But the steps were slow, almost careless, as if the pursuer wasn't chasing us at all, but simply strolling at leisure.

I had the distinct feeling that the other party possessed an air of absolute certainty, as if escape from their grasp was utterly impossible.

It reminded me of the aura possessed only by those slasher villains in the horror films I used to watch.

Having killed so many, they were utterly composed, experts at cultivating terror in their prey.

Much like a cat toying with a mouse before devouring it.

I used to yell at the protagonists in horror movies for not just running away. Take the haunted house in Ju-On, for instance; if they just hadn't lived there, they wouldn't have encountered the ghost, yet the main character insisted on staying. Or in those stories set in haunted hospitals—escaping the building would save their lives, but the protagonists always circled back inside.

Now that I was experiencing it firsthand, I realized that leaving isn't nearly as simple as it seems.

For one thing, both of my friends were in critical condition; I simply couldn't abandon them.

Secondly, humans are afflicted with wishful thinking; even when confronted by a ghost, one might convince themselves they were just seeing things. The thought persists that if you just hide for a bit, the terrifying event will pass, thus resisting the urge to flee.

I'm suffering from that exact malady now. Despite sensing someone clearly following us, when I reached the stairwell, I still didn't choose to go down. Instead, I ran toward Da Xiong and Xie Yuting's ward.

Regardless of how critical their condition was, they were two living people, and there was a doctor on duty there as well. Safety in numbers—we could surely weather this. Perhaps by tomorrow, after the Ghost Festival passed, these strange occurrences would simply vanish.

With this hopeful thought, I pulled Hechuan Meiko along as we pushed open the door to Da Xiong and Xie Yuting’s room and rushed inside.

The moment we entered, I saw the room lights were off. The night-duty doctor was seated in front of the cabinet between the two beds, using a desk lamp to check Da Xiong’s pulse.

Seeing us burst in in such a panic, he immediately stopped what he was doing and asked what was wrong.

I said nothing, first locking the door from the inside, then pressing my ear against it to listen for movement outside.

The footsteps seemed not to have followed us; the corridor was silent.

After listening for a long time, I looked at Hechuan Meiko, then at the doctor, and the atmosphere instantly felt awkward.

To be honest, having navigated so many underground palaces and even become accustomed to finding Zongzi (tomb guardians), it made no sense that I was still so terrified. But for some reason, so many bizarre things today forced me into fear. Perhaps my nerves had become overly sensitive due to our recent, extremely bizarre experiences?

Though my mental fortitude was lacking, I couldn't afford to lose face, especially in front of another man. So, I glanced at Hechuan Meiko and said, "It’s nothing. There was a patient outside who went mad, wandering around with a knife. He’s probably been restrained by now."

Hearing this, the doctor instinctively stood up, his sense of duty kicking in. "Is that so? Let me go check!"

I hurriedly stopped him. "Perhaps it’s better not to! The situation is resolved. Taking care of my two friends is more important right now."

Earlier, I had told Hechuan Meiko it was a haunting, and now I lied that it was a violent patient. Logically, Hechuan Meiko should have called me out, but she remained silent the entire time. I knew she was an intelligent woman; she understood that telling the doctor the hospital was haunted would only spread panic among the staff. Besides, we couldn't be certain it was a haunting—we only heard footsteps—so making a big deal out of it was impossible.

Seeing the doctor still standing there, looking at us both, I continued, "In any case, even though the incident is over, I'm worried leaving Nurse Hechuan alone outside. So, she should stay here tonight as well."

The lean doctor, in his mid-forties, adjusted his glasses. "Given what happened, that’s understandable. It’s better if she stays; we might need an extra hand later."

I froze, asking, "An extra hand? For what?"

The doctor frowned. "Their reactions tonight have been particularly severe. Their heart rates and pulses are unstable, but we can't administer any more sedatives. We have to rely on psychological therapy now."

He gestured for me to approach, saying, "Come over here. Talk to them about some lighthearted things you all experienced together—preferably memories that are vivid."

I nodded, walking over and sitting in the chair the doctor had just vacated.

Then, aided by the desk lamp's glow, I saw Da Xiong and Xie Yuting both drenched in sweat, their hearts racing wildly, their chests rising and falling rapidly. Though their eyes were closed, their eyeballs darted rapidly beneath their lids, indicating intense mental activity. Occasionally, they would grimace and mutter a few words, but nothing was clear enough to discern.

