It was nearing midnight, and the streets were completely empty—not a single car passed by.

A few people stood at the intersection, quietly surrounding a bowl of rice, waiting for the incense on top to finish burning to ash. The process took about ten minutes. During that time, Xiao Mi kept engaging with her livestream viewers, chatting enthusiastically. When viewers asked if she was scared, she looked pitiful and said she was a little scared, but she didn’t really believe in this stuff. She told them to think of it as her debunking superstition. Of course, throughout this entire process, the viewers kept sending gifts. It was already late at night, yet the livestream’s popularity kept climbing. Looking at the view count approaching three million, Zhou Jiayu felt a chill: “Are that many people really watching?”

“Did the platform fake the numbers?” Shen Yiqiong asked.

Zhou Jiayu shook his head. “There’s no need. She’s already ranked first whether the numbers are real or not.”

Most streamers had already gone offline for the night since tomorrow was a weekday. Under normal circumstances, even hundreds of thousands of viewers would’ve been considered a lot. Yet Xiao Mi’s stream kept climbing, shooting past two million toward three million.

“Interesting,” Lin Jue said coldly. “Those numbers look real to me. I just wonder whether the ones watching are humans or ghosts.”

Everyone’s expression darkened, becoming quite grim.

The incense had finished burning. Xiao Mi smiled, bent down to pick up the bowl, and then used her chopsticks to mix the ashes into the rice until they were completely blended. “It’s ready now. Time to eat!”

She divided the rice into portions and handed them out to her companions.

They took their bowls and began shoveling the ash-mixed rice into their mouths. One of the girls, who seemed a bit more timid, hesitated, her face full of reluctance. Xiao Mi whispered, “If you can’t go through with it, you can’t join our livestreams anymore. We owe it to our viewers.”

Her words were echoed by the viewers, who began cheering in the comments, urging the girl to eat.

Left with no choice, the girl swallowed a few bites of the ash-rice mixture, although she ate the least of all.

Xiao Mi finished the rest herself and then casually tossed the bowl into a nearby trash bin. “Aiya, seems like nothing happened.”

The street was eerily quiet. Besides them, there wasn’t a single person or car in sight. The wind howled, tousling Xiao Mi’s hair.

The group looked around, as if genuinely expecting to see something spooky. But judging from their unchanged expressions, it seemed their hopes had failed.

“Really, nothing,” Xiao Mi said. “See? I told you this was just old superstition. Everyone, don’t believe in ghosts…”

Just as she said the last word, someone let out a blood-curdling scream.

Xiao Mi jumped, her expression twisting in shock. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why scream like that?!”

The scream had come from the same girl who ate the least. She crouched on the ground, hands clutching her eyes, screaming in panic: “Our shadows—our shadows—!”

Xiao Mi frowned and snapped, “Are you crazy?” But when she looked down toward where the girl was pointing—at their shadows—her expression froze.

Zhou Jiayu saw the fear in her eyes. The camera hadn’t turned yet, so they couldn’t see what she was seeing. Then Xiao Mi let out a scream just as terrifying.

“What the hell? Where are our shadows—?!” The livestream camera suddenly shook. Zhou Jiayu could barely make out what was happening through their frantic screams—shadows, something about the shadows?

The livestream viewers were just as confused. But unlike usual, where Xiao Mi was highly concerned with her public image, she now didn’t care at all. From the shaky camera angle, it looked like they were running. The phone used for the stream dropped from her chest, the shot becoming chaotic and unrecognizable.

“Where are we? Where are we?!” someone screamed. A loud screeching of brakes and a crash followed. The stream cut to black.

Right before it ended, Zhou Jiayu noticed the viewer count freeze at exactly 44.44 million—then, almost instantly, it dropped back down to just over a million.

There was no doubt in Zhou Jiayu’s mind: Xiao Mi and her friends had truly encountered something paranormal.

The room went silent. No one spoke for a while. Eventually, Shen Yiqiong broke the silence. “Are they okay? I think I heard a car at the end…”

“Forget it. Let’s just rest,” Lin Jue said. “Worrying now won’t help. I’ll have someone look into it at dawn.”

That was all they could do. It was already nearly 1 a.m., and panicking wouldn’t help anyone.

The group decided to head back to their rooms.

Before sleeping, Zhou Jiayu checked the forum again. Sure enough, it was filled with discussions about the incident. Xu Ruwang even sent him a message asking if he’d seen the stream that night.

Zhou Jiayu replied that he had.

