The smile that had lingered on Wang Shenglong's round face throughout Doctor Gao's gentle questioning had vanished completely, leaving behind an expression that was hard to read—part pain, part resignation, part something darker that flickered behind his small, deeply set eyes. He rubbed the whiteboard clean with the sleeve of his oversized shirt, the motion slow and deliberate, as if erasing the words physically hurt him. The bedroom felt smaller, the air thicker, the ever-present stench sharper now that Chen Ge was alone with him. Shenglong's gaze never left Chen Ge, heavy and unblinking, while his chubby fingers hovered over the board, hesitating before writing anything more.
Chen Ge leaned against the wall where he had retreated earlier, the ache in his back from Shenglong's sudden shove still throbbing. "We have both transformed into monsters?" he repeated quietly, the words from the board echoing in his mind. He hadn't expected such a direct, chilling admission. The warning wasn't just about Shenglong's condition—it was a mirror held up to Chen Ge himself, reflecting the black phone's missions, the blood on his hands, the specters that followed him like shadows. Shenglong's eyes, buried in folds of flesh, seemed to see all of it, judging or perhaps recognizing a kindred spirit trapped by forces beyond control.
Outside the bedroom, Doctor Gao's calm voice mingled with the father's worried murmurs and the brothers' occasional questions, their conversation a distant hum through the thin walls. Inside, the silence between Chen Ge and Shenglong stretched taut, broken only by the faint scratch of marker on board as Shenglong prepared to write again. But before he could, the door flew open—Doctor Gao and the family rushing in at the sound of the earlier commotion. "Chen Ge, what happened?" Doctor Gao asked, concern sharpening his features as he took in Chen Ge rubbing his back and Shenglong's suddenly blank expression.
"I slipped and bumped the door—nothing serious," Chen Ge said smoothly, forcing a light laugh as he straightened. The lie came easily; the truth—that Shenglong had shoved him with surprising force when pressed about the Third Sick Hall—would only alarm the family and close doors Chen Ge needed open. Wang Shenglong's father hurried off to find ointment, muttering about clumsy guests, while the brothers hovered protectively near their sibling. Doctor Gao's eyes lingered on the unruffled carpet, then on Shenglong's too-innocent face, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features, but he said nothing, merely helping Chen Ge to his feet with a subtle, knowing glance.
The moment passed, the family's worry easing as Chen Ge waved off concern with jokes about his own clumsiness. But the encounter had shifted something irreversible. Shenglong had revealed a fragment of truth—he knew they were both "monsters," both hosts to something unnatural—and then retreated behind silence again. Chen Ge's mind raced as they prepared to leave: the boy's refusal to speak wasn't just trauma; it was self-imposed, a cage built to contain whatever had climbed onto his shoulders that night. And the shove, the strength behind it, hinted at more than mere obesity—something lending him power when cornered.
Chen Ge requested an early departure, citing the late hour, and Doctor Gao agreed without protest. As they exchanged contact details at the door, Chen Ge caught one last glimpse through the open bedroom. Shenglong had picked up the board again, drawing with urgent, angry strokes. Sensing eyes on him, he turned the board toward the doorway. The sketch was crude but unmistakable: a small house with tiny figures inside—one child, shoulders bowed under the weight of a tall, thin monster with wild hair and elongated limbs, its head swiveling to scan the room, as if searching for new shoulders to claim.
The image burned into Chen Ge's memory as he and Doctor Gao descended the stairs. Once clear of the apartment, in the dim corridor outside Room 304 where Men Nan's forgotten belongings waited, Chen Ge dropped his voice. "Doctor Gao, Wang Shenglong's hiding something big." Doctor Gao paused, bundling Men Nan's sheets, his expression grave. "I noticed. His responses were too controlled, too rehearsed in places. He's intelligent—dangerously so—and he's protecting something. Or afraid of it." They gathered the books and notes quietly, the weight of unspoken truths heavy between them, the stench fading but the questions multiplying as they prepared to leave Hai Ming Apartments behind—for now.
