I told the other two not to move around as a group anymore. Deng Chao was likely watching us from the shadows.
I asked Huang Xiaotao to drive off campus first, park somewhere, and then return on foot. I went to the library alone for a while—it was crowded and relatively safe. I skipped dinner and hurried toward the abandoned school building as the sky darkened.
The small grove around the abandoned building looked especially eerie at night. As I walked, unease crept into my heart. I couldn't shake the fear that Deng Chao might jump out and stab me from the darkness.
Now I finally understood the meaning of that old saying: It's not the thief that's scary—it's the fear of being watched by one.
Just as I stepped inside the building, someone grabbed me from the side. My heart almost stopped. A whisper came: "Yo, Yangzi, it's me!"
"Da Li! You almost killed me," I exhaled, hand on my chest.
"Were you followed?" Huang Xiaotao asked. It turned out they'd arrived earlier.
"No." I had been listening closely the whole way—no one had tailed me.
Wang Dali reached for his flashlight, but I stopped him. "No lights. We don't want to give away our position. Did you bring the stuff I asked for?"
"…Here. But what do you need this for?" he asked, handing me a bag.
"You'll see soon enough," I replied.
We crept through the building in the dark. They clung to my shirt because they couldn't see a thing. I, however, used the Eye of the Deep—my night vision was ten times sharper than a normal person's.
No joke. According to anatomy books, the retina contains cone and rod cells—cones let you see during the day, rods help in the dark. Rods are sensitive, which is why your eyes hurt when stepping into light after being in the dark too long.
I drank "Bright Vision Brew" for 49 days and underwent special visual training. My rods had multiplied tenfold. I could also adjust my pupils at will. A faint shimmer in the dark was enough for me to see clearly.
As we went upstairs, Wang Dali asked, "Song Yang, how the hell can you see so well?"
"Training," I said casually.
"This can be trained?! How?"
"Eat more carrots," I joked.
We reached the third floor. I told them to guard the staircase silently. The building had only one set of stairs. If Deng Chao came for me, he'd have to pass this way.
"I'm heading in," I said.
"Be careful," Huang Xiaotao warned.
"I'll be fine."
I entered Music Room 4. Police tape still hung on the door, but the corpse was long gone. Only a few dark stains lingered on the floor. Moonlight streamed in through swaying curtains, casting a cold, lonely ambiance.
I took out a small bag of wheat flour and sprinkled a thin layer around the piano and along the windows and doors. If a ghost really did appear, I needed to be ready. Wheat flour is considered "yang"—gentle and harmless, able to sense spirits without provoking them.
My grandfather taught me a few ghost-handling tricks. In ancient times, exorcism wasn't limited to monks and priests. Every trade had its own rituals. Carpenters used suppressive symbols, stonemasons burned talismans, and butchers recited prayers to release souls. Morticians, who handled the dead daily, naturally had their own methods too. These traditions faded only when modern industries took over.
Honestly, Wang Dali's story about the ghost earlier still had my skin crawling. The woman in white was the wild card tonight.
I glanced out the window and realized something: this building sat at a four-way crossroads, surrounded by old locust trees. The place was thick with yin energy—no wonder it was haunted.
The moonlight was strong tonight. From outside, you could clearly see into the classroom, but from inside, thanks to the leaves, visibility was limited. If Deng Chao came, he'd see me first.
So I didn't stand still. I took out a small brush and pretended to inspect the floor, all the while watching the window from the corner of my eye.
Minutes dragged by. Two hours felt like an eternity. I was growing impatient.
Then, a rustling noise broke the silence.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. I turned my head slowly—and saw her.
A woman in white sleepwear stood behind me, her long hair covering her face. Her body was semi-transparent—her lower half almost invisible. No wonder people say ghosts have no feet.
But she did have feet. A faint trail of footprints had formed in the flour.
My heart pounded as I stood frozen. It was my first time seeing something like this.
She didn't look at me. Instead, she turned and gently ran her fingertips along the piano. Her skin was pale as paper, riddled with charred black cracks, like a body sewn together from corpse parts.
"Xia Mo?" I called, barely audible from nerves.
The ghost slowly turned, her pupil-less white eyes locking onto me. Her bloodless face was covered in crimson scars.
I pressed my palms together and said politely, "Senior Xia Mo, forgive the intrusion. I'm here tonight to catch a criminal. Please accept this humble offering."
I took out a stack of joss paper and lit my lighter.
But the paper wouldn't ignite. Even when it did catch, a cold gust immediately snuffed it out. According to old beliefs, if the paper won't burn, the ghost refuses your offering.
I broke out in a sweat. Finally giving up, I looked up—and she was gone.
Then Wang Dali's panicked shout echoed from the hallway: "GHOST! THERE'S A GHOST!"
My heart sank.
Ghosts, like humans, are territorial. Trespassers don't sit well with them. My biggest worry wasn't the ghost herself—but that she might lash out and drive us away.
I bolted out of the room. Huang Xiaotao had her gun raised at me while Wang Dali cowered on the floor, trembling.
"Don't shoot! It's me!" I shouted, hands up.
Huang lowered her gun after recognizing me.
"Damn it, man, I nearly died! That ghost floated right past us!" Wang Dali looked like he'd cry.
"I saw her too," Huang said. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. She was just… gliding, like carried by wind."
"Fall back," I ordered.
"Fall back?" they echoed, confused.
"I mean you two. Go wait in the first-floor classroom near the door. I'll stay here. If anything happens, call me—just let it ring once."
They looked at each other. "Why not all stay in Music Room 4?" Huang suggested.
"No. If Deng Chao's watching from outside, you can't risk being seen. Go. Now," I urged.
They headed downstairs. I returned to Music Room 4 and peeked out the window.
The trees swayed. Dim streetlights cast flickering shadows. No one was in sight.
Then, as I turned around—someone stood silently in the doorway.
A woman in white, long hair covering her face.
I broke into a cold sweat. But in the blink of an eye, she vanished.
That's when it hit me—something was wrong.
The figure had substance. And she didn't look exactly like Xia Mo.
I almost screamed.
The "ghost" Wang Dali and Huang Xiaotao saw… and the one I just saw—they weren't the same.
It was Deng Chao, disguised as a ghost, sneaking in under our noses.
That bastard was cunning.
And now, it was just the two of us left—on this entire floor.