Creepy, oddly intonated singing echoed through the cramped, airless space, accompanied by the plastic doll’s creaking limbs, enough to make one’s hair stand on end.
After hearing the lyrics, Jiang Yan cast a barely noticeable glance at Shen Xiaoxiao.
“Help help help help…”
Shen Xiaoxiao’s facial composure had completely collapsed, and she flopped inelegantly onto the bed, fumbling to yank out the voice box from the doll’s chest.
The singing stopped abruptly.
The doll’s head hung limp against its chest, unmoving. The room returned to silence, as if everything just now had been a hallucination.
Shen Xiaoxiao tried to calm herself, but failed; she ended up choking with fury instead. She scrambled up, hopped on one foot, and tossed the voice box into the trash can:
“Only rotten parents buy dolls like this! Kids might not know enough to be scared, but an adult like me gets scared for sure!”
Jiang Yan walked up behind her. “What?”
Feeling the warmth at her back, Shen Xiaoxiao mumbled curses as she buried her face in Jiang Yan’s shoulder. “Ugh… scared me to death, thank goodness you were in the room with me.”
Jiang Yan absentmindedly patted the back of Shen Xiaoxiao’s neck as a comfort.
It started gently—Shen Xiaoxiao treated it as a nice massage. But then Jiang Yan’s grip grew stronger and stronger, and Shen Xiaoxiao soon felt her neck would snap if she didn’t complain.
She grimaced, raising her head: “Jiang Yan-jie, ow, ow!”
But saw Jiang Yan looking down, deep in thought, her gaze fixed on Shen Xiaoxiao’s leg.
Shen Xiaoxiao: “………..”
Her brain whirred—perhaps boosted by pain—suddenly realizing what was happening.
Panicking, Shen Xiaoxiao started bouncing around.
She never imagined she’d have to prove her humanity in this lifetime. She hurriedly said, “I’m human, I am, Jiang Yan-jie! Anyone would get numb legs hiding under a bed for seven or eight minutes; mine just stopped tingling. I swear I’m not hopping on one foot anymore! Look, Jiang Yan-jie, let me show you!”
Jiang Yan loosened her grip.
Shen Xiaoxiao immediately launched into a slapdash tap dance.
“See, both feet are fine! My spiritual body has a flaw—even if I’m possessed, no spirit can last more than five minutes in me. I’m definitely fine, good friends don’t lie to good friends!”
Seeing Shen Xiaoxiao’s anxious face, Jiang Yan’s features softened. “I believe you.”
Shen Xiaoxiao was moved. “I knew it! It was just unfortunate timing; anyone would get suspicious. It’s okay, don’t let it bother you.”
Jiang Yan gave an “Mm,” and asked, “You’re sixteen, right?”
Shen Xiaoxiao wasn’t sure why Jiang Yan asked, but answered anyway, “Yeah, just turned sixteen.”
Jiang Yan: “That explains it.”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “Explains what?”
Jiang Yan: “So naive and cute.”
There was nothing else worth noting in room 604, at least nothing on the surface. Jiang Yan left the room, Shen Xiaoxiao happily trailing after her.
“What are we doing now?” she asked.
“Check out Cheng Guang’s room on the seventh floor.” Jiang Yan glanced at the wide area of brownish floor outside. The brownish stain covered a large space, and maybe due to the lighting, the surface still had a faint greasy sheen—as if human fat had once pooled there.
It was understandable that the husband and child moved out immediately after the incident.
“Okay, let’s go, I’ll protect you,” Shen Xiaoxiao nodded sweetly, confidently linking arms with Jiang Yan.
Jiang Yan dropped her gaze to Shen Xiaoxiao’s arm, kept her expression unchanged, and walked forward. She stopped at the stairway.
“W-what is it?” Shen Xiaoxiao’s voice trembled.
“You’re scared.”
It was a statement—Shen Xiaoxiao’s arm was shaking so hard it was impossible not to notice.
