Like a duck forced onto a perch, Ye Shu had no choice but to trudge forward.
“Bodhisattva bless me, ancestors protect me, fiends and ghosts, begone!”
Under the harsh beam of her flashlight, the gray mist curled around Ye Shu at an unhurried pace, as if it possessed a life and will of its own.
Endless darkness pressed in. The first flashlight was quickly draining, its glow fading, the mist creeping ever closer. On the edge of that gloom, wind howled past her ears, and behind her came the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps.
It seemed the warning was right: They feared the light. So long as there was some source of light, they dared not close in.
Ye Shu lowered her gaze to her wristwatch—barely an hour had passed and one flashlight was gone. She had a little over twenty left; that meant she had less than twenty hours to escape.
Just before the flashlight died, Ye Shu swapped it for a new one. The harsh beam ripped through the gray haze. Instantly, the footsteps behind her ceased, and the shrieking winds receded into silence.
After burning through three flashlights, she suddenly found herself facing tables set for a banquet. Those sitting around them—no, they couldn't rightly be called people—had deathly white faces, pitch-black pupils, their gazes locked onto the empty stage, lips grotesquely split to the very roots of their ears.
In the blink of an eye, every one of those twisted necks turned toward her in unison.
“Ka-ka... You... can see?”
“Ka... you... you... can you see us?”
Yet Ye Shu acted as if nothing were amiss, her eyes darting suspiciously around. "Why do I see nothing at all?"
A malicious gleam flashed in the eyes of those creatures, as if they'd devour her whole.
“You... can see—”
Before the specter could finish, Ye Shu brought her flashlight to bear.
The beam charred a gaping hole in the male specter's dead-white skin. From the blackened wound seeped dark, viscous blood, the stench of rot flooding the air.
The uncanny things dared not come closer. They could only glare at her with a venomous mixture of hatred and fear—fear of the light she wielded.
A thrill of relief danced in Ye Shu's heart. She brandished a handful of flashlights, ready to switch them on. A dozen lesser specters couldn't retreat in time; black blood splattered the ground and was devoured by the mist.
Huddled beneath one of the tables, Pang Tong quaked in fear: "..."
He had no clue how he'd ended up in such a bizarre place. Lured in by the wedding crone's hospitality, he'd eaten food from the banquet. All the seemingly warm and genteel guests were monsters in disguise—he had feared this ghostly supper would be his grave. Instead, a formidable heroine had come to his rescue.
Out of the corner of his eye, he scanned the banquet for familiar faces, only to settle on a rotund figure. It was him! Or was it just a trick of the light?
"Human or fiend? Show yourself, or I'll cut you down!"
Ye Shu strode forward with purposeful steps, hefting a fire axe.
"Human—I'm human! Heroine, please, don't swing that thing... Let's talk it over!"
Pang Tong scrambled out from under the table, fear still etched across his face, though, fleetingly, admiration sparkled in his eyes. The image of those specters vanishing in moments was seared into his mind.
"Heroine, I'm Pang Tong. We've met before, haven't we?"
As the shock faded, Pang Tong finally recognized the well-featured woman across from him as one of his fellow residents.
"Heroine, your skills are divine! You vanquished the monsters in mere moments—I'm in awe."
Ye Shu grunted in acknowledgment, dusted off her coat as if brushing away imaginary ash, and sat to gnaw at her rations.
"Heroine, I..."
Pang Tong's eyes were glued to the glowing, savory bread in Ye Shu’s hand. He hadn’t felt hungry before, but now his stomach clawed at itself with longing.
He’d come downstairs to get food, only to be drawn into this accursed place. The moment he accepted wedding candies from the crone, she’d tried to twist his neck. In the nick of time he’d used a prop—something to mask his humanity.
That’s how he wound up at the banquet, and there he remained... until Ye Shu arrived.
"Heroine..."
"Ye Shu."
"Heroine Ye."
Ye Shu: "......"
Pang Tong stared, eyes turning green with envy for the crispy bread in Ye Shu's hand—he hadn’t eaten in two days. Fresh to this world, he’d used all his assets to buy protective charms, and forgot the basic necessity of food.
"Hungry?"
Amusement played across Ye Shu's face as she bit into the bread. Her backpack was stuffed with these long-lasting, hearty loaves—field rations well suited to survivors.
"Heroine Ye, you saved my life. I can’t accept charity. Let me trade you something in return."
Ye Shu didn’t refuse. Anyone who could hide among these monsters undetected certainly had something unique about them.
After a moment’s struggle, Pang Tong took a deep breath and unfastened the Eight Trigrams Mirror from his neck.
The bronze mirror was a beginner-level artifact that could repel one ghostly attack.
Ye Shu had saved his life, and a Pang clan rule stated that one must never forget a debt of gratitude. He could let go of the mirror, if only he ignored his own reluctance.
Learning of the mirror’s powers, Ye Shu took it without hesitation. There were six days left in this game, and no one could have too many tools for survival—even if it wasn’t as handy as her cinnabar prayer beads. After all, when it came to survival, every scrap helped.
A loaf and some rest restored Pang Tong’s energy.
"Heroine Ye, why can't we leave this place, no matter how far we walk?"
"This is the ghost-drawn maze," Ye Shu replied grimly. Someone, she realized, didn’t want them to escape.
No matter which direction they tried, they always looped back to the front of the stage. Pang Tong eyed his weakening flashlight and the ever-thickening gray fog, fear clawing at him. Even someone as blundering as he could see the monsters were grinding them down through attrition—waiting until their exhaustion doomed them.
Something about the place was different now.
Ye Shu’s gaze lingered on the stage, refusing to miss a single detail.
"Fatty Pang, have you noticed... The straw-bride is different now?"
A shiver ran up her spine. The paper effigy disturbed her more than any ghost here.
Pang Tong, far too cowardly to look up, did his best to avoid those black paper eyes. Yet one thing was clear: the bride seemed more... alive.
"Before... she didn’t have... eyes."
Neither of them dared to say what they both realized.
There were two rules, so the legend said, for making paper figurines:
1. Never craft them for the living.
2. When painting their eyes, keep them blank—never dot the pupils.
But now, the paper-bride had been given eyes.
They burned red-black, and no matter where she stood, it felt as if her gaze burned into them.
"A poor scholar... collapsed in the street..."
"Born in a humble house... the lonely window’s daughter..."
"..."
Onstage, the opera singer began her song—her timbre ethereal, haunting, and laced with sorrow. Even a layperson could grasp the love, longing, and pain in her laments.
The paper-bride wore a scarlet wedding gown and embroidered slippers—her stare never wavering from the two intruders. She was utterly unlike the other monsters.
The opera lasted and lasted, until the two of them could barely feel their legs. At last, the bride-in-red stood silent and still, unmoving.
The game’s objective was this: the paper-wedding dress before them.
Ye Shu felt the roots of her hair prickle. A fear, bone-deep and ancient, seized her. Fighting to quell it, she forced herself onto the stage. As she dreaded, the fiend in the blood-red gown’s belly was noticeably swollen.