Chapter Two: Brother
Chapter Two
The long-haired woman and the woman with glasses exchanged a glance. With the door blocked by the blond-haired man, they had no choice but to play along. The beam of their flashlights illuminated a bright path.
The two stood back to back, observing their surroundings. The house was completely different from the yard, decorated mainly in black, white and gray, and kept very simple and clean. There was a shoe cabinet next to the door with several wet umbrellas on it.
The long-haired woman surveyed her surroundings with a grave expression.
The two voices rang out almost simultaneously.
"People live here."
"We've come to the wrong place."
The words had barely left their mouths when a loud crash came from behind them, shaking even the door. The sound of rain mingled with screams as they poured down. The two men simultaneously recalled the nonsense Huang Mao had uttered earlier when he seemed to be trying to say something, and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.
It might not be nonsense.
Was it a prank by the homeowner?
The woman with glasses looked at her friend: "Do you still want to go in?"
The long-haired woman shook her head: "It's obvious someone lives here. Let's not continue breaking the law." She smiled mischievously, "Let's go out and see what's going on!"
The woman with glasses nodded in agreement and tentatively pushed the door. Fortunately, the door wasn't dilapidated and didn't creak. She peered through the crack, her eyes wide, and beckoned the long-haired woman to come and see.
Through the narrow gap, they could vaguely see a figure suspended high above.
A chilling aura spread out like black mist behind her, enveloping the entire villa. The not-so-tall red figure was trapped in the black shadows, her long hair flying wildly in the air, with a few streaks of blood faintly flowing in the darkness. Her fingertips slid randomly in the air, and at the same time, they noticed the same frequency of collision sounds coming from under the door.
It was the blond guy who was getting beaten up.
Neither of them felt any schadenfreude. The yin energy seemed to seep into her bones, causing a sharp, piercing pain like being pricked by fine needles. Cold sweat slid down her back, and she swallowed her saliva dryly.
The door slipped from my grasp in the chaos, and the gap remained frozen in the air at the last second before it was about to close.
The next instant, a red light shone through the crack.
The two seemed to be nailed to the spot, so stiff that it would make an uncomfortable grinding sound if they moved their bones.
What's this?
They looked at the red light coming through the gap, and in the very center there was a deeper circular shadow. Was it a flashlight?
The shadow trembled, moved slowly, and headed straight for the two people's eyes.
"ah!"
The woman with glasses let out a short scream. Red, moving—it was clearly—the eyes of that ghost!
The eye vanished the moment it heard her scream, leaving only a clear laugh, like a child who had successfully tricked someone.
The long-haired woman was still in shock and doubt, her eyes warily fixed on the crack in the door, her chest heaving violently. Several minutes passed, and when nothing else appeared through the crack, she finally breathed a sigh of relief, half of her body collapsing onto the woman with glasses. The two of them hugged each other, panting as if they had survived a close call.
"He's gone?"
"Maybe."
"I didn't leave." A third voice rang out.
The echo reverberated through the villa.
"Aaaaaah!"
"Hahahaha." The female ghost circled around them, watching as the two hugged even tighter because of the cold air. How funny.
Spiritual satisfaction cannot fill an empty stomach. The fragrance wafting from her nostrils is getting closer and closer. The female ghost wonders, does she still have a nasal cavity?
But it smells so good! She shook her head, floated high up, and looked down at the three people who had invaded her territory.
These two smell nice, so be gentle when you throw them away.
The long-haired woman and the woman with glasses were gently pushed out the door. Suddenly, darkness fell over them as an umbrella was thrown over their heads. Just as they looked up from under the umbrella, they saw the blond-haired man fly out from the side.
The two looked up in shock and found that the blond-haired man had flown quite a distance. (The last sentence appears to be unrelated and possibly a separate advertisement: "Ghost-brand back massager, you deserve to have one.")
Huang Mao was in pain all over his body. The muddy roadside was sticking to his clothes, but he couldn't care less. He knew that the female ghost was just teasing him and hadn't killed him, like a cat cruelly playing with its prey.
He had to escape quickly.
He stumbled to his feet, splashing muddy water from the puddles at his feet, which he angrily stomped on a few more times. He felt it was just bad luck, and turned to glare resentfully at the long-haired woman and the woman with glasses. Why weren't they beaten?! Differential treatment!
A sudden clap of thunder startled him, causing him to jump up in surprise. He then noticed that they were staring blankly behind him. The blond-haired man felt a chill run down his spine, and his slowly turning neck seemed to be stuck in a rusty gear, making a "click" sound.
"Excuse me, what are you all doing gathered at my doorstep?" a cold voice rang out.
Under the black umbrella, the man was extremely tall, nearly 1.9 meters, with sharp eyebrows and eyes as cold as unsheathed daggers. His eyes were upturned at the corners, with a hint of red spreading out, but his pupils were black, carrying a sinister ghostly aura. His tone was as if he were greeting the people blocking his door, but his eyes were fixed on the female ghost in the air who had suddenly become interested.
