"Hey, this is a legitimate live stream—let's not jump into inappropriate jokes!" I quickly stopped the veteran viewers itching to make dirty remarks. I was just simulating the victim's actions, not planning to act on anything.
"Streamer, you're playing with fire!"
"Don't worry, I won't do anything against morals or laws. I know where to draw the line."
"Sounds good, but why am I disappointed?"
The live stream was full of viewers eager for drama, so I wisely moved on.
"Remember, while the victim might have been tempted, his financial situation didn't allow for recklessness."
A debt - evader living in a cheap suburban inn, struggling to eat—his finances must have been dire.
Back to square one: what did the victim do that night?
If I were him, hiding in this eerie room, penniless, late at night—would I step out for a cigarette?
"When I checked into room 203, the old woman warned me not to go out no matter what. The victim was probably told the same, but what if he ignored her and went out anyway?"
Logically, his death might relate to breaking that rule.
Checking the time—still before midnight—I placed the camera at the door and watched the live feed: the third floor was empty, dead silent.
"Might as well explore. If I'm here to find ghosts, I can't be timid." With the camera at the door, I eyed room 206 across the hall. Pretending not to be scared would be a lie.
"Entering room 206 might reveal clues the police missed." But asking the old couple directly would raise alarms—they were suspects in my eyes.
Heading down to the second floor, the scarred - faced old man and plump woman were gone. Only a woman in her early twenties knelt in the corner by the front desk, seemingly praying to a photo of a two - or three - year - old girl.
"Excuse me, do you know where the landlord is? My TV is broken."
"It's always been broken. Broken things can't be fixed."
"That's an interesting way to put it—broken things are exactly what need fixing."
She stood, wiping the black - and - white photo of the girl by the incense burner: "Like people. Once broken, they never change."
Still facing away, her voice was low: "Go back to your room. It's not safe here at night."
"You've piqued my curiosity. Is that your child in the photo? I notice—"
"My sister. She disappeared when she was little."
"Sorry to hear that."
"It's fine. I'm used to it. Just hope I'm not next to disappear." Her tone was bleak.
"Is the inn run by just the three of you? Where's your husband?"
"I have a brother working out of town."
"Life is tough. If you need help—any kind, including calling the police—let me know." I kept my eyes on her; she trembled slightly, as if afraid.
After a fruitless search, I returned to room 203 and shut the door, placing the camera aside.
A 35 - yuan inn wouldn't have strong security. I had to watch for both ghosts and humans.
The peeling wooden door was decades old, its lock loose—a relic from the 80s or 90s. Shaking the handle, I doubted it could withstand a child's kick.
I left the door slightly ajar, propping a thermos from the old woman in the gap and balancing a teacup on its lid—not to block the door, but as an alarm. If someone opened it at night, the cup would fall, warning me.
Caution wasn't paranoia; recent events were too terrifying. I still didn't know if my enemy was human or supernatural.
Next to the door was a small bathroom I hadn't checked yet, distracted by Liu Banxian's comments earlier.
"Please, no more weird stuff." My weak self - hypnosis did little as I pushed the bathroom door open.
New tiles on the floor, clean porcelain on the walls—the toilet and sink were standard, but inside, a half - fixed bathtub stood under a rarely used solar water heater still in plastic wrap.
"Too luxurious for a 35 - yuan inn." The bright lights reflecting off the pale tiles felt off, especially with the rest of the inn stuck in the 90s. The renovated bathroom stood out like a sore thumb.
"This isn't right. Too abnormal." Oddities in cases often hide clues. "Why renovate only the bathroom? Was it a crime scene?"
I grabbed the camera, documented the bathroom, and began searching for traces.
Time passed. Half an hour later, a soft knock startled me.
I crept to the door, listening. When the knock came again, I peered through the gap.
By the dim light, a vague white figure stood motionless at room 206's door—the room where someone died three months ago.
"Is that… a person or a ghost?"
The figure was tall, slim, long black hair over its shoulders.
Heart pounding, I held a talisman in one hand, the camera in the other.
"What am I afraid of? I'm here to expose the Underworld Show. Can't back down now."
Dropping the talisman, I turned the lock, inching the door open.
"Come on, show yourself. Let me see what a ghost looks like."
Just as I fully opened the door, the hallway bulb died, plunging everything into darkness. Cold wind slithered through my clothes, cold sweat soaking my back. Something moved in the silence.
The bulb flickered back on—for a split second, I saw a pale face half - hidden by black hair rushing toward me.
"Fuck!"
The door slammed open, knocking over the thermos. The teacup clattered, scalding water spilling on my leg. Slipping on the wet floor, I fell back, instinctively grabbing the white figure's dress.
"Thud!" When I came to, I held a torn piece of white fabric. Looking up, two porcelain - white legs were inches from my nose.