Kuang Feifan was absolutely certain that the laughter originated from He Shaoqing, yet the sound carried a strange undertone—a mixture of smugness and mockery.

It seemed to come from behind him, so Kuang Feifan slowly turned his head. Behind him was still the living room, where he could vaguely make out the furniture arrangement. He surveyed the room; everything appeared normal, but as his gaze swept past the sofa by the wall and settled on the corner, his eyes widened. Where there should have been nothing, a dark shadow had abruptly appeared in the corner, slowly gaining height.

Kuang Feifan felt as if something had clenched his heart; his feet refused to move. He stared as the shadow gradually stretched into a human silhouette, the process resembling someone rising from a crouch to a full standing posture.

Because the room was dimly lit, it allowed Kuang Feifan’s vision to adjust, letting him gradually discern the figure. The silhouette looked remarkably familiar, strongly resembling He Shaoqing. However, it seemed to be consistently looking down, though the laughter definitely emanated from it.

“He Shaoqing?” Kuang Feifan called out tentatively.

The figure continued to laugh, offering no reply.

“Stop laughing. Who are you?” Kuang Feifan could no longer bear the absurdity of the situation and spun around, shouting directly at the shadow.

The figure remained motionless, and the laughter abruptly ceased.

Kuang Feifan knew this was no way to proceed. He narrowed his eyes, steeling his resolve, and lunged across the living room floor. He pushed off forcefully, leaping into the air, and swung his left fist directly toward the figure’s head.

But just in case, he held back his full strength. After all, the figure could potentially be He Shaoqing, and even if He Shaoqing were possessed, Kuang Feifan didn't want to inflict serious harm upon him.

Just as his punch was about to connect with the figure’s head, the shadow vanished into thin air. Kuang Feifan’s punch met nothing but empty space. His momentum was unchecked, and he slammed heavily into the corner of the wall.

Gasping in pain, he straightened up, cradling his bruised shoulder. When he turned to look at the living room again, the figure was gone. Everything seemed perfectly normal.

The physical pain, paradoxically, helped clear Kuang Feifan’s mind. He stood stunned in the corner, trying to make sense of the events. A nagging sense of unease began to creep in; the entire experience felt fundamentally wrong.

His first thought was: if a ghost had taken control of He Shaoqing’s body, didn't that mean the ghost now possessed a physical form? How could it have entered his apartment? And how could it vanish instantly? The biggest anomaly, however, was the complete lack of reaction from the prayer beads around his wrist.

As these thoughts churned, a sudden spark ignited in Kuang Feifan’s mind, giving rise to an idea: Could this all be a dream?

But if it were a dream, how was he supposed to wake up?

He instinctively rubbed his shoulder. The lingering ache brought renewed doubt. If this was merely a dream, why did he feel physical pain?

Just as he was trying to piece together some clarity, he heard that low, chuckling laughter again—this time originating from the bedroom.

Kuang Feifan looked toward the bedroom. The door was ajar, but he had no memory of leaving it open. He frowned in confusion, trying to recall his recent actions.

The laughter was definitely coming from in there.

Kuang Feifan tensed, ready to rush in, but the doubt planted moments before had cooled his impulse. No matter what was happening, charging in wouldn't solve anything. After a moment’s thought, he decided to peer through the slightly open door to gauge the situation inside the bedroom.

The light was still off, so he could only make out vague outlines. He approached the bedroom door cautiously and stood right at the threshold. Suddenly, the laughter stopped. In its place, he heard the distinct sound of heavy rain pouring down. Sometime during his ordeal, a downpour had started outside. Kuang Feifan found it odd that he hadn't noticed the rain earlier.

Perhaps the window had been open—the sound of the rain was sharp, effectively masking any subtle noises within the apartment. Kuang Feifan slowly, carefully pushed the door inward, stopping when it was about a third open. At that moment, a blinding flash of lightning illuminated the outside world, momentarily revealing the scene inside the bedroom with startling clarity. Kuang Feifan was horrified by the gruesome sight before him.

A figure sat bolt upright on the bed, legs pressed tightly together, arms raised, hands cupping the sides of its head. Yet, the head was not resting on the neck. The posture suggested an awkward limbo—was the person attempting to remove their head, or preparing to place it back on?

Though the lightning flash lasted only a blink, Kuang Feifan managed to glimpse the face. The hair was messy, the chin covered in stubble, the eye sockets deep-set shadows. He could just make out the tightly closed eyes.

In that brief instant, he couldn't definitively confirm if the head belonged to He Shaoqing.

The light vanished, plunging everything back into darkness. Yet, Kuang Feifan remained frozen, his hand gripping the doorknob for what felt like ten seconds. His heart hammered wildly; he couldn't process what to do next. The image had impacted him too severely, the sight of that head lingering on his retinas, refusing to fade.

