The mercy the female ghost left for the long-haired ghost was far deeper than imagined.
If it were Zhou Qi’an, and he had turned into a ghost, he wouldn’t have just left a window for a betraying friend to experience the outside world—if he didn’t tear the other person apart to make a window out of them, that would already be merciful enough.
Being naturally weak, blind, and easily manipulated—none of these were reasons for him to forgive.
At first, he had been deliberately imitating, but as the wounds on his body worsened, Zhou Qi’an no longer needed to clumsily mimic a woman’s voice.
His soft voice became increasingly natural, infinitely approaching that of the long-haired ghost.
Zhou Qi’an estimated a ninety percent chance of success.
But this was just like surgery—no matter how high the probability of success, even a one percent failure rate could mean death.
There was never any room for sentimentality with ghosts. Jin Furen was dead, and the extreme longing the female ghost had for the outside world when she was alive was a reliable breakthrough point.
Zhou Qi’an moved closer to the female ghost, humming intermittently. Just like the long-haired ghost, he was off-key, and when nervous, he rubbed his fingers together in a remarkably lifelike imitation.
An afternoon in the dance studio had been enough for him to observe the long-haired ghost’s expressions and habits.
This song carried both a yearning for the outside world and the hesitation of the present moment.
When the long-haired ghost sang, her hesitation was actually more prominent.
Zhou Qi’an magnified this detail, and the female ghost was finally moved—just slightly and only for a fleeting moment.
Downstairs, the sound of digging was getting louder.
The female ghost seemed not to hear it, only raising her eyes slightly, shadows of murderous intent swirling in their depths.
Zhou Qi’an said, “You want to wait for them to bring your bones back to the light of day and then drag them all to die with you, don’t you?”
But in her current heavily injured state, it was unlikely she could take them all down with her. Half, though—that was still more than doable.
Zhou Qi’an suddenly turned his head in a certain direction.
The open window diagonally opposite framed the outside scenery in a perfect square. The moment the female ghost’s gaze moved over, she could no longer look away.
For a second, the air was deathly still.
Excessive blood loss led to intense dizziness. Zhou Qi’an could barely hold on anymore. His body swayed violently, and after finally gritting his teeth to steady himself, the world spun around him.
A player who had fallen to the ground watched as both man and ghost disappeared, still unable to react.
A cold wind rushed past his face. When he opened his eyes again, Zhou Qi’an was already inside the dance studio.
He gripped the window ledge tightly. Four stories were no small height. Looking down only made the dizziness worse.
The next second, the vertigo was replaced by the weightless sensation of falling.
His blood circulation momentarily stalled. Zhou Qi’an wanted to speak, but only an icy wind rushed into his mouth.
As he plummeted rapidly, he considered whether to summon the white silk, but in the end, he held back.
Gripping the group photo tightly in his hand, Zhou Qi’an maintained his role as the long-haired ghost until the very last second.
The moment he hit the ground, his bones felt as if they were about to shatter.
Aside from the intense shock, he stared at the concrete ground and, after a moment, swallowed hard.
He hadn’t died from the fall.
“Success.”
Between a ninety percent chance of success and a possible one hundred percent mortality rate, he had carved out a path to survival.
The female ghost’s flickering, semi-transparent form remained motionless nearby. She didn’t speak, only floated to a pile of miscellaneous items in the corner and sat down on a box.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t have much strength left either. He leaned against the cold outer wall.
The storm was easing. The street scene opposite was old and monotonous. The two of them simply stayed under the eaves in silence.
A drowsiness crept over Zhou Qi’an. Blood loss, combined with the spreading curse, made him afraid to sleep—afraid that if he did, he would never wake again.
Perhaps to distract himself, he suddenly spoke again, slowly recounting everything he had seen.
“During this recruitment trip, I gained a lot.”
“…The outside world has advanced rapidly. Smartphones have replaced traditional landlines, and air-rail transport makes travel convenient… Compulsory education has been further expanded—college students are everywhere…”
The female ghost stared into the distance, her emotions unreadable.
Zhou Qi’an changed his tone slightly, a trace of confusion in his voice. “But maybe it’s too fast. The world is in an economic crisis. college graduates struggle to find jobs, global warming is melting the glaciers… They say… the Earth is about to enter the Water Era…”
At the last three words, his breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t catch his breath.
