Chen Ge stood up after finishing his cigarette, crushing the butt beneath his heel on the cracked pavement outside the Haunted House. The question lingered in his mind like smoke: Does anyone even listen to cassette tapes these days? Where would he even find a player in 2026? Old electronics shops had mostly vanished, replaced by streaming devices and wireless earbuds. The Crying Tape sat heavy in his bag, its bloody handprint a silent promise of trouble. He couldn't risk playing it blindly; whatever specter haunted the ribbon might not wait for permission to manifest.
He had finally reached a fragile, hard-won stability with Zhang Ya—her affection level teetering on the edge of "Crazy about you," the Red Specter no longer an unpredictable storm but something closer to an uneasy alliance. Now the black phone had dropped another complication in his lap. Chen Ge really hadn't expected to one day be troubled by being too popular with ghosts. First Xiaoxiao, then Zhang Ya, now a crying tape specter. The Haunted House was becoming less a workplace and more a sanctuary for restless souls, each one demanding his attention, his protection, his survival.
The Haunted House was certainly big enough to contain another brother, provided the new arrival didn't start breaking things or terrorizing visitors. Chen Ge noticed a crucial detail in the black phone's description: the Crying Tape had only a 3% draw rate, compared to the cursed love letter's 0.3%. By probability alone, the specter inside the tape should be weaker than Zhang Ya—likely somewhere between an ordinary Baleful Specter and a full Red Specter. Weaker was manageable. Negotiation would be easier. He could offer the same deal he'd given Xiaoxiao: stay inside the scenarios, behave, help with scares when needed, and no one gets exorcised.
After all, Chen Ge was growing alarmingly accustomed to dealing with Baleful Specters who had their own personal pages on the black phone. Pushing the bicycle back toward New Century Park's entrance, he scanned the canopy of the tall tree beside the Haunted House. The white cat was nowhere to be seen. She had finally left, slipping away into the city's shadows as quietly as she had arrived. Chen Ge felt a strange pang of attachment; the cat's presence had grounded him, her instincts a living early-warning system against the unseen. Multi-colored eyes were rare in strays; she had clearly once belonged to someone who valued her. Now she was gone, and the Haunted House felt a little emptier, a little colder.
Chen Ge sighed, the sound lost in the morning breeze. He had grown quite attached to that cat, more than he'd realized. Some things couldn't be forced. She had made her choice, and he respected it—even if it left him feeling unexpectedly alone as he pushed through the gate.
The Haunted House stood silent in the early light, its corridors empty, its shadows still sleeping. Chen Ge switched on the main lights, his lonely silhouette stretching long across the polished floor. The building felt lifeless at this hour—no screams, no footsteps, just the faint hum of electricity and the lingering scent of fog fluid. He had grown accustomed to the solitude; it was almost comforting now, a quiet space to think between the chaos of missions and visitors. He washed his face in the staff bathroom, cold water chasing away the last fog of restless dreams, then headed for the breakroom to prepare for the day.
Before opening the door, he noticed something off. The breakroom door was slightly ajar, a thin line of darkness visible. Chen Ge's instincts sharpened. He carried one key; the spare was hidden above the frame for staff emergencies. Xu Wan would have locked it before leaving. Someone—or something—had been inside.
He detoured silently to the props room, selecting Doctor Skull-cracker's heavy iron mallet, its weight reassuring in his grip. Returning on silent feet, he nudged the door open. The room was dim, shapes indistinct, no movement. He flicked the light switch. His dirt-streaked jacket from the night he rescued the cat lay folded on the table, when he distinctly remembered hanging it by the bed that morning.
Chen Ge approached cautiously, mallet raised, and used the handle to lift the jacket's edge. Beneath it, curled in a perfect white ball, was the cat—scarred face tucked against her paws, heterochromatic eyes glinting with mild annoyance at being disturbed. Behind her, half-buried under her fluffy tail, Xiaoxiao lay frozen in an awkward pose, one stitched arm outstretched as if she'd been trying to grab the tail and been caught mid-act. The ragdoll's button eyes were wide, her entire cloth body rigid in the universal specter language of I'm not here, you saw nothing.
