Translator: CinderTL
Jiang Cheng clearly wasn't letting the writer off the hook. "Do you know why no one reads your books?"
The writer froze, stammering, "W-why?"
"Your stories aren't bad, but your storytelling method is terrible. You spend too much time on exposition at the beginning, which just bores readers."
"Do you know the most important thing about telling a good supernatural tale?" Jiang Cheng continued. "It's about shattering the reader's sense of security."
"For example, imagine you're exploring an abandoned hospital alone. The horror isn't about encountering a ghost the moment you walk in or spending pages describing how terrifying it looks. It's about that creeping sense of immersion as you gradually delve deeper, dissecting the mystery piece by piece."
"You need to make readers visualize your words as vivid scenes in their minds. Let the camera slowly advance through those scenes, like they're watching a movie, following right behind you as you explore the entire hospital."
"A good highlight could be when you casually spot an old photograph pinned to the wall. At first glance, you don't notice anything strange and put it back."
"But when you retraced your steps, you caught a glimpse of the photo on the wall and suddenly noticed it was hanging upside down, even though you distinctly remembered putting it back exactly as it was."
"As a beam of light swept across the dusty floor, you glanced down and saw a series of footprints."
"These were clearly your footprints, but nestled among them were the unmistakable imprints of a woman's high heels."
"You switched on your phone's flashlight and cautiously followed the trail. Without realizing it, you discovered the high heel prints had been shadowing you the entire time."
"And what's even more terrifying, the high heel prints were getting closer and closer to your own, eventually overlapping completely."
"Just as realization dawned and you shakily tried to turn around, you felt an unbearable itch on the back of your neck, as if a strand of hair had fallen inside your collar."
Jiang Cheng paused abruptly, then, under the writer's terrified gaze, bared his teeth in a chilling grin. "Learned your lesson?"
Whether it was the story itself or Jiang Cheng's imposing aura, the room fell deathly silent.
Finally, A Zhe mustered his courage and stepped forward, forcing a smile. "Okay, your story was decent enough. Now it's their turn."
Noticing a group of malevolent ghosts staring at him, Fatty began to tremble again, desperately looking at the Doctor for help.
Fortunately, Jiang Cheng didn't disappoint. His sinister voice echoed through the air once more. "Don't be so impatient. This was just my first story. Remember, I told you I have many more."
Without waiting for A Zhe and the others to react, Jiang Cheng launched into his second tale: "I had a friend..."
This time, he recounted the story of Xiao Shijian Village: a woman, brutally murdered and falsely accused, cursed the village with her dying breath. Rising from the depths of Cold Zhen Pool, she transformed into the most terrifying urban legend of the midnight village.
Seizing the momentum, Jiang Cheng followed with two more stories: the eerie opera performances at Old Master Huang Manor and the tale of a woman imprisoned in a hospital.
Jiang Cheng possessed an exceptional talent for storytelling, perhaps honed by his profession. He had a knack for pinpointing people's deepest fears and amplifying them into chilling narratives.
Each already terrifying tale grew even more dramatic in his retelling. By the time he finished, A Zhe, the Red-Clad Woman, and the others were silent, their faces pale.
Is this guy's life just ridiculously badass? they wondered.
The supernatural events that would have killed anyone else sounded like mere levels in a video game when Jiang Cheng recounted them. What was even more terrifying was that his friends were all suffering terrible fates, yet he was still here, cheerfully narrating his stories.
The others exchanged meaningful glances, a mixture of awe and apprehension in their eyes.
Best not to cross this guy, they thought. We've all heard of husband-killers, but a friend-killer like him? That's a first.
Sensing the group's unease, Jiang Cheng cheerfully offered to tell one more story to lighten the mood.
"You still have more stories?" the writer asked, his voice tinged with despair. Compared to Jiang Cheng's tales, his own work suddenly felt like utter garbage.
Jiang Cheng smiled politely and began his final story of the day, speaking in a soft, gentle voice. This one was about Wu and the sister who created him.
The story's twists and turns were breathtaking. Jiang Cheng vividly described how Wu used his massive blade to slice through ghosts like vegetables, before shifting the focus to Wu's mysterious manga.
When he revealed that the book could trap ghosts and be controlled by Wu, the tension in the room crackled like static.
The female student kept wiping her sweat. Her once bloodshot, terrifying eyes had returned to normal, no longer frightening but now appearing touchingly beautiful.
The Red-Clad Woman's legs had stopped fidgeting. The writer rewrapped his scarf around his neck and casually tied a neat knot.
The black car driver removed his vest and wrapped it tightly around his left hand, ensuring not a single inch of skin was visible. Even the fiercely stubborn A Zhe lowered his head, pulled a pair of sunglasses from nowhere, and swiftly put them on.
They huddled together like a family, each turning a friendly smile toward Jiang Cheng.
But to their surprise, Jiang Cheng seemed intrigued, slowly advancing toward them. "What are you laughing at? Did you find my story funny? Or do you think you're better than me?"
At these words, A Zhe and the others instinctively retreated a step.
Their eyes weren't fixed on Jiang Cheng himself, but on his shadow. As he approached, his shadow remained rooted to the spot.
Suddenly, a chill swept through them. The Red-Clad Woman's throat bobbed involuntarily.
She noticed Jiang Cheng's shadow leaning against the bus stop pole. Hidden in the darkness were a pair of crimson eyes, coldly fixed on them.
Seeing the doctor gain the upper hand, Fatty decided it was his turn to step forward. He shoved Huai Yi aside and demanded angrily, "Hey, we asked you a question! Are you looking down on us?"
Jiang Cheng pressed closer, forcing A Zhe and the others to retreat until they reached the brightly lit edge of the bus stop. One more step backward would plunge them into the shadows.
Clearly, they dared not retreat any further. They kept glancing nervously over their shoulders, their faces tense, as if something even more terrifying lurked in the darkness behind them.
"Sir," the writer stammered, flustered, "we absolutely didn't mean to disrespect you! Your story was brilliant—truly brilliant!"
"Exactly!" the black car driver chimed in, wiping his forehead and forcing a smile. "We've never heard anything so captivating. And it felt so real, like we were right there with you!"
"Naturally," Jiang Cheng replied, narrowing his eyes with evident satisfaction at their changed demeanor. "My stories are all based on true events."
With the situation now under control, Jiang Cheng felt it was time to ask some questions.
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (NS) on Pa.treon@CinderTL - c1050. [+4]
🔑Early Access at $1.
✍Translated (6) Series, (4.1K+) Chapters, (5.8M+) Words.