Supernatural and Paranormal Research Society

"Hiro?"

He raised his voice and shouted again.

There has still been no response.

Li Lingyun frowned, threw off the covers, and got out of bed.

He walked to Chen Haoran's bed and looked up.

The pupils suddenly contracted.

empty.

The sheets were neatly pressed, and the blankets were folded squarely.

The rough jute rope was still wrapped around the iron railing, but the middle part of the rope had broken.

There were no rough edges from struggling and rubbing at the break, only a dark red, sticky, wet stain.

It's like some extremely cold liquid that has soaked into the fibers and then dried quickly, leaving behind a thin layer of frost-like crystals.

The knots were intact, and the three knots remained firmly fastened to the railing.

Humans are "molted" out from inside the rope.

Li Lingyun staggered back half a step, her back hitting the desk, causing a sharp pain in her lower back.

He lunged to the bedside, his fingers trembling as he touched the broken rope.

The biting coldness crept up his fingertips and up his arm, making his stomach churn.

"I'd rather break free and get hurt... than not run away..."

His voice trembled as he muttered to himself:

"This is called sleepwalking?!"

He shakily pulled out his phone and dialed Chen Haoran's number.

"Beep...beep...beep..."

The waiting tone echoed in the empty dormitory, each note striking a nerve.

"Feed?"

The call was connected.

Chen Haoran's voice came through, hoarse and bewildered from being woken up:

"Ling Yun? We're in the same dorm, why are you calling me?"

Li Lingyun suddenly stood up straight, his voice rising uncontrollably:

"You're not even in the dorm! Look where you are!"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

Immediately afterwards, the sound of Chen Haoran gasping for breath could be heard.

The sounds of clothes rustling, hurried footsteps, and a suppressed moan.

"beep."

The phone call was abruptly disconnected.

Li Lingyun held his phone; the screen went dark, revealing his pale face.

He could do nothing but stare intently at the broken rope, listening to his own heart pounding like a drum.

Ah Hao...you must come back alive!

……

Yinshan Village, a cemetery for the wealthy.

The morning fog was as thick as porridge that wouldn't dissolve.

Chen Haoran stood barefoot beside the blue stone coffin, his toes bleeding from the broken stones, but he was completely unaware.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of my throat.

He looked down at himself.

The school uniform was wrinkled, the trouser legs were covered in wet mud, and there were deep marks on the wrists, the bloodstains had dried and turned black.

It's back again.

The rope was tied so tightly, and the knot was tied so tightly.

He can't even turn over, how could he possibly break free?

How could someone possibly walk more than ten miles at night and lie down in this coffin unharmed?

"Depend on……"

He clenched his teeth, his eyes bloodshot: "It's relentless..."

We can't stay here.

As dawn breaks and the yang energy rises, as long as I run back to school, I can escape this awful place.

He turned around abruptly and ran away.

The soles of my shoes made a dull "thud" as they stepped on the wet, slippery moss.

The wind whistled past my ears, stirring up the ashes of the paper money on the ground.

He dared not look back, and desperately took two steps, his muscles spasming violently from fear.

One step, two steps, three steps!

Suddenly, my footsteps faltered.

It wasn't a trip, it wasn't a cramp.

It was some kind of invisible, heavy force that suddenly tightened from the ankle.

Like a pair of icy hands, it gripped his Achilles tendon tightly.

Chen Haoran froze.

He lowered his head.

A dark red stain appeared on the bluestone slab at some unknown time.

It's not fabric, it's a shadow.

His own shadow was slowly peeling away from his feet and spreading upwards.

Fine, dark red threads, like blood vessels or roots, seeped from the edges of the shadow's outline, slowly wrapping around his calves, knees, and waist.

The wind stopped.

From the depths of the mist, came the very faint sound of fabric rubbing together.

"Whoosh—"

Like a red ribbon trailing over the stone steps.

Like a bride lifting her skirt, approaching step by step.

Chen Haoran opened his mouth, but only broken breaths could be heard from his throat.

He watched helplessly as his shadow completely detached from the ground and stood upright.

