Chen Ge still had many unanswered questions swirling in his mind, each one more pressing than the last. He wanted to know the full history of the blood door, the true nature of the monsters that guarded it, and what exactly had happened to the director after he stepped through years ago. But the boy gave him no opportunity to ask. With a faint but unmistakable strain in his small voice, the child began counting down from sixty in a flat, emotionless tone. Chen Ge could see the struggle etched into the boy's pale features—his body had not yet fully recovered from the long imprisonment, and the vivid red of his shirt was already fading in patches, as though the power sustaining him was slowly draining away. "Stop wasting my time," the boy said sharply. "Go!"
As Chen Ge stepped closer to the blood door, he noticed details he had missed before in his haste. The surface was covered in countless fine cracks, like shattered glass that had been hastily repaired. Thin blood vessels wove through the fractures, pulsing faintly as they mended the damage from within. The sight reminded him of the tremendous impact that had accompanied Zhang Ya's earlier arrival—the explosive force that had rocked the entire corridor. He pieced it together quietly: after being forcibly expelled by the old man, Zhang Ya must have shattered the door to force her way back in. The door could be broken, but it possessed the ability to heal itself, knitting its wounds with those living red threads.
Pushing the door open required more effort than Chen Ge expected. The heavy steel resisted at first, then gave way with a low, reluctant groan. The world that greeted him on the other side was no longer bathed in oppressive shades of red. The familiar darkened corridor of the real Third Sick Hall stretched before him once more—dim, dusty, and mercifully ordinary by comparison. After the suffocating crimson intensity behind the door, the shadowed hallway felt almost comforting, like returning to a known danger after stepping into something far worse.
"Meow?" The white cat sat patiently beside the doorway, its mismatched eyes—one blue, one gold—gleaming with quiet curiosity as it watched Chen Ge emerge. The animal tilted its head slightly, as though assessing whether he had truly returned intact. Chen Ge paused just long enough to glance back over his shoulder, intending to offer the boy one final word of thanks. But before he could speak, the boy slammed the door shut in his face with surprising force. The metallic clang echoed down the corridor, final and absolute.
I have a feeling the boy is hiding something important, Chen Ge thought, staring at the now-closed blood door. But what exactly? Is he afraid of Zhang Ya? The image of the red school uniform fluttering in an unfelt wind flashed through his mind, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. This three-star Trial Mission had given him a completely new understanding of Zhang Ya's true nature. The Red Specter he had once thought of as a quiet, almost tragic figure was in reality cruel, unforgiving, and utterly merciless. She shattered doors without hesitation and attacked anyone who stood in her path, regardless of consequence.
Zhang Ya should have exited the door alongside me, right? Chen Ge turned slowly, half-expecting to find the corridor empty. Instead, she stood only one foot away—close enough that he could feel the faint chill radiating from her body. The red of her uniform burned brighter than before, almost luminous in the dim light, as though the violence she had just unleashed had fed her strength rather than drained it. Her long black hair drifted lazily around her shoulders, and her eyes—dark and unreadable—fixed on him with quiet intensity.
The vivid red dress hugged Zhang Ya's elegant frame like a second skin, its thin silk so fine that it betrayed every subtle contour beneath. Through the delicate fabric stretched across her chest, the soft pink peaks of her nipples stood faintly visible—tender, erect, and impossible to ignore.
The dress ended at her knees in a flare of brilliant crimson, yet it refused to hang loosely. Instead, the glossy material clung greedily to the generous swell of her hips and the proud, upward curve of her full buttocks, tracing and accentuating every lush line. Each small movement made the silk shift and slide over her skin, whispering against the flesh it barely concealed.
Below the hem, her calves gleamed—long, snowy-white, and perfectly rounded—flowing down into delicate ankles. The classic red ballet slippers she wore tied the look together: innocent in shape, yet wickedly provocative when paired with the way the dress moulded to her body and the quiet confidence in her tall, statuesque posture.