“Uh, can we not say out loud what’s embarrassing?” Shen Xiaoxiao licked her dry lips. “…I’m really trying to keep it together.”
Jiang Yan: “Why be a psychic if you’re afraid?”
Shen Xiaoxiao puffed up her chest: “I’m kind-hearted. I want to help people.”
“…….”
Jiang Yan stayed silent and went up to the seventh floor.
This was not a modern student dorm-style building, but an old-style tube building from decades ago. The top was sealed in cement, only a one-square-meter skylight left open, so the beams of light squeezed in, leaving it dim: the middle of the day felt more like evening.
“Jiang Yan-jie, have you heard?” Shen Xiaoxiao started to chatter nervously.
Because of the previous fire, there was charred black stuff caked on the seventh-floor stairwell railings, acrid-smelling even through a mask. Jiang Yan frowned. “Heard what?”
“At midnight, on the seventh night, the soul returns home.” The hallway was pitch black, heavy shadows filling their field of vision. Somewhere, a faucet was left dripping, echoing down the corridor like a woman’s long sigh.
“Right after midnight tonight, it’ll be the seventh day since the woman died,” Shen Xiaoxiao spoke in a forcedly light tone, “Didn’t they say her right arm and leg were eaten clean, her head ended up at the stairway… do you think she’ll crawl around at night looking for her head, twisting her limbs in every direction, her severed head rolling around, wailing as she crawls all over, searching for it, ahahahaha…”
Jiang Yan said nothing.
Shen Xiaoxiao trembled harder.
The stream comments went silent for a few seconds.
[Shen Xiaoxiao is a bit of a prodigy at scaring herself…]
[Um, is it okay if I say something…]
[Say it?]
[Isn’t this kind of thing actually pretty likely to happen…?]
[Agreed… seventh-night soul returns, He Shuyu died without a head, so she’ll probably come back without one too…]
Shen Xiaoxiao was the type to talk more when afraid, chattering away to boost her courage. She scanned the pitch-dark corridor for room numbers; Cheng Guang’s room was 709, not far from the stairs, but in the gloom, every step seemed to stretch on.
“My sister and I did a livestream before,” Shen Xiaoxiao started up another story, “The woman of the house there also died in a fire. On her seventh-night soul return, my sister and I stayed in her room to see if we could help. We waited for midnight, then another two hours, but the spirit still didn’t show… We were anxious, since usually a spirit returns home on the seventh night, even if she died in a fire, her spirit should come back and say goodbye.”
“But she didn’t. Never came. My sister and I were puzzled, afraid something weird had happened. Fire victims have especially strong grudges—if their spirits linger, they get corrupted way faster than regular ghosts. That’s why psychics always check fire scenes after the seventh night to see if the owner’s spirit has left.”
“We left the bedroom in a rush, opened all the rooms and searched everywhere. In the end, we found her spirit by the kitchen ventilation shaft. When the woman was alive, she’d tried to climb out there during the fire, but passed out from the smoke. So, on her seventh night, her soul separated from her ashes, floated home, and instead of entering by the front door, crawled in through the vent.”
At this point, Shen Xiaoxiao swallowed; even a quiet sound seemed magnified in the silence, weird and creepy.
She clung closer to Jiang Yan for courage and continued, “When we found her, she was shedding her skin.”
Jiang Yan’s pace didn’t change. “Shedding skin?”
Shen Xiaoxiao nodded, “Well, not really shedding, more like… peeling? She kept peeling herself, layer after layer. The vent was too small—alive, she couldn’t fit, so she died trying. After death, she fulfilled her last wish: ‘if only I were thinner, if I didn’t have this skin, I could get through.’”
