Under Lin Jue’s “gentle” suggestion, Li Jinjiang made a call to a colleague who had worked at the school for over a decade, inquiring about the circumstances when the school was first built.

No one knew what the colleague said on the phone, but Li Jinjiang’s expression grew increasingly grim. By the end, his hand holding the phone was trembling slightly, and he finally managed a hoarse “goodbye.”

“Did you find out anything?” The group sat in a teahouse next to the hotel. Lin Jue picked up her teacup, took a sip of the warm tea, and asked.

“He said they did dig up something during the school’s expansion,” Li Jinjiang said. “Apparently, it was a few coffins. But since part of the area was originally a mass burial ground, the construction crew didn’t pay much attention. They disposed of them and continued working.”

“Just coffins?” Lin Jue seemed unsatisfied with this answer. “Plenty of schools are built on mass burial grounds. When I was in college, one of the stone steps by the playground was made from a tombstone.”

Li Jinjiang hesitated slightly. “Although that’s all he said, I got the feeling he was hiding something…”

Lin Jue’s eyes lit up.

Clearly already wary of Lin Jue, Li Jinjiang quickly added that it was just a hunch and he couldn’t be sure. If his colleague had indeed told the truth, he shouldn’t be blamed…

Lin Jue said, “Mm, I won’t blame you.”

Li Jinjiang: “…” He wasn’t sure he believed that.

“Zhu Shui, what do you think?” Seeing that she couldn’t get more information from Li Jinjiang, Lin Jue turned to Lin Zhushui.

Lin Zhushui said, “Ask someone who knows.”

Lin Jue nodded. “Makes sense.”

With just these few words, the two seemed to have reached some strange consensus. Zhou Jiayu and the others didn’t dare to speak up, watching as Lin Jue cheerfully went to pay the bill, looking like she was about to take on something big.

Lin Zhushui turned to them and said, “You two stay at the hotel and wait for us to return. Don’t wander off. If you’re really scared, you can wait in my room.”

Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong nodded obediently.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Lin Jue urged. “Oh, you’re not bringing Guan’er and Hei Zai along?”

Lin Zhushui said, “No.”

Guan’er and Hei Zai? Zhou Jiayu was already used to the nicknames, but Shen Yiqiong’s eyes widened in shock. Yet, he didn’t dare to argue, watching in despair as Lin Jue left.

“Hei Zai? Who’s Hei Zai?” Shen Yiqiong was frantic.

Zhou Jiayu said, “Let’s go. I told you to switch to a lighter-colored down jacket.”

Shen Yiqiong: “…”

Li Jinjiang was dragged along by Lin Jue and Lin Zhushui, though it was unclear who they were going to see or what they planned to do. But from the snippets of their conversation, it seemed whatever they were up to wasn’t something they could openly discuss. As for why they didn’t take the two younger ones along, Zhou Jiayu comforted himself with the thought that they didn’t want them exposed to the darker side of society.

Back at the hotel, neither Zhou Jiayu nor Shen Yiqiong dared to stay in their own rooms, opting instead to huddle in Lin Zhushui’s room.

“Actually, if we hadn’t opened the door last night, nothing would’ve happened,” Shen Yiqiong said. “Some things can’t just enter a room. They need the owner’s permission to cross from outside to inside. You agreed, so it could come in.”

Zhou Jiayu recalled how the thing impersonating Li Jinjiang had repeatedly asked if it could come in before entering last night. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it and casually agreed.

Shen Yiqiong said, “We’ll have to be more careful when opening doors from now on.”

Zhou Jiayu nodded.

As they were talking, an untimely knock came at the door. Both fell silent, seeing fear reflected in each other’s eyes.

“I opened it last time. It’s your turn now,” Zhou Jiayu said mercilessly.

“Open the door!!” Lin Jue’s voice came from outside.

Shen Yiqiong said, “They just left. There’s no way they’re back already! We can’t open this door!”

Zhou Jiayu thought that made sense.

A moment later, Lin Zhushui’s voice also came through: “Zhou Jiayu, Shen Yiqiong, what are you two doing in there?”

Hearing this, Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong wavered. Shen Yiqiong said, “I-It really sounds like they’re back. Should we go take a look together?”

Zhou Jiayu agreed.

So the two scaredy-cats went to the door, first carefully attaching the security chain before slowly pressing the handle down to crack the door open a sliver.

Outside stood two people: Lin Jue with a furrowed brow and Lin Zhushui with his usual impassive expression. Seeing Shen Yiqiong and Zhou Jiayu open the door, neither looked pleased, especially Lin Jue, who said bluntly, “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to let us in?”

