The driver's face had drained of color, his skin pale as moonlight as he forced an awkward laugh, his voice trembling slightly. "Well, then… good luck to you, kid," he managed, his eyes darting nervously between Chen Ge and the road ahead. The jovial chatterbox from earlier was gone, replaced by a man visibly unnerved, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.
Chen Ge's lips curved into what he hoped was a disarming smile, though the tension in the air was palpable. "Thanks. So, do you mind turning off the recording now?" he asked, his tone light but pointed. "It's just a misunderstanding, nothing more." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady, trying to convey sincerity despite the penknife incident that had clearly spooked the driver.
"Of course, of course," the driver replied hastily, his fingers fumbling over the dashboard as he pressed a random button on the machine, his movements betraying his unease. The taxi rolled forward a few meters, but before Chen Ge could relax, a red light flared on the driver's walkie-talkie. The man pressed it with a quick, almost guilty motion, and a rough, gravelly voice crackled through the speaker before he could speak. "Lao Liu, you're near Western Jiujiang's Private Academy too? What's with people tonight? I've got a passenger heading there as well. We're not far off. By the way, what's this nonsense you sent to the group? 'I am meld postage'?"
The driver's face glistened with sweat, which he swiped away with a shaky hand. "It's nothing, just focus on your passenger," he snapped, cutting the transmission abruptly. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching Chen Ge's raised eyebrow and the faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. "That was supposed to be 'I am held hostage,' wasn't it?" Chen Ge said, his voice calm but laced with amusement. "Uncle, didn't you say you trusted me?" He leaned back, folding his arms, though his mind was already calculating the potential fallout. The last thing he needed was police interference complicating his mission. "Just drop me off right here," he added, his tone firm to preempt any further misunderstanding.
"Absolutely!" the driver agreed with almost comical haste, his legs visibly trembling as he brought the taxi to a screeching halt. Chen Ge scanned the backseat, ensuring he hadn't left anything behind, then stepped out into the cool night air. As he closed the door, his eyes caught the digital sign atop the taxi, its message flashing in bold letters: I am being held hostage, please call the police! A wry chuckle escaped him. "Uncle, you're nothing if not creative," he muttered, shaking his head as the taxi peeled away, its taillights vanishing into the darkness as if fleeing a nightmare.
The world around Chen Ge fell into an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves stirred by a restless breeze. The sky was starless, heavy with rainclouds that hung low, blotting out any trace of moonlight and casting the landscape in an inky gloom. He pulled out his phone, the screen's glow illuminating his face as he checked the time: eight minutes remained until the black phone's designated deadline. His thoughts lingered on the walkie-talkie conversation. Another passenger heading to the Private Academy at this hour? The coincidence gnawed at him, a thread of suspicion weaving through his mind. "Could they be connected to my mission?" he wondered, his eyes narrowing. If not for the ticking clock, he might have melted into the roadside brush, lying in wait to observe this mysterious arrival. But time was a luxury he didn't have.
"Eight minutes," he murmured, steeling himself. "I need to get a feel for the school's layout first. Every advantage counts." The area surrounding Western Jiujiang's Private Academy was a desolate expanse, a no-man's-land of overgrown wilderness. No streetlights pierced the darkness, only a narrow, winding road slicing through dense forest and tangled shrubbery. Activating his phone's flashlight, Chen Ge followed the path, his footsteps crunching softly on gravel. After a hundred meters, the rusted iron gates of the academy loomed before him, their chains fused with corrosion, immovable as ancient sentinels. Peering through the bars, he saw only an abyss of shadow, the school's interior swallowed by the night.
"How do I get in?" he muttered, pacing along the gate's perimeter, his mind racing for a solution. Deciding on a direct approach, he tossed his backpack over the gate, its thud on the other side echoing faintly. Taking a few steps back, he sprinted forward, his fingers grasping the rough bricks of the outer wall as he vaulted over, landing with a soft grunt on the overgrown grass beyond. The school compound was compact, its layout discernible at a glance despite the darkness. Several tall, skeletal structures stood like silent watchmen, their outlines barely visible. The school's original sign had long been removed, leaving its true name a mystery; like the rest of the city, Chen Ge knew it only as Western Jiujiang's Private Academy.
The path ahead was choked with weeds and brambles, their thorns snagging at his legs with every step, a maddening mix of ticklish and painful. Each scratch heightened his awareness, his senses sharpened by the hostile environment. "I made it within the time limit," he thought, his resolve hardening. "Now it's about finding Zhang Ya's red dancing shoes." He reached into his backpack, pulling out the tool mallet, its cold, metallic surface grounding him as he gripped it tightly. The weight of the weapon in his hand bolstered his courage, a tangible defense against the spectral threat he was destined to face. With the mallet at the ready and his flashlight casting a narrow beam into the darkness, Chen Ge stepped forward, ready to confront the secrets hidden within the abandoned academy's haunted halls.
