Though his eyes were closed, Kuang Feifan felt as if his girlfriend, Bai Ru, had materialized before him; a faint smile touched his lips, imbued with a mixture of happiness and relief.

The pale green mist in the corridor had, at some unknown point, thickened into a ghastly, lurid green haze, swallowing the surrounding scenery until it was nearly invisible. Countless shadowy wisps of black energy mingled within the fog, and the air seemed to grow viscous, making every step Kuang Feifan took feel labored.

But he did not falter, for Bai Ru seemed to stand just ahead, drawing him forward one step at a time. Kuang Feifan silently counted his paces, then suddenly spun ninety degrees to his left, letting out a sharp shout, “Lin Bing…” He slammed the hand gripping the pendant hard against the left wall, then threw his body backward in a violent recoil.

He felt his back collide with a solid object—it was a door. With a thunderous bang, the door burst open, and Kuang Feifan tumbled backward onto the floor. Despite the pain shooting through him, he managed a backward roll to regain his footing. The gruesome green fog in the corridor swirled, gradually thinning, and he could see that the mirror opposite the doorway was now webbed with countless minute cracks. But unlike before, a black-red ** began to ooze from these fissures at a visible rate, quickly spreading until the entire mirror surface was coated.

There was no mist inside the room. Against the far wall stood a single, dilapidated cabinet, thick with dust. Kuang Feifan slowly regulated his breathing, and the dizziness began to subside. He let out a long exhale. Though subjected to dual pressures—mental and physical—the exhaustion was mounting, yet still manageable.

He knew he absolutely could not lie down now. He Shaoqing’s fate was unknown, and he himself was not yet safe. If he collapsed, it would all be over.

Kuang Feifan straightened up, surveying the room. To his surprise, the windows in this chamber appeared normal. The glass was intact, though coated in a heavy layer of grime. He couldn't see the full moon, and the light was dim, but he could just make out his surroundings; after being in the building for so long, his eyes had adjusted to the dark.

He couldn’t fathom why an empty room would contain a cabinet, but judging by its appearance, it had been there for at least a decade. He walked toward it, curiosity piqued, when suddenly his eyes widened. On the dusty surface of the cabinet, someone had scratched two characters in a patch of grime at one corner: Flee Now.

Kuang Feifan recoiled two steps in shock. Could He Shaoqing have left this? He immediately leaned in to inspect the cabinet top closely. The two characters were written hastily, making it impossible to confirm if they were He Shaoqing’s handwriting. However, the level of dust disturbance suggested they were written very recently; the strokes were somewhat erratic, indicating haste, but the pressure was even across each stroke, suggesting the writer had been unharmed at the time.

Kuang Feifan closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. After a moment, he pulled out his phone, illuminated the screen, and carefully swept the light across the cabinet top down to the floor. Sure enough, on the room’s floor, besides his own footprints, there was another set—clearly He Shaoqing’s shoe prints. What energized him was that one set of prints led out of the room. At least He Shaoqing seemed to have walked out of this room alive.

“He Shao, you really aren't simple either,” Kuang Feifan chuckled, turning toward the doorway. The meaning of those two words was simply outside the scope of his immediate concerns.

The fog in the corridor had vanished, and the scenery had returned to normal. It seemed he had broken the ‘phantom wall’ simply by stumbling into the right spot. Looking at the ordinary-looking pendant in his hand, he felt a complex surge of emotions.

The mirror opposite the door was entirely covered in the black-red ** which was now slowly dripping onto the floor. A pungent smell of rusted iron mixed with decay choked Kuang Feifan, forcing him to cover his nose. He could identify it as the odor of blood and putrefied flesh. Yet, after witnessing so many strange things, he no longer bothered to investigate the causes.

He stood at the threshold, glancing left and right. To his left was the staircase leading to the first floor. To his right, not far off, was the corner turn of the corridor, where the bright window remained. Moonlight poured through that window onto the floor, looking so real. He hesitated, unsure if stepping into that moonlight would invite yet another unforeseen danger.

Tightening his grip on the pendant, he tried to force a stern look onto his face. With heavy legs, he started walking toward the corner, step by agonizing step. As he reached the doorway, a phrase surfaced in his mind—not something his girlfriend had told him, but something he’d heard from an unknown source: Ghosts fear the wicked man.

He made an effort to look fierce, slowly walking to the very edge of the moonlight pool on the floor and stopping. He paused, took a breath, and tentatively lifted his foot, testing the moonlight. Nothing unusual happened.

“Damn, am I being too cautious?” Kuang Feifan scratched his head unconsciously, silently ridiculing himself. However, there was one detail he overlooked: when he first entered the second floor, the window at that corner had actually been shattered, with no moonlight visible.

Rounding the bend, guided by the bright moonlight, he saw that this section of the corridor was not long. There was only one closed door on his right, and further ahead, a staircase leading upward, with another closed door at the top—likely the attic of the small building.

Kuang Feifan thought for a moment before stepping up to the door on the right. It was shut tight. He nudged it with his foot but couldn't open it; it seemed jammed. Kuang Feifan simply raised his hand, grasped the spherical doorknob, and gave it a gentle twist. With a soft click, the door pushed open.

