Kuang Feifan started, surprised to run into trouble again so quickly. He was certain a gust of cold wind had just brushed past his cheek, yet the window not far ahead was visibly, securely fastened.

He couldn't help taking two steps back. Suddenly, an involuntary shiver wracked his body, and a heart-stopping pressure surged into his mind, pressing directly against his chest, suffocating him and making it hard to breathe as his heart hammered wildly against his ribs.

This wouldn't do. Gritting his teeth, he strode directly to the window and pulled it open. Immediately, a blast of hot, humid air rushed in from outside. The sky was a dull grey, faintly tinged with dark red, as if rain were imminent.

Perhaps that breeze had seeped through a crack in the window, Kuang Feifan mused, but the pressure in his mind had not eased in the slightest.

Not far off, a car sped past, its lights flashing briefly before the engine sound faded into the distance. This sudden darkness only deepened the surrounding gloom, making Kuang Feifan realize that the streetlights were inexplicably out.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to take several deep breaths, desperately trying to dispel the heavy sensation clinging to his spirit.

Nothing felt out of the ordinary. Perhaps he was just being overly anxious.

Kuang Feifan managed a self-deprecating smile and turned back to the door, flicking the light switch inside the room. The bright illumination offered a small measure of comfort. He walked to the bed and picked up his phone, which he had casually tossed onto the nightstand earlier. Just as he was about to call Xu Hui, he found the phone dead and powered off.

"Damn it!" the words slipped out involuntarily, followed instantly by him slapping his own cheek.

As he reached for the charger in the nightstand drawer, he suddenly felt a bizarre presence pressing against him from behind. This time the sensation was so intense that he could faintly smell a rotten, fishy stench mixed in the air, threatening to envelop him.

He froze, cursing under his breath.

Just then, the 23-watt energy-saving bulb he had installed on the ceiling began to flicker uncontrollably.

Kuang Feifan slowly straightened up, his right hand instinctively touching the string of prayer beads on his left wrist. He desperately wished to know if these beads could ensure his safety, or why they couldn't dispel the feeling currently gripping him.

Kuang Feifan lived on the fifth floor of an old, detached house. He was currently in the inner bedroom; he had closed the door casually upon entering. The living room, kitchen, and bathroom lay beyond that. This meant that if he wanted to escape, going through the window seemed impossible; his only option was to yank open the bedroom door, dash into the living room, and then open the main door to reach the hallway downstairs.

But now he felt utterly unable to move. Was it his imagination, or had something actually entered? He didn't know, but one thing was certain: the fear in his heart was swelling relentlessly.

"Damn it, this feeling is the worst," Kuang Feifan finally understood something: he would much rather face a terrifying, manifest vengeful spirit right in front of him than this strange, intangible feeling surrounding him. Yet, it was precisely this kind of feeling that ignited and gradually amplified the deepest fears buried within a person's soul.

He slowly slipped the phone back into his pocket, gripping the beads on his left wrist with his right hand. He decided he had to turn around and see what was behind him; otherwise, he felt he would never escape this state that was pushing him toward madness.

However, the stronger the urge to turn became, the more intensely he felt waves of coldness behind him. Goosebumps erupted all over his body, and simultaneously, he felt a wave of chilling dread start at his left shoulder blade, tracing a path straight down his spine.

A sound seemed to come from behind him, accompanying the wildly flashing light. Kuang Feifan held his left wrist with his right hand, positioning it across his chest, and spun around abruptly in a posture that looked utterly ridiculous.

Behind him, there was nothing but his own furniture. The noise persisted. He followed the sound with his gaze and gasped in horror—the source of the sound was the wall calendar hanging by the door, flipping its pages by itself with a rustling sound.

But the moment his eyes fixed upon it, the calendar abruptly stopped turning. Kuang Feifan stared blankly at the calendar. Having experienced so many bizarre events, his senses were growing numb, and his mind was utterly blank.

