Chapter 61: Setting Sixty-One

Setting Sixty-One: Supernatural Research Club (Part 14)

Hyacinth sat curled up in the wardrobe. Through the gap, she saw the white-haired youth run out, saw the ghost follow the sound upstairs, saw Milk Tea bite her lip and head for the living room.

She relaxed: That should be fine.

But the death-knell ringing continued.

She sensed something wrong. Unlike Shan Ziwei, who was fighting for his life, she’d been counting the seconds precisely.

—Only 17 seconds left. What is Milk Tea doing?

A sense of foreboding gripped her. She couldn’t stay put—she scrambled out of the wardrobe. Confident the ghost wouldn’t come down for a while, she hurried to the living room.

Entering, she saw Milk Tea sitting on the sofa. The phone screamed across from her, but she didn’t answer—just stared at it, pale-faced.

“Why aren’t you answering?” Hyacinth demanded, her voice barely a whisper to avoid alerting the ghost.

Startled, Milk Tea looked up, glanced at her quickly, and reached for the phone.

“Sorry—I-I was scared…”

Hyacinth exhaled, nodded, and turned to return to her hiding spot.

Then she saw Host. She pushed up her glasses to hide her expression.

The black-haired youth was too handsome—if that was his real face and he went into entertainment, the entire Federation’s women would go crazy for him.

Especially now, when he radiated a hint of raw, predatory allure—his hair black with a reddish sheen, his pheromones making her weak in the knees.

Seeing Host’s gaze pass over her to Milk Tea, she felt a mix of relief and disappointment. She was about to move past him when he spoke.

“You won’t answer.”

She spun to stare at Milk Tea in horror—57 seconds had passed.

Milk Tea pressed the screaming phone, her bloodless lips trembling as she silently mouthed three words.

58 seconds.

—I’m sorry.

59 seconds.

Hyacinth lunged, shoving Milk Tea aside and grabbing the receiver with trembling hands, pressing it to her ear.

“Pant, pant…”

She listened for a moment—then realized it was just her own breathing! When she forced herself to quiet down, the line fell silent.

The sound… the plea for help? Her hands shook. Where was the man screaming about his murdered wife—the man who’d been beheaded?

Not on the other end—then where…?

A shadow fell over her. She looked up to see an axe blade descending, answering her question.

—Here.

“AAAAHHHHHHH—!!!”

Shan Ziwei gripped the doorknob. The ringing had stopped, but the scream meant something had gone wrong. He couldn’t understand—hadn’t he lured the ghost away? Why was Hyacinth the one in trouble?

A shadow flashed past—Crimson Rose. Her face was tight; the last of her teammates was in danger. She had to go.

“Papa Bear is tough, Mama Bear is slender, Baby Bear is cute…”

The alarm still rang steadily. He glanced at the ghost’s flickering shadow down the corridor and followed Crimson Rose downstairs.

Who cared about Hide and Seek now? If Hyacinth was in danger, the worst-case scenario was Setting 4 activating!

[Setting 4: You/your companions have triggered the Ghost Call. From now on, when the phone rings, if no one answers within 1 minute, the restless spirit will appear and kill the living one by one until no one remains.]

He’d braced for the worst—but what he found in the living room was beyond imagination.

The first thing he saw was Host at the edge of the room. His heart skipped—not just from their earlier encounter, but from realizing: wait, if Host was here, why had this happened?

Sensing Host’s awareness of his presence, he forced himself to look away. His gaze fell on the center of the room, where the headless “Mr. Wei” raised its axe. Below it, Crimson Rose held a blood-soaked Hyacinth, ignoring the descending blade as she confronted Milk Tea:

“Why didn’t you answer?!”

In disbelief, he looked at Milk Tea—he’d thought it was an accident, not deliberate!

Her face was paper-white. Without a word, at the critical moment, she threw herself at “Mr. Wei.”

The headless man didn’t even sway; the impact was meaningless to it. If anything, Milk Tea was the one affected, her skin turning blue from the cold. He moved to help—but Host’s hand on his shoulder froze him in place. There was no force—just that touch, and he stiffened like a charmed corpse.

That delay cost him the chance to save the girls. Just as Crimson Rose was about to die under “Mr. Wei’s” axe, Milk Tea’s lips twisted into a stiff smile—and her eyes turned red.

Red eyes… Spirit Collapse?

He realized what was happening—in Milk Tea’s hand, a yellow talisman had appeared out of nowhere.

“FWOOSH—”

The talisman burst into blue flames, instantly engulfing the headless man and Milk Tea. Crimson Rose watched wide-eyed as the burning figure staggered back, roaring as it burned.

In the blue fire, Milk Tea’s voice—agonized yet triumphant—was twisted by the flames.

“Ximi… Ximi… I’ve avenged you…”

He watched in silence. He understood now why she hadn’t answered the phone—no one was more eager to face “Mr. Wei,” the killer of her sister. Even if it meant violating the setting, even if it endangered others, she wanted revenge.

Though it was a reckless decision, it had permanently solved the Ghost Call.

The blue flames burned fast and bright, leaving not even ash. Only two chess pieces—one black, one white—remained on the floor, a reminder of the game’s nature. He thought: because it was a game, Milk Tea had felt free to exact revenge. He quietly stepped free of Host’s grip, not daring to meet his eyes—he didn’t want to know what Host thought of the pervert who’d molested him.

