The surveillance footage from the tunnel was grainy black-and-white, but clear enough to make out the figure walking within. Yu He pointed at the screen. “That’s one of the missing workers.”

Lin Zhushui, eyes closed, said nothing. Lin Jue studied the footage closely, noting the timestamp in the upper left corner. “They were working at night?”

Yu He nodded. “Yes, this section’s on a tight schedule, so they worked nights too.”

Lin Jue raised an eyebrow. “People went missing, and they still dared to work at night?”

Yu He sighed helplessly. “The first few disappeared during the day, so the contractors didn’t think much of it. They didn’t even check the footage.” That oversight meant earlier recordings were overwritten, leaving no clue if those workers vanished the same way.

From his seat in the back, Zhou Jiayu watched the worker move slowly toward the tunnel’s depths, stopping at the wall.

The wall had tiny cracks—none wider than a fist.

“How did they squeeze through that?” Zhou Jiayu said, incredulous. The footage was chillingly real compared to words. The worker extended a hand, then their head and body, somehow forcing themselves into the narrow gap.

The blurry footage obscured what happened after the worker entered the crack, and the video ended.

Lin Jue asked, “The project stopped after that?”

“Yes,” Yu He said. “The higher-ups freaked out after seeing this. They said to fix it before resuming.” The tunnel ran through a busy district—if issues persisted after completion and harmed passengers, it’d be a disaster.

“Show me the map of the subway route,” Lin Zhushui said.

Yu He had prepared, presenting a specially made tactile map for the blind. When Lin Zhushui’s fingers brushed it, his expression softened briefly. “Mr. Yu, you’re very thoughtful.”

Yu He smiled. “Mr. Lin, you’re too kind. Your coming here already honors our Yu family.”

Lin Zhushui’s fingers traced the map, then he asked, “Why this route?”

The question was vague, but Yu He seemed to understand, letting out a heavy sigh. “Mr. Lin, I know, but it wasn’t our call. I advised against this route, but it was the cheapest land—no demolition needed…”

Lin Zhushui said, “Then they should’ve been ready for trouble.”

“Well, trouble’s here now, and we can’t ignore it,” Yu He said, resigned.

Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong were confused, but Lin Jue caught on. “What’s wrong with this area?”

Lin Zhushui tapped the map. “This air-raid shelter has big issues.”

“Exactly,” Yu He confirmed, sighing as he explained.

During the Republic era, this city was a wartime secondary capital, its geography making it hard to invade. Unable to breach it, enemies resorted to bombing. Planes roared overhead, dropping powerful explosives. To cope, the city built many air-raid shelters. When alarms sounded, people grabbed their valuables and fled to them.

Shen Yiqiong frowned. “But aren’t shelters for safety? How’s that a problem?”

“It’s a long story,” Yu He said gravely. “During the war, supplies were scarce, and construction wasn’t standardized. Then came a massive bombing…”

People fled to the nearest shelter during the sudden attack, crowding in until it was packed. Oxygen dwindled as more poured in.

By the time they realized something was wrong, it was too late. Suffocating, people surged toward the entrance, desperate to escape. But the shelter’s fatal flaw was revealed: the door opened inward.

Those trying to flee piled up against it, blocking it shut in a vicious cycle.

Yu He’s brief words sent shivers through everyone. Zhou Jiayu pictured the horrific scene.

“My grandfather was there,” Yu He said. “He saw it. When the door finally opened, a heap of corpses spilled out, followed by survivors who rushed out—many dying in the stampede.”

Lin Jue asked, “Was there a rescue?”

Yu He shook his head. “Rescue? They tried, but the higher-ups’ orders were ignored. Some rescuers did more harm than good—dragging out people still alive, killing them in the process. Others looted. People brought valuables to the shelter, and looters rifled through the unconscious.”

The history was horrifying, unimaginable today. In war, life was cheap. Better a dog in peacetime than a human in chaos.

Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong were shaken. Lin Jue asked, “No rituals were done after?”

“Of course they were,” Yu He said. “Without them, this place would’ve been a disaster. A feng shui master handled it, but his family’s fallen on hard times.”

