A sudden, sharp rapping sound—thud-thud-thud—erupted in the silent room, jolting Xu Hui to his core, his heartbeat visibly skipping a beat. He spun his head sharply, eyes locked on the door, his fists involuntarily tightening in tension.

His first thought was that Kuang Feifan was knocking, but he immediately dismissed it; if Kuang Feifan had come to rescue him, there would be no polite knocking.

Besides, the door hadn't opened at all just moments ago, so how could anyone be knocking outside?

The knocking persisted, steady and unhurried, making Xu Hui feel that whatever was doing the knocking was not human—no person would maintain such an uninterrupted rhythm.

He desperately wanted to ignore the sound, but then a new thought pierced his mind: if he opened the door now, would it actually open? If it could open, he could finally get out of this room.

This possibility sent a jolt of adrenaline through him; the more he considered it, the more it seemed like a viable escape.

With that resolve, he lifted his leg and began walking toward the door, step by deliberate step. The closer he got, the more taut his nerves became, as if an invisible hand were squeezing his chest.

He cast a worried glance back at the dressing table, terrified that the moment he pulled the door open, the reflection of himself would leap out again.

As he reached the threshold, the knocking grew louder, each impact seeming to strike directly against his heart. He kept flicking his gaze toward the mirror, his left hand slowly closing around the doorknob. With a gentle twist, he pulled inward.

The door slid open silently, revealing a narrow gap. He glanced back at the dressing table—nothing moved. Only then did he turn back, peering out through the crack he had created.

What he saw first was the corridor outside the room. Overwhelmed by a surge of joy, he didn't even register who was knocking before yanking the door wide open.

As the door swung fully open, Xu Hui saw a woman standing just outside.

By his initial reckoning, regardless of what was knocking, he was prepared to charge out instantly; his right hand was already gripping the jiao fu talisman, ready to throw it if the entity blocked his exit.

But upon seeing the woman, he froze completely, rooted to the doorway as if paralyzed. His eyes were wide open, a mask of sheer horror involuntarily spreading across his face.

The woman outside held her hand stiffly aloft, still posed mid-knock. She was not inherently frightening in appearance; in fact, she looked rather delicate. However, the skin visible to him was a disturbing shade of bluish-white. She was plain-looking, with short, ear-length hair, dressed in a white shift dress. Her lower abdomen was slightly distended, suggesting she was significantly pregnant. More unnervingly, her feet were clearly hovering three inches off the ground, suspended in the air.

Xu Hui stared at the woman, his entire body locked in rigor mortis, his mind refusing to process. He could only manage a choked, automatic whisper: "You... how can you be here?"

Paradoxically, this levitating woman seemed less terrifying than the one he had just seen in the mirror, yet the level of dread she inspired instantly pushed his terror to its zenith.

Xu Hui recognized her. It was from a mission when he first joined the Special Police, responding to a call in a remote village. He had encountered a man who seemed mentally unstable, threatening to kill his pregnant wife with a knife. Xu Hui, attempting to negotiate, had wasted crucial time. The lunatic, it turned out, had been playing a game, and ultimately, hacked off his wife’s head right in front of Xu Hui.

Though Xu Hui was officially absolved of blame, the memory had haunted him ever since. He had later analyzed his first mistake: failing to properly assess the situation. The assailant was psychologically twisted, and because his profession was that of a surgeon, he had prepared his weapon meticulously. To gain the killer’s trust while negotiating, Xu Hui had actually bound his own hands, which prevented him from intervening in time to save the hostage.

Despite never being blamed by anyone afterward, this event became the deepest, most unforgivable shadow in his heart. And now, at this exact moment, the woman knocking outside was that very pregnant wife who had been beheaded years ago. Xu Hui remembered her name was Tao Juan.

The two stood facing each other across the threshold—one inside, one out—locked in a rigid standoff. After a long moment, Xu Hui distinctly heard a tremulous voice, as if it were whispering directly into his ear.

"Do... you... still... re... mem... ber... me?"

He clearly saw that Tao Juan’s lips were not moving, yet he was certain those words had come from her.

Xu Hui’s face drained instantly, turning a ghastly white. His hand reflexively released the doorknob, and he stumbled two steps back, glancing wildly around without knowing what he was looking for.

"You don't remember me?" Tao Juan's voice held a distinct thread of anger, and her speech suddenly sped up.

Xu Hui frantically shook his head, swallowing hard against a dry throat. Gathering a sliver of courage from the depths of his soul, he managed, "You are Tao Juan."

Tao Juan remained outside the door, showing no inclination to enter, merely fixing Xu Hui with those lifeless eyes.

Xu Hui involuntarily retreated another two steps, finally breaking the silence with a question: "How are you here?"

Tao Juan slowly lowered her raised hand, her voice turning cold. "I died. You lived. I want you to die with me."

As the last word left her lips, Tao Juan’s entire body convulsed, and her face transformed. First, her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Immediately, a crimson line traced itself across her neck, and blood instantly erupted in a spray. Her head then slid clean off her neck. She delicately raised a hand, caught the severed head, and held it cradled as she faced Xu Hui.

Xu Hui gasped, every hair on his body standing on end. Instinctively, he drew his pistol and aimed it at Tao Juan.

"I am dead, remember?" Tao Juan held her head very carefully, a grotesque smile twisting the lips below the severing point, and spoke.

Red blood continued to gush from the remaining portion of her neck, while streams of bright crimson also poured from the stump of her upper torso, rapidly dyeing the white dress she wore a deep, saturated red.

Xu Hui backed away slowly, gun still raised, squinting to keep the sweat dripping from his forehead out of his eyes. Despite the overwhelming terror, a subconscious part of him insisted this was not real—it had to be an illusion.

Although he carried deep guilt over Tao Juan's death, one fact remained clear: the entity before him could not possibly be the actual victim. This was almost certainly a phantom from the building, employing this illusion to drive him insane.

"You shouldn't be here, do you understand? The person who killed you was your husband, and I brought him to justice. So, you should rest now," Xu Hui muttered through clenched teeth.

Tao Juan, now entirely drenched in blood, drifted silently in from the doorway. Her blood-streaked face glared at him, eyes rolling up desperately, the smile on her lips thick with venom as she slowly closed the distance to Xu Hui.