Wang Yanhua was filled with regret, but all she could do was lie sprawled on the floor.
Her limbs had been crippled by that strange person, and she couldn't move at all.
She struggled, trying to pull out her last life-saving talisman paper, but her trembling hand could never quite reach it.
Crawling on the ground, she felt an intense cold seep into her body—she didn't know if it was just her imagination.
Just then, a female ghost in a red dress, her hair hanging down, dropped upside down from the ceiling.
It dangled right in front of her. Their eyes met, and Wang Yanhua was on the verge of losing her mind.
"It... it wasn't me!"
CREAK... CREAK...
From the pitch-black stairwell, something unseen seemed to be ascending.
Wang Yanhua shrank back, but her body seemed to bump into something.
Moreover, the ceiling seemed to be leaking; something was dripping onto her face.
It was wet, thick, and viscous, carrying a foul, coppery stench.
It was red... blood...
