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Chapter Text

Chapter One

In the dead of night, a sudden crack of thunder split the air, rattling the windows and sending a shiver through the house. The storm had come without warning, its fury unleashed in a violent crescendo. Inside, the silence was shattered by the frantic sound of footsteps—heavy, erratic, and unmistakably human. The floorboards groaned under the weight of someone—or something—moving with desperate urgency.

A door closed and locked silently, followed by the unmistakable sound of panting, labored and panicked, echoing through the darkened halls. Shadows flitted past doorways, fleeting glimpses of a figure in motion, too fast to be fully seen. The air was thick with tension, each creak of the house amplifying the sense of impending dread.

The house stood in eerie silence, its once-welcoming walls now cloaked in an unsettling stillness. Beneath the bed, two brothers huddled together, their breaths shallow and rapid, hearts pounding in synchrony. The older brother's arm was draped protectively over his younger sibling, the weight of their shared fear palpable in the cramped space.

"Is—is he still out there?" the older brother whispered, his voice trembling despite his efforts to remain calm.

The younger brother's wide eyes reflected the terror that gripped them both. "I—I don't know," he stammered, his voice barely audible. "But... he—he killed Mom. Why would he do that?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with grief and confusion. The older brother tightened his grip, offering silent reassurance. He didn't have answers, only the instinct to protect.

"Shh," the older brother hushed him gently, pressing a finger to his lips. "We have to be quiet. He can't find us."

The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps grew louder, closer. Each step was a drumbeat in the silence, a countdown to an unknown fate.

The younger brother whimpered, his small body trembling. "He's coming," he whispered, his voice breaking.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door. The brothers held their breath.

The older brother's mind raced. They had to stay quiet, stay hidden. He pressed his finger to his lips, signaling for silence. The footsteps stopped just outside the door. 

A shadow passed beneath the crack at the bottom of the door, stretching long and menacing across the floor. The brothers froze, praying the darkness would conceal them.

The door handle rattled.

The sound made them flinched, hearts leaping into their throats. But the door didn't open.

After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps retreated, fading into the distance. The brothers remained motionless, not daring to speak, not daring to move.

With the hearts still racing, they exhaled in unison, a brief moment of relief washing over them. But before they could speak, a sudden force yanked the younger brother from beneath the bed, his terrified scream echoing through the room.

"Yun Gege!" Lin's small hands reached out desperately, his voice a mix of fear and panic.

"Lin!" Yun's voice cracked as he scrambled to grab his brother's arm, but the space between them widened unnaturally. The room seemed to stretch, the shadows deepening.

Without warning, the bedroom door slammed open, the sound deafening. There stood their father, his smile twisted and unnatural, eyes gleaming with a cold, predatory light.

"Hide and seek is over now, boys," he purred, his voice dripping with malice. As he spoke, the whites of his eyes vanished, consumed by an impenetrable blackness that pulsed with malevolent energy, leaving only the void of his pupils staring back.

It was an ordinary morning at Beijiang Police Department. The usual hum of activity filled the air—officers at their desks, phones occasionally ringing, the shuffle of paperwork. Jiang Feng sat at his desk, reviewing case files, when the shrill ring of the phone cut through the monotony.

"Beijiang Police Station, Officer Jiang speaking."

He listened intently, his brow furrowing as the voice on the other end spoke urgently. After a brief pause, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor.

"Understood. We'll mobilize immediately."

He hung up the receiver and walked briskly to his captain's office. Knocking once, he entered without waiting for a response.

"Captain Du," Jiang Feng began, his voice steady but urgent, "we've just received a report of a murder in the village of Qingshui. It's approximately a two-hour drive from here."

Captain Du looked up from his paperwork, his brow furrowing. "Qingshui? That's a remote area. Not much happens there."

"Exactly, which kind of unusual" Officer Jiang replied, his tone grave.

Captain Du stood up, adjusting his uniform. "Prepare the vehicles and other important equipment that need to bring to the location. I'll inform Director Zhang after this."

Officer Jiang nodded his head before exited the office. After received approval from the director, Du cheng gathered his team—Shen Yi, He Rongyue, Jiang Feng and other officers—and briefed them on the situation.

"Pack your gear. We're heading to Qingshui now."

The team moved swiftly, gathering the prepared equipment for the journey. As they loaded into the police vehicle, the weight of the unknown pressed down on them. The road ahead was long, and the case was already proving to be more complex than anticipated.

The sky above Qingshui simmered with the promise of an approaching storm—clouds swollen and gray, churning low across the horizon like a restless tide. The air was thick, the wind still but loaded with a weight that pressed against the lungs, whispering that something unnatural was waiting to break free. As the police vehicle crept down the winding, overgrown path, the tires crunched over brittle leaves and gravel, the engine's hum swallowed by the oppressive quiet.

The mansion loomed at the end of the decaying path, its silhouette rose from the tangled gardens like a monarch draped in shadows—imposing, silent, and watching. Its steep gables and sharp spires carved through the overcast sky, a silhouette too precise, too deliberate to be shaped by time alone. Brick walls, deepened to a bruised crimson by age and rain, bore the weight of creeping ivy that coiled like patient fingers, not to choke the house, but to crown it. Tall windows stared outward like blind eyes, glass intact yet somehow unseeing, reflecting only the dying light of a world that had long since stopped visiting. There was no sign of collapse—only stillness, too heavy, too deliberate.

The grounds surrounding it were no less lifeless. The once-manicured garden had withered into a tangled mess of thorny vines and brittle weeds. Dead leaves carpeted the ground, rustling in uneasy whispers each time the wind slithered through the skeletal trees. Their gnarled branches stretched overhead like claws, framing the house in a grasp of nature's slow decay.

A rusted fountain stood at the center of the courtyard, long dry, its basin cracked and filled with a stagnant black sludge that reeked of iron and something older, fouler. Stone benches flanked the walkway, their surfaces chipped and slick with moss — places no one dared sit anymore.

There was no birdsong. Just the oppressive stillness of a place that remembered too much. The air itself seemed heavy with memory, thick with dread, as if the house was breathing — slow, deep, and watching. And somewhere, behind the darkened windows and that yawning black doorway, something waited. Something that hadn't moved in years... or had never stopped moving at all.

Yellow police tape fluttered limply in the breeze, a weak attempt to restrain whatever history still lingered within. Officers moved with subdued purpose, their eyes drawn again and again to the darkened windows that seemed to watch them back. The air was damp, tinged with mildew, and beneath that, something sharper—something iron-rich and primal.

Upon arrival, Du Cheng stepped out of the vehicle first, his jaw tight as he surveyed the looming silhouette of the mansion. The air hung heavy, oppressive, and though the rain had ceased, the scent of wet earth and mold was thick enough to taste. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he moved toward the estate's warped stone steps, eyes narrowing at the sagging facade.

A man in uniform waited in front the front gate. He looked to be in his late forties, lean and slightly weathered, his expression taut with unease. His cap was tucked under one arm, revealing close-cropped, graying hair, and his badge gleamed faintly under the heavy sky.

"Good evening, Captain Du," he greeted, stepping forward and extending a hand. "Lu Haizhou. I'm the police chief in charge here in Qingshui."

Du Cheng clasped his hand briefly. "Chief Lu."

Lu offered a small nod, glancing briefly at the other officers as they disembarked. "Glad you made it down here in good time. I wasn't sure how quickly you could be dispatched from Beijiang."

Du Cheng's tone remained curt but polite. "I came straight from the office. Your call came through the moment I sat down to start paperwork. What are we looking at?"

Lu's expression darkened slightly. "I'd rather walk you through it inside. But I'll be honest—it's bad. The kind of scene that... sticks with you."

Du Cheng gave a slight nod. "Worse than a triple homicide?"

"It's not the body count," Lu said grimly. "It's the way it was done."

There was a beat of silence, the wind stirring the wilted ivy that clung to the walls like rot. The mansion loomed behind them, tall and broken, its windows gaping like the hollow sockets of a skull. Lu gestured toward the partially open front door, which swayed slightly on rusted hinges.

"The maid discovered it early this morning. She's inside, still in shock. My team did their best to contain the scene, but..." He glanced back at the mansion with a grimace. "There's a feeling in there. You'll understand when you see it."

Du Cheng motioned for the rest of his team to follow, turning back to Lu only briefly. "Who else has been inside?"

"Only two of my officers. No one touched anything beyond confirming the victims. We knew this was above our heads, so we called you immediately."

"Good." Du Cheng's gaze swept over the cracked facade one last time. "Let's go in."

As they crossed the threshold, the air seemed to shift—thicker, colder, touched by something old and hollow. Inside, shadows clung to the corners like mold, and even their footsteps seemed muffled beneath the weight of dust and grief.

Lu slowed his pace as they entered the foyer, his voice low. "The bodies are in separate rooms. We think the murders happened sequentially, not all at once. No signs of a break-in. Nothing stolen. The killer either knew the victims—or just wanted them to suffer."

Du Cheng's eyes flicked around the entrance, already building the scene in his mind. "And the maid?"

"In the parlor to the right," Lu replied. "She's been working here for just a week. Said something was off the moment she found the door's unlocked. It's hard to explain, but she swears the whole house felt... wrong."

Du Cheng's gaze shifted toward the parlor, then back to Lu. "Let's finish the sweep first. I'll speak to her once I've seen the scene."

Lu nodded silently, stepping aside to let Du Cheng and his team pass.

The deeper they went, the more the mansion seemed to press in around them, each creak and groan of its bones echoing with dread. It wasn't just a crime scene—it was a mausoleum.

"We found four bodies — a father, a mother, two children. All dead before morning," Lu said, his voice heavy. "No signs of forced entry. No neighbours reported hearing a thing. But I saw a knife near the father... We'll need to check for fingerprints to know if it's really what we suspect or not."

He paused for a moment, the silence stretching.

"I hope the result comes back negative," he added quietly. "I met him the day they moved in. He seemed like a man who truly loved his family."

"You mean... you suspect the father might be the killer?" Shen Yi asked.

Lu nodded slowly, a shadow of grief in his expression. Du Cheng stood beside them, arms folded, listening in silence — withholding judgment, but clearly unsettled.

Lu's voice trembled with disbelief as he recounted the grisly details. "The wife was hanged from the chandelier in the dining room. One child suffered a knife wound. The older child was found drowned in the bathtub. Distinct methods, no defensive wounds. The husband was discovered in the main hallway—fatal chest wound, blood pooled beneath him. If our suspicions are correct, he may have taken his own life after the murders based on the time and the wound looked."

Du Cheng stared at Chief Lu in disbelief. His mother—hanged from the chandelier? How was that even possible?

"But if the man really was the killer," Du Cheng said, frowning, "then how did he hang his wife from the chandelier? That ceiling's too high unless you have a ladder or something. And even then... why would he go that far?"

Lu hesitated, his jaw tightening as a chill seemed to pass between them.

"That's exactly what's bothering me," he muttered. "It doesn't add up. The whole scene... it's too strange. The estimated time of death for each victim is almost identical. But they were found in completely different rooms—far apart. And..." his voice lowered, troubled, "there weren't any blood trails. No signs of a body being dragged. Nothing."

Shen Yi stepped out beside him, his eyes lingering on the mansion's looming frame. The windows stared down like empty eye sockets, and the doorway, yawning open just a crack, gave the sense of a mouth mid-scream. "Was she alone?"

"She says she was. Arrived for her shift around eight. Knocked, got no answer, she tried to enter and that was when she found the door wasn't locked before she saw what was inside."

Shen Yi nodded once. "Let's speak to her again. I want to hear it in her own words."

Chapter Text

A/n : Hi, how are you guys so far? I hope everything good. So I'm planning to upload the chapter like every 2- 3 days. If the schedule quite busy, it would take longer. But not more than a week. I hope you likes the story ^^ Enjoy reading

Inside the parlor, the air changed. The moment they stepped across the threshold, a chill swept over them—not the cold of weather, but of stillness. The room was pristine yet unsettlingly so, as though time had frozen within its walls. The chandeliers above gleamed faintly, their crystal facets catching the pale light that filtered through tall, sheer-curtained windows. The polished floor echoed softly underfoot, and though not a speck of dust marred the surfaces, the silence clung to everything, heavy and watchful—like the room itself was holding its breath.

The maid sat in a corner of the hall, wrapped in a blanket that slipped loosely around her shoulders. Her hands trembled slightly, more from nerves than cold, and her eyes remained fixed on the floor—unblinking. She flinched at the quiet voice that broke the silence — a man’s, gentle in tone, his footsteps barely a whisper in front of her.

"Hi, I'm Shen Yi," he said softly, crouching to her level to meet her tear-filled eyes. "What's your name?" he asked, a gentle smile on his face.

The woman was silent and hesitant at first, but eventually, she whispered, "My name is Jihan."

Shen Yi nodded slowly, still smiling with a warmth that didn’t rush her. "Ms. Jihan... I know this must be overwhelming. What you saw — it’s not something anyone should have to go through."

He paused for a moment, letting her breathe.

"But if you're able... could you tell me what you remember about what happened when you arrived?"

The maid hesitated, her gaze flickering between him and the floor, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

Shen Yi's voice remained steady and reassuring. "Anything you recall—no matter how small—could be crucial to understanding what occurred."

She nodded, her hands trembling as she clasped them in her lap. "I arrived around eight, just like every morning," she murmured, her voice faltering. "I called out, but... no answer. I thought they were still asleep." Her gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve. "The door wasn't locked when i wanted to knock it. It was... ajar, so I... I stepped inside."

She swallowed hard, fingers digging into the blanket. "It was... quiet. Too quiet. I called out once again, but no one answered. And then I... I saw Mr. Re. Lying in the hallway. Just lying there. Eyes wide open. There was blood. So much blood."

Her breath hitched as she stared at something distant. "It looks impossible but... Madam was hanging... from the chandelier in the dining room. The children... God, the children. The youngest, I found at the bottom of the stairs. He was..." She stopped, unable to continue, and turned her face into her shoulder.

Shen Yi's eyes softened. "You don't need to go further for now. You've done well." He stood slowly and turned to Du Cheng. "Let's secure the scene and move carefully. I want full documentation. Photos. Measurements. Everything."

Du Cheng nodded and gestured to the others. "You heard him. Move."

After a long pause, Shen Yi finally closed his notebook, the soft snap of it breaking the heavy silence in the room.

The maid sat across from them, eyes red from crying, wringing her hands in her lap. Du Cheng gave her a nod, calm but firm.

"Thank you for your cooperation. You can go for now," he said. "But I hope you could stay reachable. We might need to contact you again if anything else comes up."

The maid sniffled and nodded shakily.
"Of course... I just—" her voice cracked. "I still can't believe they're all gone. They were a good...happy family."

Shen Yi gave a slight bow of his head. "We understand. If you remember anything else—even the smallest detail—don't hesitate to let us know."

The woman stood slowly, her movements stiff with grief and fear, and the officer on duty led her out of the room.

As she finally gone, silence reclaimed the space. The only sound left was the faint hum of the lights and the echo of questions no one had yet answered.

Du Cheng leaned against the desk's corner, arms crossed, his jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply. "We need to canvass the entire area of this house. Right now, the only lead we have is the husband that could be possible the culprit. But 'could' isn't enough—we need concrete evidence."

"And the chandelier," Shen Yi murmured. "The wife was strung up there. That requires time and effort. The height alone would make it difficult without a ladder or assistance. If the husband did it, why go through that trouble?"

Du Cheng's eyes narrowed.
"It feels staged. Like someone wanted us to see it a certain way."

Shen Yi's gaze drifted toward the hallway, where the father's body had been found.
"The timing is off, too. The coroner said the time of death between each family member is nearly identical, give or take a few minutes. But they were killed in different rooms. A single person would have had to move fast. Too fast."

A pause. The old wooden floor creaked softly beneath Du Cheng's weight.

"It's like... something else was in the house."

Du Cheng didn't answer at first and his fingers traced the spine of his notebook as if trying to draw memory out of it. Then Du cheng said, voice low:

"There was a footprint near the youngest kid's room too. Right at the door. No tread pattern—just barefoot. The forensics team's still checking."

Shen Yi frowned and Du Cheng added grimly. "And the knife. It was right next to the husband. Clean prints on it. It's his."

There was a pause.

"You think he killed them?" Shen Yi asked.