Lin Zhushui asked, “The Li family?”

Yu He nodded. “Yes.”

The Li family was prominent here, with a place named after them—Lijiaba. Once a feng shui powerhouse, their descendants’ talents had waned, leading to their decline.

It showed how vital talent was in feng shui. A gifted disciple was like winning the lottery.

“Didn’t you consult them about the tunnel?” Lin Zhushui asked.

“We did,” Yu He said bitterly. “But Old Mr. Li passed last year, and their family’s leaderless. They advised against building, but that’s all they could offer.”

Lin Zhushui tapped the table, silent. Zhou Jiayu, watching, knew he was displeased, though his face didn’t show it.

“We pushed for a different route, but they didn’t listen,” Yu He said, frustrated. “Now they’re panicking.”

Lin Zhushui asked, “How many missing?”

“Six,” Yu He replied.

Six people vanishing mysteriously was a major incident, forcing the project to halt. Otherwise, more would disappear.

Lin Jue remarked, “Money’s nice, but you need to be alive to spend it. If those six are really gone, the karma will hit the project heads.”

Yu He shrugged. “Their problem. We just need to find the workers.” He wasn’t fond of the contractors, but the workers were innocent and couldn’t be abandoned.

“We’ll check tonight,” Lin Zhushui said.

“But Mr. Lin, with your constitution, won’t the entities hide?” Yu He asked.

Lin Zhushui smiled. “No worries. We’ve got something they like.”

At that, Lin Jue and Shen Yiqiong glanced at Zhou Jiayu, who froze. “…”

Lin Jue pointed at Lin Zhushui. “Mouse trap.” Then at Zhou Jiayu. “Cheese.”

Shen Yiqiong, the little jerk, snickered.

It was still morning, with a day until night. After reviewing the data, they decided to eat. Yu He suggested trying local specialties, like hotpot in an air-raid shelter.

Zhou Jiayu was stunned. “Hotpot in an air-raid shelter?” He thought the ghosts’ cooling effect might save on AC in this heat.

Yu He laughed at his expression. “Not that shelter. This city’s full of them—cool without AC. I’ve booked a table.”

So, at noon, they went for hotpot.

Lin Zhushui, as usual, didn’t touch a thing. Shen Yiqiong and Lin Jue stared warily at the bubbling red broth.

“Is this mildly spicy?” Shen Yiqiong asked.

“Totally mild,” Yu Xiaomian said, digging into tripe, lips turning vivid red. He waved at Shen Yiqiong. “Eat up, it’s not spicy.”

Shen Yiqiong shakily picked up a piece.

But “mild” in Sichuan-Chongqing terms was a cruel lie for outsiders. One bite, and Shen Yiqiong’s tears flowed. He clutched his mouth. “Not spicy?!”

Yu Xiaomian licked his chopsticks. “Really not.”

Zhou Jiayu, smarter, didn’t dare try. Weakly, he asked, “Uh… can we get clear broth?”

The table froze. Yu Xiaomian looked up, his resentful gaze baffling Zhou Jiayu.

“Fine,” Yu Xiaomian sighed. “Mandarin duck pot.” His tone carried a soul-deep compromise.

The clear broth was a small circle amidst the red, but at least it was edible. Zhou Jiayu relaxed.

Yu Xiaomian said, “You know, we have a spice level here called ‘chrysanthemum bloom.’”

Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiq Nekong>Shen Yiqiong’s butts clenched.

“Next time, we’ll try it,” Yu Xiaomian said.

When no one at the table paid him any attention, everyone simply kept their eyes on their bowls, focusing seriously on the plain soup before them.

Before they knew it, night had fallen. At Lin Jue’s insistence, they had porridge for dinner—she refused to believe even the porridge here could possibly be spiked with chili peppers. Fortunately, they weren’t so deranged here, and the porridge was indeed light and plain, which soothed Zhou Jiayu’s upset stomach. Shen Yiqiong had gone to the bathroom and came out with a pained expression, grumbling that he wished they could quickly settle this matter and head home—or else he might really need to make an appointment at a proctology hospital.

