Chapter 55: Setting Fifty-Five

Setting Fifty-Five: Supernatural Research Club (Part 8)

The icy breath chilled Shan Ziwei’s heated body to the bone, and a scream naturally rose in his throat.

“It’s here!”

Everyone jolted and turned to look at the mirror. His cry had been so desperate that even the lights flickered in shock, returning to their original brightness. Now, with clear visibility, the mirror’s reflection was laid bare for all to see.

Don’t look away. Don’t run. Stare at the mirror for at least 5 seconds… Start counting down…

Tapioca had been silently reciting the Mirror Ghost rules in her head. When she actually saw the mirror, her mind went blank.

It was an ordinary mirror, reflecting a girl’s figure—but from the back.

—She stood before the mirror, yet saw her own back!

If that was all, she might have gritted her teeth and endured. But the mirror also showed the headless man behind her, axe raised high.

The image of Night Lily’s dismembered corpse flashed through her mind. She was terrified: It’s the headless man—the one who killed Night Lily!

He’s going to tear me apart!

In extreme fear, her brain shut out everything else and began the countdown as planned.

5—

She stared unblinkingly. The headless man’s axe tilted slightly, already swinging down toward her head. Beneath the axe, her back looked like a helpless lamb awaiting slaughter.

4—

Blood from the axe dripped first. She felt something cold on her head—something had splashed on her. Her thoughts stumbled, the countdown in her head fell apart.

3—no, 2—? How many seconds? What number had I reached? I’ve been thinking this long—five seconds must have passed, right? It must have, right?

But no one had turned around. She couldn’t feel anyone turning.

She panicked like an ant on a hot stove. She heard the whistling wind—in the mirror, the axe was a hair’s breadth from her head.

No choice—I’ll be cut! I’ll be beheaded!!!

She turned to dodge sideways, shouting behind her—

“Go!”

Shan Ziwei shouted at the top of his lungs, his heart about to leap out of his throat. This game was so cunning—if not for his iron will, he would’ve turned around at the sight of himself being brutally hacked in the mirror.

He hadn’t recovered from that horrifying image when he heard a crisp crack.

Something round rolled past him.

It was Tapioca’s severed head.

Milk Tea stared blankly at her sister’s headless torso, her eyes widening. She didn’t scream—her face turned purple-red like she was suffocating.

Blood gushed from the cleanly severed neck—a testament to the brutality of the blow.

Under everyone’s stunned gaze, the headless body swayed—but didn’t fall. Instead, it bent down and picked up the axe that had appeared at its feet.

A strong sense of danger flooded Shan Ziwei. After all those horror game tropes, was it time for the classic chase?

“Get out—”

None of them were fools. Seeing “Tapioca’s” movements, Crimson Rose grabbed Hyacinth and ran without a word.

“I’ll draw it away.” Host said to Shan Ziwei. “Get ready.”

In a few words, he understood. He didn’t argue, stepping forward to pull the dazed Milk Tea toward the exit. Meanwhile, “Tapioca” had picked up the axe and started toward Shan Ziwei and Milk Tea—but Host hit it with a bar stool, turning its attention toward him instead.

Shan Ziwei pushed Milk Tea out the door and frantically pulled out the recreation room key, locking it.

“Done!”

The recreation room was empty—no obstacles to “kite” the ghost. Host threw one bar stool after another from the bar to slow down “Tapioca.” By the time Shan Ziwei called out, the stools were gone. Host calmly waited for “Tapioca” to charge, took a lighter from the bar, grabbed a bottle of liquor, and splashed it.

“FWOOSH—”

Flames engulfed “Tapioca.” Host slipped out while it was distracted.

“Quick!”

Shan Ziwei watched anxiously from the door. The brief flame barely affected “Tapioca”—it turned and gave chase. But Host ran a few steps aside, picked up Tapioca’s severed head, and threw it at his pursuer.

Shan Ziwei almost spat blood: Such a leisurely moment! There’s a headless corpse right behind you! It’s faster than you, man!

But they soon understood why Host had done it—he’d removed the mask and tossed the head to “Tapioca.” Recognizing its own head, “Tapioca” paused for a moment before resuming the chase.

“Tapioca” was faster than Host. The gap closed rapidly—3 meters, 2 meters, 1 meter—Host dove through the door. Shan Ziwei slammed it shut with the fastest speed of his life and locked it immediately.

Click.

The sound calmed his racing heart. His palm was sweating; he’d nearly caught “Tapioca’s” hand in the door!

Thump, thump, thump…

Banging came from inside the recreation room. Though locked, no one felt safe lingering outside—especially since the thing still had an axe. They hurried back to the first floor, only relaxing in the spacious living room.

