Supernatural and Paranormal Research Society

The moment the screen went black, Tong Qianxue felt as if her heart was being clenched tightly.

She quickly switched to the original post.

The comments section is already polarized.

[The script is confirmed; they turned off the live stream themselves to build suspense.]

[Am I the only one who thinks the streamer's complexion is off? Her lips are even turning purple!]

[The berserker deserved his fate; his boastful words were punished.]

"Chiyuki?"

My shoulder was gently patted.

Tong Qianxue suddenly snapped back to reality.

Zhang Xiaowen stood behind, wearing a coat, her face still showing the excitement and lingering fear from watching the live stream, her eyes slightly red.

"I was so scared... Ah Hao is usually tough, but he probably wouldn't actually risk his life, right? Do you think he fainted from heatstroke? I sent him WeChat messages but he didn't even look at them!"

Tong Qianxue pushed up her glasses and turned off her phone screen.

She tried to keep her voice steady, her tone carrying an undeniable order:

"The cell phone has no signal, probably because the terrain around the cemetery blocks it. To report it to the police, we need specific coordinates and evidence to dispatch officers. I'll check the satellite map of Yinshan Village and the village's contact information first."

She turned and walked back: "You go to sleep first. You have an English quiz tomorrow morning, and you haven't memorized the key phrases yet. Don't let it interfere with your studies."

But only she knew that her hands, hanging by her sides, were trembling uncontrollably.

Even though she wasn't there, the chilling coldness enveloped her like an invisible net.

The next morning, Tong Qianxue woke up.

A dreamless night is more agonizing than staying up all night.

The chilling feeling was like being wrapped in a soaked quilt. When I woke up, my limbs and joints were stiff and astringent, and even my breath carried the dampness of an old cellar.

Zhang Xiaowen peeked in while tying her hair: "Qianxue's awake? Want to go to the cafeteria for a bowl of rice noodles while it's not crowded?"

"You may go."

Tong Qianxue threw back the covers, her voice a little hoarse: "My stomach isn't feeling well, I'll just eat some bread."

She moved quickly, giving Zhang Xiaowen no chance to respond, grabbed her coat and went out the door.

Zhang Xiaowen shrugged, assuming it was just her period coming early and didn't think much of it.

The window at the end of the corridor was open, and the bright early summer sunlight poured in, falling on Tong Qianxue's shoulders, but it didn't penetrate her bones at all.

Her mind was filled with the dark black stone coffin from last night's live stream. If she wasn't mistaken, it should be a coffin made of locust wood...

Will Chen Haoran come to school today?

As soon as I stepped through the back door of Class 3, Grade 11, the answer was right in front of me.

Chen Haoran was standing next to the podium handing in his homework. He was dressed impeccably in his blue and white school uniform from Qinglan Middle School, his face was rosy, and he walked briskly.

Tong Qianxue's heart sank suddenly, and she quickly stepped forward to stop him:

"Ah Hao, are you... alright last night?"

"Um?"

Chen Haoran turned his head, paused for a second, then grinned, revealing a set of bright white teeth:

"Hey! You mean a ghost marriage livestream? That's obviously just for show!"

He suddenly took a half step closer, lowered his voice, and spoke with a hint of boastfulness typical of boys:

"Let me tell you a secret, all that hype online is just that—hyper. There are some old customs in the cemetery, but there really aren't any ghosts or monsters. Look at me, I'm back safe and sound, all alive and kicking!"

Tong Qianxue didn't reply, her gaze fixed on the edge of his school uniform collar.

There, four bluish-gray finger marks were deeply embedded in the skin, their edges tinged with an ominous dark purple.

"And what happened to your neck?" her voice tightened.

"neck?"

Chen Haoran subconsciously raised his hand to touch it, then stopped.

Tong Qianxue took out a small round mirror from her pencil case and handed it to her.

The mirror reflects the entire fingerprint.

Because of the dark skin tone, it might look like a bump or scratch at first glance, but upon closer inspection, the outline of the fingerprint is terrifyingly clear—the knuckles are thick, and the nails are strangely hooked, indicating a force that a living person could not have left.

"Who the hell played a prank on me while I was sleeping?"

