《Ultra-Horror Live Stream》 1.The Girls Commission Jiang City, on Tingtang Road, inside an adult store called "Happy Peak," stood a pale and flustered high school girl. "Full service costs 9,900 yuan, and an initial investigation requires a 1,000-yuan deposit." I took a drag from my cigarette, sizing up the girl. Her delicate face looked even more youthful in her school uniform. She was slender, yet her chest was noticeably full. Under my gaze, the girl grew visibly uncomfortable. "A thousand... I only have seventy on me. Can I pay the rest later when I have the money?" "Seventy it is. Leave the money on the table, then get going. I''ll have an answer for you in three days." "You... you''re not a scammer, are you?" The girl hesitated, the seventy-yuan bill in her palm already damp with sweat. "Trust is the foundation of my profession. Truth, efficiency, integrity, and confidentiality are the principles I abide by. Your question just now insults my professional ethics." Snatching the money from her hand, I waved her off. At this point, many might misunderstand me, thinking I¡¯m some kind of predator who exploits minors or lures young girls into trouble. But that couldn¡¯t be further from the truth. Everything I do is to help her. My name is Gao Jian, and I¡¯m the owner of this adult store¡ªthough that¡¯s just a cover. My real identity is a private investigator. Missing persons, corpse searches, corporate espionage, anti-counterfeiting, marital investigations, and all kinds of non-litigation cases¡ªmy agency handles them all. Back to the matter at hand. The girl who came seeking help was named Xia Qingzhi, a high school student in the city. The reason she showed up here was because of something utterly bizarre. "My brother, Xia Chi, disappeared a week ago. I suspect he¡¯s already been killed." The moment she stepped in, her face was pale with panic. "If it¡¯s a criminal case, you should go to the police." High schoolers don¡¯t have much money, so I barely glanced at her before losing interest. "The police are useless. I¡¯ve tried everything. No one remembers my brother¡¯s existence¡ªnot even the household registration records. It¡¯s like he vanished into thin air, every trace of him erased." "So you¡¯re saying the only memories of your brother exist in your mind?" The girl didn¡¯t seem to be lying, and that was the scariest part. "Yes. Everyone¡¯s forgotten him¡­ except me." Lighting another cigarette, I took a deep drag. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. If what the girl said was true, there were only two possible explanations: supernatural phenomena, or severe schizophrenia¡ªwith a hidden, twisted personality of a brother lurking inside her. "Did your brother act strangely before he disappeared?" The best way to get more information was to play along, so I wasn¡¯t in a rush. "A week ago, my brother went to an interview for some live-streaming platform at night and never came back." She pulled out a crumpled card from her pocket, the kind you¡¯d see plastered on street railings¡ªadvertising plumbing services or fake medicine. "Dream of becoming a star adored by millions? Want billions of fans worshipping you?" "Sign up as a ¡®Netherworld Showroom¡¯ streamer and launch your own channel!" "If you have the guts, the talent, and the time¡­" "You can turn all your dreams into reality¡ªright from home!" "Netherworld Showroom¡­ that¡¯s a unique name." Studying the card, I grew even more convinced this was some prank by a bored kid. The company name aside, the details on the back were downright eerie. The interview was scheduled from midnight to 3 a.m., at No. 44 Wudeng Road, Underground Floor 4, Room 444. The timing and location were anything but normal. "You think I¡¯m making this up too, don¡¯t you?" Her reaction bordered on despair¡ªher eyes filled with fear and resignation. "Not at all. No one has the right to judge before investigating." Even if it was just for the few bucks she had, I had to say it. My agency hadn¡¯t landed a case in two months, and with the rise of self-service condom machines, the adult store¡¯s profits were dwindling. At this rate, I wouldn¡¯t even make rent. And so, I took on what seemed like a prank of a case, leading to the scene at the beginning. "Netherworld Showroom¡­" Live streaming had exploded in popularity in recent years. Some broadcast food, some games, some just flaunted their looks to lure in lonely guys¡ªall understandable. But what the hell did "Netherworld Showroom" stream? "Are they broadcasting the daily lives of the dead?" Smirking, I urged Xia Qingzhi to leave. A high school girl lingering in an adult store would only raise unnecessary suspicions, especially since she was underage. Just as she lifted the thick curtain I¡¯d made from an old military coat, she bumped into a woman radiating seductive charm. "S-Sorry." As if realizing an adult store wasn¡¯t where she belonged, Xia Qingzhi hid her face with her backpack and bolted. "Even high schoolers buy your stuff?" The woman¡¯s voice was pleasant, vaguely familiar. "Buying or not is their choice. I don¡¯t interfere." She was undeniably