Xu Ruwang didn’t reply. Maybe he’d fallen asleep or was away from his computer. Zhou Jiayu waited a bit, then went to bed himself.

He actually slept quite well. At least, he didn’t have any strange dreams, and woke up the next morning feeling rested.

The next day, Zhou Jiayu headed downstairs to make breakfast. Since they’d gone to bed late, it was already nearly 9 a.m. when everyone got up. Zhou Jiayu, wanting something easy, reheated some leftover chicken soup and boiled noodles in it. He also fried a few eggs. It was a simple meal.

Despite how basic the food was, the others enjoyed it thoroughly—no noodles or soup were left. Lin Zhushui, who had been out on business yesterday, joined them for breakfast today.

During the meal, Lin Jue gave him a brief rundown of what had happened the night before.

“I never help people who go looking for death,” Lin Zhushui said coldly after hearing the story. “I’m not some bodhisattva out to save the masses. I can’t save everyone.”

Lin Jue looked a bit helpless, but clearly wasn’t surprised by his answer. “Fair enough.” In their line of work, they encountered countless people who needed help—most of them innocent victims. But very few were like Xiao Mi, who deliberately risked her life for entertainment. Even someone with a good temper like Lin Jue found it hard to stay calm—let alone someone like Lin Zhushui.

“But she seems fine,” Shen Yiqiong said, finishing an egg. “She posted on Weibo this morning.”

“She explained it?” Zhou Jiayu asked, curious.

Shen Yiqiong handed him the phone. “Here, read it yourself.”

Zhou Jiayu took the phone and saw that Xiao Mi had indeed posted a statement about the incident.

“We didn’t run into any ghosts! A car just happened to pass by the intersection and startled us, so we ran. But during the run, the phone we use for streaming fell and broke, which is why the stream suddenly cut off. No worries—we’re totally fine.” Attached was a photo of the group. Judging by the lighting, it was taken after sunrise. The number of people matched the stream.

Strange.

Zhou Jiayu handed the phone to the others, suspicion rising in his mind.

Lin Jue read the Weibo post out loud. “So they’re really okay?”

The photo looked normal—nothing seemed out of place.

“Not sure,” Shen Yiqiong said. “But they mentioned they plan to stream again in a few days.”

“Again?” Shen Erbai shook his head. “Are they trying to disprove superstition—or just make money off gifts?”

Zhou Jiayu sighed. “Probably both.”

Just in that one night, based on a rough calculation of the gifts sent by viewers, they must’ve made at least five figures. For some people, that kind of payoff made the risk worthwhile.

“They’re not dead?” Lin Jue looked doubtful. But then again, if something really had happened to them, the police would’ve been involved. Since they were posting on Weibo like nothing happened, it probably wasn’t anything life-threatening.

Lin Zhushui remained uninterested throughout, his attitude making it clear that he had no patience for people who brought trouble on themselves—he wouldn’t even bother looking their way.

Since nothing bad had happened and everyone was still alive, all their worrying seemed unnecessary.

Zhou Jiayu scrolled through the Weibo comments. Most people were genuinely concerned about the streamers’ safety and were urging them not to continue. But of course, there were also those who treated it like entertainment and were even suggesting scarier rituals for the next stream.

As Zhou Jiayu read through the replies, one user’s profile picture caught his attention—it looked familiar. When he enlarged it, he realized it belonged to the same girl who’d run off screaming, whom Xiao Mi had called “Xiao Shu.”

Curious, Zhou Jiayu clicked into her profile.

Her page was clean, mostly filled with everyday life posts. From her photos, she seemed to live quite comfortably.

But what really caught Zhou Jiayu’s eye was her pinned post. It was a recruitment message saying: If anyone is interested in joining future livestreams, please contact me. Requirements are simple—just be brave and local to the city.

Zhou Jiayu muttered, “How many people are actually in this group?” Thinking back, he realized the faces next to Xiao Mi during the two livestreams were all different. But since they were focused on Xiao Shu, he hadn’t paid attention to the others.

“No idea,” Shen Yiqiong said. “But I heard they’ve got a fan group. I’ll try joining it and take a look.”

Sure! Here’s the full translation in past tense, as per your preference:

---

This streamer Xiao Mi really was popular—there were over twenty fan groups with a thousand members each. Shen Yiqiong casually joined the latest one and found that the group was quite lively. Most members were chatting about things related to the supernatural.

Zhou Jiayu sat beside Shen Yiqiong, looking at his phone screen. He said, “Eh? Look at the group announcement. I think it says how to join this organization.”