Du Cheng hesitated, then sighed.
"That's what it looks like on paper. But then..."

"The chandelier," Shen Yi murmured.

"Exactly," Du Cheng said. "The wife was strung up on a chandelier. We measured it—it's over three meters high. You'd need a ladder or something to get her up there, and we didn't find anything like that nearby."

Shen Yi stared at the floor, expression unreadable.
"And the timeline?"

Du Cheng shook his head.
"All four were killed within minutes of each other. There's no way the husband could've moved that fast. Not without making a mess. And yet..."

"Even if it is, it's still impossible for a human to move that fast over such a distance, even while running." Shen Yi's voice was steady, but his mind raced. "Each body was found in a separate room. The timing is too tight, and the placements too deliberate. If the father did it... it would be physically impossible."

Shen Yi looked at Du Cheng sideways.
"Unless something helped him. Or something else did it."

Du Cheng looked over, meeting Shen Yi's eyes.
"So what are you thinking?"

Shen Yi hesitated.
"If I told you, you might think I've lost it."

"Try me."

There was a moment of quiet. Then Shen Yi spoke, voice low and steady.
"What if it wasn't human?"

The silence that followed was thick, heavier than before. Outside, a bird cried out—sharp and distant—then nothing.

He Rongyue crouched beside the father's body, her gloved fingers hovering just above the blood-darkened shirt.
"No defensive wounds," she murmured. "Single stab to the chest. Deep. Clean. Straight into the heart. But the way the wound presents—it's as if he stabbed himself, not someone else." She glanced up at Shen Yi, her eyes sharp.

Shen Yi stepped closer, eyes narrowing on the corpse. The man's eyes wide open, mouth frozen in a silent scream. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping between the veins of the marble floor.
" he done it himself? But his expression seems off. It's like fear and...shock?"

He Rongyue nodded her head slowly.

Du Cheng exhaled sharply.
"And there's more. We found a bloody footprint in the children's room—barefoot. No tread. But this man..." He gestured toward the body, "...he was wearing shoes when we found him. Untouched. No blood on his feet."

Shen Yi blinked slowly, the contradiction sinking in.
"You're saying the father was the last to die... and the footprints match his but he's wearing his shoes with clean feet?"

Du Cheng nodded grimly.
"Same foot size. Same shape. But barefoot. That means either someone took his shoes off, made the prints, clean them up and put them back on... or something else entirely is going on."

Shen Yi crouched, eyes scanning the angles. No smears. No trails.
"And his wife's body... hung from the chandelier like some sort of grotesque display. Rope marks on her neck. Ligature strangulation."

He paused, letting the weight of the words settle.
"Strangled first. Then lifted. Someone went through the trouble of making her a centerpiece."

Shen Yi looked toward the father's corpse again.
"And he was the last to die. But the timeline doesn't match up with the location of the others. It would've taken time, but there's no evidence of movement between the rooms."

Du Cheng looked around the room again, unease prickling along the back of his neck.
"This case... is wrong. Deeply wrong."

Lightning flashed outside the broken windows, briefly illuminating the entire hall in a stark, silver glow. For a moment, everything stilled—then the shadows seemed to deepen.

As the storm rumbled closer, Shen Yi stood over the body, the scent of old blood sharp in the air.

And somewhere inside this rotting house, the rest of the story waited.

Chapter Text

Before the downpour swallowed the house whole, Du Cheng had stepped outside to walk the perimeter.

The air had been thick then—too still. Even the trees had held their breath.

He moved methodically, flashlight beam slicing through the gray dusk. Wet leaves clung to the soles of his boots as he stepped around the side of the house, scanning every cracked window, every darkened crevice where something might be hiding. The overgrown hedges brushed his coat like grasping fingers. A broken drainpipe rattled as he passed, its mouth spewing a slow trickle of water that smelled of rust and rot.

The first drops came like whispers.

Then, without warning, the sky split open. Rain slammed down with a fury that stole his breath, soaking him to the skin in seconds. Wind lashed across the grounds, bending the trees into half-bows as thunder rolled deep from within the belly of the storm.

"Shit," he muttered, pulling his coat tighter—too late. The rain had already found its way under his collar, down his back, into his shoes.

He and the other officers dashed back toward the house, boots splashing through puddles as the downpour chased them like a vengeful tide. By the time he reached the front steps, the storm was a roaring wall behind him—slamming shut like a gate the moment he crossed inside.

Inside, the lights flickered again. Unsure whether if the problem was with electricity or the rain. So Du cheng need to rush the investigation process before the lights might out later.

"Photograph everything. Don't touch a damn thing," he ordered sharply. "We need to move fast before the rain washes away what little evidence we've got left."

"Yes, Captain," the officers responded in unison, already moving into action.

"Sir, we might lose power," one of the younger officers muttered, glancing up at the flickering hallway lights.

"Then move faster," Du Cheng said, but his voice was quiet. The kind of quiet meant to steady himself, not just them.

The mansion groaned as another gust of wind rattled its bones. The chandeliers swayed on rusted chains, their dull light casting fractured shadows across the hallway. Wallpaper peeled like dead skin. Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed on its own.

In the grand foyer, officers stood beneath the largest chandelier—its tarnished brass arms spread wide like the limbs of something ancient and cruel. Suspended from its center, her body hung limp and swaying, the cord biting into her neck like a noose fashioned from the house's own malice. Forensics moved with quiet urgency, their gloved hands working in grim silence as they secured her for descent. A ladder creaked under one of the techs as he ascended, flashlight flickering against the bloated curve of her throat. Below, another officer steadied the base, eyes flicking uneasily to the shadows that shifted just beyond the doorway.

The body came down slowly, as if reluctant to leave the air, and was carefully placed beside her husband's corpse. The two now lay side by side on the cold marble floor, reunited in death beneath the very chandelier that bore witness to their final moments. For a heartbeat, no one spoke. The silence hung heavier than the storm outside.

"Basement's sealed," someone called from the other side of the house. "Looks like the flooding from last week shorted the fuse box."

"Don't touch it. We don't need more than one electrocution on this case," Du Cheng replied, stepping into what had once been a sitting room.

Du Cheng turned away from the scene, unable to stomach the sight any longer. He moved to check one of the side rooms on the first floor, the soles of his shoes whispering against the dust-laced floorboards. The air grew colder as he pushed open a heavy door that groaned like a wounded animal. Inside, the room was choked with shadow and disuse—but one object stood out immediately.

A cracked mirror loomed against the far wall, nearly seven feet tall and framed in tarnished bronze that curled at the edges like something once regal, now long forgotten. The glass was fogged with age, mottled with black corrosion like rot blooming behind the surface. As Du Cheng stepped closer, his reflection slid into view—murky, distorted, like a figure glimpsed through deep water.

He stared at himself, but something in the mirror didn't feel right. His eyes in the reflection didn't move when he did.

He stopped.

For a split second—just before his boots reached the edge of the dusty carpet—he saw someone else in the mirror.

Not himself.

Not anyone in the room.

Someone who wasn't supposed to be there at all.

A dark figure in the background, standing just behind his shoulder—motionless. Head tilted. Watching.

He spun around.

Empty.

Nothing but the creaking floorboards, the ticking of water dripping from the chandelier.

He turned back to the mirror. Just his reflection now.

"Sir?" Officer Lin appeared in the doorway, flashlight already in hand. "We're setting up camp in the dining room. Might be here a while."

Du Cheng nodded once. "Tell everyone to stay in pairs."

As Lin left, Du Cheng lingered one more moment in front of the mirror.

Outside, thunder cracked. The chandelier flickered once, twice—and then the lights died altogether.

Total darkness.

Du Cheng let out an irritated sigh. “Seriously?” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “Now of all times?”

He reached instinctively toward his phone, fumbling in the dark for its flashlight. But before he could turn it on, something unnatural crept across his skin.

A breath—not his own.

Cold. Damp. Too close.

It slid down the back of his neck like a whisper made of ice.

Du Cheng froze.

His annoyance drained in an instant, replaced by a tight, creeping dread that gripped his spine and locked his muscles. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The air had changed.

He was no longer alone.

Then—a voice.
Not a voice, exactly. A presence threaded through the silence, like wind curling through hollow bones.

"Go..." it whispered.
The sound wasn't in his ears—it was inside his head, curling behind his eyes.
Soft. Ragged. Wet.

"Leave!"

The mirror vibrated faintly. Behind his reflection, the shadows seemed to pulse.

"You are not... supposed to be here..."

Du Cheng froze.

The voice hadn't come from the mirror. Or the hallway. Or anywhere his ears could trace.

It had come from inside him.

He stepped back. He didn't run. He wouldn't give it the satisfaction.

In the dining room, flashlights bobbed like fireflies. Someone was trying to light a portable lantern.

Rain lashed the windows like fists.

And somewhere above them, in the closed-off second floor, footsteps echoed.

Slow. Deliberate.

Far too heavy to belong to anyone still alive.

--- 

The storm outside showed no sign of mercy. Rain hammered the roof in relentless waves, soaking the mansion's eaves and overflowing the rusted gutters. Thunder rolled in long, echoing groans across the sky, while wind curled beneath the doorframes and whistled through the cracks, as if the house were exhaling in slow, uneven breaths.

Inside, temporary lighting cast dim yellow halos across the entryway and into the parlor, where Du Cheng stood reading the house map and reports to check about the details of the murder they've gathered so far. The floorboards beneath him were damp from soaked boots, but he already took off his jacket while it was still dripping from when he'd come in from the storm. Two officers stood nearby, giving him a rundown of the first floor's layout and what they'd managed to mark off. He listened closely, nodding at intervals, occasionally making notes with a pen already beginning to smudge from the humidity in the air.

They had barely begun to scratch the surface of this place, and time was already slipping. Evidence had to be preserved. Clues couldn't wait.

---

He Rongyue

Down the hall, He Rongyue, together with Lin, moved with measured, deliberate steps toward the children’s bedroom, her flashlight slicing through the thick shadows that clung to the narrow corridor like a living thing. The further she walked, the colder it became—an unnatural chill that settled into her bones and pressed against her skin like damp cloth.

The air was heavy with a faint, sour stench—decay laced with mildew, the kind that seeped deep into old wood and never left. Paint peeled in strips along the walls, curling like scorched paper, and beneath the faded wallpaper, she could swear the patterns writhed when she wasn’t looking.

Her beam of light wavered—then steadied again.

And then, without warning, the lights overhead flickered before they finally died.

Total darkness swallowed the hallway in an instant.

Lin cursed under his breath, his hand going straight to his belt for a backup light. “Power’s out.”

“I know,” He Rongyue whispered back, her breath visible in the sudden cold. Her fingers tightened around the flashlight as she clicked it back on, the thin beam now the only source of light between them.

Her heart pounded louder with each step. She reached the bedroom door and slowly pushed it open.

The hinges gave a low groan, a sound that grated against her teeth. Her light swept across the cracked floorboards, the worn furniture, and then—

There.The small, lifeless form of the drowned child.

He Rongyue’s breath caught in her throat. Behind her, Lin stopped moving.

The body was twisted unnaturally, a doll-like figure crumpled as if tossed aside. The skin was ghost-pale, slick with damp, and carried a sheen like oil in low light. Wet strands of black hair clung to the floorboards in dark fans, and the faint glisten of water pooled around the child's cheek.

She approached slowly, kneeling with grim precision beside the body. Her eyes narrowed, scanning every inch. The limbs were bent wrong—one shoulder popped slightly out of joint, the wrist twisted back. Bruises marbled the fragile skin, old and new blending in sick hues of yellow, blue, and violet. Around the nose and mouth, a faint purplish discoloration hinted at suffocation. It wasn't just drowning.

It was held.

Her gloved fingers hovered just above the dusty floor, tracing faint impressions—tiny barefoot prints scattered near the bed, smaller than her palm. Drag marks. Smudges. A pattern only visible to someone who knew how to look. She exhaled through her nose and glanced toward the door.

"Scene secure?" she asked softly.

Lin nodded from the threshold, his silhouette still and tense.

She returned her attention to the floor.

But then—

A sound above her.

The old chandelier groaned, its rusted chain creaking as it swung gently. Light danced across the cracked ceiling, casting a shifting web of fractured shadows that reached down the walls like grasping hands. She looked up instinctively—and that's when it happened.

A prickling sensation crawled across her right shoulder.

Not just cold.

Contact.

It was light, feathery—like someone had barely brushed her jacket with their fingertips. She spun around, breath catching in her throat.

Nothing.

Just the dark hallway staring back at her.

"Lin?" she called out, her voice a touch too sharp.

"In the next room," came his distant reply.

She hesitated, then let out a slow breath, trying to calm her thudding heart. "Probably just a draft," she muttered to herself, though her voice lacked conviction.

She turned back to her notes—only for a deeper chill to race up her spine.

Her hair twitched. Not all of it.

Just a few strands, rising.

Floating.

There was no breeze. No movement.

But it lifted, as though something unseen were toying with it.

She froze.

Then snapped, "Stop messing around!"

Still thinking—hoping—it was Lin playing a cruel joke, she turned sharply, eyes scanning.

No one.

The doorway was empty. The hallway was still.

And then—suddenly—the light above her flickered once.

Twice.

Then without warning, something yanked her hair.

Hard.

Her head snapped back violently as invisible fingers gripped and pulled with vicious strength, jerking her body off balance. Pain tore through her scalp. She cried out, stumbling, arms flailing. Her hand flew up, grabbing at the unseen grip, fingers clawing through empty air.

"Shit!" she gasped, wrenching free after a moment of raw struggle. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts. Her heart hammered so loud it drowned out every other sound.

Then came a voice—sharp, cold, and far too clear.

"Leave."

It was a child's voice, but there was no softness in it. No innocence.
It rang through the air like a slap.
Commanding. Stern.

He Rongyue froze, the hairs on her arms lifting.

"It'll hurt you. It always does."
The voice was low now, closer. No whisper—this was a warning carved in ice.

"You still have time."
"Get out."

She turned slowly toward the sound, and for a heartbeat, she saw her in the mirror—
a girl, small and pale, her eyes two pits of shadow.
And then she was gone.

Then—

The silence shattered.

A chair, untouched by human hands, scraped loudly across the wooden floor on the far side of the room. It slid out from the table as though someone had just stood up from it.

No one was there.

But the chair kept moving.

Her skin went cold.

Her instincts screamed louder than logic.

She turned and bolted from the room, footsteps slamming down the hall, shadows snapping at her heels like hungry teeth.

She didn't look back.

She couldn't.

Chapter Text

Jiang Feng

Further west in the mansion, Jiang Feng had taken his equipment upstairs, hoping to find a clearer signal away from the dense stone walls and ground-level interference. He moved quickly but methodically, setting up his gear with practiced hands. Every spike or drop in the signal was meticulously logged, his eyes flicking from the blinking lights of his sensors to the scrolling data on his tablet. His priority was clean readings—hard evidence, measurable anomalies. Still, the occasional burst of static skittering across his monitor made his brow tighten, his frown deepening with each flicker.

He had chosen what used to be a study for his setup—a room heavy with the scent of old paper and wood rot. Faded books lined the sagging shelves, and a desk stood against the wall like a relic untouched for years. Kneeling beside his open equipment case, Jiang Feng worked with focused urgency, fingers flying across touchscreens and buttons. His tablet displayed real-time feeds from wireless cameras and thermal sensors stationed throughout the mansion—every corridor, stairwell, and blind corner under his watch.

But something shifted.

The screen flickered.

For a moment, it was just a ripple—a minor distortion, nothing unusual.

Then jagged lines tore across the hallway feed, digital claws slashing through the image. One camera cut out entirely. Another burst into static, the noise sharp and shrill in his ears.

And then—

It came back.

The hallway was visible again... but something had changed.

A face.

Pale. Blurry. Hovering at the edge of the frame.

It wasn't his. It wasn't anyone from the team.

Eyes wide. Mouth open in a soundless scream. Grainy and distorted, as though it had been pulled from another time—or another place.

Jiang Feng stared, frozen.

And then the image was gone.

The feed blinked. And so his eyes.

The hallway stood empty once more. Nothing moved.

He barely had time to exhale when another glitch seized the screen—this one longer, slower. The distortion peeled away to reveal a man's shadow, standing perfectly still in the hallway just outside the study door. No movement. No approach. Just there—as though he had always been there.