The sky outside was completely dark, the streets lit by a river of car headlights.

Once again, they headed for the tunnel they’d visited earlier that day. Before even entering, Zhou Jiayu could feel cold drafts blowing steadily out from within.

Yu Xiaomian said, “They did hold some rituals here, but this place is still notoriously haunted. The locals say that if you pass by at night, you can hear someone inside asking, ‘Has the plane left? Has the bombing stopped?’ And you must never answer. If you say ‘Yes, they’ve left,’ then whatever’s in there will come out…”

The urban legend sounded pretty creepy. Shen Yiqiong asked, “Then what happens if you say they haven’t left?”

Yu Xiaomian grinned. “Then it’ll invite you in to keep it company…”

Shen Yiqiong: “…”

Even Yu He couldn’t help but sigh at his grandson’s antics. “Alright, quit messing around.”

Yu Xiaomian asked the group, “Scared yet?”

Zhou Jiayu exchanged glances with Shen Yiqiong, then said calmly, “Honestly, I think that hotpot at lunch was scarier.” No matter how terrifying evil spirits were, they had Lin Zhushui with them. But that hotpot—he really felt like it almost made him lose control of his bowels.

Yu Xiaomian clicked his tongue in disappointment at not managing to scare anyone.

Before they went in, Yu He asked the security guards to turn on all the lights in the tunnel. There were three guards on duty—just the number alone showed how worried the construction company was that something might happen to them too.

Thankfully, nothing seemed dangerous outside the tunnel itself.

Inside, the lighting wasn’t very bright. Both sides of the tunnel were unfinished dirt walls without tiling. The little paper doll on Zhou Jiayu’s shoulder seemed excited, glancing around as if it liked the environment.

The tunnel was fairly long. They walked slowly forward, but hadn’t gone far when a noise reached their ears.

Lin Zhushui was the first to react. “A door closing?”

Yu He’s expression changed. “Should we check?”

Lin Zhushui shook his head. “That door locks from the outside. Once it’s closed, we can’t open it from here. Let’s solve this matter first.”

Zhou Jiayu pulled out his phone. As expected, the signal bar flickered low—barely one bar and likely to vanish anytime.

“Let’s keep going,” Yu He agreed.

Sure enough, with the bait of fragrant cheese in place, things in the darkness were beginning to stir.

But as they walked on, they suddenly reached a three-way fork.

“Why are there forks?” Shen Yiqiong asked. “There was only one tunnel here last time, wasn’t there?”

Zhou Jiayu had noticed more than Shen Yiqiong. “The walls are wrong, too.” He poked one. “These look old… Wait, why are there kerosene lamps hanging here?”

At some point, the electric lights on the walls had been replaced with weak, flickering kerosene lamps that made the atmosphere feel even creepier.

Lin Zhushui said, “Looks like we’ve entered a strange place.” He even made a dark joke: “I wonder if the security cameras are showing us all squeezing into cracks in the walls?”

Only Lin Jue and Yu He chuckled. The younger ones all silently begged him to stop talking.

The tunnel smelled of damp earth, the air heavy and stagnant—deeply unpleasant. But the worst thing was the three diverging paths. Which way to go became the most pressing question.

“Let’s split up?” Lin Jue suggested. “I’ll take one person, Yu Lao takes one, and Zhushui takes one. Three teams.”

“What if something happens?” Yu He worried.

Lin Zhushui pulled out talismans and handed them over. “If anything you can’t handle appears, burn one. I’ll come immediately.”

Yu He accepted them without protest.

And so it was settled: Zhou Jiayu with Lin Zhushui; Yu He with Yu Xiaomian; Lin Jue with Shen Yiqiong.

The tunnels were pitch black and oppressive. Only the faint kerosene lamps lit the way, their light too dim to reveal what lay ahead. Zhou Jiayu, holding his little paper doll, followed Lin Zhushui down the last tunnel.

The tunnel was narrow—only wide enough for two people side by side. The air was foul. Looking down, Zhou Jiayu noticed many messy footprints, as if people had recently run through in panic.