Chen Haoran frowned and rubbed his palms together forcefully.

The skin instantly turned bright red from rubbing, but the finger marks felt like branding irons burning into the flesh. Instead of fading, they seeped out a deeper bluish-black color with each rub.

His hand trembled, and the mirror fell onto the table with a "thud".

"Could it really have gotten on something?"

Tong Qianxue kept her voice very low.

Chen Haoran remained silent, a flicker of panic quickly passing through his eyes.

My memory of last night is fragmented.

All he remembered was the thick fog, the red veil, and... a chillingly cold fragrance.

This morning, while watching the live replay, he stared at himself on the screen, his eyes vacant, crawling into the grave while clutching a red wedding dress, and his back was instantly soaked with sweat.

The account is my own, the IP address hasn't changed, and the replay timeline matches.

It's not a special effect.

It's not a script.

From the moment he stepped into the classroom, he felt a gaze constantly fixed on the back of his neck.

It was cold and damp, like a snake's tongue licking your spine.

"Hiro?"

Tong Qianxue called to him softly:

You look terrible.

"fine."

Chen Haoran snapped back to reality and forced a smile:

"The live-stream challenge is over once it's done. I'm not going to that run-down cemetery; the ghost isn't going to crawl up the internet cable and bite me, is she?"

He patted his chest, turned around, and went back to his seat.

His steps appeared steady, but only he knew that his knees were as soft as if he were walking on cotton.

The school bell rang.

Tong Qianxue gripped the pen tightly, her knuckles turning white.

The chill emanating from those four finger marks overlapped perfectly with the suffocating feeling from last night's dream.

The math teacher walked up to the podium in high heels, the chalk tapping loudly on the blackboard.

Chen Haoran had only been sitting down for less than ten minutes when his eyelids started to droop.

Last night's "coffin sleep" not only failed to relieve his fatigue, but instead drained the last bit of energy from him.

He nodded and slumped onto the table.

"Chen Haoran!"

A piece of chalk hit him precisely on the back of the head.

The math teacher's face turned ashen, and his voice rose:

"It's the second semester of junior year, almost senior year! Is this classroom for catching up on sleep or for studying? If you're still sleepy, go stand at the back and listen!"

The whole class fell silent instantly, even their breathing became soft.

Chen Haoran did not move, and an eerie silence surrounded him.

His deskmate, in a panic, poked his arm with his pen: "Hao-ge, wake up! The teacher's really angry!"

He remained lying face down, his shoulders rising and falling slightly with his breathing.

The math teacher, his anger reaching its peak, grabbed his lesson plan, rolled it into a tube, strode down from the podium, and smacked him on the back: "Stand up!"

"Bang!"

Chen Haoran suddenly jumped up.

The chair legs scraped against the floor, making a sharp, grating sound.

He slowly turned his head, his eyes bloodshot, his pupils contracted to the size of pinpoints.

That lazy air that belonged to teenage boys evaporated instantly, replaced by a beast-like gloom and violence.

He stared at the teacher, his jaw taut, a very low sound escaping his throat:

"...Why are you touching me?"

His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper being rubbed.

The temperature in the classroom seemed to drop several degrees, and several girls in the front row subconsciously shrank back.

The math teacher was stunned by his gaze, but quickly regained his authority as a teacher:

"Sleeping in class and you still think you're right? Go stand at the back!"

The fierceness in Chen Haoran's eyes receded like the tide.

He blinked, a look of bewildered confusion in his eyes, as if his earlier outburst of rage had been nothing but an illusion.

He wiped his face and, without saying a word, dragged his feet toward the last row of the classroom.

The boy who had been sleeping face down in the second-to-last seat by the window slowly straightened up.

"Tsk, this yang energy is burning like a firecracker with a lit fuse."

Jiang Haochen, with half a lit mint stick dangling from his mouth, mumbled indistinctly, his voice rising lightly at the end, revealing a carefree and nonchalant attitude:

"Dude, are you going to investigate a ghost or are you just throwing your life away? Ghostly threads wrapped around your neck, corpse energy crawling down your spine... It's good to be young, you can take a beating. If I were that female ghost, I'd definitely award you a 'Best Buffet of the Year' banner."