“One layer at a time, like peeling an onion. First, she peeled off her face, with two holes where the eyes should be—though you can have skin on your eyeballs, too, so she peeled a thin, elastic film off them. I saw her pull and stretch it, looking at us through it. Her face was all pink and white, wriggling, like pork cut off the tendon—soft and sticky—”
Scared half out of her mind at her own description, Shen Xiaoxiao began to shake, her voice rising and falling weirdly, “Enough, enough, Jiang Yan-jie, stick close!”
She clung to Jiang Yan, who had to pry her off several times.
“If you’re scared, talk less,” Jiang Yan warned.
Shen Xiaoxiao nodded frantically and clung even more.
Half a minute later, Jiang Yan arrived at 709 with a deadpan face and knocked.
Knock knock—
The door remained shut. Shen Xiaoxiao leaned in, puzzled, “Brother Guang?”
Creak—the door opened a crack. Cheng Guang peered out secret-agent style, let out a deep breath, let them in, then quickly shut the door.
The seventh floor’s electricity was broken, so it was pitch black inside. Cheng Guang whispered, “Well? Any clues?”
Already jumpy, Shen Xiaoxiao answered in a whisper, “No, you?”
Cheng Guang, also whispering: “I haven’t looked closely yet. The walls are all pitch black, the wiring’s dead, no lights. I was just busy putting up talismans in the living room and on the floor.”
Both sighed. Their faces were serious and tense, like spies comparing notes.
“Don’t get too into character.”
Jiang Yan’s voice was especially loud by comparison. “Only the three of us live on these two floors. There’s no one around to eavesdrop.”
Both: Oh.
Jiang Yan’s style was brisk; after prying Shen Xiaoxiao off herself, she flicked on her flashlight and started scanning the surroundings.
Apparently, the landlord had figured no one would live on the seventh floor again after the fire, so aside from basic cleanup, no repairs were done. The walls weren’t repainted, and half a burnt sofa sat unused.
Shining her light around, Jiang Yan found something odd—the wall between units had half-collapsed, a semi-circular opening as if someone had dug a hole through. This wasn’t a natural kind of collapse.
Jiang Yan concluded: “This unit and the next are joined; they put in a door, making it a suite.”
Cheng Guang had noticed when placing talismans. “Yeah, I think so too. The door must’ve been removed after the fire; the surrounding bricks got loose and lost their support, so the wall caved in around where the door had been.”
Jiang Yan nodded, her flashlight beam dancing to the doorway.
“The owner lived here for three years. There was a child, about one meter sixty tall.”
Shen Xiaoxiao craned her neck. “How can you tell?”
Cheng Guang glanced where Jiang Yan had shone her light. “Wow, I missed this before—there are three shallow lines carved here. The highest is up to my nose—must’ve been marking height!”
Cheng Guang was a little proud. Compared to Shen Xiaoxiao, he was clearly just a bit sharper!
Jiang Yan hummed.
“……” Seeing his pride, Shen Xiaoxiao glared fiercely and trailed Jiang Yan.
Not bothering with them, Jiang Yan headed to the separate room. This room was much better preserved—the walls were smoke-stained, but there were no signs of fire. The bed and wardrobe were intact.
Clearly, the flames had been kept out by the door. Although smoke blackened the hallway walls and some stairs, the blaze never got out of control and was extinguished quickly.
Seven or eight award certificates hung on the walls, dated from elementary to high school, all awarded to “Chen Ranyi.”
“The owner’s daughter was a little ace student,” Shen Xiaoxiao murmured.
Cheng Guang chimed in, “I’ll put up a few more talisman papers in here. I plan to sleep here tonight.”
“You don’t have to bother,” said Shen Xiaoxiao. “Lin Xinjui had already scattered the 709 owner’s spirit. I watched a bit of that stream—he and his teammate snuck in and went straight to the fire scene. The spirit was a woman in her fifties, her face burned off.”
“She’s not coming back. 709 is very safe.”
Jiang Yuqing had explained in the car. Two months ago, during that mission here, Lin Xinjui quarrelled with his teammate, leaving the other severely injured, but the mission was completed—the spirit causing the disturbance was scattered by Lin Xinjui.