Chen Ge's first experience with a love letter had come from a vengeful ghost who had scrawled her confession in blood across the walls of his Haunted House. His romantic encounters, if they could even be called that, had mostly involved spectral women with unfinished business or the occasional pretty female tourist too frightened to say no. Real, living relationships between men and women remained a mystery to him—something he observed from afar like an anthropologist studying an unfamiliar tribe. So when he considered Men Nan's father abandoning such a strikingly beautiful wife for an affair, Chen Ge's conclusion was simple and clinical: the man must have some deep-seated psychological issue, perhaps a fear of intimacy or an inability to appreciate what he had. Normal people, in Chen Ge's limited understanding, didn't throw away something precious for something fleeting.
Stepping out of Hai Ming Apartments into the cool night air, Chen Ge inhaled deeply, savoring the relative freshness despite the piles of garbage heaped along the street. "Finally, no need to breathe that stench anymore," he muttered, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering discomfort. The odor that had plagued him inside the building—thick, metallic, wrong—had clung to his clothes and skin like an unwanted passenger.
Doctor Gao glanced at him, frowning slightly as he gestured toward the towering rubbish mounds illuminated by a flickering streetlamp. "Stench? If you mean stench, isn't it stronger out here?" The piles of trash, some as tall as a child, reeked of rotting food and stagnant water, the usual perfume of neglected urban corners.
Chen Ge shook his head, puzzled. "No, I meant a different smell—sharp, bloody, like something dead but not quite. It was strongest in Wang Shenglong's room, almost unbearable." He watched Doctor Gao's expression, searching for any sign of recognition, but the psychologist only looked concerned, not confused.
"I didn't smell anything unusual," Doctor Gao admitted. "The apartment was clean, well-kept. The father clearly takes good care of his son." He sighed, gaze softening. "In fact, Shenglong is lucky in one way—his family never abandoned him. They've stayed, supported him, hoped for his recovery all these years. Many patients aren't so fortunate; some families drop them at a facility and never return."
Chen Ge nodded absently, his mind already elsewhere. "His family is genuinely kind," he agreed, the warmth in their interactions unmistakable, the kind of love that couldn't be faked. But as they walked toward the street to hail a taxi, a sudden thought stopped him in his tracks. "Family?"
Doctor Gao paused, misunderstanding the abrupt question. "Yes, family support is crucial in cases like this. It can make all the difference in—"
"No," Chen Ge interrupted softly, eyes narrowing as the drawing flashed in his memory. "In Shenglong's last sketch—the one he showed me—there were small figures in the house with him. The child with the monster on his shoulders was clearly himself. The others around him… they were his family. And the monster was crouched, ready to leap to someone else." The implication hit like cold water. "He's protecting them. That's why he refuses treatment, why he hides the truth. He believes if he does anything wrong—if he speaks, if he fights—the thing will jump to his father or brothers."
Doctor Gao's expression darkened as he processed the theory. "A self-imposed silence to keep his loved ones safe… it fits. Classic protective delusion, but with such vivid, consistent detail…" He trailed off, the psychologist in him both fascinated and troubled.
Chen Ge's thoughts raced further. The drawing proved the two-meter-tall monster still perched on Shenglong's shoulders after all these years, the game "Who Speaks First" never truly ended. The stench—that bloody, metallic warning—emanated from the entity itself, a scent only Chen Ge could detect, perhaps because of Yin Yang Vision or Zhang Ya's lingering influence. The pieces aligned too perfectly: the Third Sick Hall as origin, escaped monsters choosing Hai Ming as refuge, one cautious and sacrificial, the other fearful of a greater predator.
"The smell comes from the monster," Chen Ge murmured, more to himself than Doctor Gao. "But why only I can sense it?" The question opened new voids. Answers lay behind the sealed doors of the abandoned hospital, in the building nicknamed the Third Sick Hall. Every thread—Men Nan's personas, Shenglong's silence, the mirror entities, his parents' warning—led there. Chen Ge rubbed his temples, the weight of the black phone's escalating trials pressing heavier. A three-star scenario had nearly broken strong men; the four-star School of the Afterlife loomed like an abyss. He needed to enter the Third Sick Hall soon, not just for the mission, but for the truth about what had claimed Wang Shenglong… and whether it still watched from the shadows, waiting for the game to resume.
