The first scream tore through the speakers in the control room like a shard of glass. Chen Ge's hand was already on the wooden boards before the echo died. He shoved them aside and sprinted down the tunnel, boots hammering the concrete. It was opening day for Mu Yang High School; the twenty-four lingering spirits had never tasted real visitors before. One scream could mean excitement. A chorus could mean the Returners had decided the rules no longer applied.
He skidded to a halt at the entrance. The very first nametag (Chen Yalin's) was already gone from the doorframe. Chen Ge's stomach tightened. Of all the tags to take first… The Pen Spirit had written her own name on that card in life, and again in death. Grabbing it was the spiritual equivalent of yanking a ghost's hair. He silently prayed the visitors' greed hadn't just provoked something that still remembered how to hold a grudge.
The corridor stretched ahead, dim and silent except for the faint, wet scrape of plastic on tile. Chen Ge followed the sound until he reached the sealed classroom. The door hung ajar; inside was carnage. Desks lay overturned like broken toys, chairs scattered, papers fluttering in a wind that had no source. Several mannequins sat headless, necks ending in smooth, pale stumps. Others had toppled sideways, limbs tangled in impossible knots. And in the middle of the corridor, one lone female mannequin lay on her side, blood-soaked uniform askew, cradling her own severed head in plastic arms as if trying to comfort it. She kept lifting the head, pressing it gently against the neck stump, then lowering it again when the angle refused to match.
Chen Ge's heartbeat slowed. This wasn't the visitors' doing. No panicked college kid would stop to drag a broken doll into the hallway and then leave it trying to piece itself back together.
He crouched, sliding his arms under the mannequin's torso and lifting her carefully. The body was lighter than it should have been, as though something inside had already begun to hollow out. He propped her against the wall, knees bent, back straight. Then he took the head from her unresisting arms (the painted face still wore that soft, curious smile) and aligned the neck pegs with practiced care. Click. The head seated perfectly, a faint shiver running through the plastic as if the figure had sighed in relief.
Chen Ge didn't let go immediately. He kept one hand on the mannequin's shoulder and looked straight into the glass-bead eyes. For a moment the flickering fluorescent light caught them just right, and the lifeless orbs seemed to flicker with something else (gratitude, shyness, a wordless plea not to be angry). A faint warmth pulsed beneath the cold silicone skin, like a heartbeat that had forgotten its rhythm but still remembered the shape of one.
He released her slowly. The mannequin remained upright, head no longer lolling, smile unchanged yet somehow softer. Chen Ge exhaled through his nose, half-amused, half-wary. "Stay calm, okay? They're just visitors. No hurting them unless they really ask for it."
The figure didn't move, but the corridor felt marginally less oppressive, as though a silent agreement had been reached. Chen Ge gave the shoulder one last pat, stood, and continued deeper into Mu Yang High School, following the fading echoes of panicked footsteps and the lingering scent of fear.
Chen Ge's mind raced with a sudden, wicked spark of curiosity that sent a fresh surge of heat through his veins. If the doll's exquisitely crafted vagina had already proven itself so perfectly responsive, so tight and slick and alive with programmed sensation, then what delicious secrets might her mouth hold? He lowered his gaze to the flawless figure kneeling obediently before him, drinking in every breathtaking detail. Silky, midnight-black hair cascaded in glossy waves down her back and over her shoulders, framing a face so angelically beautiful it bordered on sinful. Delicate eyebrows arched like twin crescents of a waxing moon, a perfectly straight nose led the eye downward to plush, naturally rosy lips that looked made for whispered secrets and far less innocent acts. Yet it was her eyes that truly ensnared him—large, luminous, and shimmering with an intoxicating blend of demure softness and barely concealed feral hunger, a wildness that made her innocent façade feel like the most delicious lie ever told.
