Supernatural and Paranormal Research Society

As long as he doesn't admit it.

As long as he doesn't expose it.

That's just fatigue.

It's just an illusion.

It was just a coincidence.

The red line in the mirror is still slowly crawling.

He lowered his eyes, pretending not to see.

Chen Haoran looked at the mirror, at the "self" being slowly pulled away, and his Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.

It's the third day.

The Yin meridians... have already reached Baihui (GV20).

Chen Haoran stared at the water stains on the edge of the sink, his pupils trembling slightly.

Was he seeing things?

The face reflected in the mirror was clearly defined, but those eyes... seemed to be covered by a thin, indelible veil, staring straight at him.

The screen was filled with question marks, and the rhythm started to drift.

Why did the streamer suddenly look down?

[Is he afraid and unable to make eye contact?]

[Seriously, summoning Bloody Mary requires constantly staring in the mirror?! What is the streamer doing?!]

Outside the door, Li Lingyun's cough suddenly rang out.

"Cough cough cough! Cough!!!"

The last sound was especially heavy, carrying a desperate, do-or-die force, as if it were shaking out one's internal organs.

signal!

Chen Haoran snapped back to his senses, his fingernails digging deep into his palms.

The stinging sensation tore a hole in his muddled mind.

It's an illusion.

It must be a hallucination caused by lack of rest.

He repeated it frantically in his mind, like chanting a protective spell.

The medicine the doctor prescribed is still in my bag; it's for calming the nerves and helping with sleep. I should feel better after taking it.

He clung to this idea, completely forgetting that while tranquilizers could suppress insomnia, they couldn't suppress the malevolent energy seeping from the very bones. He also forgot that the words "exorcism" never appeared on modern medical prescriptions!

He took a deep breath and forced himself to lift his head.

The people in the mirror all looked up in unison.

Blink, synchronized.

Raise your hand, in sync.

Even the rise and fall of the chest cavity during breathing is perfectly synchronized.

But Chen Haoran felt a churning in his stomach.

That's perfect.

It's as perfect as a puppet with a pre-programmed routine, lacking the subtle tremors and stiffness that a living person should have.

The candlelight flickered, casting a dim and shimmering reflection on the mirror.

The face quickly lost its color in the light and shadow, revealing a stiff, waxy white.

The blood vessels under his skin were bluish-gray, like a frozen riverbed, faintly visible, and the same color as the ring of fingerprints on the back of his neck.

...like a dead person.

The thought slithered out like a venomous snake. He abruptly closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he forced out his usual roguish smile.

"Did you guys see that?"

He faced the camera, deliberately raising his voice to suppress the pounding of his heart:

"Those rumored foreign devils are nothing special. With me, the Berserker, standing right here, would she dare show her face?"

The chat was instantly flooded with comments like "666", "Hard control", and "The streamer is awesome".

His grin widened, but his eyes remained devoid of warmth.

Only he knew that the fingertips of his right hand, hanging by his side, were trembling uncontrollably.

"Is there anything else you'd like to see? Feel free to ask."

He was full of bravado, and his tone revealed a kind of arrogant, "what's the use of trying" attitude.

With so many people in the live stream, the flow of the conversation was immediately disrupted.

[Is three repetitions of the basic version enough? I've heard that you need to repeat it thirteen times to truly open up the path.]

[This streamer is so arrogant, dare to repeat it thirteen times in one go? If not, I'm unfollowing.]

Chen Haoran's fingertips stiffened slightly.

Thirteen times.

There's no such custom in folklore, but live streaming is all about risking your life.

He can't retreat.

The Berserker's reputation, once tarnished, is truly gone forever.

"OK."

He scoffed softly, turning back to the mirror, his back ramrod straight.

"Open your eyes wide and don't blink."

He began to read.

The first time, the voice was clear and bright, with a deliberately crafted playfulness.

The third time, the speaking speed increased, and the ending sounds became more strained.

