Ling Lie turned his face to look at the sky.

When he had escaped from “Chen Jin,” his understanding of the organization was far from complete. He had thought that the mountain village was Chen Jin’s main base, and that the head of the instructors was Chen Jin’s ultimate boss.

But that was just one of Chen Jin’s countless data points. Like all the children and instructors living under its shadow, it was insignificant and could be abandoned at any time.

The true “Chen Jin” was a great gu—a venomous creature from folklore—cultivated by the wealthy and powerful elites of E Country. Initially, it only handled affairs for the powerful, but as its influence grew, it gradually came to dominate its own employers. They engaged in all kinds of illegal transactions, murdered innocents, and extended their tentacles into neighboring countries. At its peak, it controlled one of the most active darknets in the world, a breeding ground where all manner of evil took root.

Over a decade ago, it had come dangerously close to infiltrating our country.

When the news that it had been wiped out arrived, Ling Lie spent an entire night drinking alone in celebration. The information was reliable; the behemoth had truly fallen. For years, there was no sign of its resurgence. In the northern countries, new criminal organizations and darknets began to appear, but none reached the scale of Chen Jin in its heyday.

And now, a crucial piece of Chen Jin’s code had appeared in “Fu Guang.” This hinted at a terrifying reality—though Chen Jin had been destroyed, a part of its core power still existed. If it were just some fringe cannon fodder, they would never have been able to use this code.

What was baffling was why “Fu Guang,” as the successor, would still try to enter their country when Chen Jin had failed before. It clearly had more fertile grounds to operate in. The only explanation was that Fu Guang’s leadership had another objective. They were likely here to find something.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Do you know any of Chen Jin’s key members?”

Ling Lie shook his head. “The head of my instructors was just a minor lackey.”

“Then why do you think they’re here for you? Why do you think me being with you means I’m in trouble?”

Ling Lie froze.

Ji Chenjiao gently poked him on the forehead. “This stray cat is quite full of himself.”

Ling Lie rubbed the spot where he’d been poked. He had been too close to the situation to see clearly. When he learned that Fu Guang was Chen Jin, his first reaction was that he had become the target. But it wasn’t logical. He was just a kid back then; if he was lost, he was lost. After so many years, who would go to such great lengths to capture him? He hadn’t even participated in the operation to annihilate Chen Jin. In Fu Guang’s eyes, he should be a nobody.

But a stray cat can’t be bullied.

Ling Lie gave Ji Chenjiao a light headbutt. Caught off guard, Ji Chenjiao’s forehead turned red. Ling Lie lifted his chin, looking haughty. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

Tears almost welled up in Ji Chenjiao’s eyes. Ling Lie leaned in again and blew on the red mark. “There, there, Little Ji, all better—whoosh, whoosh—”

Although he had headbutted Ji Chenjiao, Ling Lie’s mood was still low. In a rare trip to the kitchen, Ji Chenjiao fried a plate of chicken wings for him. Ling Lie ate in small bites, his appetite seemingly smaller than usual, but he surprisingly finished the entire plate.

As it got late, Ji Chenjiao came to the guest bedroom with his pillow.

Ling Lie said, “Are you here to take over my bed?”

Ji Chenjiao placed the pillow down. “What’s wrong with taking it over for a night?”

“I’ll have to charge you.”

“Fine. I’ll take a few yuan off next month’s rent.”

It wasn’t the first time they had shared a bed on Fengchao Island, but this time was different. Was it because their relationship had changed? Or was it because Ling Lie looked so heartbreakingly vulnerable right now?

Ji Chenjiao didn’t know.

He adjusted the air conditioner’s temperature and let Ling Lie rest in the crook of his arm, patting his back. The dim light from the bedside lamp was like a small umbrella, shielding Ling Lie from the rain while Ji Chenjiao himself was soaked in darkness.

Ling Lie closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again to look at Ji Chenjiao. His deep brown irises were exceptionally clear in the soft light. He was curled up, having found a secure position in Ji Chenjiao’s arms.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Can’t sleep?”

Ling Lie replied, “Are you trying to lull me to sleep?”

Ji Chenjiao thought he was.

But Ling Lie, having gotten what he wanted, was still being cheeky. “But you’re not being very sincere.”

