Chen Ge stood before the sink, his chest heaving as he fought to steady his racing heart. He turned the faucet, letting a stream of cold water cascade over his hands before cupping it and splashing it across his face. The icy shock against his skin grounded him, pulling him back from the edge of the adrenaline-fueled chaos that had gripped him moments before. He took several deep, deliberate breaths, each one slower than the last, until the tension in his shoulders began to ease and his mind cleared. The night ahead loomed large, fraught with unknowns, but he could no longer delay. "It's time to go," he murmured, his voice firm with resolve, echoing softly in the quiet of the control room.
With practiced efficiency, Chen Ge retrieved the worn backpack he had relied on during his last perilous mission. He opened it, carefully packing the essentials for the task ahead. First, he placed Zhang Ya's cursed love letter inside, its folded edges worn from handling, a relic of a past encounter that still sent shivers down his spine. Next, he added a power bank, its weight reassuring, ensuring his phone would remain operational through the long night. The tool mallet followed, its heft a reminder of the physical dangers he might face. Learning from past oversights, he slipped a penknife directly into his trouser pocket, its blade a discreet but vital defense. Finally, he tucked the cherished doll left by his parents into his shirt pocket, its soft presence a talisman against the darkness. By the time he was done, his pockets bulged awkwardly, the outlines of his gear pressing against the fabric, but the added weight brought a sense of security. He was as prepared as he could be for the uncertainties awaiting him.
After a final check of his supplies, Chen Ge locked the Haunted House's main entrance behind him, the heavy bolt sliding into place with a resounding thud. He stepped out into the cool night air of New Century Park, the sprawling amusement grounds now silent and shrouded in shadow. The time was 12:15 a.m., and the roads beyond the park were nearly deserted, the usual hum of traffic reduced to a distant whisper. He stood at the curb, scanning the empty street, his impatience growing with each passing minute. After a ten-minute wait, a lone taxi's headlights pierced the darkness, and Chen Ge flagged it down with a wave. "To Western Jiujiang's Private Academy, please," he said as he slid into the backseat, his voice urgent but controlled. "I'm in a rush, so step on it if you can."
The driver, a jovial middle-aged man with a weathered face, nodded cheerfully. "No problem, hop in," he replied, his tone light despite the late hour. The car's radio crackled to life, filling the cabin with nostalgic hit songs from the 1990s, their upbeat melodies a stark contrast to the gravity of Chen Ge's mission. Settling into the worn upholstery, Chen Ge seized the opportunity to delve into research, pulling out his phone to scour the internet for clues about the Bloody Heart Mission. The black phone's cryptic mention of Anderson's Red Dancing Shoes had been the first detail provided, and it was where he began his search. Typing the phrase into the browser, he quickly located the original fairy tale, its text unfolding on the screen like a grim prophecy. As he read, a creeping unease settled over him, the story's macabre details sinking into his consciousness.
The tale recounted the tragic fate of a young girl gifted a pair of exquisite red dancing shoes, their vibrant hue captivating her heart. She wore them everywhere, her vanity blinding her to propriety, even donning them to church, where a curse was laid upon her. Condemned to dance endlessly, she spiraled into fear, exhaustion, and despair. In her desperation, she pleaded with a woodman to sever her legs, hoping to escape the relentless curse. But the story's darkest twist came next: her severed legs, still clad in the red dancing shoes, danced away into the forest, as if possessed by a malevolent will of their own. Chen Ge's stomach churned as he read the final lines. "Is this even a fairy tale?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the taxi's engine. The story's grim implications weighed heavily on him, especially given his mission to locate Zhang Ya's red dancing shoes.
His thoughts turned to Zhang Ya, the Red Specter at the heart of this mission. When he had earned her cursed love letter in a previous trial, the black phone had offered a fleeting description: at the time of her death, she wore a blood-soaked school uniform and those same red dancing shoes. Could the fairy tale hold a kernel of truth? Were the shoes an inescapable curse, binding their wearer even beyond death? The possibility sent a shiver through him, his skin prickling with unease. Unlike his prior missions, which had pitted him against lesser threats, this Bloody Heart Mission involved a Red Specter—a being fueled by profound resentment, its power far surpassing anything he had faced before. "The red dancing shoes are the key," he concluded, his eyes narrowing as he reread the fairy tale, searching for hidden meaning. The story's moral—beware vanity, embrace humility—seemed simplistic, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that the black phone's reference to it was deliberate, a clue to unraveling the night's dangers.
Unable to glean more from the tale, Chen Ge shifted his focus to Western Jiujiang's Private Academy, the mission's designated location. His fingers flew across the phone's screen, pulling up articles and forums about the abandoned school. Operational for only two years before its abrupt closure, the academy had since fallen into ruin, its halls left to decay. Online, speculation abounded about the reasons for its failure. Some attributed it to financial mismanagement, a lack of funding draining its resources. Others pointed to exorbitant tuition fees, alienating prospective students. But as Chen Ge sifted through the information, a nagging suspicion grew. None of the sources mentioned Zhang Ya, her name conspicuously absent, as if she had no connection to the school. "There's something darker at play," he thought, his gaze drifting to the streetlights flashing past the window, their glow blurring into streaks of light. What tragedy could transform a girl into a Red Specter, her soul consumed by such bitter resentment? And how did the red dancing shoes fit into her story? The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered, as the taxi sped toward the academy, carrying him closer to the heart of the mystery.
Lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, Chen Ge barely registered the sudden swell of the taxi's radio, its nostalgic tunes growing louder and jarring him from his reverie. Startled, he turned toward the source, only to find the driver's eyes fixed on him through the rearview mirror, a curious glint in their depths. The middle-aged man, with his weathered face and easy demeanor, had been trying to spark conversation since Chen Ge first climbed into the cab, but Chen Ge's preoccupation with his phone had kept him distant, his focus consumed by the ominous details of the Bloody Heart Mission. Now, the driver's voice broke through, warm and inquisitive, cutting into the silence. "What's weighing on you, young man? You've got a face like you're carrying the world on your shoulders."
Chen Ge hesitated, his mind still tangled in thoughts of red dancing shoes and vengeful specters. Forcing a polite smile, he slipped his phone into his pocket, deciding to engage rather than deflect. "Life's been throwing a lot at me lately," he admitted, his voice measured but tinged with weariness. "Everything's changing so fast, and I'm struggling to keep up. It's all a bit overwhelming, to be honest." His words were vague, a shield against revealing the true nature of his mission, but they carried enough sincerity to satisfy the driver's curiosity.
The driver chuckled, his hands steady on the wheel as he swayed slightly to the rhythm of the 90s hit blaring from the speakers. "Take it one step at a time, kid. Slow and steady, that's the way to go. Things always have a way of working out. And when the stress gets to you, do what I do—crank up some disco tunes, give yourself a good shake, and you'll feel right as rain." His enthusiasm was infectious, his carefree attitude a stark contrast to the tension coiled in Chen Ge's chest. At least he's got optimism on his side, Chen Ge thought, a wry amusement flickering through him.
The driver's gaze flicked back to the mirror, his curiosity unabated. "So, what's got you heading out to Western Jiujiang's Private Academy at this hour? That place is a ghost town, abandoned for years. It's not exactly near anything—nobody lives out there." His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of suspicion, as if he were trying to piece together Chen Ge's intentions.
Chen Ge's mind raced for a plausible excuse, his lips parting before the words fully formed. "I'm… going on a date," he said finally, the lie slipping out with surprising ease. He leaned back in the seat, hoping to sell the story with nonchalance. The driver's eyebrows shot up, his skepticism plain. "A date? At this time of night? That's a new one." He glanced over his shoulder, taking in Chen Ge's bulky backpack and utilitarian attire.
"It's true," Chen Ge insisted, doubling down on the fabrication. "The girl's a bit… unconventional. She's got some quirky tastes, likes to do things her own way. It's hard to explain." He forced a sheepish grin, playing up the role of a nervous suitor. In truth, the idea of a date sparked a fleeting warmth in him, a novel sensation given his solitary focus on survival. Being "invited" to this so-called date—coerced by the black phone's cryptic demands—felt less like romance and more like a desperate bid to outwit the supernatural forces closing in.
The driver laughed, shaking his head as the floodgates of his chatterbox nature burst open. "A date, huh? Well, good for you, kid! But you're stressing over nothing—worried she won't like you? Let me tell you, though, you're not exactly dressed for romance. That backpack? It's like you're gearing up for a camping trip, not a night out. These days, even guys need to know how to put an outfit together. First impressions matter!" His advice poured forth, a mix of paternal wisdom and unsolicited style tips, as Chen Ge sat in bemused silence, unsure how to stem the tide. A normal person might revel in the excitement of a date, but for Chen Ge, this "date" was a high-stakes gamble, a confrontation with a Red Specter that could end in salvation or doom.
As the driver rambled on—"Don't come on too strong, avoid boring small talk like the weather, compliment her, listen more than you speak"—Chen Ge's patience waned. He half-considered pulling up a haunting rendition of Wedding Dress on his phone, just to drown out the well-meaning lecture and restore some quiet to the cab. The taxi sped through the night, the urban landscape gradually thinning. Skyscrapers gave way to scattered buildings, then to stretches of empty road flanked by dense forest. Streetlights grew sparse, their glow swallowed by the encroaching darkness, and the signs of civilization faded, leaving only the rhythmic hum of the engine and the eerie silhouettes of trees.
The driver glanced at his GPS, his brow furrowing. "You sure about this address, kid? There's nothing out here but that old school, and it's been abandoned for ages. Not exactly a hot spot for a date." His tone carried a mix of doubt and concern, his earlier joviality tempered by the desolation outside. Chen Ge nodded firmly. "I'm sure. Just drop me off near the school. How much is the fare?"
"Nineteen yuan," the driver replied. "Mind paying via WeChat? I just started my shift, and I'm short on change." Chen Ge reached for his phone, but as he pulled it from his pocket, the penknife slipped out, landing on the seat cushion with a soft thud. Its blade gleamed faintly in the dim light, catching the driver's eye. The man's posture stiffened, his hand drifting to the radio's volume knob. With a subtle flick of his pinkie, he pressed a button on the dashboard, a motion so discreet it might have gone unnoticed—but not by Chen Ge, whose senses were honed by hours of vigilance.
The air in the cab grew taut, the driver's casual demeanor giving way to wariness. Chen Ge maintained his smile, though his mind raced. He could see the suspicion in the driver's eyes, the penknife likely painting him as some late-night troublemaker, perhaps a burglar or worse. "Transaction successful," Chen Ge said calmly, pocketing his phone as he met the driver's gaze. "Uncle, you're recording this for the police, aren't you?" His tone was light, almost teasing, but it carried an edge of understanding.
The driver, mid-sip from a water bottle, choked, coughing violently as he waved his hands in denial. "No, no, nothing like that!" he sputtered, his face flushing. Chen Ge's smile widened, though his eyes remained sharp. "I get it, I do," he said, his voice softening. "It's fine." He turned his gaze to the window, where the dark outline of Western Jiujiang's Private Academy loomed against the night sky, its skeletal structure a foreboding promise of the trials to come. The driver's misunderstanding was a minor inconvenience compared to the spectral dangers awaiting him, but it served as a reminder: in this world of shadows, trust was a luxury he could ill afford.