Politely turning down Doctor Gao's offer to drive him back to the haunted house, Chen Ge stepped out of the dimly lit Haiming Apartments alone. Night had fallen completely; the sparse streetlights cast faint pools of amber, stretching his shadow long and solitary across the cracked pavement. Most residents had already fled the decaying complex—only the broke or the trapped, like the Wang family, remained. For once, Chen Ge savored the quiet, hands in his pockets, strolling unhurried toward the main gate.
"Ah—that hurts!"
A sharp, familiar cry shattered the stillness. At the gate, a tall figure stumbled and nearly fell. Chen Ge quickened his pace. Even in the low light, the long legs and graceful silhouette were unmistakably female.
"Miss Dou?"
"You… who are you?"
"Don't you remember? You visited my haunted house today." Chen Ge caught her by the shoulders, steadying her as she winced.
"Oh—it's you." Recognition flickered across Dou Menglu's face, followed instantly by a hot flush of embarrassment. The memory of how thoroughly the haunted house had unraveled her composure still stung. She'd come tonight to confront Wang Haiming about something strange she'd noticed, only to twist her ankle at the worst possible moment. "I… I sprained it. There's a lounge just up ahead—could you help me get there?"
Chen Ge wasn't about to refuse a beautiful woman in distress. He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her slowly to the small, brightly lit lounge nearby. Once inside, he eased her onto the worn sofa.
Under the harsh white fluorescent lights, Dou Menglu looked even more striking than she had in the dim haunted house corridors. A loose, pale-yellow top draped softly over her frame, hinting at the generous swell of her full, high breasts and exposing the elegant line of her collarbones. A fitted black pencil skirt hugged her hips and thighs, ending just above the knee. Sheer, flesh-toned crystal stockings sheathed her endlessly long legs, catching the light with every subtle shift, and delicate light-blue strappy sandals revealed toes polished a soft pink beneath the gossamer nylon.
She bit her lower lip, brow furrowed in pain as she cradled the injured ankle.
"Let me take a look," Chen Ge murmured, crouching in front of her. "Just a mild sprain—nothing serious. I'll massage it for you."
His large, warm hands settled gently around her ankle, thumbs pressing slow, deliberate circles into the tender skin. To anyone watching, it would have looked perfectly innocent. But up close, under the unforgiving lounge lights, every exquisite detail of her legs was on full display: smooth, creamy calves tapering into slim ankles, thighs that looked impossibly soft beneath the whisper-thin stockings. The delicate arch of her foot, the faint outline of toes flexing inside nylon—it was a view designed to tempt.
A soft flush crept up Dou Menglu's neck. Chen Ge's touch seemed to carry heat straight through the thin fabric; each stroke sent little sparks dancing along her nerves, melting tension into something far more dangerous. Her body grew languid, heavy, as though his palms were stroking far higher than her ankle.
"O-okay… is that enough, Mr. Chen?" she asked, voice a touch breathy, cheeks pink.
Instead of answering, Chen Ge simply guided her injured leg across his firm thigh, letting the other follow until both stocking-clad calves rested warmly against him. His hands slid slowly upward, kneading the taut muscle of her calf with deliberate care.
From this angle, the view was intoxicating. The sheer stockings shimmered over flawless, porcelain thighs—tender and plump, begging to be traced higher. The hem of her pencil skirt had ridden up just enough to reveal the soft, creamy skin where thigh met hip, the faint shadow of lace beneath. Farther up, her full breasts rose and fell with each quickening breath, straining proudly against the thin yellow fabric, nipples already tightening into visible peaks.
Her waist was impossibly narrow, flaring into the lush, rounded swell of her ass pressed against the sofa cushion. Even the gentle curve of her lower abdomen, smooth and slightly rounded, radiated an effortless, mature sensuality that made Chen Ge's pulse thud heavy and low.
Dou Menglu shifted, thighs brushing together with a soft whisper of nylon, her breath catching as his strong fingers continued their slow, hypnotic massage—moving just a fraction higher with every pass.
"This is an old family technique," Chen Ge said calmly, his voice low and reassuring. "When I press certain acupoints, your body might feel some… unusual sensations. Heat, tingling, even a rush of warmth down below—it's all perfectly normal. Just relax and trust me, Miss Dou."