Jiang Feng turned sharply toward the door, his breath caught in his throat.

Nothing.

The hallway outside was empty, dim and silent.

He looked back down, pulling the tablet closer, his fingers clammy against the smooth glass.

"What the hell..." he whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of his equipment.

Then—

Behind him, floorboards creaked.

Not a settling sound. Not the house shifting with age.

But a deliberate, weighty step.

Close.

Too close.

Jiang Feng didn't move.

He couldn't.

His breath hitched in his throat, lungs straining against the silence as the sound echoed behind him—one slow, deliberate creak, as if someone had just stepped onto the old wooden floor not more than a few feet away.

Every instinct screamed at him to turn around. To look. To run. To do something. But his body felt locked, as if the very air had thickened around him, pressing in tight. The faint hum of his equipment became deafening, a swarm of static and low feedback whirring in his ears.

Another creak.

Closer this time.

Right behind him.

He spun.

No one was there.

The study stretched out in quiet gloom, the door still slightly ajar, the corridor beyond just as empty as before. But the cold... the cold had deepened, wrapping around him like a wet shroud. The air was still, but he could feel it—something in the room with him. Watching.

He turned back to his tablet. The feed was no longer glitching.

But something had changed.

The camera that had shown the empty hallway outside the study now displayed... him.

Not just the hallway. Him. From behind.

The angle was wrong—it wasn't from one of his cameras. It was higher, slightly tilted, as though taken by someone standing directly over his shoulder.

His reflection on the tablet's screen showed his back—his jacket, the way he knelt by the case—and just beyond that, a shape. Faint. Human-like. Towering behind him, cast in shadow, features blurred as if the lens couldn't quite focus.

Then, slowly, the shape lifted an arm.

Jiang Feng's blood turned to ice.

He twisted around, stumbling backward, nearly knocking over his equipment.

Nothing.

The room remained still. Unmoved. Unchanged.

But the temperature had plummeted, his breath now visible in the air, misting in short, panicked bursts. Somewhere deep in the house, a distant door slammed, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

His tablet slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

He grabbed his flashlight and swept it wildly around the room—bookshelves, the desk, the corners.

Empty.

But he knew he hadn't imagined it. Something had been there. Something was still there.

He backed toward the doorway, inch by inch, heart thundering, each step pressing into floorboards that moaned beneath his weight. The moment he crossed into the hallway, the flickering bulb overhead went out with a sharp pop.

Jiang Feng ran.

Not looking back. Not daring to.

Lu Haizhou

The storm outside groaned against the rotting bones of the mansion, wind dragging long, hollow moans through the cracked windowpanes. Officers were still moving through the house in scattered pairs, boots thudding against warped wood and muttered radios hissing in broken rhythm. Du Cheng stood reviewing photographs beside a long-neglected sideboard when he felt a presence at his shoulder.

"I'll be right back," Lu Haizhou murmured, voice low. "Need to use the bathroom."

"Alright. Just... be careful," Du Cheng said quietly, his eyes scanning the darkened hallway. "This place doesn't sit right with me."

Lu Haizhou nodded silently, then turned to find the bathroom. Once he find one after quite a searching, he stepped into the bathroom, the door creaking shut behind him with a reluctant groan. The weak overhead bulb flickered once, then buzzed to life, casting a pale, sickly light across the cracked tiles and stained porcelain. The mirror above the sink had long since fractured—thick spiderweb veins splitting across its surface, distorting reflections like a funhouse relic left to rot.

"How the hell does a house look like it's been rotting for decades," Lu Haizhou muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the warped floorboards and mold-streaked walls, "when a family was living here just last week?"

There was no sign of life. Dust coated every surface in a thick, undisturbed layer. Cobwebs draped like funeral veils in each house corners, sagging between rusted fixtures. The wallpaper hung in tatters, curling away from the damp-stained plaster as though trying to escape. The air smelled of mildew, of old wood left to rot in silence.

It didn't make sense.

"Not a single footprint. No towels hung, no soap residue, no steam lingering in the air—no sign that anyone had been here at all. The house had swallowed every trace of life, digesting it into cold, hollow decay."

His brows furrowed, unease creeping in like a draft beneath a locked door.

"This place should've felt lived in," he said softly, more to himself than anyone. "But it feels like it's been just abandoned."

He exhaled slowly, telling himself it was just the age of the house. Just nerves.

But then—something changed.

The mirror. He'd seen only his reflection seconds ago, fractured and dim.

Now, scrawled across the broken glass in long, wet strokes—letters smeared as though painted with trembling fingers—was a word.

LEAVE THIS PLACE .

He froze. The word hadn't been there when he came in.

The letters were dark red. Thick. Fresh.

Blood?

His chest tightened. A flicker of heat climbed the back of his neck. "No... it wasn't there before," he murmured, backing a step. His eyes darted to the corners of the room, the walls, the ceiling—nothing moved, but everything felt wrong.

He forced a breath, trying to stay calm. Maybe it's just a prank. Some twisted joke left by squatters or vandals—adding to the house's dark little legend. But still... not a single footprint.

He reached for the sink faucet, needing the grounding sound of running water.

It sputtered—once, twice—and then poured freely.

But not water.

Blood.

Thick, dark, and slow. It spilled over the porcelain like it had a weight to it, pooling with a wet slosh in the basin, rising toward the edges.

Lu Haizhou stumbled back, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. "Jesus—!"

He reached for the door, heart hammering, but before his hand touched the knob—

SLAM!

The door flew open by itself, crashing hard against the wall.

Then, just as violently—

BANG!

It slammed shut again so forcefully. The mirror rattled and one of the fractured shards cracked further down the center.

The word was gone.

Only his pale, wide-eyed reflection remained—shivering beneath a flickering light, the sound of the blood-slick faucet echoing behind him.

He backed toward the door again, breathing ragged, hand trembling as he reached for the knob with far less certainty than before.

Something in the house had noticed him.

And it was no longer quiet.

Chapter Text

SHEN YI

On the second floor, Shen Yi moved alone, his steps silent and measured. In one hand, he carried his weathered notebook—its corners bent from use, pages smudged with graphite and field notes. Though he'd promised Du Cheng to stay within range of the others, his curiosity always betrayed him. Drifting forward, he let the echo of his footsteps guide him deeper into the corridor's long hush.

The air was stale here—drier than below, but heavier somehow, as if it clung to his skin and lungs. The hallway stretched on like a forgotten vein in the house, pulsing with a stillness that made the hair on his arms rise. Faint water stains bled down the walls, curling like old burn marks beneath the peeling wallpaper. The patterns—once floral—were now distorted by time, warped into shapes that resembled twisting faces, or hands frozen mid-reach.

Then, without warning, the overhead light sputtered once—twice—and died.

Darkness fell like a dropped curtain, sudden and complete. The hum of electricity faded with it, swallowed by silence so absolute it rang in his ears. Shen Yi froze. For a breathless second, he didn't even blink, eyes wide and straining against the dark. The shadows surged, deeper now, as if they'd been waiting for this moment. As if they could move.

He exhaled, slow and steady. Of course the light would die now—like some cruel director was timing it for maximum horror.

Calmly, he reached into his coat and pulled out the slim torch from his inner pocket. It clicked on with a soft mechanical snap, its beam cutting a narrow path through the thick dark. The light quivered as he adjusted his grip, the corridor reassembling itself one fragment at a time—details sharp around the edges, the rest lost to shadow. The silence returned, deeper than before. But at least now, he could see.

He moved forward again, slower now. He paused often, crouching to examine the smallest disruptions in the otherwise undisturbed dust. A smudge. A faint scuff mark. A thread of fabric snagged on an exposed nail. He sketched them in his notebook with the care of someone used to reading what others couldn't see. Here, everything told a story—just not out loud.

Then, his steps slowed.

He stared at the door, his breath fogging in the cold that now clung to his skin like mist. He should walked away. That was what gut told him.

But he didn't move.

The longer he stood there, the more wrong it felt to leave it alone.

It wasn't curiosity that made him reach for the doorknob again.

It was gravity.

Something pulled at him.

He reached out and turned the knob. It didn't budge. It was locked.

He tried again, twisting harder but the door held fast. A low, metallic clunk echoed beneath his fingers, final and unmoving. For a moment, he stood frozen, the cold seeping up his arm like it was alive, like something on the other side was gripping back.

Just as Shen Yi stepped away from the door, a soft click stopped him in his tracks. He froze, then turned back, eyes narrowing in surprise.

The room in front of him—the one that had been locked moments ago—was creaking open. Slowly, deliberately, the door yawned like the mouth of some waiting beast.

No one had touched it. No one was near. It simply... opened on its own.

And suddenly, a gust of wind howled through the hallway like a living thing, fierce and sharp as if summoned by an unseen force. It whipped down the narrow corridor, tearing through the silence. Doors along both sides of the hallway burst open with deafening bangs, only to slam shut again with a violent clatter, one after the other—bang, bang, bang—like some invisible hand was pounding on them, urging him forward.

Shen Yi flinched with every crash. His breath caught in his throat as his back pressed against the cold wall. His instincts screamed at him to run, but before he could even think, the door right beside him slammed shut with such force it rattled the floor beneath his feet. The sound was so sharp, so sudden, it jolted through his chest like lightning.

He didn't have time to weigh his options. Driven by pure reflex and the jolt of fear snaking through his spine, Shen Yi dashed into the room that had opened by itself, his body moving faster than his mind could catch up.

He stumbled a few steps in with chest heaving, heart pounding in his ears and he slammed the door shut.

"...What... is going on?" he whispered, voice trembling, barely audible over the roar of blood in his head. His hands were cold. His legs felt like stone. His heart slammed against his ribs, each beat louder than the last.

He didn't know if he was safe inside, or if he'd just walked straight into the trap.

The smell hit him first inside the room was old wood, mildew, and something else—coppery and dry, like old blood and burnt iron.

The flashlight trembled faintly in his hand, the beam catching the fine layer of dust floating lazily in the still air. The shadows curled in the corners of the room, thick and unmoving. Silence pressed in like a weight on his chest.

There was a shape in the far corner—tall human-like, draped in a heavy black cloth that pooled onto the floor like spilled ink.  Shen Yi walked closer and his gaze flicked downward. Symbols circled its base, etched into the floor in a deep, dark red. They had cracked and dried over time, some smudged like someone had tried to wipe them away in a panic. He crouched, tracing a finger near—but never on—the lines.

Not paint.

Not rust.

He stood again. The black cloth stood deathly still. No movement, no draft. Then his breath hitched as suddenly a shiver crawled down his spine.

Something was not right.

The black cloth got a small, weathered sign hung from its chest, the words scrawled in shaky, uneven letters:

DO NOT UNVEIL, the sign warned.

But he wasn't reading anymore.

His breath suddenly slowed. His shoulders slackened. The voices in his head weren't his own.

At last. After s o many years. So many who passed by. But none like you.

So clean. So bright. I need human like you.

Now...come closer.

His eyelids fluttered, a single tremor pulsing through his fingertips like static under the skin.

He took a step forward. Another. The dust didn't even stir.

He didn't notice the sensation crawling over his spine like warm hands. He didn't notice when the flashlight slipped from his fingers and rolled to a stop behind him, flickering, sputtering out.

The room seemed to pulse. Like a living thing waiting to exhale.

A rusty iron spike jutted from a fractured floorboard near the base of the figure—subtle, deliberate. His foot brushed past it, but he didn't stumble.

Instead, Shen Yi knelt.

And, slowly, deliberately, he drew a small blade from his coat—a folding knife he always carried.

He didn't seem confused. Didn't hesitate.

"Let it pour," the voice breathed. "Your soul is pure—so your blood is power."

His hand trembled, but not from fear. Like muscle memory. Like ceremony.

One clean motion—across his palm.

And the blood gushed. Hot, dark, spilling down his wrist and splattering in wide arcs across the cracked floor.

The blood struck the faded red symbols drawn in a forgotten language—faded, but still dangerous. It soaked into the etchings and lit them with a low ember glow, like coals catching breath.

Shen Yi's lips parted.

And he began to speak.

Words he didn't know.

A language no one should remember.

Each syllable vibrated through the room like a thread being snapped.

"Tēvarum... kai nalash... e'vorun eth." (*To the god of vengeance... with this offering... let it awaken.)

His voice deepened as the words left his throat, eyes dim and glassy—entranced, a puppet wired to unseen strings.

The circle burned red.

The cloth over the figure twitched.

Then—burst outward, as if blown from the inside. Black dust sprayed the air. The shape beneath had vanished. Gone.

And the mirror cracked.

A wave of wind—hit Shen Yi and threw him backwards.

He hit the floor hard. The trance broke.

He gasped awake with a ragged cry, blinking up at the ceiling. His vision swam.

His palm stung. Blood dripped steadily beside him into the flickering ring.

Shen yi lips were parted, breath shallow, like he was caught in a dream just on the edge of waking. But his eyes were still unfocused. Glossy. His gaze fixed on nothing as if watching something from far away. He didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Didn't even realize the wound still gushed.

His blood the final key. The blood continued to pour from Shen Yi's palm in thick rivulets, crimson seeped into every carved groove, awakening the etched sigils with a glow so faint it seemed to come from beneath the earth itself. 

The air thickened.

It wasn't wind or heat, but pressure, folding in around the room like a cocoon. Every breath in Shen Yi's lungs felt heavier, his chest rising slower, his lashes trembling faintly though his face remained blank. His eyes—still glassy and dazed—reflected the sigils like mirrors.

Then, it began.

From the center of the circle, the blood shimmered—not wet, but viscous and pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. The air rippled above it. And from that ripple, something emerged.

At first, it was nothing more than smoke. Black, dense, unnatural. It curled slowly, deliberately, rising upward like reverse ink dropped into water. It didn't waver. It didn't flicker.

It knew where it was going.

The cloud hovered above Shen Yi—silent, alive, as if studying him. Its presence pressed down like a nightmare made real. Then the shadow thickened, pulsing with something wet and wrong, until it began to shift—gaining weight, texture, flesh. Muscle coiled where mist had drifted, sinew stretching over bone that hadn’t existed a breath ago. Veins pulsed beneath translucent skin, crawling like worms beneath ice. It was no longer a shadow. It was becoming real.

A voice followed—ancient and cruel—slithering through the silence like rot creeping through old walls.

"How long I have waited... And finally—a pure vessel. Unaware. Untouched."

The figure leaned in, its long nails grazing across Shen Yi’s cheek—slow, deliberate, as if savoring the feel of living skin.

Shen Yi didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

But his breath hitched—shallow, uneven—no longer entirely his own.

"The blood is pure. And the gate has opened."

Dark nails hovered near the wound in Shen Yi’s palm. The blood shimmered unnaturally bright, glowing from within like a lantern lit by something sacred—or cursed. The demon touched it—and trembled.

"Such innocence... delicious."

The voice deepened, a whisper turned to thunder.

"Perfect."

Then the thing stretched its hands toward Shen Yi’s face, claw-like fingers parting his lips wider with unnatural precision. More limbs unfurled—flesh bending into writhing tendrils that slithered forward, slow and deliberate, toward the back of his throat.

"Let me in..."
"Let me breathe..."
"Let me live again..."

As the first tendril slid past his lips and down his throat, Shen Yi convulsed violently.

His body arched, back taut as a drawn bowstring, arms flung behind him as though hooked by invisible wires. A silent scream strained his jaw open, but no sound escaped. His throat clenched and spasmed, desperate to reject the intrusion, but it kept coming. Tendrils forced their way deeper, slick and suffocating.

He coughed, choked, body jerking against nothing. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and saliva spilled from the corners of his mouth. His breath hitched and faltered, rasping—shallow and wet—as the airways collapsed beneath the invasive weight. There was no room left for oxygen.

Still, it did not stop.

A terrible sound broke from his throat—not a scream, but a crackling moan, as if his vocal cords were being reshaped mid-sound.

His fingers trembled, eyes wide and unfocused, irises flooding black. Veins darkened across his arms and around his neck, crawling like ink beneath the skin. His eyes rolled back—then flashed red for an instant before snapping open, wide, glassy, but unfocused. The circle beneath him flickered with pulsing red light—symbols reacting, igniting, before sizzling out like dying embers.

His breathing quickened. A shiver rolled down his spine so violently it made his teeth clench.

But that thing wasn't done.

