Lan Zhan POV

The last bell of the day rang, and students poured into the hallway like a flood, eager to escape. Chen Yuxi, however, had enough energy to power a small city.

“Six o’clock! Paranormal Literature Club! Ghost stories! Fate! Destiny!” Chen chirped, waving his arms around dramatically as we walked.

“Chen,” I said calmly, “you’re going to scare the janitor.”

“That’s the point!” he countered, eyes shining. “What if the janitor is a ghost?”

Mo Longyan, walking beside us with his usual unreadable expression, sighed. “If the janitor is a ghost, I’d rather not know. He already stares at me like I stole his mop.”

I adjusted my school bag strap. “Focus. Where exactly is this club?”

Mo paused, reaching into his pocket. He unfolded a crumpled flyer.

Paranormal Literature Club

Exploring myths, spirits, and tales of the unknown.

Room 3B, Old Wing. 6:00 PM.

The flyer had a faded design—inky shadows curling into the outline of a lantern. Chen leaned over Mo’s shoulder to read it.

“Room 3B?!” he gasped. “That’s in the old wing. The one that’s always dark. The one that smells like chalk and mystery. The one where—”

“The one where the heating doesn’t work probably,” Mo cut in dryly. “Bring a jacket.”

Chen puffed up his cheeks. “You’re no fun.”

I hid a small smile.

The three of us lingered in the library until nearly six. Chen couldn’t stop whispering about ghost sightings on campus. Mo read silently, ignoring him. I studied the shifting light outside the windows as evening drew closer.

By the time we left, the hallways were quiet—eerily so. Our footsteps echoed against the tiled floor as we headed toward the old wing.

“Why is it always the old wing?” Chen muttered, clutching his backpack straps like they were lifelines. “Why can’t paranormal clubs meet in, I don’t know…a cafeteria? Cafeterias aren’t haunted. Unless the meatloaf counts.”

Mo gave him a sidelong glance. “You talk too much when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Chen squeaked. “I’m thrilled! Totally different!”

Room 3B was at the end of a dim corridor. The windows were smudged, and only half the ceiling lights worked. A faint chill drifted from the cracks in the old wooden door.

Chen hesitated. “You first.”

Mo gestured at me. “Lan Zhan should go. He’s fearless.”

“I’m not fearless,” I said evenly. “Just…calm.”

“Same difference,” Mo replied.

With no further debate, I slid the door open.

The room smelled faintly of dust and old paper. Desks were arranged in a half-circle. At the front stood a single figure—the Club President named Qiao Yijun.

He had wild hair and a grin that looked permanent, and a scarf far too heavy for indoors. His eyes glinted with enthusiasm as he spread his arms like a stage actor.

“Welcome, seekers of the unknown!”

Chen jumped three inches. “He is haunted!”

Qiao Yijun smiled faintly. “Not haunted. Merely…attuned.”

Mo leaned closer to me. “He rehearsed that.”

I gave a tiny nod. Likely.

The president clapped once. “Tonight, we share tales. Stories of shadows, spirits, and what lingers just beyond sight. To begin—do you know of the Midnight Bus?”

Chen raised both hands. “Yes! The one where if you board after midnight, it’s driven by a ghost and filled with passengers who aren’t—”

“Alive,” the president finished, voice low. “And if you realize too late, you never get off again.”

Chen shuddered. “Ten out of ten nightmare fuel.”

Qiao Yijun paced slowly, scarf trailing. “Or the tale of Nu Gui, the woman in red, forever seeking justice through terror.”

Chen squeaked. “Lan…you’re not scared, right? Because I’m not scared. Totally calm.”

“I believe you,” I said evenly.

Mo smirked faintly. “You’re shaking so hard, your chair might file a noise complaint.”

Chen smacked his knees. “Nerves of steel. Pure courage. That’s me!”

The overhead light flickered.

Chen screamed.

“Ah. Perfect atmosphere,” Qiao Yijun said, delighted.

Mo deadpanned, “Or perfect wiring issues.”

I glimpsed a shadow ripple across the window for a fleeting moment, though no one was outside.

Qiao Yijun straightened. “And now…have you heard of the Manmuhda?”

Chen froze. “Man…what?”

“A spirit, once human, now changed,” president Qiao Yijun said, voice soft. “Manmuhda is not one ghost. It is a category, like ‘ghost’ itself. They were once humans, but through death, tragedy, or unfinished business, they became…something else.”

He stepped closer, hands clasped. “Some Manmuhda follow laughter, drawn to it like moths to flame. Others linger near mirrors, or shadows, or abandoned hallways. Each has a name, a story, a way it haunts. Tonight, you’ve glimpsed one—The Laughter Manmuhda. It notices when joy erupts and watches…silently, patiently.”

Chen clutched my sleeve. “Lan…tell me he’s joking.”

I placed my teacup down calmly. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Qiao Yijun smiled faintly. “There are others: The Mirror Manmuhda, the Hollow Footsteps Manmuhda…many ways of being, many ways of watching. And like all Manmuhda, they are curious. Patient. Waiting for the right moment to make themselves known.”

At that moment, a stack of books on the back shelf toppled. Chen shrieked. “IT’S HERE!”

Mo didn’t even glance. “Gravity exists, Chen. Relax.”

I kept my eyes on the shadows stretching along the wall. They shifted, almost like…movement.

Qiao Yijun clasped his hands. “And that concludes our first meeting.”

Chen shot out of his seat. “Concludes?! After summoning a shadow ghost that stalks laughter?!”

Mo rose, adjusting his bag lazily. “That’s what you get for laughing every ten seconds.”

Chen pouted, still clinging to my sleeve. “Lan, you believe me, right? That wasn’t normal. That was supernatural!”

I met his gaze evenly. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Later, outside

The sky had nearly turned black. Crickets chirped. The campus was empty. Chen stayed glued to my side, glancing behind every five steps.

Mo sighed. “If Manmuhda really follows laughter, Chen will get us all killed.”

“Rude!” Chen squeaked. “My laughter is delightful!”

“Delightful bait,” Mo corrected.

I said nothing. As we passed the darkened windows of the old wing, I thought I saw a ripple in the reflection.

Watching.

Waiting.