The “clearance” mode of this haunted house had its intrigues; earlier, everyone thought it was based on mechanical traps.
But no matter the mode, the rule didn’t change—the first task was always to find clues and piece together the story.
Now the group turned over the man’s words in their minds.
“Her aggression increased?”
Shen Huanhuan mused, “You mean… your wife attacks you?”
During the wait, the man hadn’t rushed them, but seeing someone finally respond, he hurriedly nodded, emphatic: “Yes, my wife, she’s gone mad!”
Before anyone could question him further, he explained on his own, “My wife’s name is Yang Shumei. I won’t hide it from you all—before marriage, Xiao Mei and I had no feelings for each other. Our families pushed us together in a rush; we just made do. But after Xiao Mei got pregnant, our relationship warmed, and we started learning about each other’s likes and hobbies.”
“But it was just as things were getting better between us—a disaster struck.”
At this, the man sighed deeply. He stepped over a moldy takeout box and picked up a kettle.
He asked, “Would any of you like some water?”
They all shook their heads, so he poured a cup for himself.
After drinking, he closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. Some bad memory seemed to surface, as his eyes reddened slightly. “One time when we went out for a walk, Xiao Mei witnessed a car accident. She was terribly shaken. Our daughter was born prematurely—so tiny, her face not as broad as my palm, eyes still closed. I begged the doctor to save her no matter what, but my child still died. After her death, Xiao Mei changed completely.”
“At first she just couldn’t sleep, pacing around our home all night. I’d often wake to find the bedroom door wide open and her sitting perfectly still on the sofa downstairs, or crammed inside the kitchen cabinets. She was still quiet then, and I did everything I could to help her move past it, but things only got worse.”
“Xiao Mei grew irritable, easy to anger. She would hide in the shadows, those clear, beautiful eyes of hers watching me; then, while I was unguarded, she’d suddenly attack.”
“I know Xiao Mei resents me. If I hadn’t insisted on taking her out that day, she wouldn’t have delivered early—but I really can’t keep living like this.”
The man’s eyes were sunken, dark circles making him look especially haggard. He tipped back the water in his cup, downing it all, his voice on the verge of cracking. “She doesn’t just attack me—she’ll go after anyone who comes to this house. Her aggression is out of control. My parents, my colleagues, even her closest friends ended up with bloody bites and scratches. Now nobody dares come over; everyone knows my wife’s lost her mind. My job, my social life—everything’s been ruined.”
Jiang Yan glanced his way without a word.
“Oh, right, here’s the injury I got last week,” the man added, as if recalling something, lifting his pant leg.
Everyone followed his gesture, their faces growing somber.
His skinny legs were covered in scars—some bruises, some burns, a patchwork of purples and blues—but none of that was as disturbing as the sheer number of densely packed bite marks. Row upon row of teeth impressions ravaged his legs.
The worst was his right leg, now wrapped thickly in gauze, the white cloth faintly stained by old blood.
“Last Friday, I’d just finished work. Ever since Xiao Mei went mad, I’ve come to dread going home. I wanted to send her to a psychiatric hospital, but her parents refused—always finding ways to force me to listen. So I could only go home.”
He said, “That night, I hurriedly cleaned up our filthy, chaotic house and collapsed on the couch. I desperately needed rest; I haven’t had a proper rest in ages. Xiao Mei wasn’t on the first floor, so, damn me, I let my guard down. I figured five minutes, just five minutes—I could rest. But I overslept. I woke to pain!”
“Xiao Mei had tied me up on the sofa. She got some kind of cord—I don’t know where—and looped it around my neck, again and again. The thing reeked so badly of blood I almost passed out. After she’d finished tying, she brought over a big iron basin of meat, spoon-feeding it to me. Each time I resisted, she’d rake my leg with her nails.”
Shen Xiaoxiao shivered, cold sweat running down her back. She swallowed hard, carefully asking, “You… you didn’t… eat human flesh, did you?”
The man managed a broken laugh. “It was fresh placenta.”
“And what she wound around my neck was an umbilical cord. God knows where she got them! She killed a pregnant woman!”
He fought to keep his composure.
Jiang Yan questioned, “Did you see the pregnant woman’s corpse?”
The man lowered his gaze. “No, but there’s no doubt.”
“There was a pool of blood in the house then, and it didn’t belong to me or Xiao Mei.”
Jiang Yan asked, “Why are you so certain?”
He was silent a moment before replying slowly, “Because she ate our pet bird raw. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“She likes eating those things.”
Jiang Yan’s tone was flat. “You’re sure you’re not lying?”
The man nodded.
“I have no reason to lie. When you see Xiao Mei, you’ll understand… I really can’t take it anymore. Xiao Mei is hiding somewhere in the house now. I can’t find her—I don’t even dare to try. Please, find her. Even if her parents object… she needs psychiatric help.”
Jiang Yan looked at the desire rising above the man’s head but said nothing more.
He wasn’t lying.
At least from his perspective, everything he said was the truth, even if he hid parts of it.
The group exchanged glances and agreed to the man’s request.