Guided by the dim glow of his phone's flashlight, Chen Ge ventured deeper into the desolate grounds of Western Jiujiang's Private Academy, his footsteps cautious but deliberate. He had taken only a few steps when an unsettling sensation stopped him cold, a prickling awareness that something was profoundly amiss. His instincts screamed for retreat, and he took several tentative steps backward, only to feel an invisible resistance, as if an unseen force were gently but insistently pushing him forward, deeper into the school's shadowed embrace. When he tried to move back again, a subtle but undeniable barrier seemed to press against him from behind, intangible yet suffocating. His heart quickened as he spun around, sweeping the flashlight's beam across the empty space. The light revealed nothing—no ghostly figure, no spectral presence, just the oppressive darkness of the abandoned campus. Yet the absence of anything visible only deepened his unease. "Is she here already?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the faint rustle of leaves. "Zhang Ya… standing right behind me, invisible?" The thought sent a shiver racing down his spine, his mind conjuring the image of a vengeful Red Specter lurking just beyond his perception.
The impulse to swing his mallet blindly at the empty air surged within him, a desperate act to assert control over the unknown. But he hesitated, his grip tightening on the weapon as a chilling realization struck. "What if it is Zhang Ya? What if I anger her?" As the owner of a modest Haunted House, he was acutely aware of his vulnerability in this forsaken place, far from the safety of his familiar domain. A confrontation with a baleful specter like Zhang Ya could spell his end, her wrath a force he was ill-equipped to face. Swallowing his fear, he resolved to press forward. "I need to get inside first," he muttered, adjusting the straps of his backpack and clutching both the phone and the mallet tightly, their combined weight grounding him against the creeping dread. The night grew darker, a cold breeze sweeping through the campus, carrying with it the faint patter of raindrops that stung his skin and heightened the eerie atmosphere.
His mission was clear: find Zhang Ya's red dancing shoes, likely hidden in one of two places—the female changing room at the dance studio or her former bedroom in the dormitory. With this focus, Chen Ge directed his steps toward the nearest building, its silhouette looming like a silent sentinel in the dark. The school's grounds were a tangled wilderness, with gnarled trees twisting into grotesque shapes and wild grass rising to his waist, brushing against him with every step. Scattered across the compound were statues, their human forms weathered and indistinct, standing like forgotten guardians in the gloom. The air thrummed with an unsettling energy, as if the very campus were alive with secrets, its abandoned state amplifying the sense of foreboding that clung to every shadow.
The dormitory building came into view, a squat, four-story structure that seemed to sag under the weight of its neglect. Its glass entrance was sealed with a rusted metal chain, the lock unyielding. Chen Ge pressed his face against the glass, the cold surface fogging with his breath as he peered into the dark corridor beyond. The hallway was lined with closed doors, their uniformity broken by a single, solitary chair positioned inexplicably in the center, facing away from the nearest bedroom. The sight was jarring, its oddity piercing through the haze of his anxiety. "A chair in the middle of the corridor?" he murmured, his brow furrowing. "What's the meaning of this?" He stepped back, his mind racing with questions. The main gate and dormitory entrance were both securely locked, and the corridor appeared pristine, free of debris, suggesting the school had been meticulously cleaned before its closure. So why leave a single chair in such a deliberate position? Was it an oversight, a careless remnant of the school's final days? Or had someone—or something—placed it there after the fact, a silent message encoded in its placement?
Directing his flashlight through the glass, Chen Ge studied the chair more closely. It sat approximately five meters from the entrance, directly beneath a broken hall light, its exposed wiring dangling like skeletal fingers in the beam of his phone. The image struck a chilling chord. "A chair under broken wiring… it looks like a setup for a hanging," he thought, his pulse quickening. The scene was too staged, too deliberate to be coincidental. His heart pounded, the eerie tableau feeding his growing unease. "I'm overthinking this," he told himself, trying to quell the rising panic. He glanced around, the rustling leaves and distant drip of rain amplifying the school's haunting atmosphere. "I can't let myself get spooked. Zhang Ya is the real threat here, the Red Specter. I have her love letter—nothing else should dare challenge me." The thought was a fragile comfort, a mantra to bolster his courage. "This is just an affection mission," he added, forcing conviction into his voice. "A date, of sorts. Nothing to fear."
Reinvigorated by his self-assurance, Chen Ge gripped the mallet and approached the glass door, ready to smash it open and gain entry. But as he raised the weapon, his eyes caught a shocking detail that froze him in place. The chair, which had been directly beneath the broken light, had shifted. It now stood a meter closer to the entrance, its movement silent and inexplicable. His breath caught, his heart hammering as he stared at the chair, its new position a silent challenge to his sanity. "It… moved," he whispered, the words trembling in the air. The school's darkness seemed to tighten around him, the weight of Zhang Ya's presence looming ever closer, as if the very campus were conspiring to draw him into its haunted depths.