beautiful¡ªdelicate ankles in high-heeled sandals, toned calves, a flowing lace skirt that couldn¡¯t hide her curves. A perfect figure, though her face was hidden behind a mask and sunglasses. But I was used to it. People who came here had their secrets. If they didn¡¯t want to reveal themselves, I wouldn¡¯t pry. Harmony brought wealth¡ªas long as they paid, anything was negotiable. The woman was stylish, head-to-toe designer, her handbag probably a Louis Vuitton worth a year of my rent. "What can I get you, miss? The store¡¯s about to close, so everything¡¯s 20% off." "Sorry, I¡¯m not here to buy. I¡¯m looking for someone." She removed her mask and sunglasses. "Gao Jian, five years, and you haven¡¯t changed a bit." The moment I saw her face, my cigarette fell to the floor. "Ye Bing?" My first love. Back at the police academy, we¡¯d always topped the rankings. But then I got expelled for involvement in a serial murder case, while she graduated smoothly and, with her new boyfriend¡¯s help, went abroad for further studies. "Five years, and you¡¯ve transformed from a sparrow to a phoenix¡ªfull-on goddess vibes." Lighting another cigarette, I watched the smoke curl. "You changed your number, cut all ties. I thought your plane crashed and you were sleeping with the fishes in the Pacific." "Five years still wasn¡¯t enough to fix that sharp tongue of yours, huh? I admit I was wrong, but I don¡¯t regret it." She smiled, exuding confidence, every movement stirring desire. "Oh? Then why come back now? Hoping to rekindle old flames, relive the passion?" My eyes shamelessly roamed her body. "I came today to talk properly, but seeing how you are now¡­ maybe there¡¯s no point." Ignoring my jab, she placed a bank card on the table. "There¡¯s 100,000 yuan here. Consider it an apology for leaving without a word. Gao Jian, we¡¯re not kids anymore. It¡¯s time to move on." "In three days, Young Master Jiang and I are getting married at Century Gardens. If you¡¯re free, you¡¯re welcome to come. After all, I don¡¯t have many friends in this city since returning." Her tone was casual, as if discussing the weather, but I caught the thinly veiled disdain and disappointment in her eyes. For a moment, I was speechless. No anger, no pain, no outburst. I just took a drag. "Keep the card. I¡¯ll be there." I didn¡¯t notice when she left. By the time I finished the pack, my lungs burned. No point complaining. The money in that card alone surpassed everything I owned. Instead of pointless rage, I focused on the task at hand. I placed Xia Qingzhi¡¯s flyer by the computer. This was my first job in two months. Even if the client was a minor with possible mental issues, I couldn¡¯t afford to mess up. Because I needed the money. 2.Netherworld Showcase When vehicles grow sparse in the dead of night, the broad road finally reveals its own truths¡ªscars hidden beneath the crush of daylight, unseen by the living. Though I¡¯m but a third-rate detective, out of respect for the profession, I give my all to every case. To discern whether the girl was lying, the simplest way was to visit the Lamp-Less Lane at the right hour and seek out the underworld show mentioned in the ad. A quick search confirmed its existence in Jiangcheng. Among old locals, the lane bore another name: Luosijieding¡ª"Screw-Top." But its true meaning was far darker: "Corpses Piled to the Roof." During the Sino-Japanese War, this was Jiangcheng¡¯s largest slaughterhouse. Bodies were stacked layer upon layer until they reached the eaves. Residents claimed no streetlight could last here. Any installed would inexplicably die by dawn¡ªbulbs intact, filaments severed. Even flashlights failed. Motors died. Locals avoided the lane after dark. So if you met someone here at night¡­ they might not be human. "Fitting for an ¡®underworld show,¡¯" I mused. A staunch atheist, I dismissed it as an elaborate hoax after an afternoon of research. "Tonight will tell." I changed into casual clothes, pocketed the ad and my stun gun, and rode to the old district. By the time I arrived, night had fallen, and a drizzle veiled the streets. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "Just my luck." Rain rendered my stun gun a hazard. An encounter with a thug would be¡­ awkward. The labyrinthine alleys were lined with decaying buildings. Locals recoiled at the mention of Lamp-Less Lane, hurrying away. Directionless, I wandered until past 10 p.m. The rain thickened. Fog swallowed the world. The few open shops sold funeral goods¡ªpaper effigies, wreaths, shrouds. At 11, a funeral parlor owner extinguished the lights, lit two white candles, and thrust a grave-visiting black umbrella into my hands, shooing me into the storm. "Bizarre." Under the black canopy, the lane was a void. Lamp-Less Lane? A chill gripped me. After twenty lost minutes, I fumbled for my phone¡ªonly to spot an old woman waving from across the street. Why is she out alone? Drenched and frail, she trembled like a candle in the wind. "I¡¯ve lost something," she rasped, her voice a death rattle. I steadied myself. "What did you lose?" Her milky eyes rolled. "My