Chapter One: Awakening
Chapter 1
In the sweltering summer rainy season, the increasingly stuffy and sticky air squeezed one's throat, and layers of dark clouds covered the sky. A bolt of lightning suddenly struck from among them, followed by a tremendous noise.
A sliver of light pierced the darkness, illuminating an abandoned villa beside the intersection. Several crimson marks were faintly visible on the rusty railings. Wild weeds grew rampant in the yard, and the villa's windows were tightly covered by curtains, with darkness spreading across them once more, a silent oppression hovering in the hearts of passersby.
The umbrellas floating on the ground suddenly accelerated their departure, with a few standing out from the crowd and stopping outside the villa, from under them a few low complaints could be heard.
"Hurry up and go in, don't dawdle, the rain is getting heavier." A blond-haired boy rushed to the iron gate with an umbrella. "It's not locked!" His hair was messy and wet, and cheap hair dye dripped onto his shirt, making him look disheveled. He realized his predicament almost instantly, and a hint of annoyance flashed in his eyes.
Why do these young ladies have to come to this godforsaken place in this weather? Jingyuan District has been abandoned for who knows how many years. Even if there really are ghosts here, they would only be poor ghosts.
"Such a big villa, and they don't even lock the door." The long-haired girl stood in front of the rusty iron gate, suspiciously pushing it with one finger. The sticky, rough texture stung her skin, and she withdrew her hand in disgust.
Her closest friend put her arm around hers, glanced at the blond-haired guy standing to the side, and laughed, "Seriously, if you're so afraid of getting dirty, why did you come here? Do you really believe that the guy surnamed Wen is raising ghosts here?"
Huang Mao stepped forward, and the iron gate opened with a click.
The long-haired woman dragged her inside, complaining to her friend about her rough handling, then raised an eyebrow and said, "I found out that the person surnamed Wen comes here every week. After he leaves, his face turns as white as a ghost. He's either raising a ghost or raising a person. Whichever it is, getting a picture of him is a win."
My friend pushed up his glasses and shook his head: "Aren't you afraid he'll cause you trouble?"
“My dad isn’t dead, it’s not his place to cause me trouble.” A sly glint flashed across her face. “Once I get the photos, who knows who will be the one causing trouble.”
The blond-haired man looked impatient. This young lady had paid him to lead the way, so he should have left directly here instead of eagerly opening the door for them. The blond-haired man's eyes swept across the entire villa. His gaze settled on a hidden surveillance camera under the eaves of the villa, which seemed to be still glowing red.
Is anyone watching?
"Wait, here—"
A thunderbolt struck, interrupting his words. A gust of wind howled, and a corner of the curtain, which had been tightly covering the surveillance camera, was lifted, vaguely revealing a white figure. She knelt on the ground with her head bowed, two streaks of blood sliding down her back. Her nostrils flared, as if she had smelled something. Her head stiffly lifted, the bones creaking as they rubbed together. Her eyes snapped open, her blood-red pupils staring eerily out the window.
The blond-haired man's pupils contracted sharply. For the first time, he realized how good his eyesight was; he could almost see the patterns on the woman's white dress, which looked like layers of dried, reddish-brown bloodstains.
In just a few seconds, his back was soaked with cold sweat. The chilling aura seemed to pierce his spine as if it were a tangible thing. Even though the window had been covered again, that gaze followed him relentlessly.
Cold sweat seeped into his eyes as raindrops seeped in. He blinked hard, trying to squeeze out the salty drop. He couldn't be the only one being targeted. Resentment lingered in his eyes; they were the ones who had driven him to this.
The long-haired woman's complaints rang in his ears, but he seemed not to hear them. Like a puppet, he walked into the overgrown yard. He couldn't help but look down and saw faint red marks on the tender soil. He began to wonder what they were.
Blood? The scene from just now was still etched in his mind's eye, like a swatted insect stuck to a pristine white wall. His face showed obvious agitation and a hint of fear.
For the first time, the long-haired woman looked at him seriously. She narrowed her eyes, pushed open the half-closed door, and, half-submerged in darkness, questioned him: "What did you see?"
The woman with glasses stood beside her, blocking the door together. Only the blond-haired man stood in the rain. The beam of his flashlight hindered his steps, but also illuminated his pale face, his wet body, and his chest heaving with heavy breathing.
He wasn't good at showing his vulnerability to strangers, but at this moment he stammered, "I saw it, there's a ghost on the second floor." He noticed that as he approached, the ever-present gaze disappeared, as if it had been fixed on someone else.
There was a moment of silence before her voice slowly broke through the silence.
"Oh, I see." The long-haired woman stepped aside, a gentle smile on her face. "Then please show us the way."
Huang Mao stood outside the door. The rain, carrying dust, suddenly became heavy, burying his rising panic into the mud. He avoided eye contact, took a few steps back, and said rapidly, "You're asking for it, don't drag me down with you. I'm leaving."
The long-haired woman turned her head and glanced at the dense darkness behind her; there was nothing there.
In the rising silence, a chilly air seemed to spread from nowhere. The long-haired woman and her friend sensed something was wrong and were about to go outside when they saw the blond man return.