Chen Ge lowered the mallet, a surprised laugh escaping him. The cat hadn't left after all—she'd found her way inside, used his jacket as a nest, and somehow turned the breakroom into her territory. Even Xiaoxiao, the fearless Baleful Specter, had been reduced to playing dead under that imperious gaze. The white cat flicked an ear, resuming her nap as if to say the intrusion was forgiven—but barely. Chen Ge set the mallet aside, the night's tension easing into something softer. The Haunted House had its new guardian, and she clearly intended to stay.
"Don't bring you?" Chen Ge's voice was low, dangerous, edged with something possessive. "You're my employee. How could I possibly let my boss walk straight into danger by herself? Looks like someone needs to be taught a proper lesson. Come out—now."
Chen Yalin didn't dare disobey. A faint shimmer rippled through the air, and her exquisite figure slowly materialized in front of him. The tattered remnants of her old school uniform clung to her like a second, broken skin—ripped fabric barely concealing the pale, flawless expanse beneath. Through the shredded blouse, the delicate black lace of her bra peeked out, framing the generous swell of her breasts. The deep, shadowed valley of her cleavage drew the eye irresistibly; soft, creamy mounds pressed together, the inner curves flushed a faint rosy pink, glistening faintly as though kissed by ghost-light. Even in death she carried the gentle, heartbreaking delicacy of a girl who had never truly aged past her most beautiful years.
As the ruined clothes finally slipped away entirely, the true form of her spirit was revealed in all its luminous clarity. Her arms were slender yet softly rounded, translucent as moonlit jade; her shoulders curved gracefully into a back that begged to be traced. Every inch of her skin glowed with an otherworldly smoothness—plump, silken, almost liquid in its perfection. Long, elegant legs tapered down to delicate feet; five small, crystalline toes caught the dim light like polished pearls. But it was impossible to look anywhere else for long. High on her chest stood two proud, snow-white peaks—full, heavy, impossibly firm yet trembling with every shallow breath she took. They carried the ripe, devastating maturity of a woman who knew exactly what her body could do to a man.
At the crest of each magnificent breast sat a pair of large, dusky-rose nipples, swollen and erect like ripe berries begging to be tasted. The wide, velvety areolas surrounding them were flushed a deeper shade, drawing the gaze inward to that hypnotic central cleft. Between those trembling globes ran a deep, shadowed ravine—a perfect line that seemed designed to make a man lose his mind. Chen Ge's throat tightened; his pulse hammered in his ears. He could already feel the heat pooling low in his belly.
Without another word he pulled her into his arms. His mouth claimed hers in a bruising, devouring kiss while one broad palm captured the lush weight of her left breast, kneading the supple flesh until it overflowed his fingers. His other hand slid down the silky plane of her stomach, dipping between her thighs to find her already slick and fever-hot. Two fingers parted her swollen folds; her inner walls immediately fluttered and clenched around him, coating his hand in glossy warmth. A soft, broken whimper escaped her lips.
Chen Yalin sank onto the bed, rolling onto her knees. She arched her back deeply, offering herself completely—round, plump buttocks lifted high, thighs spread, glistening sex exposed and dripping. Her long black hair spilled across the sheets like spilled ink. She looked back over her shoulder, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes glassy with need.
"Mmm… please… stop teasing… it's so itchy inside… I can't stand it…"
Her voice was a trembling, needy whine. Every tiny movement of her hips made her heavy breasts sway pendulously beneath her. Chen Ge's control frayed. He withdrew his soaked fingers and smeared her own slickness across the snowy globes of her ass, marking her. Then he gripped those perfect cheeks hard, spreading her wider. His thick, straining cock bobbed heavily between them; he nudged the swollen head against her clit once, twice, painting her petals with precum—then suddenly yanked her backward while guiding himself to her entrance.