Ji Chenjiao thought that Ling Lie was like a child right now, saying whatever was on his mind so bluntly. Usually, he found Ling Lie mischievous, but now he just wanted to give him all the care he needed.

“Then what would be sincere?”

“You could at least tell me a story.”

Ji Chenjiao picked up his phone. “What story do you want to hear?”

“I like the ones for little kids,” Ling Lie said. “I’ve never heard one before.”

Ji Chenjiao’s hand paused, a pang of sorrow striking his heart. He downloaded an app for bedtime fairy tales and started reading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz to Ling Lie.

“‘There is only one thing in the world I am afraid of,’ the Scarecrow said to Dorothy, ‘A lighted match.'”

Ling Lie’s head bobbed on his arm. He asked, “Of course a scarecrow is afraid of a match, but why did he tell Dorothy?”

Ji Chenjiao thought for a moment. “Because of trust, I guess. He was entrusting his greatest weakness to his good friend, Dorothy.”

The story ended. Everyone in the fairy tale got what they wanted: the Scarecrow got his brains, the Tin Woodman his heart, the Cowardly Lion his courage, and Dorothy returned home. But Ling Lie was still most interested in what the Scarecrow had said.

Just as Ji Chenjiao was about to read the next story, Ling Lie suddenly tugged on his shirt. “Boyfriend, I want to entrust my greatest weakness to you, too.”

Ji Chenjiao was suddenly taken aback.

But Ling Lie just laughed. “But I thought about it, and I don’t know what my weakness is. I’ll save it for now. When I figure it out, I’ll give it to you.”

Ji Chenjiao’s throat felt dry, and he couldn’t speak. Ling Lie, however, contentedly curled his legs, stretched out, and soon fell asleep.

—

On a night several days later, most of Xiarong City was battered by lightning, thunder, and a torrential downpour. A tall, disheveled girl ran out of a building, her wet hair plastered to her face, her eyes overflowing with terror. She ran fast, glancing back from time to time, as if something utterly horrifying was chasing her.

At the peak of her fear, she couldn’t scream. In the vast, rain-swept world, there was no one to call for help. She fell, scrambled back up, and kept running. But the sound of her footsteps was swallowed by the roaring rain, which felt like a giant cage, sealing off her last cries for help.

She gritted her teeth and ran toward the edge of the rain-shrouded darkness, desperate to escape the tomb-like rehabilitation center. Ever since she arrived, everything had become abnormal. Even her coach, who doted on her the most, no longer believed her.

They all said there were no ghosts, that she was just too stressed and was hallucinating due to psychological suggestion. To alleviate her symptoms, they even changed her prescription. They were so patient, so considerate of her well-being. Why couldn’t she just be obedient instead of hysterical? Her coach had cried, saying she was heartless.

But she wasn’t! She had really seen it! This rehabilitation center was built on the bodies of many people. The vengeful spirits of the dead still roamed. Why didn’t anyone believe her?

She sprinted in a desperate frenzy. Suddenly, a blinding light shot from her right, followed by the screech of brakes. She felt as if she were floating, as if the wind and rain had taken pity on her for the first time and lifted her up.

But why did it hurt so much? She smelled the thick scent of blood as her back slammed onto the slick ground. Her last sight in this world was of two faces suspended above her, looking at her in panic, just like the pale face she had seen on her first night in the hospital. They were saying something, but she could no longer hear.

—

At around 5 a.m., the heavy rain stopped. Jiang Yunduo’s body was discovered by a sanitation worker.

After daybreak, news of the car accident spread rapidly through the Rongmei Rehabilitation Center. The accident site was just over 700 meters from the center’s north garden. A long, pinkish ribbon of blood flowed from her body, seeping into the garden soil, still clearly visible in the daylight.

The county bureau had already surveyed the scene, taken the body, and retrieved footage from a roadside camera. At 3:12 a.m., Jiang Yunduo had run out from the side of the road. A car, unable to avoid her, had struck her despite braking. The two people in the car got out to check, conferred for half a minute, then got back in and fled the scene. The surveillance camera captured the license plate, and the police had begun tracking the vehicle.

The autopsy report was also out. Jiang Yunduo had nineteen fractures, a shattered skull, and massive internal bleeding. She had died on the spot.

