Chen Ge clutched the document, its title stark on the page: New Century Park's Underground Parking Lot Usage Agreement. Flipping through it, he scanned for rental terms, finding none. "Director Luo, is something missing?" he asked, brow furrowed.
Luo smiled, a glint of amusement in his tired eyes. "Ever seen a free lease? I've stamped it; sign, and it's yours until the park shuts down. Don't waste this chance, Xiao Chen." His mood seemed lighter, as if Chen Ge's audacity had rekindled something in him. He poured another cup of tea, gesturing toward the door. "You'll be busy. Go make it happen."
Stepping out of the office, contract in hand, Chen Ge's mind reeled. Free use of the underground lot? It was a third of the park's size, abandoned but vast, and now his without a cent spent. Luo's generosity likely stemmed from the park's looming closure—two, maybe three months, with Eastern Jiujiang's new park set to steal the spotlight. Still, it was a coup. Medal, reward money, and now this? Chen Ge mused, a grin tugging at his lips. Taking out the mirror monster must've flipped my luck.
The thought was half-joking, but the chill in his eyes—Zhang Ya's spectral mark—pulsed faintly, as if mocking his optimism. Back at the Haunted House, he dove into the day's work, sending Xiao Wan to sell tickets in her park uniform while he donned the Doctor Skull-cracker outfit, prowling the Murder by Midnight scenario to terrorize visitors. Their screams fueled him, each shriek a step toward his vision of a horror empire.
By 5:00 p.m., he let Xiao Wan clock out early and changed into clean clothes in the breakroom, ready to claim his reward money. Four digits in my account for the first time. Time to celebrate. As he grabbed his jacket, his eyes caught a small ragdoll by the bed, half-hidden under it, as if playing hide-and-seek. Xiaoxiao, out in broad daylight? He chuckled, poking her plush stomach before slipping her into his pocket. Captain Yan's words resurfaced: the elder from Ping An Apartments, frail and alone, needed a visit. Duty tugged at him.
At 6:15 p.m., Chen Ge left the Jiujiang Municipal Bureau with 36,000 yuan—less than he'd hoped, but enough to fuel his plans. Stopping by a shop, he bought a fruit basket and milk, then headed to Jiujiang People's Hospital. A nurse guided him to a third-floor sickbay, where he froze at the sight of a familiar figure.
"Inspector Lee?" Chen Ge said, stepping inside. Lee sat by the elder's bed, spooning porridge with a gentleness that clashed with his gruff demeanor.
Lee glanced up, half-smirking. "Why is it always you, kid? Everywhere I turn, there's your face." He draped a towel over the elder's chest, his movements careful. "Station chief saw me dragging after last night, so he gave me light duty today."
"The police handle this kind of thing?" Chen Ge asked, setting the fruit basket down.
Lee shrugged. "The old man got hurt on our watch. Until we find him a caretaker, we step up." He tried another spoonful, but the elder, frail and sunken-eyed, turned away, appetite gone. Lee set the spoon down, pointing at Chen Ge. "Sir, this is the guy who gave us the evidence to close your family's case—and the one who called us to save you that night."
The elder's frail arm trembled when his clouded eyes landed on Chen Ge, a faint twitch signaling something unspoken, though its meaning was lost in the haze of his weakened state. His face, etched with the weight of years and grief, seemed to flicker with recognition, but his body betrayed him, too fragile to convey more than a quiver. The hospital room, sterile and hushed, amplified the moment's gravity, the beeping monitors a quiet reminder of his fading time. Chen Ge felt a pang in his chest, the sight of the old man's vulnerability stirring memories of his own losses—his parents' disappearance, the Haunted House as their last tether. He set the fruit basket and milk on the counter, their bright colors stark against the room's pallor, and turned to Inspector Lee, his voice low but firm. "Inspector, can you step out for a moment? I need to speak with the elder privately."
Lee's brow furrowed, curiosity flickering, but his trust in Chen Ge held firm. He'd seen the young man navigate horrors most would flee from, and that earned a quiet respect. Without a word, he nodded, stepping into the corridor and closing the door softly behind him. Alone with the elder, Chen Ge reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing the small ragdoll nestled there. "Old sir," he said gently, pulling out Xiaoxiao, "I brought someone to see you." The doll, worn but oddly lifelike, dangled in his hand, its stitched eyes glinting in the dim light. He hadn't expected much, just a sentimental gesture for the elder and the spectral girl tied to the doll, but as the old man's gaze fell on Xiaoxiao, something shifted. His pupils dilated, a guttural sound—raw, like air forced through a broken bellow—escaped his lips. His trembling arm reached out, clawing at the air as if grasping for a memory made flesh.
"You… can see her?" Chen Ge's voice caught, surprise rippling through him. He'd brought Xiaoxiao to comfort her, to reunite her with her grandfather in spirit, but the elder's reaction was visceral, undeniable. He sees her—the real Xiaoxiao, not just the doll. The realization hit hard: the old man, teetering on life's edge, was peering into the other world, where Xiaoxiao's spirit lingered. Legends whispered of the dying glimpsing the spectral realm, and now Chen Ge witnessed it, a bridge between life and death in a hospital bed. He hurried to the bedside, gently placing the doll in the elder's outstretched arm. The old man's fingers curled around it, clutching tightly, his breathing steadying as if Xiaoxiao's presence anchored him. His eyes, still locked on the doll, softened, a fleeting peace settling over his weathered face.
The black phone in Chen Ge's pocket vibrated, a subtle pulse that broke the moment's spell. He stepped back, leaving the elder and Xiaoxiao to their quiet reunion, and slipped into the corridor to check the device. Inspector Lee was waiting, his arms crossed, concern etched into his face. "Heard some noises in there," Lee said, voice low. "What'd you say to him? The old man's fragile—too much shock could finish him." His tone wasn't accusatory, but his stance—poised to rush in—betrayed his worry. Chen Ge glanced at the phone's screen, where Xiaoxiao's affection level had jumped from "Slightly Favorable Opinion" to "Can be Trusted." A faint smile tugged at his lips. She's the strangest Baleful Specter I've met—gentle, not vicious. What happens if I max out her affection? He pocketed the phone, meeting Lee's gaze. "I just brought him the one he wanted to see most. He'll be okay, Uncle San Bao."
Lee snorted, skeptical but softened by Chen Ge's optimism. "You're too damn hopeful, kid." They lingered in the corridor, trading stories of the Ping An case and Lee's grumbling about paperwork, the hospital's hum a backdrop to their banter. When they reentered the room, the elder's condition had stabilized, his breathing steadier. He waved weakly at Chen Ge, his gesture unclear but heavy with gratitude. The doll lay nestled in his arm, Xiaoxiao's presence a quiet comfort. Chen Ge nodded to the nurse, retrieving the doll—its plush form still, as if Xiaoxiao were sleeping within—and left the hospital, the elder's gaze lingering in his mind.
After a quick dinner at a roadside stall, the savory tang of noodles grounding him, Chen Ge hurried back to the Haunted House. The night was young, and the black phone's daily mission awaited. I haven't checked it yet—hope I'm not too late. The contract for the underground parking lot, tucked in his bag, felt like a talisman, a key to unlocking the School of the Afterlife and his parents' secrets. But the chill in his eyes—Zhang Ya's mark—flared, her "Yours forever" vow a constant shadow. Xiaoxiao's gentle trust was a counterpoint, but Zhang Ya's crimson touch—savage, intoxicating—promised a path where every mission was a gamble, her desires entwining with his survival in a dance as perilous as it was inevitable.