What was coming would come, a thought suddenly surfaced in Kuang Feifan's mind.

He took a deep breath, lunged toward the bedroom door, and pulled hard. The door opened smoothly. He immediately burst into the living room.

But the instant his front foot crossed into the living room, the light in the room behind him snapped off completely with a pa.

At that moment, the interior plunged back into darkness.

Fortunately, it wasn't absolute darkness; his eyes could still vaguely make out the room's layout. He tried flipping the living room light switch a few times, but it did nothing.

Resigned, he forced himself to make out the direction and quickly rushed to the main door. He grabbed the handle, twisted, and pushed. As the security door swung open, he bolted outside.

Under normal circumstances, the exterior should have faced the staircase leading down. Instead, the very first thing he stepped into was his own kitchen.

"No way..." Kuang Feifan's face changed, his brain momentarily short-circuiting.

He carefully surveyed everything before him—it was indeed his kitchen: the stove, the sink, the cabinets, and the refrigerator tucked into the corner. He couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh: "If I survive this, I'm turning this kitchen into an open-plan design."

Just as he was about to turn and flee, a knocking sound echoed. At first, he thought someone was knocking on the main door, but he soon realized the sound wasn't hitting the security door; it was more like a tapping sound, and the direction it came from didn't seem to be the front entrance. He had no choice but to turn and search meticulously in the direction of the sound. When he finally confirmed its origin, he was struck by utter dread.

The tapping was coming from the refrigerator in the corner of the room.

Kuang Feifan had always believed that after all the horrors he had endured, his courage should have grown substantially. But the scene before him made every hair on his body stand on end, and he involuntarily held his breath, so clearly could he hear his own heart pounding violently.

The knocking continued, showing no sign of stopping. Kuang Feifan desperately wanted to retreat, but as if driven by some external force, he slowly dragged his stiff body step by step toward the refrigerator.

Almost subconsciously, he raised his hand and gripped the handle of the refrigerator's chilling compartment—the sound was emanating from within. He pulled the refrigerator door open forcefully.

A wave of cold instantly enveloped him. Kuang Feifan’s gaze fell upon the interior. Illuminated by the fridge light, he clearly saw the contents, causing him to involuntarily stumble backward several steps, hitting the cabinet behind him with a loud bang.

The refrigerator's chilling compartment had three shelves. On the top shelf rested a human head.

The face of the head was severely distorted, and seeing that expression, the word "Terror" instinctively flashed in Kuang Feifan's mind. Its eyes were wide open, rolling back, the eyeballs already cloudy. Its mouth was agape, the lips bluish-purple, and a sliver of red tongue was visible deep in its throat, with saliva trailing from the corner of its mouth.

On the second shelf lay a pair of hands, severed cleanly at the wrist. The right hand was clenched into a fist, the index finger extended and bent, resembling the gesture of knocking, though clearly rigid from freezing.

Kuang Feifan lunged forward abruptly and slammed the refrigerator door shut.

Though it was only a glimpse, he could tell that the head belonged to Xu Hui.

Xu Hui was dead?

A wave of mixed sorrow and relief washed over Kuang Feifan.

While saddened by Xu Hui's death, he felt a surge of relief that the head wasn't He Shaoqing's.

The instant the refrigerator door clicked shut, Kuang Feifan swore he heard a burst of muffled laughter coming from inside the appliance—a chilling, malevolent sound filled with mockery.

Kuang Feifan didn't dare dwell on it further. He practically leaped out of the kitchen in three giant strides, finding himself back in the living room.

As he fumbled his way back to the security door and gripped the handle, a thought suddenly struck him: if he pushed this door open now, would he step directly into the bathroom?

The moment he stepped through the threshold, his brain spun dizzily. When his vision cleared, he saw himself standing at the doorway of the bedroom.

At that precise moment, he clearly heard a familiar, muffled laughter right beside his ear. Suddenly, he realized: the one noticing the laughter was He Shaoqing.