It slithered deeper—into his ribcage, down his spine, threading through nerve and muscle like smoke invading a ruined house. It made Shen Yi's body jerked in unnatural rhythms once more time, hands fisting and unfisting, muscles spasming beneath skin as if something inside was rearranging him.

His lips began to move—slowly, blindly—as if reciting words he did not understand.

Ancient words. Cursed words.

"Zeh'ar nethi... yol dru-kha..Ka'shar vel nodhain... ril ath'ken belor..." (*This is the sacrifice... fire shall consume all... Ka'shar of the abyss... awaken the gate sealed in blood)

Each syllable summoned heat into the room, drawn from no fire. The language was ancient, guttural, a chant born from bone and shadow. With every word, the glow beneath the sigils faded—burnt out by the force escaping them. The containment was being undone, unstitched by the very voice of its prisoner.

"...Kor'tahn..." the voice rasped. (*Heart of Death)

He kept chanting, entranced, as the last of the tendrils finally sank into his chest.

Then—silence.

His body dropped like a puppet with cut strings. Slumped onto the floor. Still. Steam rose faintly from his shoulders.

For one breathless second, it seemed like it had all stopped.

But then...

He exhaled. 

And it wasn't Shen Yi anymore.

Then his hand moved—just a finger at first. Then the palm flattened to the ground. He pushed himself up with unnatural ease.  His posture shifted—no longer tense, no longer afraid. His head tilted, chin rising slightly, as if testing how the muscles worked. He lifted his hands, flexed the fingers like trying on gloves. A small smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth.

Eyes opened.

Not wide. Not shocked.

Focused. Cold.

Still under the hypnotized, his expression was blank—but deep behind his gaze, something watched. Curious. Calculating.

A voice, not his, echoed low from within:

"Finally," he said. His voice was Shen Yi's—but touched with something else beneath it. "So fragile..." he muttered, testing the voice like trying on a suit. "But pure enough to hold me."

He turned, stepping out of the circle as the dust began to settle.

"Let's see if that cursed priest still breathes." He paused. Then smiled wider. "If not... his bloodline will do."

"I'll find him," the demon whispered, more to itself than to any listener. "This body will carry me where stone and shadow couldn't. Let them call it madness. Let them think he's cursed. I'll bury the name that sealed me... and carve mine into the bones of the last witness."

Outside, lightning cracked. Thunder followed like a war drum.

Shen Yi's eyes glinted in the flash—faintly red.

And then they dimmed again, softening. Normal.

He stood.

Walked out of the room like nothing had happened.

And the cloth-draped corner where the warning once stood?

Empty.

Chapter Text

Back in the parlor, Du Cheng circled one of the markers on the floor plan with the help of a flashlight held by one of the officers. The scent of stale smoke and damp wood lingered heavily in the air. Outside, lightning clawed across the sky, casting the windows in sudden, ghostly white flashes that left the room trembling in darkness the instant they faded.

He took a step back, angling the beam toward the map. “Shen Yi, have you find any more evidence for the case?” he said into the walkie-talkie.

Static answered him.

He waited, thumb hovering over the button.

“Shen Yi, come in. Do you copy?”

Nothing. Only the low hiss of interference.

Du Cheng’s frown deepened. He glanced toward the hallway, the shadows thickening in the corners of the room.

Du Cheng exhaled sharply, masking the tension creeping into his shoulders. “Get someone to check the power. Fuse box, mainline—whatever’s keeping this place together.”

The flashlight beam trembled slightly as thunder rumbled beneath their feet. He adjusted his grip, voice dropping as his eyes narrowed at the map again.

"Shen Yi, I repeat. Do you copy?"

Another silence answered him—cold and absolute. Not even the crackle of interference now. Just… absence.

He let out a tight sigh, lowering the device slowly.

“Where the hell is Shen Yi?” he muttered, his brow furrowing deeper.

His gaze back on the map one last time, reluctant to leave it behind. Another rumble passed underfoot—low, almost like breath. The house settling. Or something else.

He reached for his radio but paused at the sound of footsteps—not rushed, but uneven, cautious. He turned just as Lu Haizhou stepped into the parlor, his face pale and drawn.

Du Cheng's brow furrowed. "Officer Lu? What's wrong?"

Lu Haizhou didn't answer immediately. He wasn't running, but his chest moved in shallow, rapid breaths, eyes unfocused like someone trying to process what they'd just seen—or what they thought they saw.

Du Cheng took a step toward him. "Talk to me. What did you see?"

Before Lu Haizhou could answer, the floorboards in the hallway thundered beneath rushing footsteps.

He Rongyue, Lin, and Jiang Feng burst into the room, breathless and rattled. Their clothes were rumpled and pant legs. Lin's gloves were half-off, Jiang Feng clutched a camera with trembling fingers, and He Rongyue looked like he'd just walked out of a grave.

Du Cheng's head snapped toward them. "What the hell do you think you're doing running like maniacs? This isn't a bloody race. You could've trampled evidence—damaged the crime scene!"

The room buzzed with rising tension, flashlights dancing over warped wallpaper and half-faded shadows. Something had happened.

Something was happening.

Lin swallowed hard, chest rising and falling unevenly. "Sir... you need to listen. Something's wrong—more than just strange. The chandelier—it groaned and swayed on its own. A chair slid across the floor by itself."

"And... I felt it—like invisible fingers brushing my shoulder, tugging at my hair quite hard to know it wasn't my imagination," He Rongyue said, his voice trembling.

Jiang Feng stepped forward, his voice shaky but determined. "My sensors were going haywire. The cameras glitched—static tearing through the images. I saw a man's face. Pale, wide-eyed, mouth open like he was screaming silently. Then a shadow standing just outside the study door. It didn't move. It just... waited."

Before Du Cheng could respond, a hoarse voice cut in from his left.

Lu Haizhou.

He hadn't moved from where he stood, but now his voice dropped low, like confessing something he wished he hadn't seen.

"Bathroom," he said hoarsely. "I was going to the bathroom" His voice trembled, but he kept speaking. "The sink was running. Water. Clear. Then it just... turned red."

Everyone went still.

"Blood. Filling the basin." He stared at his own hands, as if expecting them to still be stained. "And then the mirror—" He swallowed, hard. "There were words. Written in blood. I didn't even see them appear—they were just suddenly there."

He looked up, eyes wide, haunted.

"The door slammed shut behind me. I thought it was the wind, but it slammed again. Open. Closed." His voice cracked. "I didn't imagine it. I know I didn't."

Du Cheng's mouth tightened, jaw working. Flashlights cast long, quivering shadows across the floor, stretching toward the corners where the darkness no longer felt empty.

Silence thickened again, a living thing now, coiling between them.

Du Cheng rubbed his temples, a deep, sour knot tightening in his gut. "I've felt it too," he admitted quietly, voice roughened by the weight of his own experience. "I heard someone talking to me. Whispering about someone who shouldn't be here. Saying we needed to leave. That this place isn't meant for us."

He Rongyue, still pale but steadying, added, "Everything here feels wrong. I think It's warning us for us to get out."

Lu Haizhou's voice was barely a whisper. "Agreed. I don't want to believe it, but... it's like something wants us gone. And it won't let us stay."

Du Cheng looked around the room, his jaw tight. The storm outside pressed against the windows like a final warning.

The team exchanged looks—fear and relief mingling. Whatever haunted this place, it was making itself known. And it was clear: they weren't welcome here anymore.

He paced a slow circle, the creak of floorboards loud in the tense room. His sharp eyes locked onto both of them.

"And Shen Yi? Where is Shen Yi?" His words dropped like a stone, echoing around the walls, carrying dread.

He Rongyue glanced at Jiang Feng, both hesitating.

Du Cheng's voice sharpened, cutting through the silence. "Answer me."

A cold dread filled the room. The house seemed to lean closer, breathing, waiting.

He Rongyue swallowed again, voice tight as a wire. "We... we lost sight of him after he went to the second floor alone." Her eyes darted toward the cracked plaster ceiling as if the walls might swallow her whole.

Du Cheng’s gaze darkened. “He still hasn’t come back,” he muttered, frustration bleeding into his voice. “No response on the radio. I’ve tried calling—nothing.”

He raised the walkie-talkie again, thumb pressing the button a little harder this time.
“Shen Yi, do you read me? Come in.”

Silence.

He tried again.
“Shen Yi, it’s Du Cheng. Answer if you hear this.”

Still no reply. Only the low hiss of static.

Du Cheng exhaled sharply and rubbed at his temples, the tension etched deep across his brow.

Jiang Feng stepped up beside him, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll try his number,” he said, dialing quickly.

They waited.

The phone rang—once, twice—before it went to voicemail.

Jiang Feng tried again, his voice lower now. “Still nothing.”

A tight silence followed, thick and uncomfortable.

Du Cheng’s fingers tapped anxiously against the table—fast, sharp. He finally stopped and stood up straight, his eyes catching the flicker of lightning outside.

“This isn’t right,” he said quietly, then louder, firmer, “I have a bad feeling about this. We need to find him. Now.”

He turned to the team, voice rising into a hard command. "Sweep the entire second floor. I want every damn corner checked. Behind furniture, inside closets, even under the floorboards if you have to."

His gaze locked onto Lu. "Take your men to the boiler room—thoroughly this time. If there's even a whisper of movement, I want it reported."

He paused, voice dropping to a low, fierce growl. "And someone stays here in case he's back. I want a radio on me at all times. We find Shen Yi—no matter what."

He Rongyue nodded, swallowing her fear and steeling herself. Jiang Feng's hands tightened into fists, eyes burning with a mix of worry and determination.

The house seemed to breathe around them, shadows deepening in the corners, as if waiting to reveal its secrets—but they need to start finding Shen Yi first.

Du Cheng took a deep breath, rallying the officers around him. "Alright. First floor, every room. Move carefully—don't disturb anything that might be evidence."

The team split up, their footsteps hushed but purposeful as they swept through the dusty rooms, flashlights cutting through thick shadows. They checked closets, cabinets, behind curtains—every nook and cranny—but there was no sign of Shen Yi.

Anxiety began to knot Du Cheng's stomach. Shen Yi's absence felt heavier with every unanswered call.

Minutes stretched like hours in the heavy silence. Outside, the rain hammered relentlessly against the mansion's grimy windows, each drop a cold, sharp staccato that echoed through the hollow halls. The sky had darkened fully, swallowed whole by thick, roiling clouds that smothered any trace of daylight. No sun remained to pierce the gloom—only the endless, oppressive twilight of night.

The air inside the house grew colder, damp seeping through the cracked walls, chilling the skin beneath their clothes. The scent of wet earth and decayed wood mixed with the stale odor of dust and forgotten memories. Shadows pooled deep in every corner, stretching and writhing like living things in the flickering torchlight.

Outside, the wind howled mournfully, tugging at the loose shutters with an eerie persistence.

Inside, Du Cheng and the others stood tense, each heartbeat thudding like a drum in the silence, the distant rain a relentless reminder of time slipping away. Frustration crept into their movements, the silence of the house pressing heavier with each unanswered call of Shen Yi's name. Even when he tried calling for Shen Yi through his talkie walkie yet still got no answer.

A muscle ticked in Du Cheng's jaw as he stared at the floor plan spread out before him, his thoughts no longer focused on strategy but on the sharp, rising unease coiling in his gut. He clenched his fists, forcing them open again.

Where are you, Shen Yi?

The name hung heavy in the silence, more accusation than question now. Shen Yi had always been dependable—too rational to go off the grid like this without reason. And yet, he hadn't returned. No signal. No response. Nothing but that damn silence.

Chapter Text

A/N : Double updates for the missing days yesterday ^^ I have an upcoming exam this Sunday. Wish me Luck TvT 

Boots thudded against the creaking steps as Du Cheng led his team up the grand staircase, the wood groaning beneath their weight. Rain slammed against the windows behind them, and the storm's howl leaked in through every crack in the old mansion's frame. The air was thicker up here—heavier, like it had soaked up the scent of decay and secrets for decades.

"Check every room," Du Cheng barked over his shoulder. "Split up in twos. Keep your radios on."

Officers peeled off, sweeping through the narrow corridors, voices low but tense. Flashlights cut through the gloom in restless arcs, casting fleeting shadows along the torn wallpaper and warped floorboards.

Du Cheng didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Jiang Feng’s arm, nodding toward the left wing. “Wait—let’s check this way. I don’t know why, but… I’ve got a feeling he might be there.”

Jiang Feng nodded once, falling into step beside him.

The corridor felt longer than it should've. The deeper they went, the more distorted the space felt. The walls seemed to lean in ever so slightly. 

As they turned the corner toward the far end of the hall, Du Cheng suddenly slowed.

There.

Just ahead, standing perfectly still in front of a tall, dust-streaked window, was Shen Yi.

His silhouette was backlit by faint lightning outside. One hand rested gently on the sill, the other hung loosely at his side. He wasn't moving. Wasn't speaking. Just staring out, as if the world beyond the glass held answers no one else could see.

"Shen Yi!" Du Cheng called.

No response.

Du Cheng's steps quickened, heavy with growing dread. "Shen Yi!"

Still nothing.

He exchanged a glance with Jiang Feng, whose eyes narrowed with concern. The two moved cautiously closer.

Shen Yi didn't react—didn't flinch, didn't turn.

There was something wrong in his stillness. Not shock. Not fear. Just... absence. The kind of stillness that felt intentional.

As Du Cheng reached him, he hesitated. "Hey... it's me. You okay?"

Shen Yi finally stirred—but only slightly. His head tilted, just a fraction. Slowly, mechanically. His eyes, when they met Du Cheng's, were darker than they should've been. Shadowed. Distant. Like they were seeing something through him, not at him.

Du Cheng's eyes narrowed with a sharp exhale. "Shen Yi, Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you—didn't you hear us?!"

A pause. Then Shen Yi blinked, once.

His lips parted slightly.

"I was... here."

The voice was his. But off by a beat. Jiang Feng shifted uneasily beside Du Cheng.

Inside the haze of his mind, Shen Yi drifted—weightless, thoughtless, as if sunk beneath deep, dark water.

Something had pulled him under.

A voice not his own. A will not his own.

It had wrapped around his thoughts like a serpent, whispered truths in a language he didn't understand, pressed images into his skull like ink soaking into paper. He hadn't questioned it. Couldn't.

Now, in the depths, he felt it begin to pull away.

Not in fear. Not in defeat.

In patience.

A coiling withdrawal, like smoke slipping through cracks in the stone, returning to some dark corner of his mind. It left no apology. No warning. Just a cold echo in his chest and the weight of something ancient curling into the hollows of his bones.

As the fog receded, Shen Yi blinked—eyes adjusting to harsh, flickering light. The chill of the hallway pressed against his skin. His breath caught as a voice, sharp and familiar, snapped into clarity.

"Shen Yi!"

His vision steadied just in time to see Du Cheng's face—drawn tight with worry, standing directly in front of him.

Shen Yi's lips parted, startled. "Huh? Du... Cheng?"

"Hey," Du Cheng said more gently now, stepping forward, his hands still firmly on Shen Yi's shoulders. "You okay?"

Shen Yi flinched, blinking rapidly as if trying to catch up with time itself. "I... I don't..."

His words faltered. There were holes in his memory. Gaping ones. The last thing he remembered clearly was walking down a hall... then something opening. A room?

He went inside because of the weird events before. But he didn't recall leaving it. The warmth of Du Cheng's grip grounded him. Real. Solid.

Shen Yi's eyes dropped to the hand gripping his left shoulder. For a fleeting second, instinct took over—he reached up to touch Du Cheng's hand.

The moment skin met skin, pain flared.

"Agh—!"

Shen Yi hissed sharply and yanked his hand back, eyes wide in surprise. He looked down.

His fingers were wet with blood.

A jagged slice ran across his palm, trailing down his fingers to the floor.  And Shen Yi had no idea how he got the wound.

"What the hell—?!" Du Cheng's voice rose again, alarmed. "You're bleeding!"

Shen Yi stared at his hand, dazed.

"I... I don't remember having this," he said quietly, almost to himself.

His voice trembled—not with pain, but with unease. Like some part of him knew something wasn't right, even if the memory refused to come back.

Du Cheng swore under his breath, already digging into his coat pocket. He yanked out a folded handkerchief and pressed it into Shen Yi’s good hand.

"Here—press this on it. Tight. We need to stop the bleeding."