"Mm… thank you, Mr. Chen," Dou Menglu answered softly, innocent and trusting, completely unaware of the trap she'd walked into.
Chen Ge's next move shattered her composure.
He slipped off her light-blue strappy sandals one at a time, letting them drop to the floor. Perhaps it was his secret weakness for elegant, mature women, but every inch of Dou Menglu drove him wild—even these delicate, perfectly arched feet. Encased in sheer flesh-colored stockings, they gleamed under the lounge lights: smooth insteps, long graceful toes, soft pink soles. The sight alone made his mouth water.
He brought one foot closer, lips parting as he inhaled deeply. The scent hit him like a drug—faint traces of leather from her heels, the warm, feminine musk trapped beneath high-quality nylon, and the subtle floral note of her expensive French perfume. It was intoxicating, rich and heady, the unmistakable aroma of a beautiful woman's feet after a long day. Chen Ge's pulse hammered; he was already half-lost to desire.
With a low, hungry groan, he dragged his thick tongue slowly along her instep.
The silk-smooth stocking glided under his tongue; beneath it, her skin was warm and impossibly soft. He traced every curve—toes, arch, heel—lapping greedily, coating the nylon in wet streaks of saliva.
"Oh my god… what is he… this is so embarrassing… is this really a massage…?" Dou Menglu's mind spun in shock. She'd never encountered anything so shamelessly perverse. Frozen, cheeks burning crimson, she could only stare down at him in stunned disbelief.
Chen Ge didn't pause. He lavished attention on both feet, licking soles, sucking gently on each stockinged toe, grazing the sensitive skin of her calves until her legs glistened with his saliva.
The sensation was overwhelming. A hot, electric thrill shot straight to Dou Menglu's core. Against her will, slick arousal flooded her pussy, soaking through delicate lace panties and seeping into the gusset of her stockings. The sticky warmth between her thighs betrayed her completely—she was drenched, aching, and still climbing.
"Oh… no… Mr. Chen… please don't… this is too much… it's embarrassing…" Her voice trembled, weak with panic and unwilling pleasure.
But Chen Ge was far beyond restraint. His large hands slid higher, gliding over the satin sheen of her stockings, pushing beneath the hem of her pencil skirt. Palms cupped the lush, firm swell of her ass—squeezing, kneading, delivering a sharp playful slap that made her gasp and arch.
"Mmm…"
The jolt sent fresh heat pulsing through her slick folds. Her mature, sensitive body betrayed her utterly; another gush of arousal leaked out, warm and shameful. Soft, stifled moans escaped through her nose as she bit down hard on her lower lip, trying desperately to cage the sounds.
"Ah—!"
In a last flicker of resistance, she pushed weakly at his shoulders. But Chen Ge's hand was already there—bold fingers pressing between her thighs, rubbing roughly over the soaked fabric clinging to her swollen pussy. The direct touch shattered her. Dou Menglu's arms gave out; she melted back against the sofa, thighs falling open in surrender.
"Oh… you… what are you… don't touch there… please… not there… mmm… ah…"
Chen Ge's smile was dark and triumphant. She was his now—pliant, dripping, defenseless.
Without a word, he shoved her tight skirt up around her waist, bunching it at her lower abdomen. The sight of her spread before him—drenched lace panties plastered transparently to puffy, glistening lips, stockings darkened with arousal—drove a guttural sound from his throat.
He lowered his head and buried his face between her trembling thighs, mouth hot and ravenous against her soaked core.
The intoxicating scent of her arousal flooded Chen Ge's senses—warm, sweet, unmistakably feminine. He dragged his tongue in one long, deliberate stroke up the soaked seam of her panties and stockings, tasting her through the thin barriers. The contact was electric.
"Ahh!"
Dou Menglu's sharp cry echoed in the empty lounge, her hips jerking involuntarily. That sound was all the encouragement Chen Ge needed. He dove in like a man starved, burying his face against the swollen mound of her pussy, licking hungrily through the drenched fabric. His tongue probed harder, pushing the nylon and lace into her slick entrance, teasing the sensitive walls beyond.