Shen Yiqiong was about to speak when Zhou Jiayu suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth and slammed the door shut with a bang.

Shen Yiqiong was stunned by Zhou Jiayu’s reaction. “Wh-what’s wrong, Gua’er? Why’d you do that?”

Zhou Jiayu swallowed hard. “Did you notice their posture was a bit off?”

Shen Yiqiong’s expression froze.

The two outside were standing in a strange way—facing Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong with their hands behind their backs. At a glance, it didn’t seem unusual, but upon closer thought, Lin Zhushui had never stood like that before.

“I think I saw the edge of a blade behind their backs,” Zhou Jiayu said. “So I’m wondering… are they holding something in their hands?”

Shen Yiqiong fell silent. Without a word, he pulled out his phone and dialed Lin Jue’s number.

The call connected quickly. Lin Jue’s lazy voice came through: “What’s up, Hei Zai?”

Shen Yiqiong said, “Auntie… are you guys back yet?”

Lin Jue said, “Back? No, your master and I are still at the principal’s house. We won’t be back for a while.” She paused. “Don’t tell me something’s imitating us again to mess with you?”

Shen Yiqiong said, “Yeah…”

Lin Jue chuckled. “Don’t worry. Just stay in your master’s room. They can’t get in. I’ve got things to do here, so I’ll hang up now.” The call ended with a beep.

Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong exchanged glances.

The thing outside had stopped knocking and started pounding heavily instead. Zhou Jiayu distinctly heard the sound of a blade scraping against the door, confirming that what he’d seen earlier wasn’t a trick of the light.

“Open the door—open the door—” The voice calling out had morphed from gentle to twisted, no longer resembling Lin Jue or Lin Zhushui’s voices at all. They banged on the door so hard Zhou Jiayu wondered if the flimsy door could hold.

At first, Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong were scared, but after ten minutes, they grew numb. Shen Yiqiong even worried aloud about what would happen if hotel staff saw this. Could they call the police for help?

Zhou Jiayu, annoyed by the noise, finally yelled, “Not opening, piss off!”

Silence outside.

“Not opening, not opening, I won’t open, the master isn’t back!” Shen Yiqiong sang to the tune of “Little Bunny.”

The noise stopped. Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong sighed in relief, thinking the thing had given up. But moments later, the closed floor-to-ceiling window behind them started thumping loudly, as if someone was pounding on it.

Lin Zhushui’s room was on the 16th floor. The only things that could knock on a window at that height were probably supernatural.

Shen Yiqiong, ever the joker, said, “Oh, so it went to the window? Does that mean we can sneak out the door now?”

The knocking outside the window paused briefly before resuming three seconds later—now accompanied by pounding on the door.

Both: “…” Speechless.

Zhou Jiayu shot Shen Yiqiong a glare. Shen Yiqiong said sheepishly, “I didn’t think it’d understand me.”

Oh well. Since the things couldn’t get in, they might as well pretend it was construction noise. Zhou Jiayu comforted himself with this thought as he pulled out a brand-new deck of cards from the nightstand and started playing with Shen Yiqiong.

The TV in the room played the news, while the bedroom echoed with phrases like “Pair of threes? Can’t beat that.” For a moment, the atmosphere was almost cozy—if they ignored the banging on the door and window.

They played cards all afternoon, took a nice nap, and by the time they woke up, the noises outside had stopped.

Shen Yiqiong, sprawled on the sofa, mumbled groggily, “Did they clock out and go home?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “What else?”

Shen Yiqiong, still half-asleep, mused, “This line of work doesn’t seem easy. Trying to claim a life is like a migrant worker chasing unpaid wages.”

Zhou Jiayu thought, Then that makes us the unscrupulous contractors withholding wages. But with that analogy, the horror factor dropped by 60%.

Of course, the reality was that these life-claiming entities weren’t so easily dismissed. Before leaving the room, Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong called Lin Jue to confirm that it was she and Lin Zhushui who had returned and driven away whatever had been guarding their door.

Lin Jue told them to meet at a nearby restaurant for dinner.

When Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong arrived, Lin Jue had already ordered. Li Jinjiang sat beside her, looking utterly drained, while Lin Zhushui remained as expressionless as ever.

Before they could ask, Lin Jue pulled a stack of photos from her bag and tossed them on the table. “Take a look.”

Zhou Jiayu picked up the dozen or so photos and flipped through them with Shen Yiqiong.

The photos fell into two categories: construction site shots and portraits. The portraits numbered seven—six of young students and one of a woman in her twenties. It wasn’t hard to guess these were the victims.