Shen Yi blinked, then slowly did as told, gripping the cloth weakly.

Du Cheng took his other hand, steering him gently but firmly.
"Let’s go treat that now. Judging from the wound, it wasn’t just a scratch. You’re going to need stitches."

Without hesitation, Du Cheng pulled out his radio and called sharply, "This is Du Cheng. I found Shen Yi—he's hurt. Medic, meet us back at the parlor immediately. Everyone else, spread out. Secure the second floor. I'll catch up later."

The radio crackled with confirmation, but the urgency hung thick in the air.

Behind them, footsteps echoed sharply in the narrow corridors. The others fanned out, eyes scanning every shadow, every corner.

“Du Cheng, I—”

“Not now. You can explain everything after we get that hand looked at, alright?”

Shen Yi said nothing more, just let Du Cheng pull him forward, one hand clutching his uninjured arm. He couldn’t see Du Cheng’s face from behind—but he didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of that worry in every step, in the tight grip on his sleeve. And truth be told, he felt the same.

Shen Yi stumbled slightly, his thoughts jumbled and fractured. He was vaguely aware of the cold, damp walls pressing close, the flicker of broken lights casting long, crawling shadows.

His mind screamed for clarity but found only emptiness.

Why couldn't he remember?

Why had his body moved without him?

Du Cheng's grip was firm, steady, a lifeline pulling him through the haze.

Ahead, the team moved swiftly, voices low but urgent, weapons ready.

Every creak in the floor, every whisper of wind through broken windows, set their nerves on edge.

By the time they reached the parlor, the tension in Du Cheng's spine hadn't eased one bit. His hand never left Shen Yi's, guiding him like a man afraid his friend would vanish the second he let go.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted.

He Rongyue was already moving toward them—fast, almost running. Her white coat fluttered behind her, and her eyes went wide as they landed on Shen Yi's blood-soaked hand.

“God—Shen Yi, what happened?” she breathed, rushing forward.

She didn’t wait for an answer—didn’t need one. In one swift motion, she took his injured hand, gently pulled the handkerchief away, and examined the wound. Her eyes narrowed.

“Sit please” she said firmly, already reaching for her medkit.

Shen Yi complied wordlessly, his expression still blank, dazed. His legs folded beneath him like they'd stopped taking orders from his brain hours ago.

Du Cheng stepped back but hovered nearby, arms crossed tightly. Jiang Feng stood by the door, still scanning the hallway they'd come from.

Rongyue's hands worked quickly, disinfecting the wound even as her brows pulled tight with worry. She glanced up, voice low but stern. "What the hell happened to you?"

Du Cheng echoed the question, his gaze sharp. "Shen Yi. I need you to tell me something. Anything. What happened back there? How did you got hurt this bad?"

Shen Yi stared down at his hand as Rongyue wrapped the gauze. He blinked once, twice. "...I don't know."

His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and hollow.

"I remember going upstairs and going inside a room," he said slowly, like each word had to be dug out from a thick fog, "and then... nothing. Just... black."

He winced slightly as Rongyue tied off the bandage. "I suddenly woke up in front of the window...And you were there."

Du Cheng's eyes narrowed. That wasn't an answer he liked, but the pale cast to Shen Yi's face told him the man wasn't lying.

Before he could press further, the lights flickered—then surged back on with a soft mechanical hum.

The chandelier overhead buzzed to life, casting warm yellow light over the parlor. The tension shifted again—lessened slightly, but didn't vanish.

The officer in charge stepped into the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Main breaker was soaked and rusted," he explained. "I bypassed it. Lights are back."

Du Cheng gave a terse nod.
“Good. I’m heading back up to the second floor now,” he said, voice low and urgent.
“I want everyone up there—room by room. Carefully.”

The officer saluted and moved quickly, calling to the others filtering in from the hallway. Orders passed in sharp murmurs, boots thudding against the wooden floor as the team fanned out again.

Du Cheng turned back to Shen Yi.
“And Shen Yi, you don’t need to go anywhere right now. Just stay here.”

Shen Yi nodded slowly, his gaze distant. The ache in his wounded hand pulsed faintly, a reminder of how fragile he felt. Yet, his mind was heavier — tangled with confusion and something darker, lurking just beneath the surface. 

His eyes flicked toward the stairwell where Du Cheng had disappeared, a flicker of gratitude mingling with unease.

I’m not sure what’s happening to me, he thought, but right now, staying put might be the safest thing I can do

Rongyue sat back on her heels, hands stained faintly red.

"You lost a lot more blood than I thought," she muttered, brushing hair from her forehead. "Whatever you touched, it wasn't glass or stone. It cut too deep. Almost like..."

She didn't finish the sentence. 

Shen Yi looked up at her, lips slightly parted, as though on the verge of saying something—then closed his mouth again.

He didn't understand what had happened. But deep inside, behind the confusion and fatigue, something writhed in silence.

The gauze on his palm soaked through slowly with red.

And though he sat there, alive and breathing—

part of him wasn't entirely there anymore.

Chapter Text

Upstairs, the wooden floor groaned under heavy boots. The second floor stretched long and dim despite the working lights below. Dust floated in the beams of the officers' flashlights, settling like ash in the corners of the forgotten hallway. The air was still, untouched—as if time had paused up here.

Du Cheng led the team forward, his expression tight, steps silent but urgent. Jiang Feng walked beside him, sweeping his light across each threshold they passed. The doors were all slightly ajar, rooms still cloaked in stale air.

"Captain!" one of the officers called from the far end.

Du Cheng turned quickly, boots thudding. The officer hurried toward them, holding something in a plastic evidence bag—small, metallic, stained.

"A pocketknife," the officer said, slightly out of breath. "We found it near a corner behind a wardrobe. It's... got blood on it. Fresh one."

Du Cheng took the bag and held it up to the light. The blade was partially open, dulled by wear and streaked dark with dried blood.

Shen Yi's blood.

His gut told him that much.

He frowned, scanning the hallway behind the officer. "Anything else?"

The officer shook his head. "Nothing, sir. It was just lying there."

Du Cheng was quiet. His eyes remained fixed on the blade—its worn handle, the familiar weight of it in the bag.

"This doesn't make sense," Jiang Feng murmured beside him. "Did you thing it was his...?"

Du Cheng's brows furrowed, thoughts turning, gripping on the evidence bag tightened slightly.

He couldn't shake the image of Shen Yi standing at the window earlier, unmoving, eyes distant like they weren't his own. There'd been no panic. No shock. Just emptiness.

And now this—an inexplicable wound, blood loss, a bloody knife found nearby.

It stirred something bitter in Du Cheng's chest.

It reminded him of that case.

Almost a year ago, they were walking out of the station when Shen Yi stopped dead at the sight of a man and a little girl in red, holding his hand. There'd been nothing suspicious. Just a father and daughter.

At least that's what Du cheng had said.

But Shen Yi's expression had twisted with unease.

"She's scared," he'd whispered. "She looked back. Twice."

Du Cheng had waved it off. "You're overthinking. You've been buried in too many cases lately. That's a normal family."

But Shen Yi wasn't convinced.

And the next morning, the girl was found in a drainage ditch, her blood soaking through the torn fabric of her red dress.

There’d been no leads. No CCTV. No witnesses.

Just Shen Yi’s guilt—festering, bottomless.
He couldn’t sleep without dreaming of her. The little girl in red, staring at him with hollow eyes. Why didn’t you help me?
Why did you ignore me?
Why did you let me die?

That guilt festered into obsession. Shen Yi began studying human expressions with unsettling precision— and other details Du Cheng couldn’t quite understand. Shen Yi told him himself it was research, that it was for the cases. But Du Cheng knew better. He saw the cracks.

Over time, Shen Yi sank deeper into depression. The breaking point came when he tried to drown himself—standing at the edge of a seaside cliff, wind lashing through his clothes, eyes distant, empty.

Thankfully, Du Cheng had found him just in time. He rushed forward, pulled him back, and held him tight.
Shen Yi fought against him, fists weakly pushing, tears streaming down his face.
“Let me go,” he sobbed. “Just let me die... I’m useless... I’m so useless…”

He kept repeating it over and over, voice cracking.
“I couldn't give you the sketch of the woman in red. And now—now I let that little girl die too. I felt it. I knew something was wrong... but I ignored it…”

Du Cheng held on, heart twisting at every word.
“It’s not all your fault,” he said quietly. “I told you to ignore it too. I didn’t believe you.”

But Shen Yi shook his head, lips trembling, refusing to accept it. The guilt had dug too deep.
Still, Du Cheng didn’t let go. He kept talking, kept holding, until at last—Shen Yi stopped struggling. His body went slack, and he buried his face into Du Cheng’s shoulder, sobbing like something inside him had finally shattered.

And sometimes, late at night, the thought still haunted Du Cheng—
If he had been even a minute too late…
Shen Yi would be gone.
And he would never forgive himself.

Du Cheng swallowed the memory and he turned back toward the staircase. "I'll go check on him."

Jiang Feng called after him, "You think he did it to himself?"

Du Cheng didn't answer. His eyes darkened as he descended.

Maybe Shen Yi was falling apart again.

Or maybe... something else was going on.

Either way, he needed answers. And soon.

____

The hallway's shadows stretched behind Du Cheng as he descended the staircase, the creak of each step echoing louder than it should've in a house full of people. His boots hit the ground floor and carried him quickly across the corridor, the bloody pocketknife still fresh in his mind. But it wasn't the blood that disturbed him—it was the silence on Shen Yi's face.

The parlor door had been pushed open halfway. Light poured from the antique chandelier above, now working again thanks to the power restoration. It cast a yellowish glow over the old furniture and the dark smear of blood on the floor where Shen Yi stood before.

He Rongyue was crouched next to the long couch, sleeves rolled up, voice quiet but firm as she dabbed antiseptic onto Shen Yi's palm. He sat stiffly, his hand open in her grasp, brows knitted as if trying to understand how the pain got there in the first place.

Du Cheng stepped into the room just as Rongyue gave a small sigh.

"I already cleaned and stitched the wound. It's quite deep," she said without turning. "So he's lost more blood than I'm comfortable with."

Du Cheng crossed the room and stopped beside them, gaze settling on Shen Yi.

"Anything come back to you yet?" he asked.

Shen Yi looked up slowly, his expression dazed.

"No," he murmured. "I just remember walking inside that room. Then..." His eyes flickered as if struggling to connect threads. "Then your voice."

Du Cheng crouched slightly, lowering his tone. "You were upstairs alone. And got hurt even. You didn't answer when I called. Do you really don't remember what you were doing in that room?"

Shen Yi hesitated. His fingers twitched faintly against the bandaged hand, now resting on his knee.

Shen Yi hesitated. His fingers twitched faintly against the bandaged hand, now resting on his knee.

"I don't remember much," he admitted quietly, brows furrowing. "There was like doors slamming? And then... a sudden gust of wind. It made all the doors swing open and closed more—loud, violent."

He blinked slowly, as if trying to fish a memory out of a fog. "Then I came inside one of the rooms there and then..." His voice grew softer. "That's it. That's all I can recall. Then everything just... fades."

His eyes didn't meet theirs. He looked past them, toward the darkened hallway beyond the parlor, as if the missing pieces of his memory might still be floating there—waiting to be found.

Du Cheng's frown deepened. "You passed out?"

"Maybe?" Shen Yi answered hesitantly.

Du Cheng crouched slightly, leveling his eyes with Shen Yi's. "And after that? You didn't see anything? No one touched you? No accident?"

Shen Yi shook his head. "It's blank. Just silence. Then your voice."

"Shen Yi," Du Cheng said, quieter now, more deliberate. "Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself? You weren't... trying to?"

The question hung in the space between them like something sharp. He Rongyue glanced up sharply, but Shen Yi didn't react—not with offense or denial. Just a long, uncertain silence.

"I don't know," he said at last, voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't feel like something I did. At least... not me."

Du Cheng glanced at the bloodied gauze, then to the stain on Shen Yi's sleeve, still faintly damp.

He didn't press further. Not yet. But his gaze lingered on Shen Yi's face for a long moment before  straightened up, crossing his arms, worry pulling between his brows. "Do you think someone hurt you?"

Shen Yi didn't answer immediately.

Du Cheng glanced around the quiet grounds. "But there's no one else suspicious here—just the police and our team." His voice dropped a little, the confusion settling deeper. "It doesn't add up."

After a while, he crouched in front of Shen Yi without a word, letting the plastic crinkle deliberately as he held the pouch up.

"Does this belong to you?"

Shen Yi's eyes dropped to the pouch. His breath caught.

That knife. He knew it. Not just vaguely. Not just maybe.

He had carried it for years—half out of habit, half as a precaution on late-night callouts. A little old thing with a slight nick in the handle where it had once fallen on gravel. It had been at the bottom of his coat pocket for as long as he could remember.

"I..." He blinked, but the fog didn't lift. "That's mine."

The confession dropped like a stone in the room.

He Rongyue looked up sharply. Du Cheng's eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in worry.

Shen Yi didn't notice their stares. He couldn't look away from the knife. His blood. His blade.

But not his hand.

He swallowed and finally looked up, his voice strained. "Where did you find it?"

Du Cheng paused a beat before answering, studying him.

"Second floor," he said evenly. "Just inside the room at the end of the hallway. Right where we found you standing. One of the officers spotted the blood trail inside—led straight to it."

Shen Yi's lips parted slightly, but he said nothing.

Du Cheng's tone shifted, softer now, laced with concern. "Did you cut yourself with it?"

Shen Yi flinched.

"I... I don't remember."

He looked down at his bandaged hand as if it belonged to someone else. The throb was steady now, no longer sharp—but distant, muffled, like it came from under layers of skin. The kind of pain that hinted at something more than physical.

"I didn't even know it was missing from my coat," he said, voice low.

Du Cheng gave him a searching look. "You didn't pull it out on purpose?"

Shen Yi shook his head, slowly, like every motion took effort. "No. I wouldn't. Not unless I needed to."

"But you don't remember needing to," Du Cheng added, brows furrowed.

"No," Shen Yi murmured. "I remember... walking into the room. Hearing something. Then a rush of wind. Doors slamming. Then..."

His hand twitched slightly beneath the bandages.

"Then nothing."

Rongyue touched his arm lightly, her voice calm but firmer now. "You said earlier you were aware—until you weren't. It's possible you acted on instinct. Reflex under pressure."

"No," Shen Yi whispered. "It didn't feel like instinct. It felt like..."

He trailed off, eyes unfocused again.

"Like it wasn't me."

The silence that followed was too heavy to ignore.

Du Cheng didn't press him further. Not yet.

But the grip he kept on that evidence pouch was tight enough to crinkle the plastic.

Shen Yi exhaled slowly. "I don't remember cutting myself. And I don't remember drawing the blade," he said finally, softer now. "But just now—in my mind—it felt... familiar. Like muscle memory, but not mine."

Du Cheng's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached up and placed a hand on Shen Yi's shoulder again—solid, grounding. "We'll figure this out. Whatever it was."

But Shen Yi didn't respond.

Not at once.

His eyes dropped back to the knife in the pouch, and behind the glassy reflection of its metal edge, he saw something that didn't belong to him. A flicker. A shadow in the shape of memory.

Not his own.

He bit the inside of his cheek, just enough to keep from shaking.

He Rongyue finally broke the silence. "Shen Yi," she said softly, "when we get back, I want to do a deeper neurological scan. Just to be safe."

He gave a faint nod. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either.

And behind his silence, somewhere deep and unseen—

the demon listened.
Still curled low inside him.

Still waiting.
Still watching.

A/n :

Good evening fellas, here's another update. I have question by the way, do you novel with genre like horror, mystery, or student-detective more? 

Chapter Text

Du Cheng stood by the doorway, flipping through the reports in his hand. His voice was brisk, but not unkind.

"Shen Yi," he said, "you don't have to do anything else right now. Just rest. I still need to cross-check every file and final statement before I can wrap this up."

Shen Yi nodded once, but said nothing. He remained seated on the edge of the old couch, back straight, hands slack on his knees — like a marionette that had forgotten the feel of its strings.

The late afternoon light slanted through the high window, thin and grey, casting his silhouette in a haze of gold-ash. He looked like a shadow caught between fading worlds.

Du Cheng gave him one last look — something unreadable flickered in his eyes — then turned and stepped out, pulling the door halfway closed behind him with a quiet thud.