The black aura behind the female ghost faded. She looked at the man, then at the dissipating yin energy behind her. Strangely, it seemed that her malevolent aura had been soothed by the arrival of this person. She separated a wisp of yin energy and circled around the man.
The man glanced at the yin energy, seemingly unaware that it was secretly wrapping around his fingers.
Aside from being too handsome and smelling too good, there's nothing else special about him.
Yellow Hair's legs went weak, and he breathed a sigh of relief. His body swayed in place, and he felt dizzy from holding his breath. He staggered away, and that damned ghost was no longer interested in him. Hahaha.
He ran several dozen meters and looked over from a distance. The long-haired woman and the woman with glasses were closer together, their heads close together, talking about something.
"Wow, that guy looks familiar, do you know him?"
"He does look familiar. Ugh, what's wrong with that old man? Didn't he say no one lived here? He took the money and then gave me false information?"
"We'll settle the score with him when we get back. Look! That man seems to know that female ghost."
"He went up! He went up!"
"Wait, no! This is that guy surnamed Wen!"
High in the sky, the female ghost glanced at them from afar, and the two of them shut up in annoyance, turned around and ran away.
The man looked up at the female ghost, who was high in the sky with her head bowed. Dark, yin energy enveloped the two of them, forming a barrier that isolated them from others.
The man's eyes were fixed on her. For some reason, the female ghost was momentarily stunned, but quickly regained her composure. She rested her chin on her hand and asked, her gaze sweeping over his face.
"You know me?"
He smells so good, and he's so handsome. Could he be her lover from her past life? She betrayed him. Why is he staring at her like that? The female ghost shuddered, feeling goosebumps that she wasn't even sure she had.
The man's body trembled almost imperceptibly, his dark eyes still fixed on her. The umbrella in his hand had somehow slipped from his grasp and fallen to his side.
He reached out and grabbed the female ghost's ankle. The ghost was startled and tried to struggle, but was suddenly pulled down and thrown into a stranger's arms. The man's limbs were wrapped around her body. His embrace was wet and suffocating, like dense vines tightly wrapping her up.
Raindrops fell on the man's skin, sliding down his cheeks like silently falling tears.
The female ghost was stunned when he hugged her. Why could this person touch her?
Before He could struggle, a man's low, husky voice sounded in His ear, inquiring about His past. His voice was low and gentle, but his words were very rapid.
"Where did you go? Why are you only just getting back?"
Has someone bullied you?
How have you been?
Why don't you come looking for me?
The female ghost was stunned by his words, and the fragrance lingered around her nose. So many questions!
The man, not receiving an answer, finally recalled the first words the female ghost had said to him when they met—"Do you know me?"
Like a thunderbolt striking, he released the female ghost and looked into her eyes. The female ghost's eyes were filled with pure confusion and unfamiliarity. It was as if she did not understand what he was doing or what he was thinking.
His heart throbbed with pain, and he gripped the female ghost's arm tightly with both hands. But when he sensed her discomfort, he loosened his grip. He could barely control his expression; sharp hatred shone from his eyes, only to be suppressed by deep regret.
He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, the emotions in his eyes were completely concealed. He looked down at the female ghost and asked softly, "What did you just say?"
The female ghost avoided his gaze, feeling as if she were being haunted by something eerie. She repeated, "Who are you?"
For some reason, the man's emotions suddenly stabilized. He gently ran his fingers through the female ghost's hair, and his expression, which had been like a psychotic episode, turned cold, his movements revealing a hint of tenderness: "Do you still remember who you are?"
The words were anything but gentle.
The female ghost hesitated for a moment, then slowly sensed a sense of familiarity. Could it really be her lover from her past life? So insane? Like a ticking time bomb.
The female ghost finally shook her head honestly.
The man patted his head reassuringly: "You are Wen Zhuo, and I am your brother, Wen Zhaoye. You died seven years ago in a car accident."
"Wen Zhuo?" the female ghost repeated.
Wen Zhuo accepted the name; he thought it sounded nice.
Wen Zhaoye continued to ask, "Do you remember anything?" The man looked down at the red gash on her abdomen. More than a dozen crooked red cracks stretched outwards from it, spreading to Wen Zhuo's entire body, cutting her body into pieces. The horrific wounds made it easy to imagine the miserable state she was in before her death. He was silent for a moment.
Wen Zhuo shook his head.
When did you wake up?
Wen Zhuo didn't want to talk anymore. She felt like she was being interrogated. She broke free from Wen Zhaoye's embrace. If she didn't leave, he would become a demon and drink her blood.
Wen Zhaoye grabbed her wrist, preventing her from leaving. Wen Zhuo turned around and glared at him: "What exactly do you want?"
Wen Zhaoye touched Wen Zhuo's consciously flowing hair again, pausing his exploration of the missing Wen Zhuo over the past few years.
His gaze shifted to Wen Zhuo's throat, which was trembling as he swallowed uncontrollably, and he asked, "Shall we go in?"
Wen Zhuo glanced at him, unable to guess his intentions, but she didn't want to get too close to him; she was too hungry.
