Chapter 19: The Red Dream Shattered

Dreams held an extraordinary meaning for him.

He had once had a dream.

He dreamed that the moxiang his mother left burning in the corner lit the quilt, and the raging fire devoured the brick kitchen.

Only when thick black smoke billowed through the house did he hear his parents’ terrified cries.

They threw water at the ferocious flames that came grinning toward them, but it was all in vain.

He heard his father shout, “Shen Yao, run!”

His mother was yelling too, “Shen Yao, go!”

His legs wouldn’t listen—Why aren’t you running?

A burned beam fell, blocking him from his parents, and he could only watch helplessly as they were swallowed by fire, their skin splitting, flesh and blood turning to charred fragments, their bodies withering like dry wood, ready to crumble at a touch.

It was supposed to be just a dream.

Yet that summer, in Shatian Village, a couple died in a summer fire.

One was a stationed cadre, and the other a teacher volunteering to teach.

If only.

If only he had remembered the nightmare sooner.

If only he had warned them about the signs in his dream.

Would it have changed anything?

Endless remorse, self-blame, and regret tangled around him day and night.

He had tasted enough pain to have earned that dreaded “inspiration,” perhaps.

Now, that nightmare returned once more.

It had already foretold Shen Yao’s end—answer the call, the bizarre intrudes, and then he would die, body never to be found.

“Shen Yao, I’ve come for you.” The Phone Ghost’s voice was no longer dull and mechanical, but soft as a lover’s whisper. “Are you on the first floor?”

Shen Yao hung up, but the strange voice still came from the receiver.

Sweat drenched Shen Yao’s brow. He and Qiao Yunxue had underestimated the bizarre.

He seized his last resort—a pair of scissors—and, with a sudden motion, cut the phone line, trying to forcibly sever the bizarre’s pursuit.

“If you’re not on the first floor, are you on the second?”

He heard a dragging sound. This time it didn’t come from the receiver, but from the staircase outside the door.

Something was climbing the stairs, step by step, its footsteps dragging, like a killer dragging a corpse, leaving a dark trail of blood behind.

Creak, creak.

The villa’s wooden floor groaned under the weight, letting out unsettling noises.

“Hello, hello, Shen Yao, are you there?” Even with the cord cut, the receiver still produced that voice.

Though steady as ever, now it trembled with a manic edge.

Shen Yao tried to smash the window and escape, but his fist bounced back off the glass, his fingers stinging and red.

So American blockbusters are a lie—no glass shatters with just a hit!

Heavy footsteps drew closer. The bizarre seemed to know Shen Yao was in the study all along.

It was just toying with its prey.

There was no such thing as simply hanging up to end the hunt. That was just the bizarre’s ruse to lure him in.

Shen Yao, oh Shen Yao, it’s time to pay for your carelessness and arrogance.

In this life-and-death moment, Shen Yao suddenly stopped being afraid.

His trembling body gradually calmed, adrenaline flooding his system, his will to live taking over completely.

Only one thought, strong as steel, remained in his mind:

Survive—use any means necessary to survive!

Within these few seconds, countless thoughts exploded and reassembled like puzzle pieces in his mind.

The bizarre is born of intense emotion, descends through urban legends.

Then what emotion did the Phone Ghost represent?

This pure, simple question was the heart of the bizarre.

Before, he and Qiao Yunxue had pursued only appearances, distracted by “catching the bizarre” and ignoring the true nature beneath.

If that poor child was murdered so cruelly, then why would her resentment spawn something like the Phone Ghost?

What did she truly want? Why was the Phone Ghost’s voice a male announcer’s tone?

The most crucial, unanswered question—

Where was that child?

Where was her body?!

Shen Yao shivered, and in his mind, a door slowly opened. Every puzzle now had its answer.

He understood…he understood!

He looked down. Only two minutes remained of the fifteen.

He picked up the severed receiver, opened the cabinet, then opened Qiao Yunxue’s suitcase, curling his entire body into the suitcase that was just big enough for one person.

“Shen Yao, I’m at the study door now. Are you inside?” The bizarre’s voice rang from both the receiver and outside the door.

Shen Yao shut the cabinet, then closed the suitcase, curling up in an unbearably cramped position inside.

No matter how much effort he spent delaying, it was impossible to hold out for fifteen minutes.

Maybe the only solution was to keep “packing” himself away—continuously hiding in ever smaller spaces to prolong the bizarre’s questions.

By the faint glow of his mobile phone, Shen Yao stared anxiously at his watch.

A hundred seconds left.

He heard something twisting the doorknob.

Into the receiver, he said, “I’m in the study.”

The bizarre paused, then Shen Yao heard the handle snap, and a wave of nauseating stench wafted in through the gap in the suitcase.

It had entered, now just a step away.

The bizarre’s voice came from outside the cabinet and from the receiver: “I’m in the study now. Where are you?”

Shen Yao held his breath, counted to seven, and replied, “I’m…in the cabinet.”

Eighty-seven seconds left.

Creak—the cabinet door opened. A huge shadow loomed over his hiding suitcase.

All it had to do was lift the suitcase lid to catch Shen Yao.

“I’ve opened the cabinet. Where are you?”

Even with only a step between them, the bizarre kept questioning him through the phone.

Shen Yao didn’t even dare breathe, staring fixedly at his watch.

Eighty-one, eighty, seventy-nine, seventy-eight…

Not enough…not enough…not enough!

Just hiding in the suitcase wasn’t nearly enough!

The bizarre let out a chilling laugh: “Are you hiding in the suitcase?”

Seventy-seven, seventy-six.

Its fingernails scratched across the suitcase, producing a nerve-wracking sound.

Seventy-five.

Seventy-four.

“…I’m…in the suitcase…” Shen Yao answered through gritted teeth.

The next second, the suitcase was opened.

But Shen Yao was not exposed to the bizarre—he’d covered himself with Qiao Yunxue’s clothes, adding another layer of concealment.

He couldn’t see the bizarre, but he could smell its stench, like a corpse marinated in a cramped space.

He could feel its sharp nails caressing his body, every muscle tensing up.

It asked, “I’ve opened the suitcase. Where are you? Under the clothes?”

Seventy. Sixty-nine. Sixty-eight.

Every second felt like a year. He’d never known time could crawl so slowly.

He once thought nothing was harder than holding it in during class while counting down the minutes—now he realized that was nothing.

He was at his limit…this was his final struggle.

Fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes were enough for the bizarre to find anyone, no matter where they hid.

From the start, Shen Yao’s plan was doomed. Unless he cut himself into pieces and hid them in different suitcases, there was no way he could last the full fifteen minutes!

“Shen…Yao…”

Shen Yao felt it right in front of his forehead, separated by nothing but a thin layer of clothes.

“Are you under the clothes?”

It seemed to be laughing—mocking, laughing at the overreaching mortals.

“I…” Shen Yao began, his voice strained.

But before he could finish, in the next second, a shattering crash sounded—then the roar of an engine!

A red motorcycle crashed through the study’s glass window, speeding in from outside!

The Red Rider sat astride the seat. Glass shards cut across her stunning face, but she showed not a hint of fear.

“Shen Yao!” Qiao Yunxue’s voice echoed through the night.