grandson. Somewhere in these alleys." She lurched into the darkness. Grandson? A living child? The online rumors resurfaced. My hair stood on end. No. Fear is just instinct. The locals¡¯ behavior, the legends, even this woman¡ªall seemed staged. A prank? A reality show? Heartened, I followed her. An hour later, hopelessly lost, the woman halted. "Naughty boy, don¡¯t run off again¡ª" I froze. On the rain-slicked steps lay a tattered doll. She cradled it like a child, crooning: "Hush now, doll, don¡¯t be mad, I¡¯m sorry I threw you, made you sad. Dirt on your dress, mud on your face, Does it hurt? Let me embrace¡­" A madwoman. I¡¯d chased a delusion through the storm. Pity stirred me. I handed her my umbrella. She hesitated, then took it. As she vanished into the rain, I crouched under a crumbling awning¡ªand spotted the address: Lamp-Less Lane No. 44. The very place from the ad. I thumbed my stun gun, but a bony hand gripped my sleeve. The old woman had returned, silent as a ghost. How? My police training had failed me. "Boy," she whispered, shielding the doll, "don¡¯t wander at night." A white handkerchief slipped from her sleeve¡ªa noose-like scrap embroidered with verse: "Within the house, no art remains, Affairs of men are heaven¡¯s chains. Where favors flow, the earth must know, Ghosts walk where living dare not go." A chill seized me. The first characters spelled: ÎÝÄÚÓÐ¹í ¡ª "Ghosts Dwell Here." Mad or messenger? Logic prevailed. Steeling myself, I descended into the abyss. For a detective, the lure isn¡¯t truth¡ªbut the unraveling. The stairs groaned. The walls wept mildew. Lamp-Less Lane No. 44. Basement Level 4. Room 444¡­ 3.Horror Interview In Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, and Japanese, the pronunciation of the number "4" is similar to the word for "death," making it widely considered an unlucky number. For example, some buildings skip the 4th and 14th floors, Hong Kong''s New Ferry has no vessel numbered "4," Taiwan avoids license plates ending with "4," and people often steer clear of phone numbers ending in "4." I never used to believe in such superstitions, but that night, as I stared at the doorplate above me, I fell into deep thought. "Room 444." The address on the flyer was completely accurate. To my disbelief, such a place actually existed in Jiang City. "Should I go in?" It felt like reaching the final level of a game¡ªmy emotions were tangled. The pitch-black corridor seemed endless, my feet occasionally stepping on cracked, rotting wood and the corpses of insects. What unsettled me most was that this was the underground fourth floor. My phone had inexplicably blacked out, and my only weapon¡ªan imported German 8,000-volt anti-wolf taser¡ªhad also stopped working. I was left completely defenseless, forced to face whatever awaited me with nothing but my bare hands. The eerie, terrifying atmosphere, combined with the old woman''s earlier cryptic poem, made my heart race with fear. "If this were just a prank or some bizarre variety show, the effort put into it would be excessive. And despite my vigilance, I haven¡¯t spotted any cameras or obvious signs of human setup. This doesn¡¯t feel like a joke." My hand rested on the doorknob as I fantasized about what lay beyond¡ªperhaps a dozen cameras pointing at me, a well-dressed host embracing me enthusiastically, shouting into a microphone: "Congratulations, Mr. Gao! You¡¯ve passed the test! Here¡¯s your one-million-yuan prize!" Fantasy was pleasant; reality was always disappointing. With a creak, the door opened, sending dust flying as I stepped inside. "Hello? Anyone here?" A dim light swayed overhead, the musty stench of mildew rising from the carpet. Rotting tables and chairs were piled in the center of the room, and on the far wall, four crooked characters were scrawled: "Netherworld Showroom." No flashlights or cameras as I¡¯d imagined. No bloodied ghosts clutching their severed heads, either. The best-case scenario hadn¡¯t materialized, but neither had the worst. Behind the door was just an abandoned storage room. "Can¡¯t let my guard down. If Xia Qingzhi¡¯s address is real, this might be the first crime scene where her brother was killed. Meaning, I¡¯m standing in a room where a murder once took place." You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Gently closing the door, the flickering bulb overhead cast a rare glow, offering a sliver of comfort. "Hello?" The light was on, yet the furnishings gave the illusion of having been abandoned for years. Stepping onto the tattered, damp carpet felt strange¡ªlike treading on hair matted with congealed blood. The floorboards groaned underfoot, and through occasional gaps, I glimpsed the corpses of unidentified insects. The tables and chairs in the center were carved with chilling phrases, some surfaces scratched with long, jagged marks¡ªas if those who once sat there had endured extreme torment and suffering. At the far end, the words "Netherworld Showroom" were painted in blood-red pigment. At first glance, they seemed ordinary, but the longer I stared, the more sinister and grotesque they