The facts of the accident were clear: Jiang Yunduo died in a car crash, and the driver did not seem to have intentionally hit her. But why was she running alone in the pouring rain at night? This became the biggest question and the main topic of gossip for everyone at the rehabilitation center.

“Did you hear? The one who died was that volleyball player! The girl who was always talking about ghosts!”

“Her? What was she doing running out in the middle of the night?”

“Must’ve been possessed, right? Wasn’t she always saying ghosts were watching her and chasing her? I say, someone in her condition should have been taken home sooner!”

“Hey, you don’t think this hospital is actually haunted, do you? How could a perfectly fine person just get ‘possessed’ like that?”

“I think there’s something wrong with that coach of hers. Other patients have their parents looking after them. Why would a coach be so kind? She must have some ulterior motive.”

People gossiped, and inevitably, the origins of the rehabilitation center came up again. Within half a day, more and more people claimed they also felt the place was “unclean” and had seen ghosts.

The county bureau reviewed the center’s internal surveillance. At 2:50 a.m., Jiang Yunduo appeared at the back door of building three, used her fingerprint to exit, and kept looking back, but there was no one behind her. After she ran out, no one else approached the fingerprint scanner, and the door never opened again. It was impossible for someone to have chased her out.

Jiang Yunduo’s coach was crying her eyes out. “It’s my fault Yunduo is dead! I shouldn’t have forced her to get treatment!”

Jiang Yunduo’s attending physician, Wang Lu, emphasized during questioning that the medication he prescribed was absolutely fine. Jiang Yunduo had claimed to see a ghost on her very first day, at which point she had only undergone a physical examination and hadn’t taken any medication, ruling out drug-induced hallucinations. Later, he had even organized a meeting with experts to discuss her case and change her prescription.

Wang Lu said that while some patients do experience abnormal excitement or hallucinations after taking medication, Jiang Yunduo’s problem was not related to the drugs; her own mental state was the issue. After conducting pharmacological and toxicological tests on her blood, liver, and kidneys, the county bureau basically confirmed that Wang Lu was not lying. The dosages were all controlled at a low standard; even with individual variations, it would be highly unlikely to produce Jiang Yunduo’s condition.

So why did Jiang Yunduo have a psychotic break?

During the investigation, the most common things the police heard were stories about the fire years ago and vengeful spirits. Of course, these superstitions couldn’t be treated as leads, but the possibility that someone was pretending to be a ghost to scare her was worth investigating.

—

Ji Chenjiao and Ling Lie had been back at the major crimes unit for a few days. Although Ji Chenjiao was the captain, Ling Lie’s return was a pleasant surprise. He didn’t have a dedicated desk, but Shen Qi had moved one in for him, right next to Ji Chenjiao’s. Rumor had it that he’d even consulted an online fortune-teller to ensure it had good feng shui.

Ji Chenjiao felt he ought to hold a meeting to stamp out feudal superstitions. An elite member of the major crimes unit was consulting online fortune-tellers?

But Ling Lie took it in stride and even started learning about star sign analysis from Shen Qi. Shen Qi had now officially switched his allegiance from Ji Chenjiao to Ling Lie. The reason was embarrassingly common—every time he talked about horoscopes, Ji Chenjiao would lecture him. But Brother Lie was so much better! Brother Lie would blink at him curiously and humbly ask for explanations, which greatly satisfied his vanity.

Now, his big brother was Ling Lie. Ji Chenjiao was demoted and given a new title: Team Captain-Bro, or ‘Team-Bro’ for short.

Ji Chenjiao’s reaction upon first hearing it: What the hell is that?!

That day, after finishing his work, Shen Qi went to chat with Ling Lie, only to find him staring at his phone with a cold expression. He peeked over and saw it was the news from Chaoxia County—a woman had died in a car accident at the rehabilitation center.

Shen Qi had already seen the online analyses before coming over. They all mentioned the vengeful ghosts of Chaoxia County and had dug up the rehabilitation center’s history. Real estate developers always paid close attention to feng shui. Many had looked at that plot of land, bringing “experts” with them. Although the land was cheap, the “experts” said the feng shui was terrible, so no one dared to touch the hot potato.