Chen Ge's fingers twitched uncontrollably, as though tiny electric currents were running through them without his permission. The involuntary spasms made his grip on the cleaver falter for a moment, the blade trembling slightly in his hand. In a desperate attempt to mask the raw panic surging through his chest, he forced out an awkward, shaky laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Just look at how funny this whole thing is," he said, voice cracking just a little. "I went inside the door because I was genuinely worried about you—worried you might be in trouble or outnumbered—but in the end, it was you who came back and saved me instead."
Zhang Ya remained completely silent. She studied Chen Ge's face with unnerving intensity, her dark eyes unblinking and unreadable. The scrutiny felt almost physical, like cold fingers tracing over his skin, searching for any hint of dishonesty or fear. Chen Ge stood frozen under that gaze, every muscle locked in place, sweat beading along his hairline despite the lingering chill from the blood door. He racked his brain for something—anything—to lighten the suffocating mood, to break the heavy silence that pressed down between them like a physical weight.
As the seconds stretched into an unbearable eternity, a sudden, absurd realization hit him. In the more than twenty years he had been alive, his actual experience talking to girls—real, meaningful conversations outside of scripted Haunted House interactions—was effectively zero. He had spent his entire youth surrounded by mannequins, plastic bones, jump-scare props, and the eerie quiet of an empty attraction. Social skills with the living, especially women, had never been part of his life. The thought struck him so sharply that he almost laughed again—this time genuinely, though it came out as more of a choked breath.
"What have I even been doing for the past twenty years…?" he muttered under his breath, the words half self-deprecating, half bewildered. The question hung in the air between them, unanswered and strangely vulnerable, as Zhang Ya continued to watch him with that same quiet, piercing intensity.
"Fine," Chen Ge muttered, the corner of his mouth curling. "Words are cheap."
He closed the distance in two strides, seized Zhang Ya's slender wrist, and yanked the pretty ghostress against him.
Her soft, heavy breasts crushed into his chest before she could even gasp. The already stiff peaks of her nipples scraped against his shirt and hardened further, almost painfully erect.
Chen Ge tilted his head and claimed her mouth.
For perhaps half a heartbeat Zhang Ya froze—then she melted. Her lips parted on a shaky exhale and his tongue swept inside, tangling with hers. A second later she was kissing him back just as fiercely, hungry and unrestrained, her own tongue chasing his, slick and desperate. Their mouths fused, wet and noisy, breathing each other in.
Pressed so tightly together, he could feel the fever radiating off her ghostly body. Especially the molten heat between her thighs—her lower belly ground against his cock in frantic little circles, shamelessly seeking friction.
Chen Ge didn't ask permission. Both hands shot to her chest, fingers sinking into the lush, overflowing weight of her breasts. He kneaded roughly, thumbs flicking the swollen tips. Zhang Ya's head tipped back on a long, broken moan; the icy composure she usually wore shattered into raw pleasure. Her stomach arched forward, hips rolling, thighs spreading wider as though her whole body was begging to be filled.
Another soft, needy sound slipped from her throat.
She felt it—the thick head of his cock nudging her soaked entrance, then driving upward in one long, merciless stroke. He buried himself to the hilt, stretching her completely, no space left unfilled.
Chen Ge hooked his hands under her thighs, hoisted her legs high around his waist, and started fucking her in earnest.
Hard. Fast. Relentless.
Her body rocked with every brutal plunge. She writhed against him, inner walls fluttering and clenching, giving him exquisite, sucking heat that dragged a growl from his throat. Her nails scored red lines down his back; crescent marks bloomed on the pale skin of her breasts where his fingers dug in.
She climbed toward the edge frighteningly fast. Breasts shuddered violently with each thrust. Hips snapped upward to meet him, greedy, chasing release.
For nearly half an hour he pounded into her without mercy—until his control finally snapped.
With a guttural curse he slammed deep one last time and came, pumping thick ropes of cum straight into her spasming cunt.
When the pulsing finally eased, warm seed was already leaking out around his softening length, dripping down her thighs.
Panting, he managed a rough murmur against her ear.
"Done here, baby. Let's go home."
Zhang Ya said nothing.
She eased herself off him slowly, unconcerned by the glistening trail of semen sliding down her inner thighs. Naked, flushed, still trembling faintly, she stepped toward him again.