appeared. "Ordinary paint or varnish would flake and darken over time, turning a reddish-brown. This looks more like the characteristics of blood¡­" A smaller door stood beside the inner wall. Finding nothing outside, curiosity drove me to push it open. A sharp inhale¡ªthe temperature inside plummeted, freezing me in place. Inside the modestly sized room stood a two-meter-long black altar table. On the other side sat three figures in formal attire, resembling what I¡¯d imagined TV hosts would look like. The only unsettling detail? Each wore a paper-mask face, making them look like three paper effigies at first glance. "Are you here for the interview?" The middle figure lifted his head in stiff, mechanical movements, his voice hoarse and low, like the creak of a rusted tin can being pried open. "Yes, I am. I¡¯m here for the interview." These three were enigmas¡ªpossibly the killers of Xia Qingzhi¡¯s brother. Staying calm in front of cold-blooded murderers was crucial. "I came across your ad and found the Netherworld Showroom fascinating. In the internet age, I believe only innovation and uniqueness lead to success, so I¡¯d like to join you." Thinking on my feet, I placed the crumpled flyer on the black altar table for emphasis. "Fascinated?" The three exchanged glances. Maybe it was my imagination, but their paper masks seemed to twist into bone-chilling smiles. "You found your way here¡ªcall it fate. But being a host for the Netherworld Showroom isn¡¯t a job for the living." The masked man interlaced his fingers, resting his chin on them. "May I ask you a few questions?" "Of course." My expression remained steady. Years ago, after being expelled from the police academy, I¡¯d faked resumes and interviewed at nearly every major company in Jiang City. I had my own strategies for handling interviewers and had memorized template answers online. With inexplicable confidence, I smiled. "Go ahead." "Name." "Gao Jian." "Any prior experience in live streaming? Have you broadcast on other platforms before?" "Unfortunately, no. But I excel at communication and adaptability¡ªmy personality is well-suited for hosting." Honesty about weaknesses while emphasizing strengths was Interview Tactics 101. "Well said. But hosts for the Netherworld Showroom are different. We don¡¯t just interact with the audience¡ªwe prioritize survival." "Survival¡­" The moment the interviewer said it, I realized things were spiraling beyond my control. "Exactly. Simple, isn¡¯t it? Just stay alive." The middle figure stroked his mask, making the paper face contort eerily. "Our city hides countless legends¡ªthe thirteenth step of abandoned village schools, the last bus carrying the dead, flickering faces in midnight surveillance footage, the little girl in red forever lingering at doorways¡­ Are all these just fabrications?" "Probably¡­" Had this been before tonight, I¡¯d have said, "Yes, they¡¯re all made up," without hesitation. "Wait¡ªare you saying Netherworld Showroom hosts have to visit these places for content?!" "Quick on the uptake. I¡¯m starting to like you." His laughter sounded inhuman, like rusty gears grinding. "Lurking in the shadows past midnight, uncovering the city¡¯s deepest horrors¡ªdoesn¡¯t that sound thrilling?" "Live streaming haunted locations is certainly niche. Might satisfy a lot of people¡¯s morbid curiosity." I half-heartedly humored them while mentally preparing an exit strategy. Truthfully, I didn¡¯t hate watching horror films¡ªbut starring in one was an entirely different matter. Just imagining myself prying open coffins, breaking into haunted houses, and being chased by spirits made my skin crawl. "Ghost stories? No, no. You still don¡¯t understand." The masked man leaned forward, his paper-mask gaze piercing. "Reality is far more terrifying than fiction. I guarantee¡ªthe moment you learn the truth will mark the beginning of your deepest despair." "What do you mean?" "The answers lie within this city. You¡¯ll become a witness to another world, forced to confront true horror." His tone held no jest¡ªjust a flat, oppressive weight. "This doesn¡¯t feel like acting¡­" By now, I was 90% sure the Netherworld Showroom wasn¡¯t a prank or TV show. I¡¯d stumbled into something far worse. Leaning back, I readied myself to leave. But the masked man seemed to anticipate it. Without moving, the door behind me creaked shut on its own. "Don¡¯t be nervous," he said. "Your interview has only just begun." 