The Yu Corporation, being wealthy and powerful, had taken the land to give face to the local government and built the rehabilitation center. It had been peaceful for years. Now that an incident had occurred, the most widespread rumor online was that the Yu Corporation hadn’t properly appeased the dead souls. While this was all nonsense, its mysterious and sensational nature made it a hot topic. Some livestreamers had already announced they were going to explore the center.

Although Shen Qi enjoyed checking horoscopes for fun, he was a staunch atheist, so he only glanced at the online theories.

“Brother, what’s wrong?”

Ling Lie didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up and ran out of the office. Ji Chenjiao was just returning from Xie Qing’s office when Ling Lie grabbed him and pulled him inside.

Shen Qi: “…” Hand… holding hands?

“I saw this victim before,” Ling Lie said, handing his phone to Ji Chenjiao. “Her name is Jiang Yunduo. On her first day at the center, she was already mentally unstable, saying a ghost was haunting her at night.”

During the meeting just now, Xie Qing had also mentioned the case in Chaoxia County. However, the case hadn’t been transferred to the city bureau. Despite the public uproar, the county bureau’s stance was that the case was relatively simple and didn’t require the city’s assistance.

“This rehabilitation center happens to have been built by the Yu Corporation,” Ling Lie said. “I want to go take a look and see what this case is about.”

—

In Chaoxia County, the hit-and-run vehicle had been found. There were two people in the car at the time of the accident, a couple in their twenties. The man had gone to the woman’s home to propose marriage and was driving back to Chaoxia County overnight for work the next day. What was supposed to be a happy day ended with them taking a life.

Now the wedding was off for the time being. The couple was extremely dejected, saying that Jiang Yunduo had darted out so quickly they had no time to react. In their panic, they got out to check and saw her convulsing and covered in blood. They were sure she wouldn’t make it. Calling an ambulance wouldn’t save her and would only expose them, so they chose to flee. They regretted it as soon as the sun came up, but the mistake was made, and they clung to the hope that the police might not find them.

The case could have been closed there. The facts were clear: Jiang Yunduo had her own mental problems, ran onto the road suddenly with no one chasing her, her doctor didn’t seem to have acted improperly, and the vehicle had shown signs of braking. It was an accident.

But public attention had long since shifted from the accident itself to the warehouse market fire from nine years ago. Rumors swirled that Jiang Yunduo had been entangled by the dead, that her “hallucinations” weren’t hallucinations at all, but that her “yin” constitution allowed her to see things others couldn’t. Some even claimed that the Yu Corporation, which had acquired the land, had failed to appease the spirits of the dead.

As the rumors grew more and more outrageous, the county bureau was at its wits’ end. Closing the case now would only trigger a more ferocious public backlash, with accusations that the police were covering up the truth. But if they actually investigated the superstitions, wouldn’t that mean the police were also dabbling in such things?

Helpless, the county bureau had to request assistance from the city bureau. Ji Chenjiao, conveniently, went over with Ling Lie.

The captain of the county team in charge of the case gave the investigation report to Ji Chenjiao. After reading it carefully, Ji Chenjiao had a general understanding of the case.

Jiang Yunduo was from Xianzu Town, which was not under Xiarong City’s jurisdiction but was in the same province. Her family was poor; her parents had divorced when she was young and neither wanted her. Her current coach, Tu Binghua, had been her physical education teacher in middle school. Tu Binghua had always treated Jiang Yunduo like a daughter. Jiang Yunduo was injured in the first half of this year. After surgery, her physical wounds had healed, but her psychological problems were getting worse.

Tu Binghua, overcome with grief, kept repeating how hard Jiang Yunduo’s life had been and how much she regretted bringing her here, offering no significant clues.

The resume of Jiang Yunduo’s attending physician, Wang Lu, showed no issues for the time being, and the treatment plan he provided was standard. He told the police that through his interactions with Jiang Yunduo, he discovered that she didn’t actually like playing volleyball; on the contrary, she detested the sport.

This point caught Ji Chenjiao’s attention, so he took the report and went to see Wang Lu in person.

Due to Jiang Yunduo’s death, Wang Lu was on leave at home. He lived in the most upscale apartment complex in Chaoxia County, a two-story garden apartment. On the way, Ji Chenjiao had already learned that the developer of this complex was the Yu Corporation.

