The livestream had become a curse.
Every night at midnight, Lin Ze's account went live.
Every night, a new victim vanished.
And in every livestream, no matter the setting, no matter the location, that same object always appeared on screen——
The old rattan chair.
Rumors swirled online.
Some said the chair was a cursed relic from an unspeakable crime.
Others claimed it had been the seat for a bride during a forbidden 冥婚 (ghost marriage) decades ago.
But no one knew the truth.
Until now.
Police detective Chen Rui, a skeptic by nature, had been assigned to the case after the disappearance of Zhao Wei.
Unlike his colleagues, Chen Rui didn't believe in ghosts.
He believed in evidence.
And the evidence had led him back to Bukit Tunku.
Right to the base of that massive banana tree.
And there, in the faint moonlight, sat the chair.
Untouched. Unmoved. As if waiting for him.
Chen Rui approached cautiously.
The scent of jasmine hung thick in the air.
He knelt before the chair and ran his gloved fingers across its rotting frame.
His hand stopped.
Something was carved into the wood, hidden beneath layers of grime.
With a knife, he carefully scraped away the dirt.
One word emerged, written in an old, almost forgotten dialect—
"代嫁" (Substitute Bride)
His mind raced.
The legends of ghost marriages flooded back to him.
In the old days, when a woman died unmarried, her restless spirit was believed to wander forever.
Families would arrange a 冥婚 to appease the spirit.
But sometimes, there was no willing bride.
So… they found a substitute.
A living woman.
Or worse… a victim.
Suddenly, a soft laugh echoed through the trees.
"Hehehe…"
Chen Rui's blood turned to ice.
He stood abruptly, his flashlight trembling.
Shadows twisted at the edge of his vision.
And then—
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
The screen was on, camera activated—on its own.
The display showed the rattan chair.
But this time, someone was sitting in it.
A woman in white.
Her head slowly lifted.
Two bleeding hollows where her eyes should have been stared directly through the camera.
Chen Rui turned to run—
But his feet wouldn't move.
A voice whispered right behind his ear.
"It's your turn…"
The screen faded to black.
And the faint scent of jasmine grew stronger.
That night, Detective Chen Rui disappeared.
The only thing left at the scene was his phone, lying on the chair's seat.
Its screen showed one final, horrifying message:
[The next livestream will feature a new host.]
End of Chapter 7