“I’m guarding against something else.” Cheng Guang looked like he’d eaten something rotten, face twisted with worry. “Zhao Chong messaged me: the dog that bit that woman to death belonged to 709. After the fire, it was fed by neighbours. The day the man from 604 found his wife killed by the dog, in his rage, he beat the dog to death.”
“I figure, in the end, it was 709’s dog…”
Shen Xiaoxiao continued earnestly: “So tonight it’s not just the seventh night for the woman in 604, it’s also the dog’s.”
Cheng Guang closed his eyes.
Shen Xiaoxiao proclaimed, “We all have a bright future.”
*
But while she liked roasting others, Shen Xiaoxiao still brought Cheng Guang a high-wattage desk lamp after returning to 604. The little room was instantly brightly lit, and Cheng Guang swore never to be smug about outsmarting her again.
Shen Xiaoxiao kicked him three times and dragged Jiang Yan back to 604.
At that moment, Shen Huanhuan had gotten the complete information from the police station and sent it to them.
“The man who used to live in 604 was Zhang Tian, an English teacher at Anping High School; the woman was He Shuyu, a horror novelist. They had a primary school-age son, Zhang Xiaoliang.”
“He Shuyu did have a mental illness and was prone to self-harm. The first psychiatric record was early November last year.”
“In October last year, Zhang Xiaoliang fought with a drunk on his way home, and a glass shard entered his right eyeball; he lost sight in one eye. Zhang Tian and He Shuyu refused settlement, and the drunk got three years’ jail.”
“I checked He Shuyu’s records—her doctor thinks the illness was caused by stress. She was always responsible for picking up Zhang Xiaoliang from school, but missed that day due to a writing deadline, which indirectly led to his blindness.”
Jiang Yan asked: “When did they move to the tube building?”
Shen Huanhuan replied quickly: “Shortly after He Shuyu fell ill.”
“End of December last year. While visiting Zhang Tian at Anping High, she had a breakdown and smashed newly purchased equipment worth 2.3 million yuan. They sold their house, took an 800,000 yuan loan to pay, lost all savings, and moved here.”
Jiang Yan pondered.
The mother’s negligence led to the son’s loss of an eye. Overcome by self-blame, she spent two months in psychological torment, then broke down and developed a mental illness, frequently hallucinating and becoming aggressive. During a fit, she wrecked expensive equipment, draining the family’s savings and leaving them deeply in debt, forcing them into this cheap rental.
The logic checked out; Jiang Yan set down her phone.
It was just past noon. Although little sunlight reached the tube building inside, outside, the sun blazed. Children’s laughter echoed faintly—a nearby elementary school was having dismissal.
Aunt Wang opened the building’s iron gate, sunlight flooding in and illuminating this forgotten urban corner. Built in the late ‘90s, this complex once housed classified workers. When people moved out, the building remained. The former city mayor had wanted it as a landmark, but in this state, no one visited. Aunt Wang, through the faintest of distant connections, paid a token sum to sublet the place and collect rent.
Usually, no one lived here; only a few came at night to sleep. Sometimes, a couple of students came home at noon for lunch and a nap, plus the new tenants who had just moved in.
—No surprise, the new tenants would probably also be out of sight during the day before long.
Aunt Wang sighed out of boredom, lit a cheap cigarette, and leaned against the gate waiting for the students.
Soon, two girls in middle school uniforms—residents of 203 and 207—walked home together. “Good afternoon, Auntie, thanks as always!”
“No trouble, been waiting for you!” Aunt Wang’s face crinkled into a smile. “Watching you two makes me feel younger.”
The girls laughed and headed home.
Aunt Wang smoked halfway through, at last spotting the final student—a short boy in a black mask and baseball cap, head lowered as he entered.
As they passed, the boy murmured, “Good afternoon, Auntie.”