A moment later, He Rongyue reappeared, brisk and focused, her coat smudged from kneeling beside the bodies earlier.

"I'm heading back to finish my report," she said as she passed, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder for a moment. "Don’t overthink it, alright? We’re almost through this. You can rest a bit now."

He didn't respond, didn't even blink. He just watched her go. The hallway swallowed her footsteps.

The silence thickened.

Shen Yi sat frozen, eyes locked on that sliver of shadow by the cabinet. Nothing moved. Not even dust. But his heartbeat had become a second clock in the room, loud in his chest, ticking toward something he couldn't name.

He forced his gaze away.

Tried to focus on the mundane. The scuffed linoleum floor. The dull hum of the overhead light. The faint scent of disinfectant still clinging to his sleeves.

He tried to breathe through it. 

Inhale. Count to four.
Hold. Count to four.
Exhale.

Again.

But every breath felt heavier than the last.

His mind began to drift, unbidden, to the corpses. The way their faces had twisted. The strange markings scorched into flesh. The brittle way their limbs had cracked when Rongyue lifted them.

The way their mouths had been open, as if something had been ripped out from the inside.

Shen Yi's chest tightened.

He hadn't said it aloud, not even to Du Cheng, but the moment he saw them again now... something in his bones had screamed in recognition.

Not from logic.

Not from science.

From somewhere else.

Like something in him remembered.

Or worse — had done it.

His eyes fell to his hands. Pale. Shaking slightly.

He turned them over, as if expecting to see blood etched into the creases of his palms.

There wasn't.

But—

There was something else.

A faint, grey mark near his wrist.

He blinked.

No... not a mark.

A vein?

No.

No, that hadn’t been there before.

The mark curved unnaturally—almost as if it wasn’t beneath his skin but carved into it, like something old and deliberate.

His fingers pressed down hard, rubbing at it in a sudden wave of panic. The skin stung under the pressure, heat blooming beneath his touch.

But the mark didn’t fade.

In fact—

It darkened.

Spread slightly.

He choked on a sound — too soft to be called a cry, too raw to swallow.

The overhead light flickered once, casting the room into a brief, silent breath of shadow, then steadied.

Shen Yi sat hunched on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, hands slack between them. His breathing was uneven—shallow, as if even air had to fight its way in. A sharp tremor passed through his chest, not quite pain, but something cold and wrong lodged beneath his ribs.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He just stared at the floor, gaze unfocused, body sinking deeper into the weight of the silence.

Then, without meaning to, he stood.

He couldn’t recall making the decision. One moment he was folded into the cushions, heavy with exhaustion—and the next, his body was already rising, legs pushing him upright like they belonged to someone else. He blinked, disoriented, as if waking mid-step.

His gaze drifted, landing on the mirror at the far end of the room. Hung above a narrow shelf, it tilted slightly to one side. The glass was dulled, clouded in places, the upper right corner split by a jagged crack that reached toward the center like a splintered web. It looked forgotten—like something no one had bothered to clean in years.

Still, he moved toward it.

Not out of curiosity. Not even intent.
He didn’t know why.

It just… happened.

The air seemed to grow denser with every step. The faint hum of the overhead light faded into a low drone in the back of his skull. By the time he reached the mirror, his hand was already stretching out, fingers brushing against the edge of the shelf beneath it.

His reflection stared back at him, blurred and grayish in the warped glass.
He looked pale. Too pale.
His eyes didn’t seem to sit right in his face—misaligned, as if they didn’t belong to him.

His grip tightened on the shelf.

Something about the reflection… felt wrong.

He looked up slowly.

His eyes stared back at him—bloodshot, hollow.
But behind them—something smiled.

Not on his face.
Behind it.

Something wearing him.
Something still.
Patient.
Waiting.

And that was when the silence broke.

Not with a scream.
Not with a crash.
But with a whisper.

From his own throat.
But not in his voice.

"You shouldn't have let them leave you alone."

His mouth had moved.
But he hadn’t spoken.

He jerked back, heart lurching, legs catching on the edge of the nearby stool. It toppled to the floor, clattering with a violent clunk that cut through the stillness like a blade.

He staggered, chest heaving.
Breathing sharp, ragged.

His reflection didn’t flinch.

"What the-" he said hoarsely, gripping his head. "It's not real. It's not real, It's not—"

"Real enough to bleed, Shen Yi."

The pressure surged — like something inside him was pushing upward, scraping the inside of his ribs, his spine, his skull.

He doubled over with a strangled gasp, knees hitting the floor hard.

Sweat poured down his back. His fingernails dug into the tiles.

He was going to rupture.

The silence came back.

But this time, it was no longer empty.

It was waiting.

Poised.

Cracked open at the edges.

And somewhere just beyond the veil — the thing inside him smiled again.

___

By the time the last photograph had been taken and the evidence bags sealed, night had already settled over the estate. The rain had just stopped—a faint, lingering mist rising from the wet earth and pooling on the cracked stone paths. Drops still clung to the dark leaves, shimmering faintly under the dull glow of the streetlamps. The air smelled sharp and cold, heavy with the scent of damp wood and soil.

The estate stood quiet now—too quiet. Even with officers moving in and out, their boots splashing softly on puddles, it felt like something had been drained from the place. Or left behind.

Du Cheng stood a few paces from the house, rubbing his eyes with one hand, the other holding a file of preliminary notes. He gave a short exhale, then turned to the officers beside the coroner's van.

"Bring the bodies back to the hospital," he ordered. "Make sure they're properly stored in the morgue, cold chamber unit — I don't want even a single tag misplaced."

One officer nodded. "Understood, Captain."

Du Cheng watched as they lifted the last zipped body bag onto the stretcher and wheeled it toward the van. The heavy doors shut with a hollow clang. The hum of the cooling system kicked in — a low, constant whir. Mechanical. Unfeeling.

As the team began to wrap up, Lu Haizhou approached — coat dusted with debris, but posture still calm and composed. He looked tired, but composed in that way only he could be.

Du Cheng turned toward him and extended a hand. "Thanks for helping in."

Lu Haizhou approached—coat a little dusty, but with that calm, steady presence of his.

Du Cheng held out his hand. "Thanks for stepping in, Haizhou."

Lu Haizhou shook it with a small smile. "You guys would've figured it out eventually. I just helped tighten the net."

Du Cheng chuckled softly. "Still, things could've gone sideways without you."

Haizhou nodded, eyes thoughtful. "But this place... it gave me the creeps. Not just the usual stuff. Felt like the whole house was just freak me out."

He glanced back at the estate with a half grin. "Glad we made it out in one piece."

Du Cheng smiled in return. "Next time, maybe less haunted houses, huh?"

They shared a brief laugh before turning back to their tasks.

The other officers offered small nods of respect or a few murmured thank-yous. Even He Rongyue gave a glance of acknowledgment before stepping away to file her final report.

With that, Lu Haizhou and his team turned, their figures vanishing toward the waiting car. The headlights flared to life, then slowly disappeared down the overgrown road.

Du Cheng shifted his gaze away from the house and caught sight of the figure standing motionless a short distance away.

From behind, Shen Yi was a silhouette against the overgrown path leading to the courtyard—his coat gently billowing in the breeze, shoulders rigid, hands hanging loosely at his sides. He hadn’t moved in nearly fifteen minutes.

As though the ground he stood on no longer felt solid.

Du Cheng approached quietly. "Shen Yi," he said. "We're done here. Let's go."

No answer.

Shen Yi didn't even move.

Du Cheng's voice lowered. "Shen Yi, come on. I'll give you a ride."

Still nothing.

A few officers cast wary glances in their direction but said nothing. One by one, they returned to their vehicles, engines sputtering to life. Headlights flickered briefly over the house before swinging away, fading down the road until only darkness remained.

The grounds grew emptier, leaving just Du Cheng, Shen Yi, and Jiang Feng—who shared the same car: Du Cheng’s.

Night crept in slowly, folding the world into shadows.

Du Cheng let out a quiet sigh and stepped in front of Shen Yi.

Shen Yi’s expression was blank, calm—his mouth slightly parted, eyes staring far ahead at nothing.

Du Cheng followed his gaze but saw nothing but the empty air.

Puzzled, he gently but firmly took Shen Yi’s arm.

The touch broke something.

Shen Yi startled—not violently, but with a faint twitch of the shoulder, as though surfacing from deep water.

His eyes, glassy and unfocused moments before, flickered with a fragile spark of awareness as they finally shifted toward Du Cheng.

"You said something?" he asked quietly, voice low and tentative, as if unsure he was truly awake.

"Come on," Du Cheng said, guiding him slowly. "Let's get you out of here."

Shen Yi nodded. "Okay"

He let himself be led — like a sleepwalker following the sound of footsteps in fog.

Du Cheng opened the passenger side door of his unmarked car and helped Shen Yi in. 

Once seated, Shen Yi's head lolled slightly against the window, eyes stared forward, unmoving, eyes fixed on nothing. His breath was shallow, uneven.

Du Cheng slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and glanced over. "Just rest. We'll take it slow."

The car rolled forward, tires whispering over wet pavement, leaving behind the silent, shadowed estate.

Inside the car, the quiet stretched thick — heavy with things left unsaid.

Chapter Text

The windshield wipers moved in slow, steady sweeps, rhythmically clearing the last stubborn droplets of rain from the glass. Each swipe whispered softly against the glass, a muted percussion in the quiet cabin.

Outside, the night stretched calm and heavy. The streets gleamed faintly beneath the soft glow of streetlights, their halos blurred by a lingering mist that curled like ghostly fingers around lampposts and cars. The air smelled faintly of wet asphalt and damp earth, thick with the promise of lingering storms yet to come.

Jiang Feng was already asleep in the seat behind them, exhaustion etched across his face. Du Cheng kept his hands steady on the wheel, and eyes flicking sideways to Shen Yi. Beside him, Shen Yi sat like a shadow—still, distant, his presence more absence than comfort. His gaze was vacant, eyes unfocused, tracing nothing beyond the window’s glass. The world outside was a blur of muted shapes and shifting light, but it failed to anchor him.

His hands rested loosely in his lap, pale fingers twitching just enough to betray the restless energy coiled beneath his calm exterior. It was a subtle dance between tension and exhaustion—like a flame flickering low, threatening to be snuffed out or suddenly flare.

The hum of the engine was the only sound between them, a steady reminder of movement in a moment otherwise frozen in time.

"You doing alright?" Du Cheng asked gently.

Shen Yi's lips parted, but no words came. He gave a faint nod instead.

Du Cheng's voice softened. "You can tell me if you need to stop. Or if you just want some air."

Shen Yi's gaze flicked to him briefly—empty, unreadable—and then back to the window.

"It's okay," Du Cheng said quietly. "You don't have to say anything."

The silence stretched between them, thick but not heavy. More like a taut string pulled tight, ready to snap but not yet broken.

After a moment, Shen Yi's voice came, barely above a whisper: "I feel... different. Like something's not quite right inside."

Du Cheng nodded slowly, choosing his words carefully. "We'll keep an eye on it. Let He Rongyue do your scan tomorrow to see if something's wrong"

Shen Yi swallowed, fingers curling in his lap as if trying to grasp something unseen.
“I feel like it’s not physical,” he said quietly. “I don’t know… it’s hard to explain.”

Du Cheng glanced over, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Then don't explain it. Just let me know if it gets worse."

The car rolled on, tires humming softly against the wet pavement.

When they reached Shen Yi's apartment building, Du Cheng parked and turned to him. "Get some rest. I'll sort through the reports and update you later."

Shen Yi nodded again, voice hollow. "Thanks."

Du Cheng opened the door and helped him out, steadying his steps.

"You're not alone, Don't forget that." Du Cheng said firmly.

Shen Yi didn't answer. His mind was somewhere else—somewhere darker, where a silent presence watched and waited beneath the surface.

And no one—not even Shen Yi himself—knew it was there.

___

The door shut behind him with a soft click, the faint echo swallowed quickly by the quiet of the apartment. Shen Yi leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed, as if trying to shut the world out—or maybe to find a moment of peace.

But peace didn't come.

Instead, a cold knot twisted low in his stomach, tightening with every breath. The familiar hum of the city outside—normally comforting—felt distant, like a fragile barrier separating him from something darker, lurking just beneath the surface.

He moved slowly through the small space, barely noticing the ordinary details: the neat stack of books on the shelf, the faint scent of jasmine from the diffuser, the soft blanket folded over the arm of the couch. Everything looked the same, yet nothing felt right.

His hands trembled as he reached for the light switch, flicking it on. The warm glow spilled across the room, but the shadows seemed to deepen around the edges, as if the darkness wasn't willing to retreat.

Shen Yi sank onto the couch, shoulders tense. His mind raced in a restless loop—fragments of moments he couldn't quite piece together, flashes of sound, a faint whisper just beyond hearing.

He clenched his fists, trying to will the sensation away. I'm fine. I'm okay. But the words felt hollow, empty echoes in the quiet.

A flicker twitched at the edge of his vision—quick, crawling, gone.
Then a breath against the back of his neck—cold. Too cold.
But when he spun, there was nothing there.

His pulse stuttered.
He stood still, listening.

And that was when he realized—
The breath had been his own.
Exhaled, yet foreign. Misted in the air like it didn't belong to this room.
To this body.

He rubbed at his temples, but the chill didn't leave.
The silence around him wasn't empty—something was watching.
And then, cutting through the haze, a thought clawed its way to the surface:

I'm not alone.

A flicker of panic rose, but he pushed it down, telling himself it was just exhaustion, just stress. Rational explanations, the anchor he desperately needed.

After what felt like hours of battling the weight in his chest, Shen Yi’s eyes finally fluttered shut as he lay sprawled on the couch. The quiet of the apartment wrapped around him like a fragile shield, and exhaustion pulled him deeper—darker—into sleep.

But peace was a stranger tonight.

In the shadows behind his closed eyelids, shapes shifted and twisted. A cold darkness seeped in, thick and suffocating, filling the room with a chilling presence.

He found himself standing alone in an endless void, black as ink, where the only sound was the slow, measured beating of a heart—not his own.

A voice echoed—not in sound, but like pressure inside his skull, blooming in the space behind his eyes. No words formed, yet Shen Yi understood. It wasn’t speaking. It was knowing him. Claiming him.

Terror coiled tight in his chest, cold and invasive, wrapping around his ribs like iron rings. He tried to run, but the ground beneath him gave way, crumbling into shadow. The world inverted, gravity dragging him down into a deeper dark.

It was there.

It didn’t walk. It unfolded.

A vast, towering shape melted out from the dark—first as a smear of shadow, then a body. Its form pulsed between substance and smoke, as if reality itself couldn’t decide whether to hold it in or push it back. Yet its presence was undeniable—heavier than stone, colder than death.

It was tall—too tall. Its head scraped the invisible ceiling above, horns like twisted obsidian spiraling backward from its skull, curving wide like a crown forged in nightmare. Its shoulders were broad and jagged, layered in slick black armor that wasn’t metal—but flesh hardened into something unnatural. Like volcanic rock stitched with veins of fire, glowing faintly beneath the surface.

Its limbs were too long—arms that hung past its knees, ending in hands tipped with claws that shimmered like wet glass. Each nail tapered into a vicious point, dragging trails of red light through the air as it moved. Its spine jutted out behind it in spikes, curling with serpentine tension, as though it could lash out at any second.

A dozen eyes blinked open and shut across its body—some on its arms, some buried in its torso, all glowing a deep, predatory red. And its face—what passed for a face—was a mockery of something once human. Skin like ash, stretched too thin over sharp bones. Lips torn into a permanent grin, exposing rows upon rows of fangs—jagged, uneven, some broken, others impossibly long. Its tongue slithered between them, black and barbed.

When it smiled wider, Shen Yi felt himself split inside. Like the grin was mirrored in his own soul.

And still it drifted closer—soundless, effortless—dragging the cold with it. The darkness clung to its form like worship, as if the shadows themselves bent toward it, desperate to be part of its mass.

Then something deeper spoke—not in words, but sensation.

An ache. A hollowness.

A vessel waiting to be filled.

The message didn’t come from its mouth, but straight into Shen Yi’s bones. It pressed into him like a second heartbeat. Like something ancient that had found its match in him—in the quiet brilliance he carried. In the silence he wrapped himself in to survive.