A tattered red veil slowly draped over the shadow's shoulder.

Deep within the thick fog, a dark red hue slowly emerged.

She was slender with a thin frame.

The large wedding dress hung loosely, like an old paper effigy being stretched out.

The edges of the fabric were stained with wet mud and dark brown grime, and the water sleeves dragged across the bluestone slabs, making a very soft "rustling" sound.

Chen Haoran's muscles tensed instantly.

He tried to clench his teeth and forcefully suppress the tremor in his throat.

However, the upper and lower teeth could uncontrollably clatter together, producing a soft, shrill sound.

"What...what do you really want?"

His voice was strained, each word seemingly forced out from his parched chest: "Why do you keep bothering me?"

"My husband."

The sound did not travel through the air; it reverberated directly within the inner wall of his skull.

It was damp and cold, soft, with a fishy smell that blended the scent of aged incense sticks with damp earth.

"When we marry, our bones are bound together with red silk, and we drink from each other's cups; we are one."

The ghost bride tilted her head slightly.

The red veil obscured Chen Haoran's features, yet the hairs on his back stood on end.

He could feel a gaze fixed on his brow through the thick silk cloth.

Why does my husband refuse to return home?

"Has my husband abandoned me?"

"You swore an oath, promising to live a life of luxury and to stay by my side through thick and thin. Now... are you going to break your promise?"

A series of questions, each word like an icicle striking the ground.

Chen Haoran's heart clenched suddenly.

Those words were nonsense shouted at an empty grave during a live broadcast for the sake of the show.

Unexpectedly, the ghost marriage contract was formed, and the joke turned into a soul-binding agreement.

The ghost marriage was supposed to be fake.

The living crave traffic, the dead seek out obsession.

How come it happened to him of all people?

He was roaring wildly inside, but on the surface he even deliberately kept his breathing quiet.

Fear seeped into his very bones like cold water. He knew all too well that any dissent at this moment could trigger an irreversible backlash.

"I...I'm still a student."

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he spoke so fast it was almost unbearable: "Even if we get married, I still have to go to school. You can't let a marriage certificate hold me back."

The moment the words fell.

Dead silence.

Even the wind has stopped.

Chen Haoran secretly swallowed and moved his toes back half an inch almost imperceptibly.

"call--!"

A chilling wind suddenly erupted.

The cold air, rising close to the ground and carrying the smell of damp earth and putrid grease, transformed into countless invisible blades that scraped fiercely across his cheeks, neck, and the backs of his hands.

My skin instantly developed a frost-like white mark, and the stinging pain penetrated to my very bones.

Chen Haoran gasped, his face turning deathly pale.

He bit his lower lip hard, not daring to utter another word.

He is still young.

He didn't want to die in this eerie, gloomy cemetery.

I don't know how much time passed.

Cold sweat soaked through my school uniform, sticking stickily to my back.

The howling wind gradually subsided.

The ghost bride moved.

She approached step by step.

With each passing minute, the surrounding air grew colder.

Chen Haoran wanted to retreat, but his legs felt like they were stuck in cement, and he couldn't even bend his toes.

She raised her hand, and her flowing sleeve slipped down, revealing a wrist so pale it was almost transparent. Bluish-gray veins meandered beneath the skin, like a frozen riverbed.

Cold fingers touched his cheek.

There is no temperature.

Only a suffocating, damp cold.

Chen Haoran shivered violently, cold sweat dripping from his forehead onto the bluestone slab, spreading into dark water stains.

The ghost bride seemed oblivious to his fear.

My fingertips slid down his cheekbone, across his jaw, and stopped at the side of his neck.

The movements were gentle and slow, as if caressing a lost treasure that had been found again.

She was very close.

The tassels of the red veil brushed against his shoulder, carrying the somber scent of aged camphor wood.

A soft, sweet voice whispered in his ear, but her breath was chillingly cold:

"It's alright, my husband."

The fingernail gently pressed against the carotid artery on the side of his neck, and the stinging sensation was clearly audible.

"I don't care about the women outside. As long as my husband knows to come home, that's enough."