One brutal, smooth thrust and he buried himself to the hilt.
"Ahhh—!" Chen Yalin's cry cracked the air. "Harder… harder…!"
Her velvet walls clamped down like a vise, scalding and greedy. "So full… so big… so hot… ughhh…"
Chen Ge didn't give her time to adjust. His hips snapped forward in punishing rhythm, each deep plunge forcing a wet, obscene squelch from her soaked cunt. Her whole body rocked with the force; sweat beaded along her spine and trickled between her wildly bouncing breasts. She reached beneath herself, grabbing handfuls of her own tits and squeezing brutally, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh until pale skin turned pink between her knuckles.
"Say it," he growled, voice rough with lust. "Tell me how much this slutty little ghost cunt needs to be fucked."
He pulled almost all the way out, letting her feel the agonizing emptiness—then slammed back inside with a loud, wet slap.
"Ahhh—!" She jolted forward, sobbing with pleasure. "Too big… too strong… Master… you bad, bad man…"
CLAP—CLAP—CLAP—
Her left hand flew to her mouth; the tip of her pink tongue darted out to lick her own fingers clean of their mingled taste. "Bad Master… please… fuck this filthy, greedy cunt harder…"
Chen Ge's restraint snapped. He gripped her hips with bruising force and drove into her again and again, the fat head of his cock battering her cervix with every stroke. Each time he bottomed out there was a soft, lewd plop as her womb kissed his tip. Chen Yalin's cries turned incoherent—high, broken, animalistic.
CLAP—CLAP—CLAP—
"Ah… wuu… I'm gonna die… it's too much… my womb… you're fucking my womb raw… ahhh—!"
He switched rhythms deliberately—nine slow, grinding rolls of his hips that dragged every ridge along her fluttering walls, followed by one sudden, violent plunge that made her scream and clench so hard he nearly came on the spot. Her juices ran in thick rivulets down her thighs, soaking the sheets beneath them.
CLAP—CLAP—CLAP—
The wet, rhythmic sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room. Her tight channel milked him relentlessly, icy ghostly energy tingling along his shaft, shooting electric pleasure straight up his spine. Chen Yalin's moans climbed higher, wilder.
CLAP—CLAP—CLAP—
"Master… it's too good… this little slut can't take it… I'm gonna—!"
Her whole body seized. She reared upright, back bowing sharply, hands flying behind her to claw at his waist as she came undone. A gush of hot nectar flooded around his pistoning cock. The sudden, rhythmic squeezing was unbearable.
Chen Ge's vision whited out. With a guttural groan he slammed himself to the root one final time and erupted—thick, scalding ropes of cum painting her womb, pulse after violent pulse. Chen Yalin shuddered violently, another long, trembling moan spilling from her lips as her own release milked every last drop from him. Excess spilled out around his buried length, dripping in slow, creamy rivulets onto the ruined sheets.
When the storm finally passed, they collapsed together in a sweaty, trembling tangle—breath ragged, hearts pounding in unison, the air thick with the raw scent of sex and something faintly otherworldly.
The room was wrecked. The sheets were drenched. And neither of them moved to clean it up…
——
Chen Ge pocketed the broken ballpoint pen and walked out of Mu Yang High School with measured steps. The sealed classroom doors clicked shut behind him, the twenty-four mannequins left staring into darkness once more. He felt the weight of their collective gaze linger on his back, a silent acknowledgment that the scenario was finally complete. The wooden boards slid back into place with a heavy thud, sealing the two-star mission away until tomorrow's visitors arrived. Everything was ready; the stage set, the traps reset, the lingering spirits waiting in patient silence. Now it was time to face the real challenge.