Shen Yiqiong tapped it open and saw that it really did. The instructions were very detailed, and the requirements were even stricter than what was posted on Weibo. It stated that one had to fill in personal information and pass both an initial and a secondary review to join the internal group.

Shen Yiqiong said, “So troublesome? But it looks like there are quite a lot of people…”

Zhou Jiayu agreed with him. These dozens of groups combined had to be at least ten thousand people, so even if only a fraction joined the organization, it would still be in the hundreds.

“How about we make up a fake identity and go check it out?” Shen Yiqiong suggested.

“Up to you guys,” Lin Jue replied, her enthusiasm already fading. She didn’t seem to think much of the group or the streamer. Understandably so—they were professionals in this line of work, and watching someone like Xiao Mi disregard their own life just for sensationalism was naturally displeasing. And since it was said that no one had died, they didn’t see the need to get involved.

Zhou Jiayu said, “Sure, let’s take a look.”

So he and Shen Yiqiong started discussing how to create a fake identity and sneak in. The data verification process was quite strict—it even required a photo of an ID card. Shen Yiqiong thought for a moment, downloaded Meitu, and clumsily Photoshopped a fake ID using his own photo…

Zhou Jiayu was dumbfounded watching this, thinking to himself: There’s actually a way to do this? Shen Yiqiong sighed dramatically, “Before I came here at fourteen, I was an internet-addicted kid. Later… I quit.”

Based on what Shen Yiqiong had said before, Zhou Jiayu figured that his life at fourteen must’ve been quite the ride.

While the two were busy on the computer, the others went off to do their own things. In a few days, Shen Mu Si and Shen Er Bai were supposed to go buy some special jade on Lin Zhushui’s orders, and they naturally took the task seriously.

Once Lin Jue confirmed that no one had died, she completely lost interest in the streamer Xiao Mi. Her opinion was that if nothing serious had happened, she couldn’t be bothered. If something bad did occur, it was all self-inflicted anyway—why should she care?

Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong were simply curious, and Lin Zhushui didn’t intend to intervene either, allowing them to do as they pleased.

The group review process was a bit slow, but during the wait, Zhou Jiayu noticed that people in the group often chatted about supernatural games. It got even livelier at night, and some even live-texted their supernatural game sessions. Among them, games like “Pen Spirit” were the most popular, since they required minimal tools and space.

The message Zhou Jiayu had sent to Xu Ruwang the previous night finally got a reply. Xu Ruwang messaged him privately and said something had happened.

Zhou Jiayu was puzzled. “Something happened? You mean the livestream? But didn’t that streamer post on Weibo today? She should be fine, right?”

Xu Ruwang didn’t reply but sent Zhou Jiayu a picture. Zhou Jiayu opened it and gasped—it was a horrifying car accident scene. A cargo truck had crashed into a wall across the road, nearly demolishing it. Several blood-covered pedestrians lay on the ground nearby.

Zhou Jiayu looked carefully and realized that this was the same place Xiao Mi had streamed from the night before.

“Five dead, one injured. The injured person is still in the hospital. The truck driver also died. Preliminary findings suggest brake failure,” Xu Ruwang messaged again.

Zhou Jiayu: “…When did the crash happen?”

Xu Ruwang replied, “Last night.”

Zhou Jiayu stared stiffly at the photo. Shen Yiqiong leaned over and asked, “Eh? What’s that?” He saw the image on the screen too. “Is that… a car crash photo?”

Zhou Jiayu nodded. “Yeah. The crash happened last night.”

Shen Yiqiong said, “Last night? But weren’t they livestreaming? Or did this happen in the middle of the night?”

Zhou Jiayu stayed silent and asked Xu Ruwang who the victims were.

“All young people,” Xu Ruwang answered. “But none of them appeared in the livestream.”

Zhou Jiayu said, “None of them? So they had nothing to do with the stream?”

Xu Ruwang: “Unknown. The survivor is still unconscious. We’ll have to wait until he wakes up.”

With so much information, Zhou Jiayu clearly sensed something was wrong. Xu Ruwang gave him a few comforting words, saying not to worry—his master had taken over the case and was now investigating in detail.

Since Xu Ruwang said that, Zhou Jiayu didn’t worry too much. After all, Xu Ruwang’s master was someone capable of being a contest judge alongside Lin Zhushui—his strength couldn’t be underestimated.

In the days that followed, Xiao Mi continued to livestream bizarre supernatural rituals. The accident only boosted her popularity. Many fans stayed up late just to catch her shows.

Zhou Jiayu shared everything Xu Ruwang told him with Lin Jue.