Dou Menglu shattered. She'd never felt anything so filthy, so overwhelming. Pleasure crashed over her in relentless waves. Her poised, elegant facade crumbled—soft moans became desperate, unbroken groans. Her pussy gushed, fresh floods of slick nectar soaking her panties until they clung transparently to her folds. Chen Ge sucked greedily at the saturated cloth, drawing out every drop, and the more he drank, the more she gave.
"Ah… Mr. Chen… please… I can't… I can't take it… stop… no, don't stop… oh god it itches so deep… don't… ahh… please… I'm… I'm gonna…"
Her words tumbled out in a frantic, mindless rush—begging him to stop and never stop in the same breath. Her long, stocking-clad legs locked around his head, thighs trembling as they clamped him in place. Delicate hands clawed at the sofa cushions. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, only broken by ragged whimpers and gasps. Her full breasts heaved beneath the thin yellow top, nipples straining visibly against the fabric.
Chen Ge didn't relent. With a final, forceful thrust of his tongue—dragging soaked nylon and lace deep inside her—he scraped roughly along her fluttering walls.
Dou Menglu broke.
"Ahhhhh!"
A choked scream tore from her throat as her long-suppressed climax exploded. Hot, copious juices surged out in pulsing waves, spraying through the ruined fabric and splattering Chen Ge's face. He lapped frantically, but it was too much—rivulets ran down his chin as her body convulsed. Every muscle went rigid, then melted; only her delicate toes remained pointed in stiff, exquisite release.
She collapsed back against the sofa, chest heaving, eyes glassy with aftershocks.
"Ahh… you… you bastard… you ruined me… waaah… it's never felt this good… you're… you're too much…"
Chen Ge rose slowly, face glistening with her release, eyes dark with raw hunger. He couldn't wait any longer.
With impatient hands he ripped a wide opening at the crotch of her sheer flesh-colored stockings—nylon tearing with a sharp, satisfying sound. He yanked the soaked lace thong aside, finally baring her flushed, dripping pussy: pink, swollen, glistening invitingly.
He didn't bother undressing fully. Pants shoved down just enough, he freed his thick, rigid cock—veined and throbbing—and pressed the broad head against her slick entrance.
"Oh…!" Dou Menglu whimpered at the scalding contact, eyes fluttering. Some distant part of her knew what was coming, but her body—still trembling from the most intense orgasm of her life—had no strength left to resist. Instead, her silky legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back, pulling him closer.
"Ah… you're so bad… mmm… I should've fought harder… but… but I didn't… I let you inside me… ahh… I've become so lewd… but your big cock… oh god… it feels so good… I'm so happy… ah… ah… fuck me…"
Chen Ge let out a low, triumphant chuckle. Then, with one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her velvet heat.
Dou Menglu's back arched off the sofa with a strangled cry. Her pussy clenched around him—surprisingly strong, experienced, rippling in eager welcome. The sensation was exquisite; every inch of him felt enveloped in molten silk. Pleasure surged through him like wildfire, making his skin tingle and his breath catch.
He began to move—deep, punishing strokes that claimed her completely. No matter how she writhed or gasped, there was no escape. And from the way her legs tightened around him, the way her hips rose to meet each thrust, she didn't want one.
"Ah… gentle… it's too hard… ahh… my little pussy can't take it… mmm… it feels so good… so perfect… ah… ahhh… Chen Ge… you're… ahhhh… you're going to kill me…!"
Chen Ge was lost in the sight of her—Dou Menglu's flawless body writhing beneath him, flushed and glistening with sweat—when a sudden, vise-like suction gripped his cock. The hot, rippling walls of her pussy milked him so fiercely that his spine tingled and release nearly overtook him. He clenched his jaw, fighting it back.
Then, without warning, Dou Menglu arched her slender waist like a bow. Her upper body shot upward, limbs wrapping around him like silken vines. She clung to him desperately—arms locked behind his neck, legs coiled around his hips—an octopus claiming its prize. Her swollen lips crashed against his, parting eagerly, tongue plunging into his mouth in a messy, hungry kiss. Her full, firm breasts crushed against his chest, nipples hard as diamonds, grinding in slow, heated circles as if trying to fuse their bodies into one.
The sudden, fierce counterattack caught Chen Ge off guard. Surprise flashed through him, quickly swallowed by raw excitement. His hands dropped to her ass—those lush, smooth cheeks he'd been craving—gripping tight, lifting her slightly so she could ride him harder. The feel of that perfect flesh in his palms was unreal.