He pulled out the black phone, its cracked screen glowing faintly in the dim corridor. After completing three consecutive Nightmare Missions, the interface had unlocked a new option: a three-star Trial Mission. The notification pulsed in crimson text.
"Congratulations, Specter's Favored. You have unlocked the Trial Mission for the Third Sick Hall!"
"The Third Sick Hall (Three Stars Scream Factor): This abandoned hospital makes strange noises at night, and you'll need to find out why."
"Mission Venue: The quarantine sector of Jiujiang Third Psychological Convalescence Centre."
"Mission Requirement: Arrive at the Third Sick Hall before midnight and survive until dawn."
"Mission Hint: The antonym of good is evil, and the antonym of right is wrong, so what is the antonym of human?"
"Do you wish to accept this mission? Warning: Trial Missions are only available for twenty-four hours. If not accepted within this window, the scenario will never be unlocked."
Chen Ge's thumb hovered over the accept button. He had prepared for this moment for weeks—every clue, every narrow escape, every bloodied step had led here. He tapped the screen. The interface shifted; a digital clock appeared in the upper left corner, counting down from 24:00:00. If he didn't step foot inside the Third Sick Hall before midnight, the mission would fail permanently. The weight of that deadline settled over him like cold iron.
The Third Sick Hall… after tonight, he should finally uncover more clues about his parents. The thought steadied him. He left the park with all his bags slung over his shoulders—the cleaver wrapped in red cloth, the rooster's cage swinging gently, packets of salt rustling against his back—and called Liu Dao. The other man answered immediately, voice tense with anticipation. "I'm on my way. Wait at the main gate."
Liu Dao's car pulled up minutes later, a nondescript black sedan that blended into the evening traffic. When he saw Chen Ge standing there with a live rooster in one hand and a suspiciously heavy backpack, his eyebrows shot up. For a moment he looked like he wanted to ask a dozen questions—about the bird, the bags, the grim determination on Chen Ge's face—but he swallowed them all. "Get in," he said simply. "We'll talk on the way."
The drive to Jiujiang Third Psychological Convalescence Centre took nearly forty minutes through evening traffic. Liu Dao kept the conversation light at first, updating Chen Ge on Qin Guang's preparations. "His livestream starts at 10 p.m.," he said, eyes on the road. "The platform gave him full support again after his last stream's numbers. They've got a full crew—multiple cameras, lighting guys, even a small drone. We pulled strings and sacrificed two of our hosts' prime slots to secure you a decent channel and recommendation spot. It's not top billing, but it's visible. Do your best tonight."
Chen Ge stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past. The rooster clucked softly in its cage on the backseat. He wasn't thinking about viewer counts or recommendations. He was thinking about the clock ticking down on his phone, the red door in the mirror, the Third Sick Hall's sealed corridors, and the question the mission hint had left hanging: What is the antonym of human? The answer felt close, but still out of reach.
Liu Dao glanced sideways. "You're quiet. Nervous?"
Chen Ge shook his head. "Focused."
The car eventually left the main roads, turning onto narrower streets lined with older buildings. The Jiujiang Third Psychological Convalescence Centre appeared ahead—an abandoned complex of gray concrete blocks surrounded by overgrown weeds and rusted chain-link fencing. Most windows were boarded or broken, graffiti crawling across the lower walls. The quarantine sector—the third building—stood slightly apart, its entrance sealed with heavy metal doors and warning signs that had long since faded. The place looked dead, but Chen Ge knew better. Places like this never truly slept.
Liu Dao parked a block away, engine idling. "This is as close as I can get without drawing attention. You sure about this?"
Chen Ge opened the door, the rooster cage in one hand, backpack slung over his shoulder. "I have to be."
Liu Dao hesitated, then nodded. "Good luck. And… be careful. Something about this place feels wrong."
Chen Ge stepped out into the night. The car pulled away behind him, leaving him alone with the abandoned hospital and the ticking clock on his phone. Midnight was approaching, and the Third Sick Hall was waiting.