He quickly turned around, but there was nothing nearby that could have caught his clothing.

It was now exactly midnight, and a few scattered messages popped up in the group chat.

Lu Wanting: Are you guys awake? I can’t sleep!

Meng Qiyan: After what happened, who could possibly sleep?

Lu Wanting: I keep hearing the computer buzzing and crackling; it’s so annoying.

Bai Li: You’re just imagining it.

Liu Mang: As soon as I came in, I unplugged the power cable right away.

Li Duo: Thanks, man. Great idea.

Lu Wanting: How are that couple doing? They’ve been so quiet.

Zhang Bin: Thanks for asking. I’m in my girlfriend’s room with her.

Fang Chen tossed his phone aside and leaned back, lying on the bed. He closed his eyes, feeling as if he’d missed some crucial detail.

In his mind, he replayed everything that had happened tonight over and over, scrutinizing every scene, every word. Once the seeds of doubt are planted, they grow freely in your mind without any watering.

As time passed, the phone vibrations in the group chat gradually stopped, yet Fang Chen still felt wide awake. He tossed and turned in bed until, finally, he sat up and looked out the window.

The moon hung in the night sky, its light casting a glow over the mist, faintly illuminating it as the breeze stirred. The figures floating in the fog looked like wandering white silhouettes. The night here didn’t seem so different from the world he knew.

Then, suddenly—a soft thud echoed.

He heard something heavy fall from above, muffled, and then everything went silent.

Estimating its position, Fang Chen realized the sound had come from directly above his room—right where the hanging corpse was in the attic! His heart immediately leaped to his throat.

He sprang up in bed, holding his breath, listening to every surrounding sound—the rustle of leaves, the faint chirping of insects, the wind…

Then, amidst these ordinary sounds, an unexpected knocking emerged.

——Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three knocks, followed by a pause.

Fang Chen didn’t respond. He tiptoed closer to the door.

The door was wooden, without a peephole. After looking around, he saw that the only visible opening was a small gap at the bottom.

——Knock. Knock. Knock.

The knocking continued, rhythmic and mechanical, with an almost determined sense of persistence.

He knelt down, eyes squinting, pressing his face to the floor to look under the door.

The empty hallway stretched into darkness, everything seemingly normal, if you ignored the knocking, like a beating drum.

Outside the door, there were no feet.

Whoever—or whatever—it was, wasn’t standing on the ground.

Fang Chen couldn’t imagine the kind of posture this uninvited guest was in to knock on the door.

“If someone comes knocking, make sure to check carefully…” The woodworker’s final warning echoed in his mind.

Fang Chen decided to ignore the situation and return to bed, but as he started to rise, he felt a faint tickling on his neck.

It was as if something soft and long brushed against him gently.

His body froze in that moment. The vengeful look in the eyes of the woman in red flashed through his mind.

He was sure his hand had only touched the doorknob, never actually turning it, so there was no way anything could have come in.

A great pressure loomed from above, an icy chill poured over him from head to toe.

If he looked up now, what would he see? Best not to think about it.

Fang Chen subtly prepared himself, lightly flexing his muscles, counting down in his mind. Just as he prepared to confront it, the pressure suddenly vanished.

It was as if it had never been there.

——Bang bang bang!

The knocking grew urgent and frantic, accompanied by a familiar female voice.

“Fang Chen, Fang Chen, are you there?”

Meng Qiyan?

Using the same method as before, Fang Chen peered under the door. Thankfully, this time, it was a normal person.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice rougher than he’d expected.

She sounded a bit embarrassed. “Fang, are you… scared?”

“No.”

“…Can I sleep with you tonight?”

If she were just afraid, shouldn’t she be seeking out someone else first? Fang Chen continued, “Did you try Lu Wanting?”

“I did! I knocked on everyone’s doors, and you’re the only one who answered.”

This girl—timid yet brave at the same time.

“It’s just…” Seeing that he hadn’t replied, she hesitated before adding, “I’m not sure if I was imagining it, but it sounded like something heavy fell from the attic above, so I didn’t dare stay alone.”

So she had heard the sounds from above too, which meant it had actually happened. If Meng Qiyan hadn’t come, he’d likely be preparing for a physical showdown with an unknown presence right now.

He silently thanked her in his mind, opened the door, and saw her shivering with her blanket in the hallway.

“Thanks, Fang!” Her eyes lit up, as if seeing her savior, and she darted inside, refusing to linger in the hallway even a second longer.

Just as he closed the door, a hand suddenly stopped it.

“I’m scared too.” Yan Xuan’s blank expression followed behind.

Yeah, right.

Looking at the man, a good few inches taller than himself, Fang Chen raised an eyebrow. “Got another reason?”

“If she can come in, why can’t I? A man and a woman alone, I should supervise.”

Fair enough.

Refusing again would seem unreasonable.

Fang Chen stepped aside slightly and nodded inside. Just as they brushed past each other, a faint sandalwood scent wafted by, and Yan Xuan whispered three silent words, “Be on guard.”

It was clear Meng Qiyan was genuinely afraid. Once inside, she instinctively chose a corner, turning her back to the two men and pulling her blanket over her head to sleep.

Fang Chen gestured for Yan Xuan to make himself comfortable and lay back down on the bed.

This interruption left him wide awake. Glancing at his phone, he saw it was almost one in the morning.

He lay on his back, hands crossed under his head, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the ceiling.

Beyond that thin layer of wood was the corpse of the woman who had taken her own life, still hanging from the beam.

It was a lifeless shell retaining its human shape, a lingering image of what had once been a person.

A life that could have burned brightly for decades had been extinguished. Where had all that energy gone? Could it be wandering somewhere, filled with resentment, lurking in some dark corner?

Is she still hanging there?

Fang Chen turned and met a pair of narrow phoenix eyes.

The owner of those eyes smiled, asking, “What are you thinking about?”

“The woman who hanged herself… Her body seemed strange.”

Yan Xuan moved closer, his warm breath brushing against Fang Chen’s ear, “You noticed too?”

“Yes, but I still can’t figure out what was wrong.”

“It’s her feet,” Yan Xuan confirmed.

It was as if two wires had suddenly connected in Fang Chen’s mind, sending an electric jolt through him.

Now he remembered!

“Of course…” Fang Chen refocused on the ceiling. “One of the biggest taboos with hanging corpses is when their feet face you.”

“If someone dies by hanging, they unconsciously struggle at the end, with their toes pointing downward. After death, they’ll naturally be hanging downward.”

“But if they were murdered first, then made to look like they hanged themselves…”

“Then rigor mortis will set in, making the feet face straight toward you, or even tilt upward.”

Fang Chen recalled that scene in the attic—the corpse in red slowly turning 180 degrees in mid-air, her toes pointing straight at him.

—She was murdered.