Crimson Rose picked up both chess pieces. No one objected. Looking at the two whites and one black in her hand, Hyacinth’s fate was clear. Mystic Garden’s four members were now just Crimson Rose.

A grim thought struck him—only three players remained: Crimson Rose, Host, and himself. How would they play the next spiritual game, “Wall Touching”?

“Pluck out my eyes, I can still see you.”

Crimson Rose froze, staring at something behind him. His hair stood on end—he realized he didn’t need to worry about not having enough players for Wall Touching; they might not even survive Hide and Seek!

“Plug my ears, I can still hear you.”

Too close—the death song echoed in the living room, tolling for the three of them.

He blinked sweat from his eyes—was the ghost in the living room?

“Without feet, I can still reach you.”

He heard the “click-click” footsteps, descending… Wait—something was wrong. The song was right beside them, but the footsteps were distant?

He spun around—the song wasn’t coming from the ghost. It was from the television!

“Without a mouth, I can still plead to you.”

The TV, no longer static, showed grainy black-and-white images. Someone with a warm voice was singing that mournful song.

“Break my arms, I will still embrace you—”

His heart eased—the static was gone. The life-and-death game of Hide and Seek was finally over.

But one ghost disagreed.

The long-limbed doll with the knife stood at the living room entrance, staring at them, ready to charge.

The TV image seemed to shift, but he didn’t have time to watch—his eyes locked on the doll, listening to that warm voice sing again: “Pluck out my eyes, I can still see you.”

As if to illustrate the words, the doll’s eyeless sockets suddenly rolled out their eyes, which shattered into bloody water. The players were shocked—the doll was too.

“Plug my ears, I can still hear you.”

Indigo-black liquid flowed from its hollow ears. It seemed to realize something and began lurching toward them.

They stumbled back—but after a few steps, the doll collapsed, its knees broken as if struck by a rod. The voice from the TV followed:

“Without feet, I can still reach you.”

The fallen doll raised its bloody head and screamed at them: “A-Gui! A-Gui! I’ll play with you… I’ll play with you… kaka… let me play with you… A—”

Its grating voice cut off. The TV voice filled the silence:

“Without a mouth, I can still plead to you.”

His head rang—he looked at his companions in shock, meeting Crimson Rose’s equally stunned gaze.

—Them? A-Gui?

Finding no response, the doll struggled upright. It could no longer speak or walk, but still reached out, as if trying to grab or embrace the one it called—and the death song from the TV reached its end.

“Break my arms, I will still embrace you…”

The doll’s hand fell, and it moved no more.

He trembled, slowly turning his gaze to the TV. The broadcast seemed to be ending. In the grainy black-and-white image, a figure was being sealed into a large jar by two blurry shadows and buried. Severed limbs and organs lay scattered—just like the doll in the living room.

Gouged eyes, deafened ears, severed tongue, cut-off limbs—this was… renzhi?

Renzhi was a torture that turned a person into a pig—gouging out the eyes to blind, filling the ears with copper to deafen, cutting the tongue to silence, severing the limbs to immobilize. The first time he’d heard of it, he’d nearly vomited. How deep could human malice go, to invent such a horror?

Renzhi appeared here… it felt familiar. Then he remembered—the book Strange People also mentioned this torture!

Haunted house—renzhi—jade child—Su clan… He was trembling with excitement. The book he’d found had connected everything. He was about to share his discovery—when he realized Crimson Rose had subtly distanced herself.

Seeing him look, she hugged herself and said quietly: “Among us, there is a ‘ghost.'”

Though she said “us,” her eyes were fixed on him. He was stunned—the doll had indeed called out “A-Gui,” but why suspect him?

Crimson Rose seemed to read his mind—or perhaps to enlist Host’s support—and asked him: “Why do you know these ancient spiritual games? Why are you so familiar with this mansion, knowing which cabinet holds the doll?”

Host… He suddenly realized the system had set a trap. He couldn’t say this Chessboard was paying homage to a horror game he’d played, or that he was born 200 years ago with ancient knowledge. To the others, his mysterious knowledge looked suspicious.

“I’m not ‘A-Gui.'” He protested. “I know who ‘A-Gui’ really is.”

He pulled out Strange People, flipped to the “Jade Child” entry, and showed it to them.

“‘The Su clan, fearing its evil, made it into a renzhi, sealed it in a haunted house—but it was too late.'” He read, pointing to the now-blank TV. “The renzhi, the haunted house… isn’t this Manda Mansion?”

“The doll called out ‘A-Gui’—I think it was calling the ghost on TV. Its predecessor was the Su clan’s jade child, turned into a vengeful spirit after being made renzhi. Manda Mansion was built to contain it. From the servant’s diaries, the Wei child summoned it and called it ‘A-Gui.'”

He took a breath and slowly revealed his final deduction.

“Besides the family of three, there’s a fourth ghost in this house. It should be the true ‘master.'”

As he spoke, he startled himself—he’d probably encountered this hidden boss several times: the breath in Mirror Ghost, the note in the dining room, the ghostly hand that had gripped his heart—all bore its mark.

Crimson Rose glanced at Host, hoping for his opinion—but was disappointed. Host remained silent, his dark eyes fixed on the white-haired youth, neither affirming nor denying.

She pursed her lips and said to him: “You brought that book here.”

He understood: if he were “A-Gui,” this house was his domain—planting evidence would be easy.

He wasn’t angry. He pulled out paper and pen and said to Crimson Rose: “Let’s play Ouija Board.”

“Under its rules, even ghosts cannot lie.”