And Shen Yi knew. Without being told.

It had chosen him.

Shen Yi’s heart thundered, each beat hammering against his ribs like a warning—but his body wouldn’t move. Not even a twitch. He was frozen. Caught beneath the gaze of something far too ancient and vast.

It crouched beside him.

The shape didn’t walk—it folded, sinking to his level in a motion too fluid, too wrong. Its limbs bent unnaturally, slick with a black sheen like oil spread over broken glass. Its form pulsed and shimmered as if reality struggled to contain it.

Its breath wasn’t breath. It was a heat that throbbed with decay, pressing against his skin, seeping into the corners of his mind. From its elongated fingers, claws curved like obsidian sickles—each twitch scraping invisible lines into the air.

And yet… it made no sound.

Still, something passed between them. Not in words—but a sensation, heavy and instinctive. Shen Yi understood, though nothing had been said.

He was seen.

Not as a person. Not even as prey.

As a container.

He didn’t know how he knew. But deep in his gut, something old and terrified screamed that this thing wasn’t just looking at him—it was choosing him.

His lips parted. No scream came.

But something else did.

A sudden, shrill cry tore out of him, loud and panicked, ripping through the silence like shattered glass.

And then he was awake.

Shen Yi jolted upright with a gasp, his lungs dragging in air too fast, too shallow. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and his shirt clung damply to his skin. His eyes darted around the dim room, the shadows stretching too far, curling in places they shouldn’t.

Everything looked normal.

But it wasn’t.

The air felt thick. His ears rang from the memory of a silence too deep to be natural. The edges of the room blurred in his vision, as if something had just slipped away a moment before his eyes opened.

His skin was slick with sweat, the dampness making his clothes cling uncomfortably. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to will the pounding away, but the fear lingered—raw and unyielding.

He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but his throat felt dry and raw. The nightmare wasn't just a dream. It felt like real, a glimpse of something real lurking beneath the surface of his mind.

Shen Yi closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to calm down, but the image of those burning red eyes—the demon's cruel, twisted smile—refused to fade.

For a long moment, he sat there in silence, the weight of the unseen presence pressing down, reminding him that whatever was inside, whatever had settled in his soul, was still waiting.

And he was still alone with it.

The silence pressed in thick around Shen Yi, his breath slowly evening out, though the knot in his stomach refused to loosen. Just as he was trying to will the nightmare away, the sharp trill of his phone cut through the quiet like a blade.

He startled, the sudden noise jarring him fully awake. His hand fumbled across the couch cushion until he grabbed the device, eyes unfocused as he stared at the screen.

Du Cheng.

For a moment, Shen Yi hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button. Then, with a slow, reluctant breath, he swiped it open.

"Shen Yi?" Du Cheng's voice was low, calm but firm. "You okay? I just wanted to check in."

Shen Yi swallowed hard, voice rough as he answered, "I... yeah. I'm here."

There was a brief pause before Du Cheng spoke again, "You sound tired. You don't have to come to work later and try to get more rest and  alright? If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me later."

"I will," Shen Yi promised, though the tightness in his chest said otherwise.

"Good. I'll be around."

The line went quiet, then clicked off.

Shen Yi stared at the phone, the weight of the demon's presence still lurking in the shadows of his mind. His fingers trembled faintly around the device, though the room had gone still—too still.

He lowered the phone with a sigh, then glanced toward the digital clock on his nightstand.

2:00 AM.

The red numbers glowed dimly in the dark, their steady pulse like a heartbeat echoing through silence. A time where the world felt thin. Vulnerable.

He closed his eyes again.

But rest wouldn’t come easy tonight.

Something in him had been stirred awake—and it wasn’t ready to sleep.

After the call ended, Shen Yi set the phone down beside him, the glow of the screen dimming in the dark room. He sank deeper into the couch, curling his arms around his knees as if to hold himself together.

His body screamed for sleep, but his mind refused to obey. The nightmare's cold echo still rippled beneath his skin—an invisible weight pulling him away from rest.

Shen Yi closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.
In... out... in... out.
Slow. Steady. Count it. Feel it.

But the rhythm felt alien in his chest—like it didn't belong to him. Again. As though something was borrowing his lungs, breathing through him.

A creak echoed from the floorboards near the hallway. A car horn blared faintly in the distance. Harmless, ordinary sounds—but they grated against his senses like nails. Each one sharper and more deliberate.

He gritted his teeth, grabbing the edge of the couch. His fingers curled so tightly the bones ached, knuckles bleached bone white.

There's nothing here.

His throat was dry again. That same phantom burn curled at the base of his chest like embers buried under ash.

You're fine. It was just a dream. Just a dream. You're not...

He didn't finish the thought. Didn't dare say what he wasn't.

Minutes dragged into hours. The clock on the wall ticked louder with every second, like a countdown to something unnamed.

Shen Yi kept his eyes open, afraid of what might greet him if he closed them.

The night dragged on, silent except for the occasional whisper of wind brushing against the windowpane.

Eventually, exhaustion began to claim him—not with peaceful surrender, but with the weight of a battle fought and lost.

Shen Yi's eyes fluttered closed once more, the shadows at the edges of his vision flickering uncertainly.

Sleep came at last, but uneasy — haunted by the demon still lurking deep inside.

Chapter Text

The first pale light of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, casting soft, hesitant rays across the room. The city outside was just beginning to stir—distant murmurs of traffic, the faint clatter of footsteps on pavement.

Inside, Shen Yi lay still, his eyes half-open and glassy, staring blankly at the ceiling. He had managed to sleep through the nightmares, but it was unclear why his body still felt so drained.

He blinked slowly, forcing himself to sit up. The apartment was quiet, untouched, but the weight in his chest made each movement feel slow, deliberate. A dry cough escaped him as he ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the lingering dread.

Outside, the day began anew. But for Shen Yi, the fight was far from over.

Shen Yi barely had time to steady himself before his phone vibrated sharply on the table beside him. The screen lit up with Du Cheng's name.

His fingers trembling slightly, then answered.

"Hello? Shen Yi, how are you feeling this morning?" Du Cheng's voice was calm, steady—exactly what Shen Yi needed right now.

"I... I'm okay," Shen Yi replied quietly, his voice still rough from the restless night.

"You don't sound okay, though," Du Cheng said gently. "Remember the neurological scan I mentioned? It's best to get it done as soon as possible. I've already made an appointment for today at 9 AM. I'll come by and pick you up around 8 AM, is that alright for you? I'll bring some breakfast for you to eat first before we head out."

Shen Yi nodded, even though Du Cheng couldn't see him. "Yeah, It's fine for me. Thank you."

The call ended, leaving Shen Yi staring at the phone, a flicker of gratitude and apprehension mixing in his chest.

He rose slowly, knowing the day ahead wouldn't be easy—but at least, he wouldn't have to face it alone. Du Cheng was here. He was always there to help, and Shen Yi was grateful for it.

He whispered to himself, "I can do this."

Slowly, he rose and shuffled toward the bathroom. The cold water from the sink splashed against his face, shocking him awake. His hands shook as he rubbed at the corners of his eyes, trying to scrub away the shadows clinging beneath them.

Another dry cough caught him off guard. He swallowed hard, then brushed his teeth with slow, deliberate strokes, grounding himself in the mundane routine.

Back in the living room, he glanced at the simple outfit laid out: a soft grey shirt, black pants. Comfortable, easy to wear. He dressed carefully, the fabric cool against his skin. His movements were mechanical, almost like a sleepwalker, but each step was a step forward.

After the time showed 7:59, the distant rumble of an engine drew Shen Yi's attention. He peeked through the curtains just as the car door creaked open. Du Cheng was always punctual, indeed.

Du Cheng walked and stepped inside as Shen Yi already opening his door for him, his face calm but attentive. "Morning, Shen Yi. Ready to go?"

Shen Yi nodded, his voice rough but steady. "Yeah. Thanks for coming."

Du Cheng offered a small smile, setting down a bag on the table. "You don't have to thank me. You do aware that I would always be there to help you, right? "

Shen Yi's lips twitched into a faint, grateful smile. "I do."

Du Cheng retrieved a small container from the bag, opening it to reveal breakfast—steamed buns and a thermos of warm tea. "You need to eat something before we head out," he said, handing Shen Yi a bun and pouring the tea into two cups.

They sat at the small kitchen table, the quiet of the morning only broken by the soft clink of porcelain and the occasional rustle of wrappers. Shen Yi ate slowly, the warmth of the food a small comfort in the midst of his growing anxiety.

Du Cheng didn't rush him, but his gaze never left Shen Yi, a silent reminder that he was there, watching out for him.

When they finished, Du Cheng stood and grabbed the empty cups, setting them in the sink. He glanced back at Shen Yi, who was already rising slowly from his chair, shoulders a little heavy from exhaustion.

"Ready?" Du Cheng asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Shen Yi nodded, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. "Yeah."

Outside, the morning air was crisp, cool against their skin. Du Cheng opened the passenger door of his unmarked car and gestured. "After you."

Shen Yi offered a faint smile, murmuring a quiet thank you before slipping inside. The leather seat was cold against his back, sending a subtle shiver up his spine. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the world out—and for a fleeting moment, the silence that settled between them felt almost comforting.

Du Cheng rounded the hood and got in, starting the engine with a low rumble. His eyes lifted, catching Shen Yi’s gaze in the rearview mirror—just for a second, something unreadable passing between them.

Du Cheng kept his eyes on the road, but his voice was steady and warm. "How are you holding up?"

Shen Yi hesitated, then sighed softly. "It's... hard to say. I'm tired. More than usual. And there's this... weight. Like something's just beneath the surface, but I can't reach it."

Du Cheng nodded slowly, understanding. "That makes sense. What you're going through isn't exactly normal. And it's okay to feel overwhelmed."

Shen Yi glanced at him, eyes heavy but searching. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm losing control. Or if there's something inside me I don't understand."

For a moment, Du Cheng didn’t respond. The only sound was the low hum of the engine, the tires humming faintly against the road.

Then he said, quietly, "What does that mean?"

Shen Yi looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile, more like a failed attempt to hold something in.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I say things without realizing. Feel things that don’t belong to me. I look at myself and wonder if it’s really me anymore.”

He exhaled slowly. “It’s like I’m standing just behind my own eyes, watching someone else move my body.”

Ahead, the hospital loomed into view—sterile, unyielding, but a place that promised answers. The car slowed to a stop in front of the hospital's glass doors, the sterile glow spilling out onto the pavement like an unwelcome spotlight.

Du Cheng killed the engine and turned toward Shen Yi. "We're here."

Shen Yi exhaled slowly, the weight inside pressing down again, heavier this time.

Du Cheng reached over, lightly tapping his shoulder. "Hey, take your time. I'll be right with you."

Shen Yi nodded, gathering himself before opening the door. The cool night air was sharp, a contrast to the sterile warmth inside.

Inside, the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights and distant footsteps greeted them. Nurses moved with practiced efficiency, and the faint scent of antiseptic filled the air.

Du Cheng led Shen Yi toward the reception desk. "I'll handle the check-in. You just try to stay calm, alright?"

Shen Yi's throat tightened, but he forced a nod.

"Right here," Du Cheng said, handing over the referral and paperwork. "Neurological scan, urgent."

The nurse gave a polite nod and glanced back at Shen Yi with a small, encouraging smile.

Du Cheng turned back to Shen Yi. "We'll get you through this scan, and then you can rest. No pressure."

Shen Yi gave a faint smile, grateful for the calm steadiness Du Cheng provided.

As they waited, Shen Yi's eyes flicked around the sterile room—the harsh lights, the polished floors, the other patients whispering in low voices. The air felt too clean, almost artificial, and it only made his skin itch with unease.

A door at the far end opened with a quiet click, and a technician in pale blue scrubs stepped out, holding a clipboard.

"Shen Yi?" the technician called, glancing around the room. Shen Yi stood, his legs moving before his mind could fully catch up.

"That's me," he said, voice low.

"Right this way, please. We'll start the scan—it won't take long."

Du Cheng gave him a small nod as he passed, a silent promise that he'd still be there when it was over. Shen Yi followed the technician down a narrow corridor and into the dimly lit scan room. Machines hummed quietly, and the air felt colder here.

After like an hour passed, the technician led Shen Yi out of the scan room and into a small waiting area. The cold plastic chairs and sterile walls did nothing to ease the knot tightening in his stomach.

Minutes felt like hours as Du Cheng paced beside him, arms crossed, eyes focused but unreadable.

Finally, the neurologist arrived, clipboard in hand.

"Good news," the doctor said. "There's no sign of neurological damage or abnormalities. Everything looks normal."

Relief washed over Shen Yi, making his shoulders loosen for the first time that morning.

"So..." Du Cheng said slowly, "there's nothing medically wrong?"

"From what we can see here, no. Your brain appears healthy."

Shen Yi forced a smile, but inside, the darkness hadn't lifted. The unease, the shadow lingering just out of sight — it was still there.

“So, physically, you’re fine,” Du Cheng said, exhaling slowly. “That’s good news.”

Shen Yi nodded, his gaze distant. The strange behavior, the bone-deep exhaustion—it still lingered at the edges, like shadows that refused to clear.

“At least now we know my body’s okay,” he murmured. “That’s… something.”

Du Cheng offered a faint smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was steady—quiet reassurance in a world that felt increasingly uncertain.

For now, the tests showed nothing. But the war inside him was far from over.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the storm swirling beneath his calm exterior. He straightened, voice steady but edged with urgency. "I should get back to work. There's still so much to do — cases to review, reports to file."

Du Cheng's eyes darkened with concern. "No. You're not going anywhere today."

Shen Yi blinked, surprised by the firmness in Du Cheng's tone. "I'm fine, am i? I need to keep moving."

Du Cheng stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You're exhausted, Shen Yi. And whatever's going on — you need to rest. For your own good."

For a moment, Shen Yi's gaze dropped to the floor, the tension coiling tighter in his chest. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Alright," he whispered, voice heavy with reluctant surrender. "I'll try."

Du Cheng offered a small, encouraging smile. "That's all i can ask."

They stepped outside the hospital, the midday sun casting long shadows on the pavement. Du Cheng unlocked the car parked nearby, and Shen Yi slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool beneath him. Du Cheng settled into the driver's seat, started the engine, and the quiet hum of the car filled the space between them.

As they pulled away, the city's noise swallowed their footsteps. And Shen Yi had a moment. A fragile moment. To breathe.

The car rolled to a stop in front of Shen Yi’s apartment building, its dull exterior swallowed by the oppressive night. The streetlights flickered weakly, casting fractured shadows that clawed at the cracked pavement.

Du Cheng didn’t move to unlock the doors right away. The engine hummed quietly, a soft, steady pulse in the silence between them.

Then he turned to look at Shen Yi, voice low but firm. “Rest. That’s an order.”

Shen Yi gave a faint nod, but didn’t reach for the door just yet. His fingers curled slightly in his lap, eyes still distant.

Du Cheng hesitated—then reached out, letting his hand rest briefly over Shen Yi’s. His thumb moved once, slow and deliberate, brushing lightly against the back of his hand in a silent reassurance.

“Call me if anything feels… off,” he added, softer now.

Shen Yi finally looked at him. Their eyes met—not sharp or intense, but quietly searching, like a moment neither of them could quite name.

“I will,” Shen Yi said, voice barely above a whisper.

Du Cheng nodded. He pulled his hand back slowly and unlocked the door.

The click broke the moment.

Shen Yi stepped out, the cold air rushing in like a reminder. The door shut behind him with a soft finality, and with each fading step, the protective warmth of company slipped further away—leaving only shadows, and the echo of a touch he hadn’t expected to miss.

A/N

helloowww fellas. It's 12.40 AM and super sleepy but i need to post at least one of the chapter first which is this one hahaha

Not gonna talk too much for now, i hope you like this chapter. But srsly, what do you think so far? ^^

Chapter Text

Inside the apartment, the air felt thick, stagnant—as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. 

Then, from the depths of that silence, a presence rose.

It slid through the shadows like liquid cold night. The presence slowly took on a human-like form, but with horns curling from each side of its head. The figure remained indistinct, more shadow than substance, with only its red eyes glowing sharply as it stood silently, watching Shen Yi without a sound.

It then started to invade Shen Yi's mind with cruel precision, planting shards of memory that weren't his own but somehow felt carved into his very soul.