Her erect nipples were a hairsbreadth from brushing his chest—
—and then she simply passed through him.
A cold, delicious shiver raced down his spine as her form melted into shadow and vanished inside him, leaving only the lingering heat between his legs and the faint, sweet scent of her on his skin.
Home, indeed.
Chen Ge's blackphone buzzed sharply against his thigh.
He immediately pressed his back to the cold wall and let himself slide down until he was sitting on the filthy floor. A thin sheen of cold sweat already coated his forehead and the back of his neck. Even now, just thinking about Zhang Ya's presence made his pulse hammer unevenly.
*Too much pressure… way too fucking much.*
He forced a long, shaky breath through his nose, then fished the black phone out of his pocket with trembling fingers and swiped the screen awake.
「Zhang Ya's Affection has slightly increased!」
「Progress toward next stage: Gripped by Passion」
Chen Ge stared at the words. His throat closed.
Gripped by Passion?
The phrase alone sounded like a warning label printed in dripping red. His mind instantly supplied the worst possible translation: if "passion" here meant what he was terrified it meant… then the fastest way to raise her affection bar might be—
—sex with the ghostress?
He swallowed hard. His imagination—traitorous as always—immediately painted Zhang Ya's bloodless face hovering inches above his, long black hair curtaining them both, her scarlet dress already torn open, her nails no longer gentle, digging crescent moons into his shoulders while her eyes burned with something far beyond affection.
And if that meter kept climbing… if she really tipped over into "Gripped by Passion"…
Would she even remember he was made of meat and bone?
Would she still care?
Or would she—mid-thrust, mid-kiss, mid-*everything*—simply forget how fragile a living body is and rip him open like wet paper, too lost in her own ecstasy to notice the moment his screams turned into gurgles?
Chen Ge pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead and let out a weak, bitter laugh that echoed in the empty corridor.
"Fuck me..." he whispered. "Literally."
Chen Ge clutched his head tightly with both hands and let out a low, pained groan as waves of lingering terror washed over him. The raw fear from the blood door still clung to his nerves like damp fog, making his muscles twitch involuntarily even though the immediate danger had passed. The white cat, completely unfazed by the chaos it had just witnessed, leapt lightly onto the top of his backpack and curled up lazily, tucking its paws beneath its chest. Its mismatched eyes blinked once, slowly, as though the various bizarre and horrifying antics of its owner had become so routine that they no longer warranted any reaction.
In any case, there's no need to worry about that just yet, Chen Ge told himself firmly, forcing his mind to shift focus. He pushed himself to his feet, legs still unsteady from the ordeal, and pulled out his phone to check the status. The moment the screen lit up, he noticed that all signals had been completely severed the instant he stepped through the blood door—no bars, no network, nothing. Then he remembered the livestream that had been running the entire time. He quickly opened the streaming platform app. To his surprise, his own livestream had been temporarily banned, but his account itself remained active and unfrozen. He could still browse, comment, and interact normally.
What's going on? Chen Ge frowned deeply as he scrolled through the notifications. He glanced at the viewer count and felt a jolt of disbelief. In the span of this single, chaotic livestream, his number of followers had skyrocketed to 150,000. He tapped into several larger, more popular livestream rooms on the platform—almost every one was discussing him and Qin Guang. Clips, screenshots, and heated debates about their simultaneous supernatural explorations filled the chat logs. Chen Ge took a deep breath to steady himself, then calmly edited his livestream title to prominently feature the address of Western Jiujiang's House of Horrors. He added a short, intriguing explanation in the information box, hoping to convert at least some of this sudden viral attention into future visitors.
Chen Ge decided to check Qin Guang's stream next. He searched for it and found the same status: temporarily blocked. The feed had gone completely black after Qin Guang's team entered a classroom in Mu Yang High School, and it had remained that way for an extended period. Chen Ge immediately dialed Liu Dao. The call was picked up after seven long rings.
"Liu Dao? Why are both my livestream and Qin Guang's livestream blocked?" Chen Ge asked quietly. "Is it because of the overly long black screen?"