The female ghost suddenly looked toward the building, her eyes flashing with killing intent.
Zhou Qi’an guessed that her remains had been unearthed and the players were preparing to forcibly send her to rest.
If she was truly enraged, he would be the first to suffer her wrath.
The cold, mechanical voice only made things worse:
[The Substitute Curse has now covered 95%.]
[The five-star Fish Eye’s functionality is rapidly declining.]
The system notification sounded. At the same time, his blood pressure plummeted, and Zhou Qi’an began experiencing respiratory failure and other severe symptoms. The adrenaline his body secreted barely maintained the last remnants of his life.
He clutched his chest, gasping for air. His long hair fluttered in the night wind, but his eyes—forcefully altered in color by the curse—remained devoid of emotion.
As more time passed after leaving the building, the female ghost’s body also underwent changes.
Her collarbone completely caved in, and her joints bent at unnatural angles, making her appear even more transparent.
Drenched in cold sweat, his heart nearly giving out, Zhou Qi’an finally heard the female ghost speak again: “It seems… nice.”
She was commenting on the world Zhou Qi’an had described earlier.
After a brief pause, her tone shifted. Like that old song, it was interwoven with boundless longing yet carried a thick sense of confusion: “It seems… not that nice either…”
Zhou Qi’an wanted to say something else.
But the female ghost suddenly jumped down from the box, slowly walking toward the opposite side of the street. She passed through the road, then through several more streets, moving farther and farther from the building.
Her body grew increasingly transparent, yet her speed unconsciously increased. In the end, she ran—sprinting with all her might, leaving the building far behind, as if she wanted to run out of this world.
At a street corner, just as she was about to turn, her translucent figure turned into a wisp of smoke and completely vanished.
On this rainy night, amidst the rolling thunder, she left no trace behind.
The system notification that had just been issuing a death notice suddenly took a turn:
[Congratulations on successfully unraveling the mystery of Jinxiang Tower, resolving the primary source of disaster, and eliminating the vengeful spirit.]
Inside the building, the other players also received the notification and halted their actions.
They were stunned at first. The exorcism had only been halfway completed, yet the system notification had confirmed it! Instead of questioning the reason, every player’s face first showed the joy of surviving a disaster.
“We made it out alive.” One player couldn’t hold back any longer and collapsed onto the floor. “We finally survived.”
The player who had fallen earlier rushed downstairs immediately, unable to wait another second. He pried open the chains sealing the building and sprinted out.
The moment the female ghost vanished, the curse stopped spreading.
Outside, Zhou Qi’an finally regained some stability. He gazed at the distant street corner in silence for a moment before softly saying:
“Happy birthday.”
Then, he turned and walked back toward the building.
The first player to rush out ignored Zhou Qi’an’s current half-human, half-ghost appearance and excitedly asked, “It was you, right? You’re the one who killed the ghost?”
The exorcism clearly hadn’t been completed—it had to be something else.
Zhou Qi’an extended his hand. “Glasses.”
The player practically handed over the thick black-framed glasses from the fourth floor with both hands.
The college student also emerged, about to return the wig Zhou Qi’an had entrusted to him. But before he could, Zhou Qi’an suddenly whispered something to him.
The college student was momentarily stunned, then gave a slight nod.
On the first floor, a skeleton covered in dirt and buried in a trench lay there quietly.
Bai Chanyi looked a bit drained as well. Regardless of whether an exorcism was completed, using the ritual always caused a backlash.
Their eyes met, but they didn’t exchange many words. Zhou Qi’an found a coat, bent down, and carefully wrapped up the skeleton, which had finally seen the light of day after decades, before heading toward the elevator.
Once the mission was complete, the building’s power was restored.
Zhou Qi’an took the elevator straight to the third floor.
Passing by the rice shop, he retrieved the player’s ashes he had previously hidden and then pushed both the ashes and the remaining bone rice into Jintao’s bone rice shop.
The sterilization suit had long disappeared, and what was once a terrifying place was now cold and desolate.
Zhou Qi’an put on a brand-new mask and expertly operated the cremation furnace, personally incinerating Jin Zhi’s remains.
