Outside the master bedroom, Feng Ping noted the door was shut, staring at it with a grim expression for a moment. By now, he had suppressed the yang energy radiating from within him to its lowest point; any rash action risked losing control over how much yang energy he released.

He knew Kuang Feifan was protected by the Human Bone Prayer Beads, so under normal circumstances, the most he could do was frighten him; actual harm was unlikely. Of course, there was always the possibility of the unexpected.

Just as Feng Ping was about to slowly rise, a gust of cold wind suddenly swept in from somewhere within the living room. He instantly stiffened, steadying himself to locate the source of the draft.

Gradually, a sound like a mournful whimper drifted into his ears, seeming to come from outside the window yet also echoing from all corners of the room.

In the center of the living room, the even layer of dust covering the sofa was gently lifted by an unseen breeze, rising and falling like disturbed water.

Feng Ping slowly eased back into his chair, unwilling to let his efforts go to waste. He glanced at the bedroom door and couldn't help but sigh inwardly, hoping Kuang Feifan would be favored by fortune.

Meanwhile, Kuang Feifan’s face was ashen as he looked around, uncertain where the ethereal sound was originating, though he had to admit the sudden statement that had just sounded was indeed unnerving.

His gaze returned to the bathtub not far in front of him, his pupils contracting sharply.

He had noticed earlier that it contained an extremely decomposed corpse. Almost all the flesh had bloated away in the water; patches of paper-white muscle tissue floated on the remnants of dark water, some separated entirely from the skeleton, others still clinging on but looking ready to separate at any moment.

As for the head, its original features were completely unrecognizable. Both eyeballs had fallen from their sockets and were dangling outside, perhaps swollen from being waterlogged for so long. Now, he could see those two eyes rotating, fixedly staring at him no matter how they moved.

Kuang Feifan had seen countless corpses of all kinds, but never one like this. He could clearly feel that this was a body saturated with endless hatred.

If this were merely a putrid corpse nestled and half-submerged in the bathtub, it wouldn't warrant Kuang Feifan's alarm, but seeing it begin to move, he involuntarily backed away a step.

He watched as the corpse's right hand, so rotten only bone remained, slowly crawled up the side of the tub, resting on the rim. Then, the arm on the opposite side also moved slowly toward the edge, in a posture suggesting it was preparing to push itself up.

Kuang Feifan suddenly realized: this must be the manifestation, likely the second owner of the house.

He retreated step by step, slowly approaching the bathroom door, determined to open it no matter what.

Having moved farther from the bathtub, he turned and lunged for the door handle. To his shock, his hand slipped, completely failing to grip it firmly.

After several failed attempts to secure the handle, Kuang Feifan grew more tense. Suddenly, he realized the situation strongly resembled what would happen if someone had smeared lubricant on the doorknob.

Realizing this, he quickly grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his hand to wipe the surface, and twisted.

With a soft click, the lock shifted, and with a slight pull, the door opened a crack.

Behind him, however, a piercing sound suddenly erupted—the sound of fingernails scraping against the porcelain of the tub wall, so sharp it felt like an invisible hand was squeezing and grinding his heart, or like a blade being drawn against his bones through the skin. The indescribable pain made Kuang Feifan involuntarily release the doorknob, clutching his ears. But this offered no relief; the sound still drilled into his hearing. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

Involuntarily, his hands covering his ears touched his face. The prayer beads on his wrist made contact with his skin, sending a cool sensation rushing into his body, quickly spreading everywhere, even into his mind.

Kuang Feifan convulsed. His consciousness immediately sharpened, and the sharp, horrifying sound seemed less piercing.

He realized he was now half-kneeling on the ground, his body nearly curled into a ball. The sound had been terrifying enough to strip him of control.

He felt a cold sweat drench him and involuntarily let out a long breath.

But instantly, his body stiffened again. Through the widening gap in the door, his line of sight suddenly caught a pair of fuzzy slippers and a pair of pale, bluish thighs floating on the floor not far away.

He couldn't help but look up, only to be struck by fresh horror.

Within his view, a figure stood perfectly upright, covered by an oversized red T-shirt that obscured most of its body. On closer inspection, the red on the T-shirt was entirely dyed from fresh blood.

The figure's hands were clasped behind its back. Judging by the build, it seemed to be a woman, but besides the exposed, deathly pale skin, her face was hidden. More accurately, there was no head resting on her shoulders.

Kuang Feifan’s body instinctively recoiled, sinking back onto his heels.

Outside the door, the ethereal sound rang out once more.

"You... are... looking... for... this..."

The headless woman’s hands slowly unfolded from behind her back.

In her grasp, she held a clump of long hair, at the end of which dangled a blood-caked head, swaying slightly and turning slowly in the air.

Blood constantly dripped from the scant remnants of the severed neck onto the floor. Every time the face turned toward Kuang Feifan, he could see the mouth, obscured by gore, stretching wide to the sides, as if smiling.

The visual shock of this sudden appearance was immense; Kuang Feifan nearly cried out. At that moment, something even more terrifying occurred: behind him came a thudding sound of footsteps. He risked a sidelong glance and saw a pair of feet, reduced to little more than skin and bone, treading on the bathroom floor. The sound of bone striking the anti-slip tiles struck his heart like a hammer blow.

Finally, having weathered a few previous ordeals, Kuang Feifan forced down several mouthfuls of saliva, compelling himself to calm down.

He continuously measured the distance outside the door, estimated his trajectory, and with a lunge—ignoring any semblance of grace—he scrambled out of the bathroom door using all four limbs, half-crawling, half-rolling.

The female corpse holding the head seemed to sense Kuang Feifan's movement, floating instantly from its spot to block the bathroom entrance. But Kuang Feifan didn't rush straight out; after exiting, he scrambled along the bathroom exterior wall toward the bedroom door.

"Whoosh..."

A blast of cold air swept past him, and a round object, the size of a football, flew past his back, skimming his spine before landing on the carpet a short distance ahead.

It was her head, landing directly opposite him, whether by chance or design.

Long hair cascaded down, almost hiding the bloody, mangled face. Through the strands, wide, dull eyes peered out, holding a look of resentment and ferocity that Kuang Feifan took in fully.

A few strands of black hair fell into her open mouth, mixing with the red clots of blood. What made Kuang Feifan’s back crawl was the sight of her head slowly chewing the contents of its mouth; the blood clots writhed internally, oozing down the corners of her lips.

A look of satisfaction seemed to spread across her face, as if she were savoring the finest delicacy.

At that moment, Kuang Feifan realized the severed head was perfectly positioned between him and the bedroom door.