe seemed to be contracting inward! He used his arms and legs, trying to wrench his head, which was stuck inside, free.

The eerie wind continued to blow, and the door kept shrinking inward, tighter and tighter. Liu Dashao was starved of oxygen, seeing stars, and his throat tightened. He wanted to cough loudly, but he didn't even have that moment! Midway through his struggle, his peripheral vision caught sight of a person standing nearby. He strained with all his might to look, his face red and neck bulging, almost believing it was a hallucination. Standing diagonally across from him was a small boy, standing