On the sixth time, the temperature in the bathroom started to drop.

It wasn't the air from the air conditioner; it was the dampness creeping up the floor tiles.

It felt like someone had poured half a bucket of well water into a corner; the chill seeped into my bones through my trouser legs and wrapped around my ankles.

Li Lingyun, standing outside the door, couldn't help but rub his arms and mutter through the door:

"This is weird, it's the middle of summer and it feels like I've stepped into a freezer..."

Chen Haoran didn't hear it.

All his senses were drawn into the mirror.

By the tenth time, his voice was hoarse.

It felt like my throat was stuffed with a wad of soaked cotton; every syllable I uttered required me to squeeze my chest.

The mirror began to fog up.

It wasn't water vapor, but a white haze formed from some kind of viscous, cold condensation, with a grayish-dark edge.

In his pupils, the last vestiges of reason were being devoured by a strange excitement.

It was as if a voice was whispering deep within my ear, damp and lingering:

Once you've finished reading it... that's all.

On the twelfth time, he spoke at a speed that was almost manic.

"Bloody Mary... show me your face!"

The thirteenth time!

As the last note faded, he seemed to have his last bit of strength drained away, and he took a sudden half-step back, his back slamming heavily against the tiled wall.

He was panting heavily.

His face was ashen white.

He stared at the camera, then suddenly raised his voice, almost screaming:

"I'm fine! I'm perfectly fine! It's all for the show! It's fake!"

The comments section was flooded with people marveling at his courage and resilience.

Only he knew that his left hand, hanging outside the camera lens, was trembling violently and uncontrollably.

My fingertips are cold, and my joints are stiff.

Just now, when he recited it for the tenth time, he felt it.

And the other hand.

Soft and delicate, yet chillingly cold.

Like a soaked red silk, or a water snake just pulled from the water, it slowly slithered along his bare forearm.

From the wrist, to the elbow, and then to the side of the neck.

Wherever it passed, hair stood on end and skin developed fine granules.

There was no temperature, only a chilling touch.

He dared not move.

They even deliberately kept their breathing soft, afraid of disturbing anything.

The flame of the red candle had shrunk to the size of a bean.

The candle wax stacked up, like congealed scabs.

According to legend, the light must be turned on before the candle burns out, otherwise... you will be haunted.

Chen Haoran opened his mouth, wanting to call out to Li Lingyun outside the door.

But suddenly a sticky, congested feeling welled up in my throat.

It felt like something slippery was climbing up my esophagus.

He tried to swallow, but it was no use.

cough.

One sound, two sounds.

The more I coughed, the stronger the feeling of something foreign became.

It's not stuck, it's stuck to.

itch.

An excruciating itch.

It spread from deep within the throat, like countless tiny limbs crawling on the mucous membrane, with a wet and cold wriggling motion.

He instinctively reached out to grab his neck.

The fingernails scratched the skin, leaving red marks.

The skin and flesh were rolled up, and thin blood seeped out.

Useless.

The itch isn't on the surface, it's inside.

A sharp, needle-like pain mixed with a nauseating, slippery sensation made his eyes bulge and his temples throb.

The screen was flooded with comments:

What happened to the streamer?

[His neck was bleeding from scratching!]

[Are we really cursed? Turn on the lights!]

He can't hear.

All my senses were occupied by the foreign object in my throat.

Breathing began to become difficult.

My chest felt tight, as if a water-soaked brick was pressing down on it.

He suddenly bent over, gripping the edge of the sink tightly with both hands, his knuckles turning white from the force.

Can't wait any longer.

He steeled his resolve and, in front of the camera and under the gaze of tens of thousands of eyes, slowly opened his mouth.

A finger was inserted into the throat.

Sticky.

It was damp and cold.

It had a suffocating, fishy smell.

My fingertips touched a tangled mass of supple fibers.

...It was still wriggling slightly.

He experienced a violent spasm in his stomach.

Clenching his teeth, he tightened his fingers and pulled outwards!