After listening, Lin Jue was silent for a moment and came to the same conclusion—since Xu Ruwang’s master Xu Jian was on the case, they didn’t need to get involved.

However, after learning that Zhou Jiayu had contact with Xu Ruwang, Lin Jue subtly asked about their relationship. Her questions were tactful, so Zhou Jiayu didn’t think much of it.

“We participated in the contest together,” Zhou Jiayu replied honestly. “Later, he used the name ‘Wang Nu’ (Dead Girl) to post on the forum and tricked that group into not using their phones…”

Lin Jue: “…” So Xu Ruwang was that troll account all along.

Although Lin Jue thought they didn’t need to intervene, Shen Yiqiong’s fake identity still made it into Xiao Mi’s internal group, as planned.

Once inside, Shen Yiqiong discovered that there were way more people than expected—over a thousand already.

The reviewers seemed to prefer younger applicants and were especially warm after learning Shen Yiqiong’s backstory as a left-behind child.

Zhou Jiayu said, “There’s this many people in the group?”

Shen Yiqiong replied, “Yeah. And most of them are pretty young.”

Zhou Jiayu recalled the unfamiliar faces from the last night’s livestream. He hadn’t thought much of it then, but looking back, those people did seem quite young—probably fearless, just like the saying goes. Xiao Mi’s team must be targeting this kind of bold youth.

Having gone through so much with Lin Zhushui, Shen Yiqiong had long since abandoned the naïve belief that ghosts didn’t exist. There was no way he’d play those supernatural games himself. Never in this lifetime. So when he saw people in the group playing them recklessly, he wrapped himself tightly in a small blanket on the sofa and muttered, “These people are seriously brave.”

Zhou Jiayu completely agreed.

Shen Yiqiong said, “Today alone, more than a dozen went out to play games like that. If it were me…” He glanced at the darkening sky outside and said seriously, “If it were me, I’d be in bed asleep by now.”

Zhou Jiayu asked, “They’re not playing with Xiao Mi?”

Shen Yiqiong said, “Nope. Xiao Mi’s not the only one in the organization. She’s just the face because of the livestream. Once people are drawn in, others take over and lead them in.”

Zhou Jiayu couldn’t quite figure it out. “So what are they after?”

Shen Yiqiong said, “Probably just chasing thrills.”

Their eyes met, and both remembered the night something knocked on their door. Thrills, sure—but their fragile hearts couldn’t take it.

Zhou Jiayu quickly petted his weasel to calm himself down.

Shen Yiqiong had no weasel to pet, so he just bundled himself tighter in his blanket, muttering, “If you want to see ghosts, it’s easy. Just go out to eat midnight snacks with you…”

Zhou Jiayu: “…Heizi, you’re gonna lose me with that kind of talk.”

Shen Yiqiong: “Isn’t it true though?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” Thinking back on everything that had happened, he really couldn’t argue.

“But they’re actually not far from us,” Shen Yiqiong said. “Just in the neighboring city. Once I gain more access, we might even get to livestream with Xiao Mi.”

Zhou Jiayu looked at Shen Yiqiong’s excited face and immediately said there was no way he’d go.

Shen Yiqiong said, “Ah? So I’m going alone?”

Zhou Jiayu replied, “With my constitution, I’d be asking to die playing that stuff.” Just standing still already attracted so much—if he really played one round, not even his corpse would make it back.

Shen Yiqiong nodded, “Fair point…”

So he decided to observe a few more days to figure out what these people were really after.

But before he could figure anything out, Xiao Mi’s group had another incident. This time, during a live “Bloody Mary” session in an old building, viewers heard loud noises and screams before the stream cut off.

The next day, news broke that an old building scheduled for demolition had collapsed. Several young bodies were found in the rubble…

But the most unbelievable part? Xiao Mi, who should’ve been buried in that rubble, was completely unharmed. She posted on Weibo saying she and her teammates had escaped before the collapse, and that the victims had nothing to do with her.

She even posted a group photo under her “safe and sound” message.

The background of the photo showed a sunrise—but Zhou Jiayu noticed something wrong this time. He pointed at the photo and said, “Shen Yiqiong, look at this picture.”

Shen Yiqiong said, “What about it?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “Doesn’t it look more like… sunset than sunrise?”

Shen Yiqiong’s expression froze too.

---

Author’s note:

Zhou Jiayu: Sir, why aren’t you eating?

Lin Zhushui: I’m full.

Zhou Jiayu: What did you eat?

Lin Zhushui: Vinegar.

Zhou Jiayu: …(:з」∠)