4."Five questions" The door clicked shut behind me. Standing beside the altar table, I realized my forehead was slick with cold sweat. "Mr. Gao, are you alright? May I proceed with the questions?" The voice from behind the paper mask was devoid of warmth¡ªmore a demand than a question. "Y-yes, of course. Go ahead." Something was very wrong. My focus shifted to planning an escape route. Becoming a host for the Netherworld Showroom? Not a chance in hell. "Mr. Gao, the following questions require your utmost sincerity. If your answers fail to satisfy us¡­ you may never leave this place." He paused, picking up the crumpled flyer on the table. "Just like the true owner of this card¡ªXia Chi." Xia Chi! Xia Qingzhi¡¯s brother! So he really was killed here! My pulse spiked. Are the Jiang City police completely useless? How could a grown man vanish without a trace?! Xia Qingzhi hadn¡¯t lied. But why was there no record of her brother in the household registry? Why did even her own family have no memory of him? The inconsistencies were maddening. "Mr. Gao, please listen carefully." This time, the speaker was the figure on the left. The three were identical in build, distinguishable only by the varying degrees of wear on their paper masks. "When I was thirteen, I killed my little sister because her crying annoyed me. I threw her body into the well outside. The next day, it was gone. Five years later, I killed a friend over a petty argument and dumped his body in the same well. The next day, it vanished. Ten years later, I got a woman pregnant while drunk. When she became a nuisance, I killed her and disposed of her in the well. The next day, the body disappeared. Fifteen years later, I murdered my boss after he reprimanded me. Into the well. The next day¡ªgone. Twenty years later, I grew tired of caring for my bedridden mother. So I killed her too. Threw her into the well. But the next day¡­ her body was still there. I checked on the third day, the fourth¡ªevery day after. It never disappeared." "Mr. Gao, your first test is to tell me: Why didn¡¯t my mother¡¯s body vanish?" "What kind of question is this?!" I¡¯d absorbed every word, yet the answer eluded me. This wasn¡¯t a job interview¡ªit felt like a psychological test for criminals. Their flat, matter-of-fact tone unnerved me, as if an invisible hand were tightening around my throat in the dark. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. "Thirty seconds have passed. Provide your answer." Steeling myself, I pieced together the sparse clues. "Every time you disposed of a body, it vanished the next day¡ªexcept your mother¡¯s. The only logical explanation is¡­ **your mother was the one cleaning up after you.** She removed the other bodies. But once she was dead, no one was left to hide your crimes." I stole a glance at the masked figure. No reaction. "Proceed to the second question." No confirmation, no denial¡ªjust relentless momentum. "Have you heard of ¡®snuff films¡¯? Underground recordings filled with real torture and murder, circulated only among certain circles. Some say the killers themselves film these atrocities. One night, while drinking, a friend boasted he owned such tapes. Like a glutton risking death for fugu or scorpion delicacies, my curiosity got the better of me. I begged to watch. He invited me to a secluded cabin in the mountains. I arrived on time; he was thirty minutes late. ¡®Sorry, sorry! My youngest spiked a fever¡ªrefused to take his medicine.¡¯ ¡®Kids, right? I get it.¡¯ ¡®Haha, let¡¯s begin.¡¯ The film played. The backdrop was a child¡¯s agonized sobs and manic laughter. A ten-year-old, tortured for twenty minutes by a masked killer before dying. The brutality was too much. I shut it off midway, shouting: ¡®How can you watch this?! You¡¯re a parent yourself!¡¯ My friend chuckled, unfazed. ¡®Yeah, I¡¯ve got two kids. So what?¡¯" "Mr. Gao, your task is to deduce: Does the narrator survive the cabin?" Compared to the first riddle, this one dripped with even more derangement. "Just watching a film shouldn¡¯t be fatal¡­ unless¡ª" A detail snagged my attention. The friend claimed he had two children. Yet his excuse for being late was ¡®my youngest (third) was sick.¡¯ If he only had two, where was the third? "The friend was thirty minutes late. The child in the film was tortured for twenty minutes¡­ Was the masked killer the friend himself?!" The realization chilled me. "Mr. Gao, time¡¯s up." "I believe the narrator doesn¡¯t leave alive. He likely becomes the second victim in his friend¡¯s snuff collection¡­" The air grew heavier. I loosened my collar, gripping the defunct taser in my pocket. "Good. Third question." "They were childhood sweethearts, dreaming of growing old together. At thirty-five, she was diagnosed with lung cancer. Holding the report, she laughed through tears. She didn¡¯t smoke, had no vices¡ªwhy cancer? Visiting his office, she found her favorite dried nuts in his drawer¡­ beside a bottle of pills. The label was damning. She wept. Three days later, she lit birthday candles for him¡ªthough he wasn¡¯t there. Thirty-four long candles, one short. Smiling through tears, she whispered: ¡®You¡¯ve lost weight.¡¯" "Explain why she said he¡¯d ¡®lost weight.¡¯" This one felt familiar, but the answer danced just out of reach. After turning it over, I ventured a macabre guess: "The man was poisoning her nuts with carcinogens. When she discovered the betrayal, she killed him. Rendered his fat into candle wax¡ªbut there wasn¡¯t enough for thirty-five. Hence, ¡®you¡¯ve lost weight.¡¯" "Creative. Fourth question." "After cheating, I pushed my girlfriend from the sixth floor, staging her death as suicide. The police bought it. But guilt haunted me¡ªI swore she¡¯d return. On the seventh-day funeral rite, a mystic warned: ¡®The vengeful dead come tonight. Hide under your bed. If she finds you, you¡¯re doomed.