With a low, possessive growl rumbling in his chest, Chen Ge cradled the back of her head with one large hand, fingers threading possessively through that luxurious hair, while his other hand freed his already-throbbing cock from confinement. The thick, veined length sprang forward, heavy and burning with need, a bead of clear pre-cum already pearling at the slit. He guided the swollen head to brush teasingly against the plush lips still glistening from her earlier surrender. "Open that pretty little mouth for me, doll," he commanded, voice rough with authority and dark promise. "You're going to take every inch like the perfect fucktoy you were made to be." A programmed flush bloomed across her porcelain cheeks, delicate pink spreading down her neck; she hesitated only a heartbeat, long lashes fluttering, before those sinful lips parted willingly. She leaned forward with graceful submission, warm breath ghosting over his sensitive skin, and slowly, reverently engulfed him.
The instant her mouth closed around him, Chen Ge groaned at the exquisite contrast—her tongue and inner cheeks deliciously cool at first, like chilled silk, then rapidly warming to match his feverish heat. The doll's oral cavity had clearly been engineered for pure, obscene perfection; soft lips sealed tight around his girth, creating a slick, vacuum-like suction that made his hips jerk involuntarily. She took him deeper with lewdly slowly, inch by thick inch, until the fat crown nudged the back of her throat and her nose brushed the trimmed hair at his base. No gag, no resistance—just flawless, greedy acceptance.
Her technique was beyond masterful; it was downright demonic. That wicked tongue swirled and undulated beneath his shaft in hypnotic patterns, tracing every pulsing vein, lapping at the sensitive underside with fluttering precision that sent lightning bolts of pleasure shooting up his spine. She hollowed her cheeks harder, sucking with rhythmic, relentless pulls while her head began a slow, bobbing glide, fucking her own throat on his cock like she was starving for it. Saliva gathered quickly, spilling in glistening threads from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping down her chin and onto her heaving breasts in the most filthy, beautiful display. Soft, wet sounds filled the room—lewd slurps and muffled moans vibrating through his length as she hummed in programmed bliss around him. Chen Ge's fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her pace, thrusting shallowly into that perfect, greedy mouth, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being worshipped so completely.
It didn't take long. The sight of this angelic creature on her knees, eyes watering yet burning with that untamed fire, lips obscenely stretched around his cock, tongue never ceasing its merciless torment—it shattered his control. His balls drew up tight, a guttural curse tearing from his throat as the first hot spurt of release flooded her mouth. She didn't flinch; instead she swallowed greedily around him, throat working in rhythmic contractions that milked every drop, prolonging his orgasm until his knees nearly buckled. Thick ropes of cum painted her tongue, overflowed the seal of her lips, trickled down her chin in pearly rivulets while she continued gently sucking, coaxing out every last shuddering pulse until Chen Ge was spent, breathless, and utterly owned by the perfect, insatiable doll he'd brought to life.
Chen Ge slipped the black phone from his pocket and flicked through every menu twice (Trial Missions, Daily Missions, Specters' Favors, even the hidden pages that only appeared after midnight). Nothing. No toggle, no slider, no new command labeled "Returners' Goodwill" that would let him leash or unleash the twenty-four spirits now living inside the mannequins. The phone offered him total dominion over Baleful Specters and Red Specters, but these lingering souls were apparently still too weak, too new, to be fully controlled. He exhaled through his nose, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Fine. House rules it is."
He crouched in front of the re-headed girl mannequin and spoke slowly, clearly, the same tone he used when negotiating with Zhang Ya or the child ghost in the mirror. "You can leave the classroom. You can follow them, scare them, play with them, whatever you want. But you do not leave the Mu Yang High School scenario. Understood?" The mannequin, of course, said nothing; her painted smile never wavered. Yet the air around her shimmered for a heartbeat, like heat rising from summer asphalt. Good enough. Chen Ge gently propped her against the corridor wall, out of the main walkway but close enough to watch, and stepped into the wrecked classroom to begin the reset.