While waiting for the cremation to finish, he didn’t remain idle—he ground the remaining bone rice into powder and dragged out the unused “stock” from the room, processing it in the same manner.
“Hah…”
Zhou Qi’an let out a soft breath. Once everything was ready, he returned to the main hall just as the cremation finished.
After carefully collecting Jin Zhi’s ashes, Zhou Qi’an turned off the cremation furnace and ensured that all the embers inside were completely extinguished. Then, he struggled to carry the pile of things outside.
The moment he stepped out of the bone rice shop, he ran into someone unexpected.
Mu Tianbai stood in the shadow of a pillar at an angle, his red cloak slightly restrained, his expression grim.
“Need help?” he asked.
Zhou Qi’an was briefly stunned. “The mission’s over. Why haven’t you left?”
As he spoke, he handed over the urns containing the player’s and Jin Zhi’s ashes. “Just help me take these out.”
He himself was carrying several large bags of monster ashes, clearly intended for a different purpose.
Just as Zhou Qi’an was about to continue speaking, Mu Tianbai suddenly glanced at the red cloak and said, “Might as well make use of some waste—her skill can help you.”
Being called “waste,” the red cloak’s eyes flashed with anger.
For a moment, Zhou Qi’an was slightly taken aback. “You know what I’m planning to do?”
Mu Tianbai nodded. “That useless teammate of yours said you like—”
Zhou Qi’an cut him off with a cough, looking around nervously. “Where’s your shadow?”
“It’s upstairs helping,” Mu Tianbai replied. “Are we starting now?”
Zhou Qi’an nodded and explained the plan to the red cloak.
A few seconds later, the red cloak’s pupils slightly dilated, and for a brief moment, her pale face twisted unnaturally. “You…”
Zhou Qi’an acted as if he hadn’t heard her and continued with the next steps of the setup.
·
The air outside was much fresher.
All the players had gathered around the Minotaur Bus, chatting and passing the time while waiting for the system’s final settlement. With the instance’s threats gone, the atmosphere was much more relaxed.
“We should keep our distance from the building—there are still quite a few monsters inside,” the college student reminded them.
He had a point.
Better safe than sorry. The group moved farther away, crossing the street to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the building.
Once they reached the other side, they started chatting and joking.
“I’m going to take a little vacation when we get back.”
“Same here. I’ve just cleared two instances in a row—if I don’t take a break, I’m going to die.”
“I prefer a tighter schedule. I’m planning to visit Dun City. I heard they just opened a new instance entrance over there—perfect timing to check it out.”
The college student tried to blend into the conversation. “I was browsing the forums before coming here. Everyone’s been talking about holy artifacts. Are they really that powerful?”
His words immediately caught the Minotaur’s attention from afar.
After a few more sentences, the college student found himself struggling to keep the conversation going.
He didn’t know Zhou Qi’an’s exact reasoning, but he still followed his instructions—leading the others farther away while doing his best to keep the Minotaur distracted.
Unlike the others who were celebrating, the college student felt something strange inside him. The instance had ended, yet something felt… missing.
Just then, three figures burst out of the building one after another and kept running, not stopping even after reaching the other side of the street.
Zhou Qi’an’s gaze swept across the area, confirming that everyone—including his superior—had made it out. Then, he uttered a single word:
“Run.”
Run?
Hadn’t the game already ended?
Was it possible that the remaining monsters in the building were chasing them?!
A strip of white silk flicked through the air, tossing an object forward. A small, lit flame traced an arc in the sky before landing precisely inside the building.
The Minotaur wanted to stop it, but it was already too late.
Besides the large amount of powder floating in the air, the shadows upstairs had also arranged a pile of combustible materials.
Now, with fuel, accelerants, and an ignition source all in place…
The dust explosion erupted instantly, the deafening roar nearly rendering everyone deaf. Flames shot into the sky, illuminating the dark night.
The group ran for their lives as waves of heat rolled behind them.
The college student, his face smudged with soot, stared at the inferno consuming the building and muttered, “I knew something was missing…”
__
Author’s Note:
Zhou Qi’an: A bone ash explosion really does have a more ceremonial feel to it. It suits this building better, don’t you think?
Mu Tianbai nodded.
The Minotaur, who had just been about to clock out for the day: …