His umbrella was nowhere to be seen, and he was soaked to the bone, covered in mud splatters from who-knows-where. He moved with incredible speed, and in an instant, he was in front of them. The long-haired woman frowned and jumped back to avoid his dirty hands, but she didn't expect that the villa door would close in front of them the next moment.
"!What are you doing!"
The blond-haired man stood stiffly against the door, his eyes glazed over as he looked up at the sky. "I've locked them up for you. Go catch them, go catch them." He curled up his shoulders, gripping the man's neck, his face ashen and pale.
His gaze swept across the air in front of him, as if confirming the existence of something, or rather, its non-existence.
The blond-haired man remained motionless, pressing down hard on the door behind him, his eyes darting around.
Finally, he sensed that the person behind him had given up resisting, stopped pushing the door, and no longer saw any bright red scenes in front of him.
He collapsed to the ground, exhausted.
He left? He went to find someone else? He chuckled as he imagined the scene that was about to unfold inside. Would He really leave? His mind was racing. He wondered if rich kids carried money with them, but the things they had on them were probably valuable enough.
The rain seems to be stopping soon.
He suddenly realized that he wasn't getting wet. Although he was leaning against the eaves, summer rain always came from all directions. No matter where he was, his legs would definitely get wet.
The nerves that were jolted back up felt like fine needles, slowly but densely pricking his brain. A chill ran down his trembling body. He looked down at the shadow of the spikes protruding from the ground, his pupils contracted sharply, and the salty taste in his eyes seemed to have never been eliminated. He blinked again, his head feeling as if it were being pressed down by a jack, getting lower and lower, his body feeling as if it were being folded and compressed by something unknown.
"What are you doing? Doesn't it hurt?" A calm voice rang out in the air.
Ouch! Of course it hurts! That damned female ghost, wasn't she supposed to be grabbing two women from inside? Why is she still torturing him here? The blond-haired man was in so much pain that he was losing consciousness; he felt like his organs were about to deform.
The next moment, he realized something, and the force applied to his body suddenly disappeared. He subconsciously straightened his back, and his eyes almost met those of the ghost standing in front of him. He swallowed and stared blankly.
He was still young and didn't want to die here. He hadn't yet enjoyed a life of wealth, hadn't gotten married, and hadn't received his father's approving gaze. He couldn't die here.
As he was thinking this, he met the bright red eyes of the female ghost who was observing him from a position where half of her body was folded up.
The dried blood on the female ghost's body seemed to flow and become bright, with red spider silk flowing out from her abdomen. Her face was also splattered with blood, her features separated by uneven lines, and her eyes shone with a blood-red light as she looked at him with the eyes of someone eyeing prey.
His fragile mental barrier, which he had just built up, shattered instantly. He screamed, covered his head, and crawled on the ground as if his body was convulsing, repeating and resisting, "Don't kill me, don't kill me."
Female ghost: "?"
She only scared him a few times, how could this happen? Kids these days have such poor mental resilience.
The female ghost frowned, shook her head, and sighed, as if she were truly regretful.
Holding the umbrella she had dropped in fright by the blond-haired man, she floated in mid-air. She had only woken up today and hadn't yet figured out the three philosophical questions of who she was, where she was, and where she was going, when she smelled the scent of new humans.
Her gaze fell on the human male crawling on the ground. He was the only one who smelled bad. The stench gave her a headache and made her dizzy. She accidentally used a little too much force.
The female ghost shook her head, her fingers tracing circles in the air. Her long black hair, which hung down to her sides, was stained with blood and swayed from side to side with her movements.
"What was the spell again: 'Mommy, Mommy, coax? Balala energy?'"
The blond-haired man was pressed up and down on the ground in sync with the movements of her fingers. The resentment, regret, and hatred in his eyes overflowed, but the female ghost couldn't see them. She patted her head, feeling that she had lost her memory and her mind was not working properly.
The female ghost threw away the umbrella in her hand, and the seemingly fragile umbrella ribs crashed to the ground. The human morality that had not completely disappeared surged up again. The female ghost floated over and kicked the broken umbrella again, accidentally kicking the blond-haired man.
Since we've become ghosts, of course we should do whatever we want, otherwise wouldn't our deaths have been in vain?
She felt much better and floated in the air, surveying her territory. The villa wasn't very big, but it felt very familiar to her; it must have been a place she used to live in when she was alive.
She suddenly stopped, her red eyes darting around, staring intently in one direction, her nostrils flaring. What's that? It smells so good.
A black umbrella was slightly raised, and his face was slowly revealed to Him. He looked closely, and the man saw Him as well.
His eyes were pitch black, like the sea at night, bottomless. These eyes saw Him, yet showed no fear. He raised his head, as if smiling at Him, and his lips moved.
The female ghost didn't hear what he said and looked at him in confusion.
He stared at the face he hadn't seen in so long, a heavy emotion pressing down on his back like a curtain of rain. His eyes widened, and a strange smile appeared on his usually indifferent face.
He was saying, "I've finally caught you, my sister."
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