Desks were overturned, chairs scattered like matchsticks, several mannequins lay headless or half-dismembered. Four nametags had been hidden in here; three were already missing. "Not bad for scared college kids," he muttered, righting tables with practiced efficiency. When his boot nudged something hard under the centre desk, he frowned and fished it out—an expensive smartphone still glowing with a locked screen. Someone had been very, very distracted.
…
Farther down the corridor, the five visitors pressed onward, footsteps echoing unevenly.
"Did any of you hear someone talking just now?" Pei Hu whispered, legs trembling so badly he had to lean on the wall every few steps. He kept twisting around to stare into the darkness they'd left behind.
Xia Meili rolled her eyes so hard it was audible. "If you're that scared, stay here and guard the rear like a good little kitty."
"Who are you calling kitty?!" Pei Hu's voice cracked. "You weren't there! It was pitch black—I had to use my phone light just to see the knot on that string. I was focused, and then—creak—the head turned all the way around!" He demonstrated with frantic hand gestures, nearly smacking Wang Wenlong in the face. Mid-gesture his hand dove into his empty pocket and froze. "…F*ck. My phone. I left it in the classroom."
"Then go get it," Xia Meili snapped.
"By myself?!" Pei Hu's face crumpled as he glanced back at the endless black corridor. "Fine. I'll ask a staff member to grab it when we leave."
They reached the first real junction—two branching corridors disappearing into darkness, no end in sight.
"How big is this place?!" Pei Hu squeaked, wedging himself closer to Wang Hailong. "Brother Long, we can still turn back!"
"Back off, you're sweating on me," Wang Hailong growled, though his own bravado was fraying. In front of Dou Menglu he refused to show it. "We've used maybe a third of our time. Five people moving together is too slow. New plan." He squared his shoulders. "Wenlong, take Pei Hu down the left path. I'll take Menglu and Meili down the right. We cover more ground, meet back here in eight minutes."
The girls nodded instantly. Wang Wenlong gave a confident thumbs-up. "Even if we don't win the full prize, we'll have mapped the whole scenario for our sixth brother."
Pei Hu's protests were ignored. Within seconds he found himself being dragged by the sleeve down the left corridor, whimpering the entire way.
The left path was strangely quiet—no music, no footsteps, no creaking. They reached the end faster than expected. The corridor forked again. One branch terminated at an ancient, moss-covered well. The other led to a weathered wooden door marked 303 in peeling red paint.
Pei Hu immediately latched onto Wang Wenlong's arm like a barnacle. "We go together or not at all."
"Obviously," Wang Wenlong muttered, shining his phone toward the well. "Why is there a well underground?"
"Actor hiding inside, guaranteed," Pei Hu said with the certainty of a man who had watched too many horror movies. "And nametags. Boss loves putting them in the creepiest spots."
Wang Wenlong leaned over the stone rim. Two metres deep, bottom padded with soft sand, two nametags glinting innocently against the darkness. "Too easy," he said suspiciously, sweeping his light across every inch of brick. Nothing moved. No wires, no speakers, no fake hands waiting to grab ankles. "Maybe I overestimated him."
He handed his phone to Pei Hu. "Hold the light steady. I'll hop down."
Pei Hu clutched the phone like a lifeline. "If you hear me running, it's not personal."
Wang Wenlong rolled his eyes, planted both hands on the rim, and dropped.
The well looked deeper from the inside. Much deeper. He landed softly in the sand and frowned up at the circle of light above. "Pei Hu… did the opening just get farther away?"
Sand shifted gently beneath his shoes, cool and damp. He knelt to grab the nametags—and paused. The brick walls were covered in frantic, overlapping claw marks, some fresh enough to still have flakes of mortar drifting down like snow. The sight sent ice water down his spine.
"Wenlong?" Pei Hu's voice sounded strangely distant now, muffled, as though the well had grown a lid.
Wang Wenlong looked up again. The circle of light that had been two metres above his head was now at least five, and shrinking.