It wasn't until a low rumble of thunder sounded outside that Kuang Feifan was jarred from his stupor. He instantly snapped back to awareness. When his vision finally cleared and he looked back toward the bedside, the figure sitting there had disappeared again.

Stunned, he quickly shoved the door wide open and rushed into the bedroom. Once the door was fully open, he saw the figure was now sitting on the windowsill, the open window behind it.

“He Shao?” Kuang Feifan had forgotten all thoughts of dreams; he instinctively whispered the name. From the hospital gown the figure wore, he felt a strong conviction that it was indeed He Shaoqing.

Just then, another flash of lightning illuminated the entire bedroom. Kuang Feifan saw the person's face clearly this time. Although the head was now correctly positioned on the neck, fine crimson fissures radiated outward from the center of the eye sockets, making the face look as though it would shatter completely with the slightest touch.

Kuang Feifan gasped in alarm, crying out, “He Shao, your face…”

The lightning died, and darkness reclaimed its dominion. This time, however, Kuang Feifan heard the figure strain to push out two words: “Save me…”

“What?” For a second, Kuang Feifan wondered if he was hallucinating and pressed for an answer.

The figure said nothing more, instead resuming a low, chilling chuckle.

“He Shao…” Kuang Feifan subconsciously took a step forward, unsure if he should rush toward the figure.

Seeing Kuang Feifan move closer to the window, the figure slowly leaned backward, tilting as if about to fall out. At that moment, it slowly extended a hand toward Kuang Feifan, its lips moving slightly, as if attempting to speak again.

Simultaneously, Kuang Feifan could wait no longer. If that was He Shaoqing, falling from the window would certainly mean death.

He forgot about He Shaoqing being possessed. He forgot his earlier suspicions about dreaming. The distant rumble of thunder masked the figure’s muffled attempt at speech. Kuang Feifan launched himself toward the windowsill, focused entirely on grabbing the person to prevent the fall.

Just as Kuang Feifan reached the sill, his outstretched hand about to brush against the person through the open window, he was suddenly hit by an immense downward force. A brief flash blinded him, and he felt himself plunging into absolute blackness.

He thought he must have blacked out.

After a short period of unconsciousness, Kuang Feifan felt his senses return. Realizing his eyes were closed, he immediately forced them open to see what had happened. A searing, bright light hit him, causing dizziness. He squeezed his eyes shut again, seeing only a blinding white expanse, his mind a churning mess.

A voice suddenly cut through the haze: “Hey, Kuang Feifan, wake up.”

Then, he felt someone repeatedly slapping his cheek.

The voice sounded familiar. Kuang Feifan slowly opened his eyes again. As his vision adjusted to the light, he saw his own bedroom ceiling. He turned his head and found Xu Hui leaning over him.

Seeing Xu Hui’s face abruptly made Kuang Feifan yelp in fright. He instinctively tried to push him away, but before his hand could even lift, Xu Hui grabbed his wrist and snapped, irritated and alarmed, “Hey, what are you trying to do?”

Kuang Feifan didn't process this immediately until Xu Hui released his wrist, raised his hand, and delivered two sharp slaps with more force. Kuang Feifan cleared up considerably, quickly twisting his body to dodge the next incoming slap.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Kuang Feifan said, batting Xu Hui’s hand away and repeating himself.

Seeing that Kuang Feifan seemed to have returned to normal, Xu Hui let out a breath of relief, straightened up, and asked, “What happened?”

Kuang Feifan rubbed his eyes vigorously and worked his jaw. His cheek stung intensely; he estimated it was already swelling.

“Damn, what was wrong with me?” Kuang Feifan finally noticed he was lying supine on his own bed in his bedroom. He quickly rolled over and sat on the edge.

Xu Hui lit a cigarette, placed it between Kuang Feifan’s lips, lit one for himself, and sat down beside him. “I don’t know what happened to you. I was looking up files, spent ages tracking down some info, and I was going to call to tell you I’d be a bit late. But your phone was off. When I got to your building, I rang the bell and pounded on the door, but you wouldn't answer. I figured you weren't home, especially since your phone was dead. Then I circled the building, saw your window was open, and guessed you might be inside, maybe asleep and couldn’t hear me. So I kept hammering on your door, but you wouldn't respond.”

Kuang Feifan inhaled the smoke, forcing a wry smile, unsure how to reply. He glanced back at the window—it was indeed open, and a torrential rain was falling outside. He couldn't help but wonder if the entire event had been a dream, or if He Shaoqing had truly been in his apartment.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but regard Xu Hui beside him with a suspicious gaze, the image of the severed head from the refrigerator flashing through his mind.

Kuang Feifan stood up, signaling Xu Hui to pause his story. He walked into the living room and saw that the lights were also on there. His security door was wide open, the lock clearly jimmied. His gaze drifted toward the kitchen.

He walked to the refrigerator in the kitchen, gripped the handle, hesitated for a moment, and then resolutely pulled the refrigerator door open…