Kuang Feifan grinned wryly, pointed at the bathtub, and muttered in frustration, "The lighter is in my jacket pocket; I completely forgot to take it out earlier."

"You've got to be kidding me..." He Shaoqing glanced at the desiccated corpse in the tub, his eyes filled with sheer disgust. He noticed that the jacket currently wrapped around the corpse’s feet was indeed Kuang Feifan’s, lying right beside him.

"I'll get it," Kuang Feifan offered.

"Forget it, I'll do it." He Shaoqing waved his hand dismissively, bending down to reach for Kuang Feifan's jacket. Suddenly, a slender, black arm snaked out from below and to the side, and a tiny, skeletal, withered hand clamped down instantly onto He Shaoqing’s wrist.

The grip was so immense that He Shaoqing felt his wrist was about to shatter. He cried out in pain and frantically tried to pull back, but the binding force was so strong it arrested his backward motion. Instead of retreating, he was yanked forward, forced to drop to one knee.

Kuang Feifan's eyes widened in horror. He clearly saw that the entity gripping He Shaoqing's wrist was the small mummified body from the abdomen of the larger female corpse. The small body, which had been curled up, was now somehow kneeling atop the female corpse. Its black, shriveled head slowly rotated, seeming to scrutinize them both.

Though completely bewildered by what was happening, Kuang Feifan instinctively reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out the 'Mani Stone' pendant, clenched it in his hand, and pressed it toward the black, withered hand strangling He Shaoqing. It seemed this pendant was truly an anathema to the strange occurrences in this building. Before Kuang Feifan’s hand could fully connect, the small corpse released its grip and darted aside. Kuang Feifan seized the opportunity, yanking He Shaoqing upright and stumbling back a few steps. As he did, He Shaoqing was still clutching Kuang Feifan’s clothes, and the pull nearly dragged the jacket—and the leg of the female corpse wrapped within it—clean out of the tub.

With a soft thud, something shiny slid out of the jacket. Kuang Feifan’s eyes lit up; his precious lighter had fallen onto the floor. He quickly released He Shaoqing's hand and bent over to retrieve it. As he crouched low, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of white near the bathroom doorway. Although the interior light remained dim, he recognized the patch of white as the corner of a loose robe sleeve.

A shock ran through him, and he snapped his head around toward the door. At that moment, He Shaoqing also noticed something amiss and turned to look. The sight awaiting them brought expressions of sheer terror to both their faces.

At the bathroom entrance stood a woman, seemingly materialized from thin air. She was draped in a loose, white bathrobe, yet she floated mid-air, utterly lacking feet. Looking higher, long black hair spilled down her back, framing a face devoid of color, its skin tinged with blue veins, crisscrossed with cracks like dried earth. A pair of white eyes, utterly lacking black pupils, bulged slightly in their sockets. Her hands hung limply at her sides, and the entire presence exuded an endless, bone-deep chill.

The two men froze, their scalps prickling, their bodies rigid. However, seeing that the woman in white merely stood there with a fixed, ferocious expression, seemingly making no immediate move, He Shaoqing managed to discreetly wipe the cold sweat from his hands on his trousers and whispered hoarsely, "Holy—when did she change into that outfit?"

That he could still make such a remark at a time like this was astounding to Kuang Feifan, yet this was hardly the moment for verbal jabs. He still held the lighter; the priority was extinguishing the desiccated corpse in the tub.

It had to be admitted that sometimes, a thick skin was an advantage. Like now: a mummy corpse in front, a female specter behind. A more timid soul might have crumbled entirely. Despite the terror gripping them, neither man had surrendered the fight against the lethal anomalies of the building.

But when Kuang Feifan’s gaze returned to the bathtub, his face immediately darkened with alarm. The tub now held only the dried, skeletal remains of the female corpse. Furthermore, that corpse was laboriously raising an arm—its skin blackened to a deep purple—and slowly resting it on the rim of the tub. Its nearly skeletal head twisted back and forth with a grating crack-crack sound from its joints, a sound that set the teeth on edge. By its posture, it was attempting to crawl out. Had Kuang Feifan not pulled her leg during the scuffle over the clothes, momentarily unbalancing her, she might already have emerged to trouble them.

The woman in white at the doorway also moved. In the blink of an eye, she vanished from the entrance and reappeared frighteningly close behind Kuang Feifan. Her hand shot out, aiming directly for the back of his neck. He Shaoqing, standing nearby, reacted without thinking, throwing himself forward in a desperate tackle aimed at the white-robed specter. To his horror, the ghost flickered aside, and with a swift grab, locked her fingers around He Shaoqing’s throat.