As their tongues tangled, wave after wave of mind-melting pleasure surged through his buried cock. Every subtle shift of her hips brought a new, exquisite sensation—tight, slick, alive. It reminded him of the erotic dreams he'd had of Zhang Ya: that same bone-deep satisfaction, the kind that unraveled a man from the inside out.
"Bastard… ahh… am I really this lewd…? I'm letting a stranger fuck my cunt… ahh… oh god… Chen Ge… your big cock… it's too much… fucking me so deep… my little cunt feels incredible… harder… ah… just like that… deeper… ahhh… Lulu's getting fucked so good… your big cock is ruining me…"
Her voice—husky, broken, shameless—poured into his ear like molten honey.
"It itches so bad… mmm… ahhh… your huge cock… it's perfect… fuck me harder… my sexy little cunt loves it… loves your big cock… husband's thick cock is destroying me… I'm gonna fly… ah… so good… harder, big-cock brother… pound me… fuck my slutty cunt until I break… I'm coming… I'm coming… this pussy belongs to you… ahhh… ah… ah… AHHH!"
Her filthy cries sent lightning down Chen Ge's spine. He couldn't hold back anymore.
With a wet, lewd plop he slammed balls-deep one final time. His cock swelled, then erupted—thick, scalding ropes of cum blasting straight into her womb, painting her insides white.
"Chen Ge… my big-cock husband… ah… dear brother… your cum is so hot… you're filling me… flooding Lulu's cunt… burning me so good… mmm… yes… give me everything…"
Dou Menglu shuddered violently, milking every drop as her own climax peaked again, voice dissolving into breathless, trembling moans.
For a long moment they stayed locked together, panting, sweat-slick skin fused, his cock still pulsing inside her overflowing heat.
Eventually, the haze lifted. Dou Menglu's eyes fluttered open, staring up at the man who had just given her the most shattering pleasure of her life. Ecstasy lingered in her body, but beneath it swirled confusion, shame, and a growing dread. She knew, with terrifying clarity, that she would crave this again—crave him. And that thought terrified her more than anything.
Silence stretched between them. Dou Menglu's mind churned, exhausted and overwhelmed. Chen Ge's chest tightened with belated fear. He'd taken her once before in the haunted house, but she'd been unconscious from terror. This time she'd been awake—had begged, clung, come undone willingly. Yet the line he'd crossed was still unmistakable. If she went to the police…
"Miss Dou… I'm sorry," he finally forced out, voice rough.
She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze—complicated, turbulent—locked on his. Hatred flickered there, but it was drowned beneath deeper currents: humiliation, lingering lust, and something dangerously close to surrender.
He had violated her. Yet she had yielded—eagerly, shamelessly—chasing the devastating pleasure only he had ever given her. Chen Ge hadn't just taken her body; he'd shattered every defense she had, shown her ecstasy she'd never dreamed possible, and left her heart in pieces.
Seeing Dou Menglu remain silent, her eyes fixed on him with that tangled mix of emotions, Chen Ge forced a wry smile. He fished a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a flick of his lighter, and took a long, slow drag. The smoke curled in the stale lounge air as he crouched beside her, gently wiping the sticky evidence of their passion from her thighs and torn stockings with a tissue he'd found nearby.
"No… you don't have to…" Dou Menglu murmured weakly, trying to sit up, legs still trembling.
"It's all right," he said softly. Then, after a pause, she added in a near-whisper, "Actually… I… I came here tonight to break up with Wang Hailong. What he did in the haunted house… it disgusted me. I was done with him."
She drew a shaky breath, cheeks burning crimson.
"If… if you really want me… I could… I could be your girlfriend."
The words were barely audible, laced with embarrassment and something deeper—shame, need, surrender.
Chen Ge's heart thudded hard in his chest. A slow grin spread across his face. Jackpot. She's already hooked. His mind raced ahead: Xu Wan, Xiaoxiao, Luo Ruoyu… and now Dou Menglu. Not to mention Zhao Wen from the pet shop, the one who doted on that white cat. A full harem? Damn… this could get complicated. Friends with benefits might be safer.