The relief that washed over him was palpable. He straightened his clothes, picked up the takeout boxes on the floor, and headed out. “I won’t disturb your work, then. I’ll be back in three hours to pick up Xiao Mei.”
With that, he pushed open the front door and fled the dilapidated villa as though escaping for his life, never looking back.
As he disappeared, the atmosphere grew heavy.
A while passed before Shen Huanhuan said, “That man is so selfish. He cares more about his social image than Xiao Mei’s mental health.”
“And judging by the squalor here, he probably hasn’t been home in days.”
“Xiao Mei’s mental state can’t be separated from his actions either.”
“But still, our priority is to find Xiao Mei and restrain her,” Shen Huanhuan said. “The haunted house’s task is only to capture her. As for the whole story of those two… we can figure that out if there’s time.”
Jiang Yan gave a quiet “Mm.”
The six assigned tasks among themselves: Jiang Yan, Shen Xiaoxiao, and Yu Renwan stayed on the first floor.
Mu Wang, Zhao Kepu, and Shen Huanhuan took the second floor.
They agreed to regroup in the living room in half an hour.
“If anything happens, shout. Try not to act alone,” Jiang Yan added.
Mu Wang nodded distantly.
Shen Huanhuan handed a paper figurine to Jiang Yan, who tucked it into her pocket.
Time was of the essence; the trio quickly ascended the stairs. The rickety steps creaked underfoot, sounding almost like stepping on toy ducks—an unpleasant noise.
Jiang Yan surveyed the first floor, shutting her eyes in faint annoyance.
Beetles scuttled across the floor, bumping into each other and producing crisp “chi” sounds that made it all too easy to imagine filthy insect bodies: disgusting compound eyes, sticky, tough shells, and translucent wings.
Seeing Jiang Yan’s silent look, Yu Renwan dashed about, eventually finding a broom in the kitchen. She hastily swept the trash into a corner.
At last, the three had a place to stand.
Yu Renwan, finished with the broom, went back to return it. The kitchen was as filthy as the living room, dried-up bowls of instant noodles lying in the sink, reddish-brown broth long left to fester and stinking fiercely.
Yu Renwan was used to cleaning up at home; she put on rubber gloves, pinched her nose, and poured out the broth, then ran the tap. Yellowish water gushed from the faucet.
“Gurgle gurgle—”
The sound from the sink drain was deeply unsettling—as if someone was swallowing that filthy water. Yu Renwan hastily turned off the tap.
Determined to hunt for clues, she opened the warm kitchen door and headed toward Jiang Yan.
Jiang Yan was examining the carpet by the sofa, Shen Xiaoxiao was rifling through cupboards in the living room, and Yu Renwan was about to call out when something tensed inside her, freezing her in place.
Warm…
The kitchen door.
She spun around and placed her hand on where she’d touched before—a springy, soft, warm kitchen door.
Yu Renwan’s scalp prickled. It felt… almost like human skin, but somehow, even more nightmarish. She probed up and down with her fingers. At this, Jiang Yan noticed the motion and hurried over.
“What is it?” she asked Yu Renwan.
“Something’s off. Even freshly flayed human skin shouldn’t be so warm,” Yu Renwan replied, turning.
Hearing this, Jiang Yan placed her own hand on the kitchen door. It was barely two centimeters thick but felt uncannily soft and silky. Jiang Yan pressed her fingertip in; her finger pierced through at once.
Blood gushed out.
Jiang Yan reflexively took half a step back. Blood quickly pooled at her feet. She hesitated, then stepped forward, hooked her finger under the door’s taut “skin,” and gently tore it open.
The “skin” came away easily. The first thing revealed was pair of crimson lips—
Red lips on a thin, flesh-colored sheet.
Inside the two-centimeter-thick door was stuffed a person!
Yu Renwan’s pupils contracted sharply. Instinctively, she grabbed Jiang Yan’s hand. “Is that…?”
Jiang Yan was silent for a beat, then answered softly, “Still alive.”
With those red lips came a muffled breathing, the woman’s mouth clamped shut, harsh wheezing sounds leaking out, full of pain and repression. Then, she began making a “crack crack” noise.
Yu Renwan couldn’t tell what made the sound.
Jiang Yan answered for her: “She’s chewing her fingernails.”
The woman never moved, never raised her hands, yet seemed capable of anything.
She was impossibly thin, curled up inside the narrow kitchen door like a blood-painted meat cake.
Even Jiang Yan was stunned for a moment by the sight. But she quickly came to herself and reached in to grab the woman.
Sensing Jiang Yan’s intention, the woman suddenly cackled—shrill, harsh laughter, as if mocking, or simply finding this all amusing. Her laughter sharpened and sharpened, then stopped—cut off at its peak.
A sudden silence chilled everyone to the bone.
…
The woman was dead.
Jiang Yan let her hand fall, face tight. Yu Renwan’s voice was taut too; she rubbed the goosebumps on her arms, forcing down her discomfort.
In a low voice, she asked Jiang Yan:
“Is this Xiao Mei?”