He Shaoqing didn't even have a chance to struggle. He felt an icy hand clamp down, suffocating him. Instantly, his entire body seized up, utterly immobile. He couldn't even twitch a finger. Whether it was the sheer coldness of the grip or something else, not only could he not fight back, but a bluish-purple hue was already creeping across his face. He hung there, mouth agape, expressionless, his feet dangling uselessly above the floor.

Cold sweat instantly broke out on Kuang Feifan’s brow. In a desperate reflex, he flicked his wrist, tossing the lighter into the bathtub. Immediately following that, he clenched his fist around the pendant and swung it toward the ghost's cheek. However, the white-robed phantom sidestepped with impossible grace, avoiding Kuang Feifan’s blow completely.

Meanwhile, the fire in the tub, ignited by the thrown lighter, had caught hold. Kuang Feifan had intended to use cloth as kindling, but there was no time. Fortunately, the alcohol he’d splashed earlier was plentiful and potent enough; the flames immediately roared up, leaping higher than a man, spitting and crackling. In the firelight, the desiccated corpse writhed violently, its tendons and bones spasming, emitting a chilling, low hiss.

Kuang Feifan forced himself to ignore the horrific sounds and sights erupting from the flames and turned his attention back to the female ghost, confident the fire was lit. He Shaoqing was limp now, veins bulging on his neck, eyes rolled back—he was clearly near collapse. Knowing the extreme danger, Kuang Feifan dared not delay. He lunged forward again, swinging a punch at the white-robed specter. Despite the small area of the bathroom, the ghost moved with bizarre fluidity, dodging every one of Kuang Feifan’s strikes.

Kuang Feifan was drenched in sweat from exertion. Cornered, he resolved on a desperate gamble, charging forward once more, throwing a punch. Again, the phantom dodged. This time, however, Kuang Feifan did not commit to the blow; instead, he shifted his wrist mid-swing, flinging the Mani Stone pendant—still clutched in his hand—directly at the arm the ghost used to choke He Shaoqing, shouting, "Lin Bing..."

The throw was timed and executed with exceptional precision, a benefit of his past training with throwing knives. The Mani Stone pendant struck the ghost’s extended arm dead center. Instantly, as if doused with acid, black smoke billowed from the spot where it made contact. Kuang Feifan even caught the sharp, acrid smell of scorching flesh. Even more bizarrely, the ghost's arm, from the point of impact all the way down to the hand strangling He Shaoqing, dissolved visibly into countless specks of black light that vanished into the air.

The hand gripping He Shaoqing vanished. With a dull thud, his suspended body dropped to the floor. Only then did the white-robed specter emit a piercing, tragic shriek, recoiling backward out of the bathroom and disappearing down the hallway in an instant.

Kuang Feifan rushed to He Shaoqing’s side, pressing hard on his chest. After several compressions, He Shaoqing finally regained limited movement. He bent over, grasped his throat, and gasped and coughed raggedly. Kuang Feifan let out a sigh of relief, steadying him and rubbing his back. Soon, He Shaoqing stabilized, looking at Kuang Feifan with residual terror. "That was utterly evil. When she grabbed me, I couldn't move a muscle, not even an eyeball. I thought I was a goner."

Seeing he was safe, Kuang Feifan clapped him on the shoulder, then hurried back to inspect the bathtub. After all, fire fueled by alcohol wouldn't reach temperatures high enough for complete cremation. The original female corpse was only burned to a charred piece of charcoal, not entirely consumed. But this fire seemed to have finished the job; the mummy stopped moving and screaming, finally appearing to be utterly destroyed.

However, where had the small mummified body gone? Both men scanned the bathroom surroundings, confused and deeply concerned. Though unspoken, they realized that if the remaining corpse wasn't dealt with quickly, this ordeal wasn't truly over.

They swept the small bathroom in seconds but failed to find even a trace of the little mummy. The realization settled on them like a crushing weight.

Kuang Feifan frowned tightly, his gaze drifting to the doorway. He spotted the pendant, thrown during the rescue of He Shaoqing, still lying on the floor. In the urgency of the moment, he hadn't retrieved it; now, he hurried over, bending down to snatch up their only remaining talisman for protection.

Before his fingers could brush the pendant, a rustling sound drifted from outside the door—the noise of something dragging itself across the floorboards. He looked up curiously. At the threshold of the bathroom, a small head slowly emerged from below the door: it was the head of the small mummy, its skeletal, black-purple skull bearing a fierce and hideous expression.

Kuang Feifan froze. His outstretched fingers were mere millimeters from the pendant, yet he suddenly found he could not advance even a fraction of an inch further.

He remained rigidly bent over, hand extended. Tilting his head, he saw two clusters of sickly green fire ignite within the mummy’s black, hollow eye sockets. It was as if a spell had been cast. Kuang Feifan felt his body and mind utterly consumed by the ghost-fire. He felt hollowed out, unable to breathe or think. He stood stock-still in that bent posture, looking completely disembodied.