¡¯ At midnight, a ¡®thud¡­ thud¡­ thud¡¯ echoed¡ªlike a basketball bouncing. When the bedroom door creaked open, I knew I was dead." "What did the narrator see that sealed his fate?" "If she died, how could she¡ª? Wait¡­" The riddle hinged on her being undead¡ªor worse. "Just answer." My mind raced beyond the puzzle. Why these questions? What¡¯s their goal? "Assuming the scenario holds¡­ she fell headfirst. The ¡®thuds¡¯ were her head bouncing up the stairs. When the door opened, the man under the bed saw her upside-down face peering at him. That¡¯s why he knew it was over." "Excellent. One final question." All three spoke in unison¡ªa synchronization so perfect it was grotesque. Sweat dripped from my jaw. The masked figures leaned forward. "Mr. Gao¡­ do you believe in ghosts?" 5. "Im a streamer." The question of whether ghosts exist is far more complicated than the chicken-or-egg dilemma. After all, most people know the taste of chicken and eggs, but few have ever seen a ghost. Even professional paranormal researchers would struggle to give a definitive answer¡ªlet alone a third-rate detective like me, raised under the red flag and nurtured by the spring breeze. But not knowing doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t answer. In life, you don¡¯t always need the right answer¡ªjust the one others want to hear. The masked man had said earlier: To be a Netherworld Showroom host, you must not only engage your audience but also protect yourself. That was a clue. The test had begun the moment I stepped inside. Instead of agonizing over the existence of ghosts, I retraced the night¡¯s events: the legends of Wudeng Road, the old woman clutching a doll in the rain, the interviewers with their paper masks, the five twisted questions. Everything seemed designed to shatter common sense, priming me for this final question. After all that buildup, the answer they wanted was obvious. "I believe ghosts exist. That¡¯s my answer." The moment I spoke, applause echoed through the cramped room. The three interviewers clapped stiffly. "Four out of five correct. Congratulations, Mr. Gao. You¡¯re now officially a contracted host for the Netherworld Showroom." Having been rejected by countless companies in Jiang City, I¡¯d developed a complex about failure. Yet here I was, inexplicably hired¡ªwith zero joy in my heart. "That¡¯s it? Seems¡­ rushed." "Not at all. You¡¯re the most suitable candidate we¡¯ve encountered. If you have no further questions, let¡¯s proceed with the contract." The central figure rose slowly. He was my height, his grotesque paper mask level with mine across the table. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. "Actually, which question did I get wrong?" A flaw in my reasoning was fatal for a detective. "You¡¯ll learn soon enough¡­" A guttural chuckle leaked from behind the mask. "Because you¡¯ll experience that despair firsthand. You¡¯ll understand exactly where you went wrong." "Firsthand? That¡¯s a terrible answer." No sane person would volunteer for the scenarios in those questions. "Any other concerns, Mr. Gao?" "None¡­" Lies. My mind swarmed with unspoken questions¡ªones that would either go unanswered or get me killed. The smartest move was to play along, leave, then call the police on these lunatics. "Then let¡¯s finalize the contract." From beneath the altar table, he produced an aged, yellowed scroll and seized my right hand, pressing it onto the paper. "So cold¡­" His touch was unnaturally icy, like a corpse in a morgue. Before I could react, a grotesque insect scuttled from the floorboards¡ªcentipede-like, but with a single horn protruding from its head. It raced up the table leg. I tried to pull away, but the masked man¡¯s grip was iron. The creature lunged, sinking its fangs into my wrist. "Ah¡ª!" The pain was needle-sharp, bone-deep¡ªbut brief. When it faded, a black, plum-blossom-shaped wound marked my wrist. Blood soaked the scroll, and the insect lay shriveled in the floor cracks. "Contract sealed. From today, you belong to the Netherworld Showroom." His tone remained flat as he retrieved a leather case. "We provide all equipment. Your job is to create compelling content." Inside lay a full live stream kit: camera, encoder, selfie stick, tripod, even a smartphone¡ªall streaked with dried blood. "Tasks are sent directly to this phone. You may choose your live stream format, but only our devices can capture what ordinary eyes can¡¯t see." "After each live stream , we score you based on viewership and gifts. Accumulate points to exchange for¡­ unique rewards." "But rewards demand penalties. Should your score dip negative, you¡¯ll vanish¡ªjust like Xia Chi." My composure cracked. An organization capable of erasing people wholesale? And now I was trapped. "Details are in the contract. Any questions?" The bloodstained scroll listed terms: no disclosing the Showroom¡¯s existence, no refusing assignments. The back held a point-exchange table: - 1 point = 100g pure gold (Currently ~£¤25,000) - 5 points = Thai kuman thong (child spirit) - 7 points = Western Hunan corpse-gu - 10 points = Tainted Earth¡¯s Flesh (a mythical fungus) - 12 points = Jade Maiden¡¯s Joyful Spirit Manual (hand-copied) - 15 points = Mortal¡¯s Third Eye (awakening) - 20 points = Bone and Sinew Cleansing - 30 points = ¡­ The list descended into increasingly esoteric horrors. At the very bottom: ¡­ - 1,000 points = 12 extra hours of life - 10,000 points = Freedom (reset to origin) "Study the equipment. Your first live stream is likely tomorrow night." "What if I refuse?" "Your current score is zero. Skipping a live stream deducts 10 points." "Got it. Can I leave now?" Immediately. "Use the provided phone to contact me." The masked man waved, and the door creaked open. "You¡¯re clever, Mr. Gao. Take this seriously. Don¡¯t gamble with your life." "Trust me, I¡¯m not done living." Gripping the case, I bolted into the hallway, legs numb as plaster. His final words faded behind me: "I sincerely hope you survive¡­" --- The streets were a blur. Only when headlights pierced the dark did I stop, gasping. A taxi idled nearby, its driver a balding middle-aged man. "New District¡ªeast end of Tingtang Road." I pounded the window. "£¤20 minimum, plus £¤1 fuel surcharge." "Just drive." I clutched the case, still panting. "Look, pal, it¡¯s late. You¡¯re sprinting around with a mysterious case¡ªhow do I know you¡¯re not¡ª" I flipped it open, revealing the camera. "Relax. I¡¯m just a daredevil streamer with a death wish." 6."A talisman long stored at the bottom of the chest" Fortunately, it was dark, so the bloodstains on the equipment weren¡¯t too noticeable¡ªotherwise, I¡¯d really have no way to explain myself clearly. After sending the balding uncle back to the adult store, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. I barely managed to doze off at dawn, only to have a nightmare about being locked in a deserted village inn by a female ghost. With dark circles under my eyes, I opened the shop. No matter how I felt, business had to go on as usual. I brewed myself a strong cup of tea and sat at the computer desk, organizing last night¡¯s encounter and documenting it in writing on the computer. It was a habit I¡¯d developed years ago¡ªmeticulously recalling events helped me think and prevented me from missing important clues. A fresh morning breeze drifted into the room, lifting the military coat that served as a door curtain. A lively, innocent-looking girl slipped in quietly. ¡°Xia Qingzhi, don¡¯t you have class today?¡± My train of thought interrupted, I looked at the girl with exhaustion. ¡°It¡¯s still early. I just dropped by on my way.¡± Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. ¡°Any progress on my brother¡¯s case?¡± Her hopeful expression made it hard for me to tell the truth. Staring at her well-endowed chest¡ªno, her flushed cheeks¡ªI turned the computer screen away. ¡°Last night, I went to the No-Light Road¡¯s Netherworld Show based on the address from the card. I found some traces related to your brother. At least now I can confirm you weren¡¯t lying¡ªyour brother did exist.¡± ¡°Then¡­ do you know where he is now?¡± ¡°That¡¯ll require further investigation. I need more time.¡± I casually grabbed the egg pancake she was holding. After last night¡¯s ordeal, the aroma finally made my stomach growl. ¡°Hey! That¡¯s my breakfast!¡± ¡°Next time, go easy on the lettuce and add more chili¡­¡± After Xia Qingzhi left, I opened the leather suitcase I¡¯d brought back from the Netherworld Show and wiped the bloodstains off the live-streaming equipment, fiddling with it. The selfie stick and camera weren¡¯t particularly interesting, but the large-screen phone caught my attention. After plugging it in and waiting five minutes, it finally booted up. The nearly eight-inch screen had only three icons: a phonebook, a mailbox, and a third one that was a black-and-white photo of me! Clicking on the strange app, a line of text appeared: *¡°Task announcement in 12 hours and 30 minutes.¡±* ¡°Not bad for knockoff equipment¡ªpretty high-tech.¡± I glanced at the digital clock on the wall. It was 7:30 a.m., meaning the Netherworld Show¡¯s task would be announced at 8 p.m. tonight. ¡°Again at night?¡± I could almost smell the conspiracy. This time, I couldn¡¯t just charge in recklessly¡ªI had to be fully prepared. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Pulling out my own phone, I scrolled through my contacts and dialed a familiar number. ¡°Hey, Er Gouzi, got a job for you.¡± On the other end, the sound of shattering bottles and a woman¡¯s scream echoed before someone finally picked up. ¡°Jian-ge, I¡¯m kinda busy here. Make it quick.¡± ¡°Wow, Er Gou, you¡¯ve even learned idioms now?¡± The young man on the other end, Chen Er Gou¡ªnicknamed Er Gouzi¡ªhad dropped out of school at fourteen to become a street punk. Three years ago, he¡¯d tried to extort protection money from my shop, only for me to tie him up, electrocute him, and ¡°educate¡± him for half an hour. After that, he saw the light, turned over a new leaf, and became one of my informants. In this line of work, you deal with all kinds of people. Informants provide intel and do odd jobs for me, and in return, I pay them. A mutually beneficial arrangement¡ªa different kind of transaction. ¡°I¡¯m investigating a supernatural disappearance case. I need you to get me some tools to deal with spirits.