Zhou Jiayu examined the construction photos. Though aged, he recognized them as documentation of the school’s early days. One stood out: seven red coffins neatly arranged in a row, unearthed and exposed after the soil above them was dug up.

Zhou Jiayu held up this photo for a closer look. “There’s something under these coffins, right?”

Lin Jue popped a bean into her mouth and nodded.

“Is it a stone slab?” Shen Yiqiong leaned in. “But why’s it so big…?”

“Not a slab,” Lin Zhushui said calmly. “It’s another coffin.”

Zhou Jiayu froze.

The photo wasn’t clear, but upon closer inspection, the seven coffins were indeed arranged atop what looked like a massive stone surface. If Lin Zhushui was right and this was a coffin, how enormous must it have been?

“Whatever was inside has already been dug out,” Lin Jue said, resting her chin on her hand. “And it’s being kept at the school.”

Zhou Jiayu said, “But this happened when the school was first built, right? Didn’t you say it’s been around for over eighty years?”

“Yes,” Lin Jue said. “But the coffins weren’t unearthed during the initial construction.” She pulled out a map, sketched a quick diagram, and explained, “The school was much smaller at first. Later, they bought adjacent residential buildings for expansion. The coffins were dug up about ten years ago when the school expanded to accommodate more high school students.”

Zhou Jiayu said, “But why did it take over a decade for anything to happen…?”

Lin Jue smiled. “Because this is man-made, not natural disaster.” She tapped the victims’ photos. “These children were murdered.”

Zhou Jiayu’s heart ached. The photos showed girls in the bloom of youth, their lives tragically cut short by this ordeal.

Lin Jue said, “I’ve got footage of their deaths. Since we’ve got time, let’s all take a look after dinner. Maybe we’ll find clues.”

Hearing they’d be watching the footage, Li Jinjiang looked terrified. But to Zhou Jiayu’s surprise, he didn’t object.

Over dinner, Zhou Jiayu gathered from Lin Jue’s remarks that they’d visited the principal’s house that afternoon. She didn’t elaborate, but judging by Li Jinjiang’s pained expression, it wasn’t hard to guess.

Lin Zhushui was also in low spirits and, as usual, didn’t touch his chopsticks.

Lin Jue casually remarked, “Gua’er, after dinner, just fry some egg fried rice for Zhushui. With his picky habits, he’d rather starve to death than say a word.”

Lin Zhushui frowned slightly, about to say something.

Lin Jue made a silencing gesture. “I know what you’re going to say—you don’t care about yourself, but you can’t stop others from caring, can you?” She then threw Zhou Jiayu a meaningful glance.

Zhou Jiayu was startled by her look, almost reflexively thinking his inappropriate feelings had been exposed.

Fortunately, Shen Yiqiong, whose nerves were thicker than rice noodles, came to his rescue by earnestly nodding. “Yeah, Master, we’re all really worried about you. If my noodles weren’t so terrible, I’d gladly cook for you every day.”

Zhou Jiayu breathed a sigh of relief and chimed in.

Lin Zhushui responded indifferently, “Fine.”

Lin Jue let out a long sigh, though it was unclear what exactly she was sighing about.

After dinner, Zhou Jiayu borrowed the kitchen to make egg fried rice for Lin Zhushui. Worried about nutritional balance, he even added diced vegetables and carrots.

But when Lin Zhushui started eating, Zhou Jiayu was stunned to see him meticulously pick out every single carrot piece.

Normally, picky eating isn’t the most graceful habit, but Lin Zhushui managed to do it with such elegance that if Zhou Jiayu hadn’t seen the pile of orange bits left on the plate at the end, he would have thought he’d imagined it.

Shen Yiqiong’s expression mirrored Zhou Jiayu’s—utter disbelief. Lin Jue, however, wasn’t surprised at all and said with a smile, “Guan’er, let me tell you a secret. Your master’s least favorite vegetables are carrots and wood ear mushrooms. He’s not too picky about meat, though…”

Zhou Jiayu nodded in realization. “Ah, I see.”

Even after being caught picky eating, Lin Zhushui’s expression remained unchanged. He calmly—almost coldly—finished the fried rice, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said plainly, “Let’s go.”

Only then did the group leave.

Lin Jue had obtained six recordings, including footage of the teacher’s initial suicide. However, the school’s surveillance system back then was poor, so the footage was blurry. It only showed the teacher seemingly arguing with someone before abruptly turning and jumping out the window, never to return.

Compared to the teacher, the students’ deaths were far more bizarre. Take the most recent victims, for example—there was no way their deaths could be considered natural based on the footage.

The student who died from a compass piercing her eye was a high school senior. It happened on a Saturday night when the school didn’t mandate self-study, so only a few students were scattered around the classroom.