He pointed them out to Lin Zhushui, who nodded to show he understood.

“Sir, are we… still in the real tunnel?” Zhou Jiayu finally asked. Everything around them felt decades old, like they’d slipped into the past.

“Maybe,” Lin Zhushui gave a vague answer.

Zhou Jiayu remembered Yu He’s story earlier that day and felt uncomfortable. Yu He had said no one ever counted how many died in this tunnel—certainly hundreds, perhaps thousands according to legend. Whatever the truth, there was no doubt this tunnel had claimed countless lives.

Every step they took might be atop layers of buried bodies.

They kept walking—minutes, hours, who knew—and the tunnel stretched endlessly on, its walls and lamps always the same. Zhou Jiayu grew uneasy. Just as he opened his mouth to speak—“Sir…”—a shadow darted past.

It moved fast, leaping onto one of the lamps.

Snap!

The lamp went out. The tunnel plunged into total darkness.

Zhou Jiayu quickly pulled out his phone and switched on the flashlight—but the scene before him made him wish he hadn’t.

Countless hands were reaching from the walls on both sides. Their skin was purplish and blotchy, unmistakably not human.

“Holy—!” Zhou Jiayu yelped, nearly jumping. “Sir, hands!”

“Mm.” Lin Zhushui was calm, unbothered, as if expecting this. “Don’t be afraid.”

Zhou Jiayu shuddered. “Wh-what are these?!”

“Mm?” Lin Zhushui answered lazily, as if soothing him. “I can’t see. But evil things are all the same—whatever you fear, they’ll show you.” He held out his hand.

This time, Zhou Jiayu wisely didn’t pull out a cigarette like last time. He carefully put his hand into Lin Zhushui’s, feeling the firm squeeze.

“So scared?” Lin Zhushui murmured, feeling Zhou Jiayu’s sweaty palm.

“Not… not really…” Zhou Jiayu muttered, trying to stay calm. Once steadier, he noticed something: the reaching hands stopped at a certain invisible line—they couldn’t stretch any farther.

“If you’re too scared, turn off the light,” Lin Zhushui said. “I’ll lead you.”

Zhou Jiayu thought, then shook his head. Some things you had to face.

Lin Zhushui nodded and they moved on.

It was hellish. The walls, ceiling—everywhere was packed with hands. Male, female, old, young—some grasping hungrily for Zhou Jiayu, others clawing as if trapped in agony.

“Sir, there’s something ahead,” Zhou Jiayu whispered, his phone light revealing a shape in the distance. They’d reached the tunnel’s end—and something large was shifting in the darkness.

Lin Zhushui tilted his head but stayed silent.

The paper doll on Zhou Jiayu’s shoulder suddenly shrieked: “Eat, eat!”

“Eat?” Zhou Jiayu frowned. Before he could ask what it meant, the shape ahead slithered toward them—and he finally saw what it was.

A grotesque mass of human bodies—limbs, heads, torsos—fused into one awful thing. Skin purple and suffocated, faces frozen in terror, the creature slowly wriggled closer. The tunnel was narrow. It was going to reach them soon.

Gripping Lin Zhushui’s hand tight, Zhou Jiayu shouted, “Sir!! Run!!”

Without waiting for a reply, Zhou Jiayu pulled him and bolted.

He ran for his life, heart hammering, never letting go. Finally, a distant light appeared, and he stumbled to a halt, gasping.

“Sir.” He released the hand, panting. “What… what was that thing?”

No answer.

Confused, Zhou Jiayu turned—and saw no one behind him.

Lin Zhushui was gone.

On the ground, a dismembered hand flopped like a fish out of water.

Zhou Jiayu’s face froze.

He… had grabbed the wrong hand?

__

Author’s Note:
Zhou Jiayu: Sir, your hand is so soft.

Lin Zhushui (expressionless): You grabbed the wrong one.

Zhou Jiayu: …AAAAAAHHHH!!

(This tunnel disaster really happened, by the way. It was even mentioned in textbooks with illustrations—terrifying stuff.)