Wang Lu was dressed impeccably even at home and invited Ji Chenjiao to have some coffee he had ground himself. Ji Chenjiao observed the decor of the house—simple, cool-toned, with a bar counter. The man lived a very refined life.

Wang Lu placed the coffee in front of Ji Chenjiao. The rich aroma filled the air. Ji Chenjiao took a symbolic sip and got to the point.

Wang Lu sighed. “You police suspect that I hypnotized Jiang Yunduo, causing her mental breakdown. But what motive would I have? I had practically no connection to Jiang Yunduo. To me, she was just an ordinary patient.”

Ji Chenjiao offered a few words of reassurance, then asked, “Did she tell you she didn’t like volleyball?”

Wang Lu replied, “Not directly with words, but I could tell from her eyes and her body language. She played volleyball because of her coach, Tu Binghua.”

Ji Chenjiao adopted a posture of keen interest.

“Middle school is an important period of growth for a girl. She…” Wang Lu spread his hands awkwardly. “It seems a bit inappropriate for two men to be discussing this.”

Ji Chenjiao said, “It’s fine. It’s for the investigation. Please, say what you need to.”

Wang Lu nodded. “Jiang Yunduo’s female classmates all had mothers who prepared menstrual supplies for them and taught them about this important lesson of growing up, but Jiang Yunduo didn’t. Stained pants were a source of great embarrassment for her, and because she was poor, she had very few pants to change into. It was her PE teacher at the time, Tu Binghua, who reached out to her, taught her as a mother would her own daughter, and even made her pigeon soup to nourish her body.”

“Because of this, Jiang Yunduo trusted and relied on Tu Binghua completely. Jiang Yunduo’s academic performance was actually quite good. If she hadn’t pursued sports, she probably could have gotten into a good university. But Tu Binghua had been a volleyball player in her youth, and she hoped Jiang Yunduo would follow in her footsteps. Jiang Yunduo’s height was a clear advantage; it would be a shame for someone so tall not to play volleyball.”

“Starting from high school, Jiang Yunduo became a top student-athlete. She had talent and made it all the way to the provincial team. But for most people, that’s the peak. Making it to the national team is for a select few. The vast majority retire and then become coaches or PE teachers, just like Tu Binghua.”

“Jiang Yunduo’s situation was very complicated. On one hand, playing volleyball was not her own wish at all; it was Tu Binghua, her teacher and mother figure, who had constantly instilled the idea of being an athlete in her. When you have only one person who is good to you, you usually find it very difficult to refuse their requests. On the other hand, for someone from her background, becoming an athlete might have indeed been the best path she could choose.”

“But she was unwilling in her heart, which created a constant internal struggle. She didn’t like the sport; it brought her endless pain from injuries. She didn’t like her teammates; there was no real bond between them. She didn’t like the feeling of being drenched in sweat; she would have much rather sat in a university library reading books that interested her. She grew more and more regretful, but every time she saw the look of hope in Tu Binghua’s eyes, who had pinned everything on her, she couldn’t bring herself to voice her true feelings.”

“This injury, for her, was more like a form of release. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying she got injured on purpose. The injury was real, but the mental burden and the relief it brought were also real.”

Ji Chenjiao interrupted, “She felt both a burden and relief at the same time?”

“Yes. That’s why it was so contradictory and planted the seeds of her psychological problems,” Wang Lu continued. “The pain of the injury, surgery, and rehabilitation is incredibly hard to endure. People with weaker wills often think about just ending it all. But even more painful were the subsequent departure from the team, the lack of money, a not-so-bright future, and Tu Binghua’s worried eyes.”

“The thought of losing her income if she couldn’t play kept Jiang Yunduo up at night; that was the source of her stress. But not having to play volleyball anymore after the injury also brought her an indescribable sense of pleasure.”

“I consulted with my colleagues in the south district. Her physical injuries no longer prevented her from playing, but she still couldn’t play. It was as if she had woven a cocoon for herself psychologically, and she wanted to stay inside it. At the same time, she felt guilty for having this mindset, especially when facing Tu Binghua. Torn apart by this contradiction, her mind finally broke.”