¡± ¡°Jian-ge, the cops are almost here. If you wanna tell ghost stories, can it wait till tonight? *Motherf¡ª! Beat him to death!* Uh, Jian-ge, I wasn¡¯t talking to you!¡± ¡°I know it¡¯s hard to believe, but this isn¡¯t a joke. Before dark, I need you to get me some blessed talismans or Buddhist amulets. Price isn¡¯t an issue, but they¡¯ve gotta be the real deal.¡± ¡°Dog-ge, cops are here!¡± ¡°Fall back! Fall back! Use the back door! Hey, Jian-ge, I¡¯ll get you the goods! *Scram! Remember this¡ªfrom now on, this bathhouse is my turf! Move!*¡± As police sirens grew louder on the other end, I couldn¡¯t help but sigh. Youth truly was something else. Around two or three in the afternoon, a young man with a bandaged forehead and his right arm in a cast walked into the adult store. His left hand carried an old wooden box. ¡°Jian-ge, check it out.¡± Er Gou placed the box on the table and opened it with one hand, revealing a jumble of colorful talismans and random exorcism tools. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what you needed, so I tied up Blind Liu, the fortune-teller from the overpass. This stuff is all from his place.¡± ¡°Blind Liu?¡± I¡¯d crossed paths with him once at the police station after he¡¯d been warned for secretly installing cameras in hotels. The guy was just a con artist pretending to be blind¡­ My suspicions deepened when I pulled out a silver-plated cross and two long strands of garlic from the box. ¡°What is this? East-meets-West exorcism? His range is impressive.¡± Whatever. At this point, I wasn¡¯t holding out much hope. I resigned myself to sorting the talismans and stuffing them into my pockets. Desperate times called for desperate measures¡ªmaybe Blind Liu was some hidden master living in obscurity. If so, I¡¯d hit the jackpot. ¡°Jian-ge, if there¡¯s nothing else, I¡¯ll head out. Blind Liu¡¯s still tied up, and I¡¯m worried the guys might go too hard on the old man.¡± Er Gou picked up the now-empty box and turned to leave. ¡°Wait.¡± Just as he lifted the box, I spotted an unusual talisman. It was stuck to the bottom, so old and yellowed it had almost merged with the wood. ¡°Jian-ge, this peachwood box has been in Blind Liu¡¯s family for generations. Don¡¯t get any ideas¡ªhe¡¯ll fight me to the death over it.¡± Er Gou rubbed his cast. ¡°The old man¡¯s got some skills¡­¡± Hearing that only made me more convinced the box was special. True enough¡ªdespite its age, the wooden box didn¡¯t smell musty at all. Instead, it carried an indescribable aura. ¡°You can take the box, but this talisman stays with me.¡± I went into the back room and put on disposable autopsy gloves before carefully peeling the talisman off the bottom. It was incredibly thin, made of an unidentifiable material, yet far more durable than ordinary paper. ¡°Jian-ge, what¡¯s written on it?¡± ¡°If I could read it, would I be selling adult toys for a living?¡± The two of us stared blankly at the flamboyant calligraphy on the talisman. We could tell it was Chinese, but the meaning was beyond us. Strangely, as soon as the talisman was removed, a foul odor wafted from the peachwood box. Sensing trouble, I shoved fifty yuan into Er Gou¡¯s hand and told him to return the box ASAP. By nightfall, I was fully geared up, sitting quietly at the table, watching the clock on the wall. ¡°Eight o¡¯clock!¡± The moment the hour hand struck, the phone screen lit up. No ringtone, no vibration, no notification¡ªjust a cold glow as an unknown number called. ¡°Hello¡­¡± I pressed the icy phone to my ear. All I heard was a woman sobbing. ¡°Who are you looking for?¡± The crying slowly stopped, but a sense of terror crept closer, as if the woman on the other end was crawling out of the phone and onto my shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m looking for someone.¡± The voice was devoid of emotion, cold as a lone tombstone in a desolate graveyard. ¡°Sorry, this shop only sells adult products. If you really need something, you can add me on WeChat¡­¡± Trembling, I fumbled for words, though even I had no idea what I was saying. ¡°Help me find someone. Years ago, he hid me under the floorboards, inside the walls, behind the bathroom tub¡­ Find him. Find him!¡± The voice cut off abruptly, leaving me with endless speculation. ¡°Was she dismembered?¡± I shuddered. At the same time, a new text appeared in the mailbox. *¡°Night has fallen, and dormant desires are about to erupt. Pick up the guest room phone, answer the suggestive questions. She¡¯s already at the door, staring with blood-red eyes, waiting for you to invite her in¡­¡±* *¡°Live-stream mission: Check into Room 203 of the Anxin Inn at midnight and survive until sunrise.¡±* Reading the text, I abandoned all hope of luck. I knew the place mentioned in the mission¡ªjust three months ago, a man had died there under grotesque circumstances.