After a brief pause, an unfamiliar male voice answered instead of Liu Dao's. "This is the city's investigation team. Give me your location immediately. Stay exactly where you are and do not move around."
The police? Chen Ge's pulse jumped. When did they arrive, and how did they already know I'm at the Third Sick Hall? He glanced at the time on his phone: 3:50 a.m. He had only spent a short time behind the blood door—perhaps twenty or thirty minutes at most—but hours had clearly passed in the real world. After his livestream cut out upon entering the door, Liu Dao's team must have contacted the authorities immediately. Unlike casual online viewers who might dismiss anything as special effects, Liu Dao understood exactly how dangerous Chen Ge's explorations could become and had provided the police with his precise location.
"I'm on the first floor of the third building at the mental hospital," Chen Ge answered steadily. "There are two victims trapped inside the laundry room on the second floor of the second building. I've collected physical evidence left behind by the suspects."
"The two victims have already been rescued," the officer replied. "Do not disturb or tamper with the crime scene any further. We'll be there in one minute. Keep this line open."
"My phone battery is almost dead," Chen Ge warned. "I'm afraid it won't last much longer." He ended the call immediately after speaking, then quickly concealed both the hammer and cleaver deep inside his backpack, making sure nothing suspicious remained visible.
I still need to retrieve the items from the director's dresser, Chen Ge reminded himself.
He raced back up to the second-floor office without hesitation. When he opened the dresser drawer and gathered the letters, his fingers accidentally brushed against the back panel. To his surprise, the partition slid aside easily, revealing a hidden passageway behind it. The narrow tunnel stretched into darkness, ending at another steel door.
The lock on this door matched the key Chen Ge had obtained earlier from Wang Haiming. He inserted it, turned the mechanism with a soft click, and pushed the door open. To his astonishment, he found himself standing once again inside Room 3 of the Third Sick Hall.
This must be the secret tunnel mentioned in Wang Haiming's diary, Chen Ge realized. It connects directly to the director's office. That means the old director definitely knew about this hidden passage and used it regularly.
His gaze drifted to the patient bed in Room 3, positioned to face the concealed entrance perfectly. A cold understanding settled over him as he thought about Men Nan's mother, who had once been confined in this very room. The boy's torment of the old director suddenly made perfect sense. The director had likely used this secret route to come and go unnoticed, perhaps even to observe or manipulate the woman and her unborn child.
Wang Haiming had once been a resident of Room 3. The key Chen Ge now carried had probably been stolen from the director with the cooperation of the mirror ghost that had attached itself to him.
The police were arriving any moment. Chen Ge quickly pocketed the key, carefully returned everything in the dresser and office to its original state, and sat quietly on the floor of Room 3 to wait. He kept his backpack close, the dead cock inside it silent and still, while the white cat slumbered peacefully on his shoulder.
At exactly 4:00 a.m., the sealed entrance to the Third Sick Hall was pried open with metal tools. Chen Ge, who had been waiting patiently for hours, immediately stood up and rushed forward, backpack slung over one shoulder, the dead cock clutched in one hand like grim evidence, and the white cat still drowsing contentedly on the other.
Before he could get far, several police officers surrounded him in a tight semicircle, hands resting near their holsters. Chen Ge did not recognize any of their faces.
"I'm a friend!" he called out quickly, raising both hands to show he was unarmed. "I've collected these items left behind by the suspects—evidence of their crimes."
After a short but intense interrogation in the corridor, Chen Ge calmly explained his presence at the Third Sick Hall. He deliberately omitted any mention of ghosts, blood doors, or supernatural events. Instead, he described being chased by the twisted-face man, getting locked inside the Third Sick Hall by the deranged former patients, and discovering the two victims in the laundry room along with physical evidence of their crimes.
"The suspects' fingerprints should still be visible on the fourth-floor steel door," he added. "There are three of them—all former patients of this Third Sick Hall."
Chen Ge struggled to stay awake as the first hints of dawn appeared through the cracks in the boarded windows. When the black phone finally vibrated with the mission success alert, a wave of exhausted relief washed over him. He left the mental hospital alongside the police, carrying his backpack and the lingering weight of everything he had witnessed that night.