She replied in kind, leaning in the doorway, watching the boy head upstairs.
Misfortune always haunts the unlucky.
What a shame about that kid’s face, Aunt Wang sighed. She was about to close the door when a chill struck her back. She quickly inhaled, turning to look.
A new tenant in a red qipao was standing at the stairwell, half her face lost in shadow, dark pupils unblinking. Who knew how long she’d been there? Aunt Wang flicked her cigarette onto the ground and stamped it out. “Ay, do you have to stand there scaring me? If you’re doing your livestream, keep it to yourself—don’t sneak up on me, my heart’s weak!”
Aunt Wang glanced at Jiang Yan again. “Just saying, there’s no such thing as ghosts! Your creepy streams will freak you out sooner or later! Look at you now, so gloomy you’ll scare kids.”
Jiang Yan: “Thank you, I’ll consider it.”
Aunt Wang: ?
Jiang Yan pulled out the doll she’d been carrying behind her back and showed it. “Do I need to return this to the owner? Found it while cleaning under the bed.”
Aunt Wang eyed it and waved dismissively. “Definitely He Shuyu’s. She’s dead, why return anything? Just throw it out. So unlucky! She loved collecting that sort of thing and acted so weird. I saw her putting a red dress on her son last month, and her husband didn’t stop her. The dress was so red—standing by the window in the middle of the night, scared me out of my skin!”
“Do you know why she collected them?” Jiang Yan asked.
“For horror stories, probably. Heard she was a horror novelist. Hmph, never left her house, I’d go collect rent, and she always sat on the bed, too lazy to stand. Rude! Besides, not right in the head—sometimes, in the middle of the night, she’d slash herself with a knife and howl, no one could sleep. If Zhang Tian wasn’t such a good guy, I’d have kicked them out long ago!” Aunt Wang’s face showed zero fondness. “People like her, dying’s not…”
Jiang Yan looked up.
Aunt Wang quickly shut her mouth, chanted, “Respect the dead, respect the dead,” waved Jiang Yan away, and went inside.
*
At one o’clock, Cheng Guang came to 604 and called the others out for lunch. Few restaurants were nearby, so by the time they finished and headed back, it was close to three.
Shen Xiaoxiao explained the Supernatural Administration Bureau’s energy detector.
“Our bureau’s detector isn’t great—unless there’s a huge burst of energy, or the spirit died horribly with a heavy grudge, or has huge obsessions, it usually takes a year or two before it shows up.”
“For normal folks, like, their dying wish was for their kid to get into college, their spirit has to really get corrupted, then the detector will pick it up.”
She was confident: “The owner of 709 who died in the fire is already gone, so this time it must be He Shuyu in 604. She died so horribly, so there’s lots of resentment. She just died, and the detector caught it!”
Cheng Guang disagreed: “Impossible, He Shuyu just died six days ago. My master said: the sequence for spirits lingering is, the body dies, the spirit leaves the body, on midnight of the seventh day, the spirit returns, then the spirit reincarnates the next morning. One percent may stay behind for some reason.”
He clung to his theory: “He Shuyu’s seventh night hasn’t even arrived; her spirit hasn’t left her body. How could it be detected?!”
Shen Xiaoxiao put her hands on her hips: “So, who else then? Only two died here.”
Cheng Guang refused to yield: “It’s not He Shuyu, anyway!”
Jiang Yan: “Then it’s the 709 tenant.”
Shen Xiaoxiao and Cheng Guang both turned and said in unison: “No way!”
Scattering a spirit was no big deal for Lin Xinjui. He’d done it reciting the subject’s birthday, all watched by a thousand psychics.
Most importantly, the energy detector returned to normal live on stream.
So the spirit detected could be anyone except the 709 woman.
Jiang Yan had just been talking; these rules meant little to her, so she made a “please” gesture and stopped talking, listening to their debate.