By 10 p.m., she was the only one left.

Zhou Jiayu clearly saw the compass on her desk slowly stand upright in an unnatural manner. The student looked surprised, as if she couldn’t understand what was happening. She leaned down to examine it and even reached out to grab it. But at that moment, an invisible hand violently shoved her head forward.

The force was so strong that her head slammed downward, driving the compass deep into her eye. Blood gushed out as her body convulsed and struggled before finally going still.

“Wait…” Shen Yiqiong suddenly spoke up. “Doesn’t her face look familiar?”

Lin Jue asked, “Familiar?”

Shen Yiqiong nodded, frowning. “I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere… Where was it…?” He racked his brain until it suddenly clicked, and he slapped Zhou Jiayu’s arm. “Guan’er, doesn’t this girl look like the female ghost who grabbed me the other night??”

Zhou Jiayu took a closer look and forced a bitter smile. “I didn’t get a good look at the time, but the outline does seem similar.”

“I’m sure it’s the same face,” Shen Yiqiong said seriously after studying it. “She grabbed my leg, so I saw her clearly… That ghost had the exact same tear mole at the corner of her eye.” He paused awkwardly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I even thought to myself at the time that if her face weren’t covered in blood, she’d actually be quite pretty…”

The others: “…”

Zhou Jiayu privately wondered just how repressed Shen Yiqiong’s adolescence had been.

Lin Jue didn’t comment on Shen Yiqiong’s observation. Instead, she tapped the remaining footage and said, “Let’s keep watching. There are a few more recordings—maybe we’ll find a pattern.”

Her tone suggested she already had something figured out.

Any one of these recordings would cause mass panic if released, as none of the deaths appeared natural. Instead, it seemed like an invisible hand had orchestrated them all.

Zhou Jiayu found another clue in a different recording. This student’s death was even more bizarre—she sat by the window and was somehow strangled to death by the curtains.

When the footage played, Zhou Jiayu noticed a shadow outside the window. “Pause here—there’s something.”

Lin Jue hit pause.

Sure enough, there was something in the spot Zhou Jiayu indicated—a figure floating mid-air, visible for just a flash in the recording. Only after pausing could they make out the details.

At first, Zhou Jiayu thought it might be the teacher who had jumped to her death, the one they’d seen that night. But upon closer inspection, they realized it wasn’t the teacher at all—it was a student in a school uniform. Her face was covered in blood, but her clothing and hairstyle gave her away: she was the same girl who had died from the compass.

“This is strange,” Zhou Jiayu said, surprised. “Does that mean there’s more than one ghost in the school?”

“There’s definitely more than one,” Shen Yiqiong said. “Otherwise, how could they be knocking on doors and windows?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” That was actually a fair point.

“So maybe the teacher killed someone, and the victim became a ghost that went on to harm others?” Zhou Jiayu ventured. “And the cycle repeats…”

“Smart,” Lin Jue said with a smile. She rewound the footage and played it again, this time pointing out a crucial detail: “Actually, there’s one overlooked but most important pattern among these six victims—they all knew each other.”

Lin Jue continued, “The first victim knew the second, the second knew the third, the third knew the fourth—”

Zhou Jiayu’s arms broke out in goosebumps.

Lin Jue smiled. “And the previous victim was always on good terms with the next. This way, the group forms a closed loop. Once the loop is complete, everything should end.”

Zhou Jiayu asked, “A loop?”

“The number seven is special,” Lin Zhushui, who had been silent until now, spoke calmly. “Nuwa created humans in seven days, crafting seventy new things each day. This number also carries the meaning of rebirth.” He then called out, “Zhou Jiayu.”

Zhou Jiayu quickly responded.

Lin Zhushui said, “Based on our speculation, the last victim should have known the first.”

Zhou Jiayu froze at this. “Knew the first victim? What was her relationship with the teacher?”

Lin Jue sighed softly. “They shared the same surname. After investigating, we found that the last student who died was related by blood to the first teacher who died… The loop is already complete. Before, I was wondering why it hadn’t activated yet.” She turned her gaze to Zhou Jiayu and said softly, “But now, upon reflection, it seems they were missing one final thing—the blood of someone with extreme yin energy.”

At that moment, Zhou Jiayu deeply felt that his constitution in the world of feng shui was like Tang Sanzang from Journey to the West—everyone wanted a bite.

__

Author’s Note:

Lin Zhushui: Doesn’t like carrots.
Zhou Jiayu: Then what do you like?
Lin Zhushui: Fish. (Fish character in chinese sounds like Yu)
Zhou Jiayu: (///ω/// )