Wen Zhaoye took a few steps toward Wen Zhuo, pulled her to his side, and expertly grasped her wrist: "This is where we lived when we were little."
Wen Zhuo quieted down, her gaze sweeping over Wen Zhaoye's exposed skin, unable to resist imagining its texture.
The lights came on in the villa, and Wen Zhuo led her to a dark room on the second floor. She sat on the simply colored bed and looked around. The room felt uninhabited. The bed had a plain three-piece bedding set, and there wasn't much else in the room. She looked up at Wen Zhaoye, who was walking towards her with a large pile of things.
Wen Zhuo watched as he pulled out more than ten pieces of clothing, several pairs of shoes, and many rubber bands, and started burning them in front of her.
It turned out to be made of paper, and she stared at him burning it with a look of novelty.
Flames ignited inside the metal basin, releasing an unpleasant smell of smoke, and Wen Zhuo covered her nose.
Why is this person playing with fire in their own home?!
Wen Zhaoye glanced at her: "Can ghosts smell smoke?"
What's the meaning?
Just as Wen Zhuo was about to scold him, something suddenly hit her on the head.
Wen Zhuo: "!"
What hit her?!
Wen Zhuo looked up and saw that it was the clothes that Wen Zhaoye had burned. Wen Zhuo was hit and lost control of his body. His spirit was embedded in the center of the bed, with only his head, which was buried in a pile of messy clothes, showing.
Wen Zhaoye chuckled.
She tumbled out of the pile of clothes, and as soon as she looked up, she saw that the man surnamed Wen had brought out another mule full of clothes from somewhere. He was running around in a panic, dodging and yelling, "Wait a minute! That's enough! That's enough clothes!"
Wen Zhaoye regretfully withdrew his hand, stuffed the clothes back into his pocket, stepped forward, turned Wen Zhuo around, tied up her messy hair, and even styled it into a pretty haircut. He picked through the pile of clothes, found one, and handed it to Wen Zhuo: "Wear this to bed tonight."
He glanced at Wen Zhuo's clothes from head to toe, frowned and showed a hint of disgust. "You're filthy. Change quickly, and go to sleep after you've changed into clean clothes."
Wen Zhuo first touched Wen Zhaoye's neatly tied hair, then drifted over to find a mirror. Her long hair, styled into delicate curls, hung down beside her cheeks like a lop-eared rabbit. She pleasedly fiddled with it, praising Wen Zhaoye's skill in her heart.
Upon hearing his words, Wen Zhu looked down at her clothes—a tattered white dress with bloodstains on the hem, yet she felt the dress suited her status quite well.
What are you standing there for?
Wen Zhuo remained silent, staring at Wen Zhaoye, who had turned his back but did not leave.
Wen Zhaoye: "Are you done changing?"
Wen Zhuo: "..."
Wen Zhuo: "Get out of here!"
Half a minute later, Wen Zhaoye, who was standing outside the door, asked, "Are you done changing?"
There was no answer from inside. He almost immediately pressed the doorknob, and in an instant, a tremendous force pushed him against the wall.
At the same time, a sharp pain came from the side of his neck. A female ghost he had just dressed up was now buried on his shoulder, her sharp teeth biting him, and her delicately curled braids on both sides of her cheeks brushing against his collarbone.
A wave of weakness washed over him as he felt his blood drain away. Wen Zhaoye embraced Wen Zhuo, who was pressing down on him. Half of her body was on top of him. The unique, faint fragrance emanating from Wen Zhuo was hidden beneath the cool air. He took a deep breath, and the sweltering heat of summer reddened his ears.
His eyelashes trembled slightly, and he hugged her even tighter, his lips curving into an excited smile from an angle where Wen Zhuo couldn't see.
Every gentle suckling sound was telling him something.
His blood is entering her body.
The female ghost, dressed in light-colored pajamas, was choking him, her cold fingers gripping his carotid artery. Noticing his heartbeat quickening, she assumed Wen Zhaoye was scared and raised an eyebrow smugly.
She raised her head, her fingers gently tracing the wound on the man's neck, her bloodshot eyes revealing a cruel clarity like that of a wild beast.
“We ghosts can sense kinship and blood ties, but you have absolutely no relation to me.”
Wen Zhaoye's Adam's apple bobbed slightly. He turned his head away without speaking, staring blankly to the side. Wen Zhuo took this as an admission that he had lied to her before.
Wen Zhuo pinched his chin and turned his face to face: "Weren't you very smug when you were ordering me around just now?"
"Can't I charge a little interest?"
Wen Zhuo pinched the side of his neck and praised, "Your blood smells quite nice."
Wen Zhaoye regained his senses, refocused his gaze on her face, and reached out his hand to her. Wen Zhuo looked at him coldly.
His hand suddenly cupped the back of Wen Zhuo's head, forcefully pressing it back, and his soft lips touched his wound again, bringing a secret pain.
He said gently, "Aren't you going to keep drinking? You're really too thin."
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