Half an hour of fruitless argument later, Cheng Guang followed Shen Xiaoxiao up to the sixth floor, determined to continue. But stepping into the doorway, his heart seized up.
A flash of intuition made him swing around.
Jiang Yan, half-smiling: “Why not come in?”
Cheng Guang instinctively pulled his foot back.
Spooked, he felt he’d intruded without Jiang Yan’s invitation.
Shen Xiaoxiao sneered, “Feeling guilty, realizing you’re wrong?”
“……” Cheng Guang retreated three steps: “Heh, whoever’s wrong knows it.”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “Oh, please—”
Cheng Guang had no words but left with a huffy back.
…
With a chatterbox like Shen Xiaoxiao, time passed quickly.
Jiang Yan, used to lying idle beneath the earth, forever hoping for tomb robbers for a bit of fun, didn’t miss those days stuck in her original form, nor did she tire of Shen Xiaoxiao’s endless chatter.
Meanwhile, Shen Huanhuan had sent over He Shuyu’s pen name.
Shen Xiaoxiao looked her up: a little-known author with just over ten thousand fans, registered four years ago, and has written seven books. The first six tanked; only scraped by, but the current one was popular, already two weeks on hiatus.
Shen Xiaoxiao checked the latest chapter.
[20X3, Jan 27, Wednesday, sunny]
Grandma must be getting old; she always forgets what she goes out for. Today she came home empty-handed again, so there were no vegetables at home. We ate steamed buns all day.
He Shuyu’s current book was written in first person, each chapter a diary-based horror story. Per Jiang Yan’s request, Shen Xiaoxiao skimmed through the final story, reading aloud as she went.
[20X3, Jan 28, Thursday, overcast]
Grandma came home empty-handed again. Dad scolded her loudly; Mom said Dad was too harsh. Grandma looked dazed, kind of cute. The old become children to be cared for. I pushed dad aside and drew grandma inside, running my fingers through her hair so she wouldn’t feel bad. Her skin is yellowish-brown, covered in age spots, and looks kind of scary, but she sits on the bed, all smiles, staring at me.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
Grandma unzipped her coat, rummaged under her sweater, and took out a dress.
No wonder grandma’s belly was so big today; I thought she was pregnant. She handed me the dress like it was a treasure. It was beautiful, I couldn’t stop touching it, but I didn’t dare wear it. I think Grandma probably stole it from a shop, since she never has any money on her.
[20X3, Jan 29, Friday, overcast]
I laughed and told Grandma to try it on, and she must take it out for a spin. Grandma had a hard life, never caught a break, patched the same clothes for years; maybe she never wore a dress her whole life. Grandma happily left wearing it. Dad asked where it came from, and I said I bought it for her.
[20X3, Feb 7, Sunday, light rain]
Grandma’s been very happy lately, napping longer, like a little white pig.
But the dress is really beautiful.
[20X3, Feb 12, Friday, storm]
I was woken by thunder in the early morning, opened my eyes to find Grandma watching me.
Why is she watching me? So creepy.
[20X3, Feb 13, Saturday, clear]
I put the dress back; Grandma didn’t notice.
[20X3, Mar 1, Monday, overcast]
Today, grandma slept for six hours during the day; no one made dinner, so dad threw raw rice at her face. He’s such a jerk—he’d starve without grandma!
When grandma cooked dinner, I hugged her waist and said, “Grandma, aren’t you sleeping too much during the day?”
Grandma’s belly was so round; her yellowish-brown face was gentle and kind.
“Because I have to watch you at night.”
She told me.
The story ended there.
Readers had no idea the author was dead, so the comments were full of people urging updates; some said the story fit to end at that point.
Shen Xiaoxiao felt weird; the story seemed to say much more than it showed. Goosebumps rising, she held out her phone to Jiang Yan. “Maybe you should read it, don’t you think…?”
Jiang Yan read for a while, then remarked, “It’s a white dress.”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “Huh?”
Jiang Yan: “Not a red one.”