"Auntie's got your back, huh?" Chen Ge teased, a grin tugging at his lips as he sprawled in the backseat of Inspector Lee's police car.
"Of course," Lee replied, pocketing his phone with a scowl. "Hold on—who do you think you are, calling me Uncle and my wife Auntie?" He shot a glance at Chen Ge, expecting a retort, but found him already dozing, head lolling against the backpack clutched to his chest.
The car rolled to a stop at New Century Park, and Lee nudged Chen Ge awake. "Up, kid." Chen Ge stirred, bleary-eyed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he stumbled out. "Stay sharp," Lee warned, his voice firm. "Zhang Peng's still out there, and with his twisted headspace, he might go all-in to take you down."
"Got it," Chen Ge mumbled, the mention of Zhang Peng snapping him partly alert. He waved halfheartedly at Lee before trudging into the park. The elderly guard at the gate was snoring, oblivious as Chen Ge slipped past. Tonight was a win, he thought, his mind drifting to the black phone's rewards. Zhang Ya's Bloody Heart Mission is done, and I've got a favor from her. But using it on the mirror monster… is that wasting it?
He pulled out the phone, its screen casting a faint glow as he opened Zhang Ya's profile. Her affection level had spiked from "Crazy about you" to "Yours forever," the words pulsing in blood-red text. That's a hell of a jump, he thought, his thumb hovering over the screen. I need to play this smart, maximize what I can get out of her. The memory of her spectral touch—her lips, her tongue, her cold hands coaxing him to ecstasy—sent a shiver through him, equal parts arousal and dread. She was a Red Specter, her desires as dangerous as they were intoxicating.
I should study her page more, Chen Ge decided, navigating the dark corridors of his Haunted House with practiced ease. Even without lights, he knew every creak and corner. Maybe when I've got cash, I'll rent a place outside. Crashing in the staff breakroom's getting old. His thoughts wandered as he passed the first-floor toilet, where the wooden door groaned, ajar as if nudged by a breeze. The door, already battered from his mallet's past assaults, hung crookedly. Frowning, he tried to shut it, but noticed the toilet window half-open, letting in the pre-dawn glow.
Did I leave that open? Chen Ge peered out, scanning for footprints or signs of tampering, but found nothing. Just stress messing with me, he reasoned, though unease prickled his spine. Grabbing a mop propped against the wall as a makeshift weapon, he headed for the control room. The Haunted House's cameras covered every angle—checking the footage would settle his nerves.
He pushed open the control room door, sank into the chair, and booted up the computer, its hum filling the silence. Pulling up the footage from the toilet entrance camera, Chen Ge leaned in, expecting to confirm his paranoia was baseless. But minutes later, his blood ran cold. A figure—a strange man, lanky and shadowed—slipped across the screen, his movements deliberate, his face obscured but unmistakably unfamiliar.
Chen Ge's grip tightened on the mop, his heart pounding. Zhang Peng? The man's build matched, but something felt off—too calculated, too eerie. The black phone in his pocket seemed to pulse, as if Zhang Ya's presence lingered, her "Yours forever" vow a double-edged promise. Was this intruder tied to her, to the School of the Afterlife missions, or to the killer still haunting Western Jiujiang's secrets? Chen Ge rewound the footage, his eyes locked on the screen, knowing that whatever lurked in his Haunted House was no ordinary threat.
The grainy surveillance footage revealed a lanky figure, head bowed, darting from the Haunted House's toilet into the corridor with eerie purpose. Chen Ge's heart pounded, his earlier drowsiness vanishing. Someone's here—someone who knows this place. The man's deliberate avoidance of the toilet entrance camera and his swift navigation suggested familiarity with the Haunted House's layout. He's been here before.
Chen Ge switched to the next camera feed, positioned at the corridor's bend leading to the control room. The footage confirmed his fears: the stranger veered straight into the control room. He's after the evidence—trying to erase his tracks. Only one name burned in Chen Ge's mind: Zhang Peng. But before he could dig deeper, the video feed shifted to real-time, showing himself entering the control room, mop and black phone in hand. His blood ran cold. If I'm on screen now… he's still here!
Instinct kicked in. Chen Ge snatched the mop and spun around—just as the locker behind him, barely two meters away, burst open. A man with bloodshot eyes and a twisted snarl lunged out, a gleaming knife clutched in his hand. "Zhang Peng!" Chen Ge shouted, the name ripping from his throat. The sound seemed to ignite Zhang Peng, who charged with feral intensity, his knife slashing through the air.
Chen Ge's shock gave way to focus. He flung open the control room door, retreating into the corridor while parrying Zhang Peng's wild strikes with the mop. Despite his missing arm, Zhang Peng fought with a suicidal ferocity, his every move screaming desperation. He's got nothing left to lose, Chen Ge realized, dodging left and right as he maneuvered toward the maintenance room. It was a calculated risk—lure Zhang Peng there, where Dr. Skull-cracker's iron hammer lay hidden, stashed to avoid police scrutiny.
Zhang Peng's attacks grew relentless, his knife grazing Chen Ge's sleeve as he ignored the mop's blows, absorbing them to close the distance. He's onto me, Chen Ge thought, his breath ragged as he reached the maintenance room door. But just as he prepared to dive inside, an crushing weight slammed onto his shoulders, like a boulder pinning him down. His knees buckled, his movements sluggish.
"You're dead today!" Zhang Peng roared, his voice suddenly vibrant, his knife strikes sharper, more precise. Chen Ge's mind raced. The mirror monster—was it controlling him until now? Where is it? His hand groped behind him, finding nothing but air, yet the pressure intensified, bending his spine. He twisted his head, catching a glimpse of a black, humanoid shadow—adult-sized, featureless—clinging to his back. The mirror monster!
Panic surged, but Chen Ge ducked a knife aimed at his throat and barreled through the maintenance room door, stumbling toward the cluttered cupboards. Zhang Peng and the shadow are linked. If I take him down with the hammer, the monster might stop. The shadow's weight had grown since their first encounter, now a suffocating force that sapped his strength. Laughter—multiple voices, mocking and disjointed—echoed in his ears, disorienting him as he reached the cupboard.
His vision blurred, a humming drone filling his head. Zhang Peng's footsteps closed in, the knife's glint visible in his peripheral vision. The shadow pressed harder, choking his breath, but Chen Ge summoned his last reserves of strength to wrench open the cupboard door. As he rummaged through the junk for the hammer, his black phone slipped from his pocket, clattering to the floor. Its screen, still open to Zhang Ya's profile, glowed blood-red, her "Yours forever" status pulsing like a heartbeat.
Chen Ge's fingers brushed the hammer's handle, but the shadow's weight dragged him down, his consciousness teetering. Zhang Peng loomed closer, knife raised. In that moment, the phone's glow intensified, and a chill swept the room. Zhang Ya's spectral form flickered into existence, her red dress dripping crimson, her eyes locked on Zhang Peng. Chen Ge's breath caught—her presence was both salvation and danger, her favor a wild card in this deadly game.