But aloud, he kept his voice gentle. "Menglu, I'd love nothing more. It's just… there are things going on in my life right now I can't really talk about. I'll be busy—really busy—and I might not always be able to give you the attention you deserve."
He pulled her gently into his arms, letting her head rest against his chest.
She didn't pull away. Instead, she melted against him, face flushed hot. "That's okay… when I'm not working, I can come to the haunted house. I'll find you."
Her voice was small, almost disbelieving. She couldn't understand how she'd just offered herself to the man who had, only minutes ago, taken her by force. Was she truly this depraved? Or was it that thick, relentless cock of his that had ruined her for anyone else—left her aching, addicted, unable to imagine life without it buried deep inside her again?
"You're too good to me," Chen Ge murmured, stroking her hair. (I'm gonna fuck you senseless every chance I get, trust me.)
Dou Menglu peeked up at him through dark lashes, shy and coy. "You're still calling me Miss Dou?"
He chuckled low in his throat. "Menglu…"
The name rolled off his tongue like a promise.
Later, he ordered a taxi online, helped her—still wobbly-legged—into the back seat, and rode with her to her apartment. He made sure she got inside safely, stealing one last lingering kiss at her door. Then he hailed another cab and headed back to New Century Amusement Park, the night air cool against his skin, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
Just when Chen Ge stepped out of the taxi in front of New Century Park, the cool night air brushing against his face, his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. He fished it out, the screen glowing with Liu Dao's name. The events of Hai Ming Apartments still lingered in his mind—the oppressive stench, Wang Shenglong's cryptic warning, the drawing of the monster poised to leap—but the call demanded his attention. "Bro," Liu Dao's voice burst through the line, excited and a little breathless, "Qin Guang's next ghost-hunting livestream is locked in—tomorrow night!"
Chen Ge paused on the empty pathway leading to the park's darkened gates, the distant hum of the city fading as Liu Dao's words sank in. "So soon?" he asked, his tone measured, though a flicker of anticipation stirred. The rivalry with Qin Guang had been simmering, the other streamer's blatant copying a constant irritation. Tomorrow night meant no time to prepare elaborate sets or scripts—raw confrontation, the way Chen Ge preferred it.
"Yeah, he's moving fast this time," Liu Dao continued, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "We've got intel on the location—he's heading to Mu Yang Middle School. The exact same place you streamed last time." A beat of silence followed, Liu Dao clearly expecting outrage. "He's learned his lesson, sort of. No direct copy of your plot; he's got a team scripting original scares. Legally, it's just 'following the trend,' not plagiarism. The platform's hands are tied—they can't touch him for it."
Chen Ge remained quiet for a long moment, staring at the Haunted House's silhouette against the starry sky, its ghost-face sign swaying gently in the breeze. Mu Yang High School—his newest scenario, the one still fresh with the lingering spirits' unrest, the sealed classroom where twenty-four mannequins waited with twisted necks and unblinking eyes. Qin Guang choosing that location felt less like coincidence and more like provocation, a challenge thrown directly at Chen Ge's feet.
Liu Dao misinterpreted the silence. "I know it's frustrating," he said quickly, voice softening with sympathy. "Some things are out of our control. But we don't need to stoop to his level. We just focus on making killer content—better scares, real reactions. That's how we win."
Chen Ge's lips curved into a faint, almost amused smile. Anger wasn't what he felt; it was a cold, focused anticipation. "I'm not angry," he said finally, his voice steady and low. "But if you get the chance, pass a message to Qin Guang for me."
Liu Dao sounded relieved. "Sure, what's the message?"
Chen Ge's gaze lingered on the Haunted House, its windows dark but watchful, as if the building itself was listening. "Tell him he'd better stop following my trends," he said, each word deliberate. "Or he might ruin himself."
The line went quiet for a second, Liu Dao processing the quiet threat wrapped in calm words. Chen Ge ended the call, pocketing the phone, the night air feeling sharper now. Qin Guang was walking into Mu Yang High School tomorrow night—into the heart of Chen Ge's newest nightmare, where the lingering spirits were still learning the rules and the walls themselves remembered blood. Let him come. The school would teach him what real fear felt like.