Seeing them like this made me deeply anxious. But if even the doctor was at a loss, I was helpless, so I could only do as he instructed.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at Da Xiong’s face and tried to recall easygoing moments from our past. Yet, after thinking for a long time, I couldn't recall a single thing. For some inexplicable reason, looking at their faces flooded my mind only with images of the sunless days deep underground—the bizarre monsters, the Zongzi, the mysterious ruins—all surfacing and giving me a headache.

Fortunately, the doctor took out his phone and a wireless Bluetooth speaker, playing a soothing piano piece. This slightly eased my tension, and I sensed that Da Xiong and Xie Yuting’s condition had improved marginally from before.

Accompanied by the music, I took another deep breath and began to dredge up memories of our lighter times together.

That brought to mind our time in Chukotka. Waiting for our departure by sea, we were often bored out of our minds. We’d spend days by the shore, feeling the sea breeze, gazing at the endless ocean, breathing in the slightly damp, fresh air, and talking endlessly about life. Back then, Da Xiong, *, Liang Qian, and I were all well. Now, some are dead, some are injured, and only I, nearly driven insane, remain relatively healthy.

Therefore, those scenes from the past feel extraordinarily precious now, because we can never return to that time. Even if Da Xiong and Liang Qian recover, they likely won't be able to run and jump as they did before. Suffering such severe injuries, they will surely have lasting aftereffects. And *—he might have left us forever.

Lost in thought, I recalled the memory of * hastily waving goodbye as he boarded the ship in a heavy blizzard, not even having time to say farewell.

So in the end, I couldn't articulate anything coherent. Instead, my eyes suddenly welled up, and I thought of the Little Tigers (Xiao Hu Dui) song: That day, you said you were leaving, and we didn't leave a single word behind...

As I sang, I began to choke up, my eyes turning red, my articulation becoming slurred. But I kept singing, pouring out my emotion. I was summoned to comfort them, yet ended up singing such a melancholic tune. The doctor beside me moved his lips but ultimately said nothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pat Hechuan Meiko’s shoulder, and then the two of them settled down in seats near the window.

At this point, the emotion I had suppressed for so long finally burst free, and I collapsed onto Da Xiong, weeping hysterically. I cried not only because Da Xiong and the others were reduced to this state but also because, after paying such a heavy price, we didn't even know what entity we were investigating—we had sacrificed so much for nothing.

After crying for a long time, I wiped away my tears. Looking back at Da Xiong and Xie Yuting, I noticed their breathing had actually become considerably more even. It seemed that even though the song was deeply sad, it had produced an unexpected positive effect.

So in the end, I couldn't articulate anything coherent. Instead, my eyes suddenly welled up, and I thought of the Little Tigers (Xiao Hu Dui) song: That day, you said you were leaving, and we didn't leave a single word behind...

As I sang, I began to choke up, my eyes turning red, my articulation becoming slurred. But I kept singing, pouring out my emotion. I was summoned to comfort them, yet ended up singing such a melancholic tune. The doctor beside me moved his lips but ultimately said nothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pat Hechuan Meiko’s shoulder, and then the two of them settled down in seats near the window.

At this point, the emotion I had suppressed for so long finally burst free, and I collapsed onto Da Xiong, weeping hysterically. I cried not only because Da Xiong and the others were reduced to this state but also because, after paying such a heavy price, we didn't even know what entity we were investigating—we had sacrificed so much for nothing.

After crying for a long time, I wiped away my tears. Looking back at Da Xiong and Xie Yuting, I noticed their breathing had actually become considerably more even. It seemed that even though the song was deeply sad, it had produced an unexpected positive effect. So in the end, I couldn't articulate anything coherent.

Instead, my eyes suddenly welled up, and I thought of the Little Tigers (Xiao Hu Dui) song: That day, you said you were leaving, and we didn't leave a single word behind...

As I sang, I began to choke up, my eyes turning red, my articulation becoming slurred. But I kept singing, pouring out my emotion. I was summoned to comfort them, yet ended up singing such a melancholic tune. The doctor beside me moved his lips but ultimately said nothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pat Hechuan Meiko’s shoulder, and then the two of them settled down in seats near the window.

At this point, the emotion I had suppressed for so long finally burst free, and I collapsed onto Da Xiong, weeping hysterically. I cried not only because Da Xiong and the others were reduced to this state but also because, after paying such a heavy price, we didn't even know what entity we were investigating—we had sacrificed so much for nothing.

After crying for a long time, I wiped away my tears. Looking back at Da Xiong and Xie Yuting, I noticed their breathing had actually become considerably more even.