Kuang Feifan did not rush in. Instead, he cautiously stepped back one pace, using the hand holding the pendant to push the door wide open.

“Holy hell,” Kuang Feifan gasped at the sight inside.

He never expected that the room around the corner would turn out to be a bathroom.

The room was small, with a bathtub immediately facing him—filthy, damaged, and missing a chunk. He froze, spotting a hand dangling out of the tub.

Kuang Feifan’s eyes snapped wide open because he knew that hand intimately: it could only belong to He Shaoqing. He dashed forward, but a flicker of hesitation crossed his mind just before reaching the tub, though he pressed on resolutely.

He Shaoqing was curled up inside the bathtub. Kuang Feifan’s heart seized. The first thing he noticed was the dried blood on He Shaoqing’s forehead. His initial thought was that He Shaoqing was dead.

But when he saw the slight rise and fall of He Shaoqing’s chest, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. He hurried to the tub, pulled He Shaoqing out, propped him against the wall, and repeatedly slapped his cheeks, calling out, “He Shao! He Shao…”

“Ugh…” He Shaoqing’s eyelids fluttered, and a groan escaped his lips. Joy lit up Kuang Feifan’s face. He increased the force of his slaps on He Shaoqing’s jaw.

“Aoww… Stop hitting me,” He Shaoqing finally mumbled, batting away Kuang Feifan’s hand under the vigorous assault. With his eyes still closed, he mumbled, “Am I dead yet?”

Kuang Feifan grinned happily, grabbing He Shaoqing’s collar and repeating breathlessly, “Hey, He Shao, wake up! You’re not dead, you’re not dead… How are you not dead?”

The brief elation faded, replaced by a thread of suspicion. His recent perilous experiences demanded vigilance, so he released He Shaoqing’s collar and pressed him with a guarded tone.

He Shaoqing frowned, slowly opening his eyes. He tilted his head to look at Kuang Feifan, still weakly murmuring, “How would I know? Damn it, this rotten building has ghosts. Have you seen any? Are you dead or not?”

Hearing He Shaoqing speak in that familiar, flippant tone, Kuang Feifan finally relaxed. He placed his hands back on He Shaoqing’s shoulders and asked, “Looks like neither of us died. How about it, can you stand? We need to get out of here fast.”

He Shaoqing lifted an arm. “Give me a hand, I’m a bit weak right now.”

Kuang Feifan extended both hands and firmly pulled He Shaoqing up, guiding him away from the tub. He Shaoqing seemed frail but, leaning on Kuang Feifan’s arm, managed to lift his own legs out of the tub. It seemed with a bit of rest, he might regain some strength.

With a soft clatter, a small object fell from He Shaoqing’s body into the tub. Since the sound was faint, and both men were focused on their surroundings and the urgent need to leave the room, neither noticed the sound.

The two supported each other, moving toward the bathroom door. He Shaoqing waved his hand, signaling Kuang Feifan to let go. He struggled to stand straight. Though his legs still wobbled, he could hold himself up; after all, they were the reigning champions of the military’s annual ‘Iron Man Pentathlon.’

Kuang Feifan fumbled through his pockets and surprisingly produced a packet of tissues. He handed them to He Shaoqing. “Deal with that cut on your head.”

He Shaoqing took them, eyeing the tissues with amusement, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe you haven't dropped that habit of carrying tissues everywhere. But how am I supposed to treat the wound? There’s no water here?”

Kuang Feifan shrugged. “Use your spit. Don’t you know spit can disinfect?”

He Shaoqing’s eyes widened. “Are you serious or kidding?”

Kuang Feifan waved a hand dismissively. “At a time like this, who’s in the mood for jokes? It’s a stopgap measure; it’ll be good enough for a quick clean and reduce the chance of infection.”

One man leaned against the wall beside the door, the other against the door itself. While dabbing water from his spit onto the wound with a tissue, He Shaoqing adjusted his breathing and casually asked, “I really didn’t think we’d see each other alive again. Did you not see the words I left?”

Kuang Feifan scoffed, rolling his eyes at him. “If I had left those two words, and you had seen them, would you have left immediately?”

He Shaoqing paused in thought. “I don’t know. Oh right, how did you manage to be okay?”

Kuang Feifan raised his hand, displaying the ‘Mani Stone’ pendant in his palm, and managed a bitter smile. “This thing, essentially.”

He Shaoqing, seeing that the cleaning was mostly done, simply stuck a tissue over the wound, leaned forward, and scrutinized it closely, asking with uncertainty, “This looks like the one your ex-girlfriend gave you.”

Kuang Feifan nodded, his mind drifting back to his former girlfriend.

Seeing his silence, He Shaoqing rolled his eyes in exasperation and changed the subject. “Hey, this isn't the time for nostalgia. By the way, do you want to know how I ended up okay?”

Kuang Feifan, jolted by the question, remembered their urgent situation and quickly gathered his focus, about to ask a counter-question, when suddenly a rush of wind sounded from outside the door. The moonlight streaming in through the window on the corridor abruptly vanished, plunging the building into immediate darkness. Simultaneously, a chilling, sinister chuckle—a dry, icy “Heh heh heh”—echoed from somewhere down the hall. Both men felt as if their very hearts had frozen solid.