“Whew…”

He collapsed onto the sofa. Even the usually composed Crimson Rose looked exhausted. They were all drained—physically and mentally—and that was just the first spiritual game. Not only were their Diamond SPs depleted, but the psychological toll was immense. Only Host seemed unaffected, his expression unchanged as he examined the newly acquired Peking opera mask.

The mask was white, accented with black and red facial patterns—clearly a white-faced lianpu. Host studied it front and back like before, then put it on.

Shan Ziwei admired his nerve—this mask had just been pulled off a dead person’s head, yet Host wore it without flinching.

Host removed it after a while. He had his answer: “Another memory?”

Host nodded and handed him the mask.

He put it on. Like before, he saw a different scene through the mask’s eyes.

The first thing he saw was a bizarre doll—pale-faced, with bright red cheeks and lips, like a paper effigy from a funeral hall—so creepy it made his soul feel like it was leaving his body. A thin hand held a brush, carefully painting the doll’s eyes—but with unsteady strokes, the eyes came out mismatched, making the doll even scarier.

Crucially, the hand painting the doll seemed to be his “own.”

Recognizing the familiar gloves, he understood: this was another memory of “him”—the sick child of Manda Mansion.

“…Young master.”

A voice like a mosquito’s whisper came from behind. “He” ignored it until the person called a few more times, then slowly turned.

A plain, short boy stood behind him. He guessed: was this the diary’s author? The “servant” who attended the “young master”?

At the sight of “him”—or rather, his mask—the boy stiffened, trying to hide his unease.

“Madam is calling for you.”

Hearing this, “he” sat silently for a moment, then finally rose.

Seeing the doll in “his” hand, the boy’s face twitched—as if summoning great courage, he suggested: “You should… put that away. Madam might be upset if she sees it…”

Though the boy didn’t finish, his meaning was clear. “He” paused even longer, then slowly walked to a cabinet.

Only then did Shan Ziwei realize that “he” was in one of the second-floor guest rooms—but with a normal electric light, not the head-lamp.

“He” carefully placed the doll in the cabinet, as if afraid to damage it. As the cabinet door closed, he returned to reality. He checked his SP panel—more had dropped, this time Heart SP (Joy) and Club SP (Sorrow). Added to his previous losses, those were now in critical condition too.

Heart SP he could restore with Little Gaia. Club SP… he glanced at Host and stealthily used [A Adoration (Passive)]—since Host had already used the Active version on him, he might as well recover some SP through relationship role-play.

[Setting 2: You are adored by Host.]

Host seemed to sense something and looked over. Shan Ziwei quickly passed the Peking opera mask to Milk Tea, who took it absently. Since Tapioca’s death, Milk Tea had been in a daze, but at least she hadn’t Spirit-Collapsed.

After watching the memory, Milk Tea simply passed the mask to Crimson Rose and Hyacinth without wanting to discuss it. With the Milk Tea sisters gone, the conversation between the guys and girls became stilted and matter-of-fact.

“We have a lead on dolls.” Crimson Rose said. “‘Hide and Seek’ still needs a knife. What time is it?”

After Mirror Ghost and a flashback, Shan Ziwei checked the grandfather clock in the living room: [6:39]

“The kitchen puzzle should be coming up. Let’s go check.”

No one objected. They dragged their weary feet to the kitchen. The moment he pushed the door open, Shan Ziwei knew they’d come at the right time.

The reason: a shadow stood at the stove.

This shadow seemed different from the previous one—its mouth curved downward, looking distressed.

“Oh dear, oh dear—no time, no time.”

Seeing the players, it repeated the familiar line: “Ah, great—someone’s here. I’m in a bit of trouble—come help me.”

Learning from the last shadow, they hesitated before accepting.

The shadow seemed impatient and immediately offered a reward: “Help me, and I’ll give you a gift—whether you succeed or not.”

Whether we succeed or not?

The players exchanged glances. They had no choice—to get the clear item, this task was mandatory.

Crimson Rose stepped forward: “What do you need?”

“See these ingredients?” The shadow raised a tray with a pained expression. “The master needs to eat at 7, and I haven’t prepared anything. Could you make a dish for the master? Use whatever you find in the kitchen.”

The tray held various jars labeled “Water,” “Acetic Acid,” “Glucose,” etc.—those were fine. But the other four jars—”Hydrogen,” “Fluorine,” “Sulfur,” “Iodine”—looked more like lab supplies than cooking ingredients.

Hyacinth confirmed: “You’ll give us the gift, no matter how we do?”

“Yes, I keep my word. However…”

That “however” made his eye twitch.

“If the master is satisfied, that’s best.”

The shadow’s face was grim.

“If the master isn’t satisfied… you’ll have to take your chances.”