Supernatural and Paranormal Research Society

"vomit--!"

The violent retching made him bend over instantly.

Tears welled up naturally and fell onto the tiles.

He clenched his fist tightly, and between his fingers, half of a wet, dark thing was forcibly pulled out.

It's still dripping.

The live stream screen shook violently, and the tripod emitted a screeching sound.

The chat went silent for a moment, then exploded completely.

[Holy crap... what is that?!]

[The streamer vomited?!]

Call 120 immediately!!!

Chen Haoran did not watch the screen.

He stared intently at his trembling hand, at the unknown foreign object that had been pulled from his throat.

A cold, suffocating feeling washed over me like a tidal wave.

He finally understood that the medicine the doctor prescribed could not suppress the problem, which was never insomnia.

It is a debt.

The debts incurred from ghost marriages are now starting to accrue interest.

In the mirror, the waxy white reflection had its lips slowly curving upwards.

Without warning, the incandescent light bulb on the bathroom ceiling went out with a "snap".

In the instant darkness descended, he heard a very soft sigh, close to his sweaty earlobe, plaintive, lingering, and carrying the pungent smell of aged grave soil:

"My lord...it's time to formally propose marriage."

The comments section paused for half a second before exploding like boiling water.

[Was this also part of a pre-arranged program for entertainment purposes?]

[Holy crap! This is a huge clump of wet hair, is the streamer really going to put it in his mouth?!]

[It was disgusting... but the effect was amazing. I'm impressed with the Berserker's performance.]

Chen Haoran, of course, made no arrangements.

Not to mention that the legend of Bloody Mary in the West does not include the scene of "spitting out hair".

Even if he really wanted to do something drastic to gain attention, he wouldn't do it in such a way that he would torture himself to death.

He wiped away the saliva and blood from the corner of his mouth, his fingertips touching only a nauseatingly cold and damp sensation.

Although most of the foreign object in my throat was forcibly pulled out, the sticky, obstructive feeling did not disappear.

Instead, it resembled the roots of some living creature, slowly burrowing down the inner wall of the esophagus with subtle, teeth-grinding peristalsis.

His face was grim as he forced himself to ignore the sounds he had just heard, staring intently at the tangled clump of black hair at the bottom of the sink.

It is a woman's long hair.

They were piled up together, damp and wet, with dark red threads tangled in their hair, whether from dye or something else, it was hard to tell.

Water droplets meandered down the pool wall, gleaming with an oily sheen under the cool white light.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of aged grave soil mixed with cheap incense sticks, so strong it was almost tangible.

What bad luck!

How did this filthy stuff of unknown origin come out of his mouth?

Chen Haoran clenched his back teeth, and his stomach spasmed again.

He forced himself to look away and reached out to grab the clump of hair and throw it into the trash can.

The fingertips just touched the edge of the pool—

"laugh."

The flame of the red candle suddenly dipped lower.

It wasn't the wind, but some invisible weight that pressed down.

The candle wick quickly carbonized, and the candle wax stacked up like congealed scabs.

The other spare red candle flickered uncertainly at this moment, its flame twisting into an eerie, ghostly blue, casting long, distorted shadows in the bathroom that looked like cracks on the tiles.

"Ling—"

Chen Haoran's throat tightened, and he wanted to call Li Lingyun outside the door to turn on the light.

He had heard of many old folk customs: only by extinguishing the candles and lighting the lamps when the yin-summoning formation is activated can the situation be broken.

Before the last word could be uttered, a bone-chilling coldness, like a burst dam of cold water, instantly surged from the soles of the feet to the top of the head.

Breathing suddenly stopped!

The joints of my limbs felt like they had been filled with molten lead, instantly stiffening.

Even their eyeballs seemed frozen, forced to stare blankly and helplessly at the mirror.

In the mirror, that dark red hue is slowly rising from the depths of the endless reflections.

"Husband...why don't you come home?"

The sound doesn't enter through the ears.

It seeped in by clinging to the inner wall of the skull.

It was light and soft, like a soaked red silk being dragged across a bluestone slab, yet the final note carried the decaying smell of an old coffin being opened.

Chen Haoran's muscles were tense to the limit, and his neck was so stiff that he couldn't turn it at all.

In the cramped and deathly quiet bathroom, a cold wind suddenly swept up.

The cold air, creeping up along the cracks in the floor tiles, carrying the smell of damp earth and putrid grease, lashed his trouser legs, waist, and back.

The hem of her clothes fluttered in the wind, and a fine layer of chestnuts instantly rose on her skin.

Cold sweat seeped uncontrollably from my forehead and back, only to be frozen into ice shards by the cold wind as soon as it appeared.

His Adam's apple bobbed violently as he tried to swallow, but only managed to swallow a mouthful of saliva with a rusty taste.

His lips trembled uncontrollably, and his upper and lower teeth made a soft, teeth-grinding sound as they chattered.

"My husband..."

The reflection in the mirror became clearer and clearer.

The red veil fell down, covering her eyebrows and eyes, revealing only a pale, almost transparent chin.

The lotus scroll pattern embroidered along the edge of the veil shimmered with a dark ochre sheen under the candlelight.

Even though they were separated by glass and his face was obscured, the hairs on Chen Haoran's back stood on end.

A chilling sense of being completely locked in, with nowhere to escape, coiled around his spine like a venomous snake.

He didn't want to watch.

Reason screamed in my brain.

Close your eyes! Turn around! Smash the mirror!

But the pupils seem to be nailed to the mirror.

My gaze was drawn down inch by inch by invisible threads, watching the dark red hue slowly expand against the mirror, and the hem of the red veil almost brushing against the inside of the glass.

It felt as if, in the next second, that pale hand would pierce through the lens and grip his throat.

will die!

This idea struck my mind so clearly and vividly for the first time.

It's not the exaggerated "show effect" in the live broadcast room, nor is it the "vegetative nervous system disorder" mentioned by the doctor.

It is a real, earthy harbinger of death.

If she were to emerge from the mirror, his body, already saturated with yin energy, would be instantly drained of its last trace of yang energy and torn to shreds.

Chen Haoran's breathing tightened, his breath coming in short, uncontrollable gasps.

In the live stream room, the chat was still buzzing with excitement.

[The anchor's expression is priceless! His pupils are dizzy!]

[He acted so convincingly even against thin air, it wouldn't be an exaggeration for the Berserker to win Best Actor, would it?]

[The hair-spitting incident earlier was a setup; now she's playing the ghost wife in the mirror, the script is complete.]

Fans were so engrossed in the excitement of the "immersive horror live stream" that no one believed that the person on the other side of the screen was standing on the threshold between life and death, with even their breath reeking of blood.

If it were three days ago, Chen Haoran would probably be smugly raising his eyebrows at the camera right now.

After all, paranormal debunking streamers need to be crazy, tough, and willing to risk their lives.

But now, he only feels cold.

It was so cold it hurt to the bone, so cold it made my soul tremble.

"My husband..."

The ghost bride's voice rang out again, its mournful tone suddenly tinged with resentment.

She slowly raised her head in the mirror.

Beneath the red veil, there were no eyes, only an impenetrable expanse of black.

But Chen Haoran felt two icy, piercing gazes fixed on his brow through the fabric.

A sudden, fierce wind arose.

A very thin layer of white frost quickly formed on the surface of the tile.

He knew he couldn't escape, and he knew he couldn't avoid it.

Suppressing the fear that threatened to burst from his throat, he bit his tongue, forcing out a sliver of clarity through the excruciating pain; his voice was hoarse, like sandpaper being rubbed together.

"Who...who are you?"