Chapter Thirteen: The Terrifying Video

Noon, outside the cafeteria.

From a distance, Fu Yang spotted a young man approaching, clad in peculiar attire. He wore a blue robe resembling that of a Daoist priest, his long hair tied back in a ponytail. On his feet were simple black cloth shoes, and his wrists were adorned with a variety of bracelets.

Anyone unfamiliar with him might have mistaken him for either a recently released convict or a bohemian rock enthusiast.

“Hey, beautiful! How about spending tonight in a suite at the five-star Sheraton next door? I could read your fortune,” he called out, leering at a tall, alluring woman as she passed by, his eyes practically glued to her. His demeanor was so lecherous that there was not a trace of a ghost hunter about him.

Old Zhao stared in disbelief. “Fu, this... this Daoist friend of yours is not what I expected at all.”

Of course he wasn’t! This guy’s three main passions—apart from studying the occult—were women and money...

Fu Yang, barely restraining his irritation, called out from afar, “Hey, Death Stick, over here!”

Ahuang grinned and sauntered over, his gaze never once leaving yet another attractive woman passing by, nearly drooling.

At the table, the three of them ate and talked. Fu Yang recounted the entire situation in detail.

When he’d finished, Ahuang frowned deeply. “From your description, I’d say you’re dealing with a water ghost. But there shouldn’t be such vicious water ghosts in Jiangcheng. Honestly, I think it’d be best not to get involved in this.”

Old Zhao, straightforward by nature, was taken aback and a little displeased. He thought, Fu Yang invited you to help, not to undermine our morale.

Fu Yang knew Ahuang well. Even this usually irreverent, grinning scoundrel seemed conflicted, which meant the matter was anything but simple.

He felt guilty about dragging his friend into this, but he couldn’t bear seeing his roommate Gouzi so distraught after losing his girlfriend in such a mysterious way. He finally said, “Ahuang, if you’re not comfortable helping, that’s fine. Old Zhao and I will keep investigating. You go ahead and focus on your work. Let’s not talk about it anymore—just eat.”

He punctuated his words by placing a chicken leg in Ahuang’s bowl and quietly shoveling rice into his mouth.

“It’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s just that any spirit capable of this is not to be trifled with... Damn it! For a friend, I’ll risk it.” Finishing the chicken leg, Ahuang felt invigorated. He slapped the table and, gritting his teeth, agreed to help Fu Yang and Old Zhao.

“Haha, that chicken leg is your reward!” Fu Yang laughed, slinging an arm around Ahuang’s neck.

After lunch, Ahuang said he had a connection at the Jiangcheng Police Department and could try to obtain the surveillance footage from the night of the incident. There might be new clues.

They took a cab to the police station. Ahuang made a call at the entrance, exchanged a few polite words, and soon a young officer emerged—dark-skinned, buzz cut, with piercing eyes.

“You must be Master Huang? I’m Li Shan. Uncle Liu is out on assignment and asked me to take you to the archives. Follow me.”

The three followed the young officer into the station.

Fu Yang and Old Zhao were amazed at Ahuang’s connections. To university students, police were generally unapproachable, yet Ahuang had secured access to the murder case footage with a single phone call.

“You’ve done well for yourself these past few years. It seems skipping college worked out better for you than it did for us,” Fu Yang whispered, giving Ahuang a discreet thumbs-up.

“Of course!”

Soon, they reached the archives. The young officer pulled a laptop from a cabinet and handed it to Ahuang. “Master Huang, here’s all the surveillance footage from the Jiangcheng University guesthouse case. Take your time.”

He then left them to their work.

Fu Yang was anxious. “Hurry up, Ahuang!”

Ahuang plugged in the power and turned on the laptop. The folders were all labeled clearly—a testament to the efficiency and competence of the Jiangcheng police.

They found the folder titled “Jiangcheng University Guesthouse Murder Case” and opened it. Several video files were inside, and they played them directly.

The three held their breath, eyes glued to the screen.

The black-and-white footage showed the guesthouse corridor on the floor where Dudu and Tingting had stayed. The time stamp read eleven o’clock. The camera seemed a bit old, and the image was not very clear.

After half a minute, two chatting young women appeared and entered a room around the corner.

“That’s them!” Fu Yang and Old Zhao exclaimed, startling Ahuang.

“Calm down! Going by experience, around 3 a.m. is typically when spirits are most active. Skip ahead to that time,” Ahuang ordered, playing the leader.

The mouse clicked rapidly, making the footage speed by.

Stop.

2:58 a.m.

The corridor was utterly silent and deserted. Even in black and white, there was a palpable sense of eerie gloom.

Static suddenly flickered across the screen.

Ahuang pointed. “Look at the elevator at the end of the hallway.”

The camera was positioned at one end, directly facing the elevator at the other. The display above the elevator was changing—it seemed someone was coming up from the lower floor.

Who would be returning to the guesthouse at this late hour?

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open.

It was empty.

“What the hell?” Old Zhao cried, clutching his head.

Ahuang’s expression darkened. “No! The elevator isn’t empty. Move aside!”

He spread his arms, pushing Fu Yang and Old Zhao out of the way to clear a space. With a sweeping motion, he clapped his hands together in front of his chest. “Demons and spirits, nothing can hide from heaven and earth! Reveal yourself!”

A soft, visible white light shot from Ahuang’s palms, striking the laptop screen.

“Holy—!”

“Incredible, man!”

Fu Yang and Old Zhao’s jaws dropped; they could have fit a whole egg in their open mouths. So Ahuang really did know magic—he could even project a beam of white light.

Even more astonishing, when the white light hit the screen, the footage changed.

A woman, clad entirely in black, with hair so long it dragged on the ground, was walking slowly toward the camera.

Her hair was so thick it almost enveloped her whole body, and it was soaking wet, leaving a trail of water down the hall. Only her forearms poked out from the sleeves—pale and bloated, as if they’d been submerged for days, the sight of them enough to make one’s skin crawl.

Dear God—it really was a ghost!

Old Zhao’s scalp tingled with fear, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He nearly leapt out of his seat.

Fu Yang managed to keep his composure, perhaps because he lived with a formidable female ghost and had already been chased by corpses in the hospital morgue. Although the sight of the vengeful ghost on the screen was unsettling, it didn’t terrify him as much.

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