Flickering images:

A chapel drowned in candlelight, where the flames danced like tortured souls trapped behind glass.

Symbols etched deep into ancient stone, jagged and alive, pulsing with an eldritch power that whispered of pain and sacrifice.

A priest, stood with closed eyes, chanting words that seemed to unravel the fabric of reality itself—each syllable a blade slicing through the quiet in front of a familiar mirror in front of him. Shen Yi had no idea who the priest was, nor did he understand what was happening.

He tried to speak, to ask him where he was, but it's like his voice was trapped in his throat and his mouth frozen-unable to move. Let alone making a sound. As he stood near the priest, who seemed entirely unaware of his presence, each word the man chanted felt like a needle driving straight into Shen Yi’s heart.

Slowly, but surely, this unknowable experience tore at Shen Yi’s sanity, like claws scraping across the brittle shell of his mind.

His breath hitched, now became ragged and uneven, as cold sweat slicked his skin. His eyes darted wildly, fixating on the shadows that seemed to pulse and writhe just beyond sight.

The Priest

Shen Yi’s eyes widened. The word that left his mouth rang out—clear and commanding, yet heavy with dread and a dark compulsion. The problem was, his mouth said it… but it wasn’t him speaking.

Find him.

Another word followed—an order. A command that didn’t feel like a suggestion, but like chains tightening around him.

His vision began to shift. What had once looked like a church was now his own apartment.

But the walls seemed to close in, inch by inch, the air growing thick—until every breath became a struggle, and every heartbeat felt like a hammer pounding against a coffin.

Shen Yi's fingers curled into trembling fists, nails digging into his palms, grounding him just enough to stave off total collapse.

But the voiced pressed on, relentless and patient, feeding the hunger within him, twisting his will until all that remained was the cold certainty:

Find the priest.

And so, trapped between the shadows of his own mind and the darkness that clawed from within, Shen Yi teetered on the edge—his fragile grasp on reality slipping as the voice influence tightened its unyielding hold.

Shen Yi staggered back against the wall, every nerve screaming in protest. His mind screamed, too—an internal war raging beneath the surface of his calm facade.

Whose-?

He fought to push the voice away, clawing desperately at the edges of his thoughts like a drowning man gasping for air. But whatever it was that's talking through him, was patient. It seeped in deeper, threading poison into every crevice of his mind.

Find the priest. You must.

The words burned like acid, each repetition tearing at his resolve. Shadows curled inside his chest, squeezing the last vestiges of willpower into oblivion. The voice that kept repeating its words suddenly making Shen Yi's vision blurred slowly; the apartment tilted, walls bending and breathing with malevolent life. A cold, cruel voice whispered from the depths — a voice not his own but undeniably inside him.

You can't fight me forever, Shen YI. Follow my order. Find. this. priest

The grip around his mind tightened, icy and absolute. His muscles went slack, his knees buckling as the darkness pulled him under once more.

In that suffocating void, the voice finally claimed control of the human.

His body moved against his will, mind drowning in a shadowy haze, like a puppet tangled in invisible strings.

His lips parted, voice hollow and cold as the demon spoke through him, "Find the priest."

A shiver crawled down his spine as the apartment's shadows seemed to pulse with sinister anticipation.

The weight inside Shen Yi's mind thickened into a suffocating fog, smothering every spark of resistance until all that remained was a void filled with cold, relentless darkness.

And the black figure now grinned in the shadows, victorious, knowing it had sealed its prey successfully.

The afternoon air was unnaturally still as Shen Yi stepped out of his apartment, the chill cutting through his thin jacket. Each step was mechanical, drawn by a will not entirely his own. Beneath his skin, a dark heartbeat syncing with the relentless command.

He descended the stairwell in silence and unlocked his bicycle from the rusted rack outside. The handlebars felt cold beneath his fingers, the metal biting into his skin like teeth. He climbed on, the motion fluid but detached, like muscle memory moving without thought. The wheels turned, gliding soundlessly over the pavement.

The streets were quieter than usual, the muted light painting long, distorted shadows across cracked pavement. As he rode, the sky dimmed steadily, the color draining from the world until only grays and sickly yellows remained.

Du Cheng, who was in his car stopping under the red light, had spotted him not long after he left. Something about Shen Yi that morning had gnawed at him—too pale, and his eyes were quite dark. So when he saw him riding off alone, Du Cheng was confused and concerned about him. So he quietly followed from behind when the red light turned green, keeping his car far enough back to avoid detection.

Du Cheng's brows furrowed as he trailed behind him.
"Where are you going to, Shen Yi?" he muttered to himself. "You looked like death warmed over this morning, and now you're out for a joyride?"

But it wasn't a joyride. Shen Yi didn't stop for food, didn't check his phone, didn't even look around. He rode like something was calling him. Leading him. The sight of Shen Yi weaving through traffic with that distant, vacant expression only deepened the knot in his gut. It was similar expression when they were at the house of the murder scene yesterday.

Finally, Shen Yi pulled to a stop near the edge of the old district. The cathedral stood quietly at the end of the street, its weathered stone facade bathed in afternoon sunlight. The tall spires rose with quiet dignity against the clear sky, casting long shadows across the pavement.

Du Cheng slowed his car, letting it roll behind a line of parked vehicles. His eyes narrowed in confusion.

Du Cheng's breath caught. A church? That... wasn't what he expected.

Du Cheng eyes narrowing as he watched Shen Yi dismount and lean his bike gently against a tree by the church gate. 

Shen Yi moved through the church's iron-wrought doors with the slowness of a man pulled forward by invisible strings. The world around him had dulled, swallowed by the still midday light and something creeping suppression—making him a ghost among the living.

Just a short distance behind, Du Cheng parked along the curb and got out of his car. 

"Okay. I'm just worried. He looked sick this morning—I'm not following him like a stalker," he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself. Even though It was weird indeed, trailing his own colleague like this. His gaze narrowed on the cathedral ahead.

Outside, Du Cheng lingered near the arched entrance, watching from behind a tree where Shen Yi had left his bike. He hesitated for a moment, then slipped through the doors a short distance behind, careful to keep to the shadows.

Once inside, the scent of old incense and cold stone embraced him like a funeral shroud. Flickering candles threw long shadows against the walls, and somewhere deeper within, a few priests murmured evening prayers—soft, rhythmic, and unaware of the unnatural presence now quietly among them.

Shen Yi's steps echoed faintly, his aura muted, hidden beneath layers of dark energy. No one looked up as he approached. Du Cheng's brow furrowed. He remained near the back, half-concealed by a pillar, watching Shen Yi move deeper into the sanctuary.

Seeing one priest organizing candles by the altar. The thing inside him, spoke with voice whispered sharp and cold inside his mind, guiding his tongue.

"Excuse me," Shen Yi said, his voice hollow but steady. "I'm looking for Father Liang. He used to come here."

The priest paused, eyes narrowing slightly as if sensing something faint—an unsettling chill in the air—but dismissed it quickly.

The priest studied him for a moment. "Father Liang? I'm sorry but he's now no longer here. Were you hoping to speak with him?"

"I just... owed him something," Shen Yi said flatly, the words thin and imprecise, shaped by the demon like a hand in a glove. "I thought maybe I could repay him while I'm here."

There was a pause. The priest's gaze lingered a moment longer, noting the pallor of Shen Yi's skin, the lifeless tone in his voice. Something about the young man felt off—but not sure exactly what's off. 

He offered a faint nod. "He now moved to a smaller parish across town a few months back, named St. Jude. Do you need someone to accompany you there?."

Shen Yi only blinked, the priest's words seeming to pass through him without anchoring. His voice, when it came, was thin—almost distant.

"It's alright. I'll find the way on my own."

The priest hesitated again, worry flickering across his features. There was indeed something off  in the way Shen Yi spoke, but he chose kindness over intrusion.

"If you change your mind," the priest said gently, "I'll be here."

He turned, footsteps soft as he returned to his duties, but not without casting one last glance over his shoulder—quiet, thoughtful, and concerned.

Another priest nearby caught sight of Shen Yi, their gaze lingering for a fraction longer before dismissing him like a shadow passing by. No one questioned his presence; the shadow's suppression was too complete.

Beneath Shen Yi's calm exterior, the shadow stirred with a cruel excitement. It knew exactly where St. Jude's be, another place where the shadow once fight the priest before. But not where he was sealed. The thought thrilled the dark presence inside him, a chance to seize control, to make the next move in its relentless game.

"Shen Yi?"

Du Cheng's concerned call shattered the dark fog clouding Shen Yi's mind. His eyes snapped open, the dangerous edge inside him flickering and retreating for a moment.

Shen Yi blinked, the shadows inside him writhing with frustrated hunger. The shadow hissed silently, its eagerness momentarily starved, but still lurking beneath the surface.

Du Cheng's voice was steady but filled with concern. "Hey, are you even listening? You can't just wander off like this."

Shen Yi forced his gaze up, meeting Du Cheng's clear eyes. A faint pulse of guilt pricked through the numbness. He swallowed hard, struggling to keep his voice even.

"I'm... fine," he whispered, but the words felt hollow, a thin veil over the chaos beneath.

The shadow inside seethed, craving freedom, control, chaos. It clawed at the edges of Shen Yi's mind, urging him to break, to lash out, to give in. 

Du Cheng took a cautious step closer, lowering his voice. "Hey, do you want me to help you find someone? Sorry for overhearing earlier—I didn't mean to pry."

The words caught Shen Yi off guard, stirring something faint but real inside him.

The shadow growled softly, retreating into the shadows of his soul, pushed back by a strength it hadn't expected.

Shen Yi shook his head lightly, voice quiet but firm. "I appreciate it, but I need to face this myself, just for a little while"

Du Cheng didn't push further. He gave a small, understanding nod. "I understand. Just know I'm here whenever you need me."

As they walked towards the main gate, Du Cheng glanced at Shen Yi, concern deepening in his eyes. "Look, I can give you a ride back. You still not looking well."

Shen Yi hesitated, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. "I... I came on my bike."

But inside, his thoughts were tangled—he wasn't even sure why he'd come here at all. The demon's influence hummed beneath the surface, a restless whisper he couldn't quite grasp.

Du Cheng stepped closer, voice gentle but firm. "Doesn't matter. Let me help, alright? You could put your bike in my car."

For a moment, Shen Yi wrestled with the impulse to refuse, to keep it all to himself as always. Then the exhaustion seeped through, breaking down the last walls.

"Okay," he said quietly, a faint trace of gratitude in his tone. "Thank you."

Chapter Text

Trigger Warning: Contains themes of ritual possession, physical restraint and blood. Reader discretion is advised.

Scene: Shen Yi's Apartment — Night

The wind screamed against the windows as a storm rolled in from the horizon. Rain hammered against the glass in erratic bursts, tapping like fingers desperate to claw their way inside.

Shen Yi stood in his darkened apartment, barefoot on the cold floor, his posture weighed down by invisible chains. The silence was deceptive. The shadows stretched long across the walls, creeping into corners that felt deeper than they should be. The air no longer carried its usual stillness; it pressed against his skin, heavy and expectant, like something unseen was watchin.

After a long moment of standing in place, unmoving, he finally walked and sank onto the couch. The leather felt cold against the back of his thighs, grounding in a way that was neither comforting nor cruel. His fingers curled loosely into the cushion beside him, and his gaze remained fixed on something distant. 

A low buzz gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. That dull, empty hum of static that came when his mind drifted too far out of reach. And lately... it happened too often.

He blinked, slowly. Realizing now—this wasn't just fatigue. Wasn't just stress or nightmares. There were gaps. Blank hours. Like missing reels of film cut out from his day. He'd find himself in a place he didn't remember entering. Like this afternoon. What was he even doing at the cathedral this afternoon? His hands stained with something he couldn't name. Standing outside buildings without knowing how he'd gotten there.

He hadn't intended to go. He hadn't even known why he was drawn to that part of the district. But when he looked up, there it was, looming in front of him.

His breathing hitched.

The thought had been quietly circling him for days now, like a vulture overhead. But tonight, it settled in his chest, heavy and undeniable:

Something was wrong with him.

He pressed his hand to his chest, fingers trembling. The skin beneath his palm felt hot and hollow all at once, like something foreign pulsed beneath it—slow, deliberate, waiting.

"...What's happening to me..." he whispered to no one.

The lights sudenlly flickered once. Twice. Then died. His breath hitched.

From the far end of the room, a whisper slithered forth—not in words, but in sound. A scraping hiss that tickled his spine like cold breath against the nape of his neck.

Shen Yi turned slowly. But there's nothing behind him at first.

Then he saw it.

In the dim chamber beyond the veil of the mortal world, a shadow form shimmered—neither fully shaped nor substance, but a presence bound by hunger and vengeance. A ripple in the air that bent the shadows unnaturally. And then, as if his mind had been holding it at bay, the form snapped into focus.

It stood in the far corner of the room.

Tall. Crooked. Unmoving.

Its shape was vaguely human, but grotesquely elongated—arms too long, fingers tapering into sharp, twitching points that hung inches from the floor. Its skin was a shifting void, ink-black and crawling with threads of smoke that drifted from its form like steam. Its face—or what passed for one—was smooth and eyeless, but a wide, jagged grin split across where a mouth should be.

It was smiling at him.

This… this was what he saw in his dream. Was he still dreaming now?

The question echoed quietly in Shen Yi’s mind, looping without answer. On the outside, he looked calm—still, almost detached. But inside, his heart had begun to race, thudding against his ribs in an uneven rhythm he couldn’t control.

He might couldn’t make out its form that was nothing more than a silhouette, a mass of shifting black that seemed to bleed into the shadows around it. And even though he couldn’t see its face, couldn’t make out eyes or shape or even breath… he was afraid.

Truly afraid.

Whatever it was, whatever had followed him out of sleep and into waking— it had no intention of leaving.

The air in the room tightened. The walls seemed to inch closer.

The demon tilted its head, like a predator with eyes burning with malice. Then, it stepped forward—slow, deliberate.

Each movement carried a sound not of footsteps, but of something wet and wrong—like flesh dragging across stone.

Shen Yi backed up, but his feet barely moved before he felt the wall press against his spine.

"Stay away from me—" His voice was low, strained, barely holding together. He didn't know what it was, but his instincts screamed with certainty: this thing was not human. 

The demon reached out his hand.

Shen Yi couldn't see its fingers clearly, but the grip slammed into his shoulder—cold as ice, burning like coals. In the next instant, his legs buckled and his back was slammed down against the wooden floor with brutal, unrelenting force. The air was knocked from his lungs in a choking gasp. His spine arched instinctively before the pressure pinned him down.

Then the tendrils came.

They spilled out from the shadow’s body-like shape—unnatural and fluid. Veins—thick, black, rope-like things—burst through the cracks in the floorboards, writhing like serpents tasting the air. They moved with a sickening wetness, glistening as if slick with some unseen residue, the sound of their slithering subtle but unmistakable in the dead silence of the room.

The figure lifted a hand—clawed, jagged, and inhuman towards Shen yi and the tendrils obeyed.

Shen Yi's breath hitched as thick, sinewy tendrils snaked up his arms and legs, coiling tightly around his wrists and ankles like living ropes. With merciless force, the tendrils yanked his limbs outward, stretching him wide in a cruciform position. His arms were pulled taut at shoulder height, legs bound straight beneath him, leaving him suspended in midair—floating and utterly helpless.

Muscles screamed against the unyielding pressure, but his body refused to obey his desperate commands to move. The silence pressed down, thick and suffocating, broken only by the low pulse of the glowing bloodvine tendrils entwined with his skin—a dark heartbeat that bound his very soul.

The thing came to a stop just in front of him—So close that Shen Yi could feel the unnatural chill radiating from its form, as if every ounce of heat was being stolen from the air itself. The space between them pulsed with dread and its eyes locked onto Shen Yi’s own with unsettling clarity. Shen Yi had no idea what does this creature wants from him, but one thing he knew for sure. It was far from good. 

Then, without warning, one of its arms moved. The hand—elongated, jagged like shards of obsidian—lifted with eerie grace. A single, glinting claw trailed upward... and lightly, almost curiously, it grazed the side of Shen Yi’s neck.

A sudden, sharp sting bloomed beneath the surface of his skin.

His eyes widened. A thin line of red welled up where the tip had kissed his throat, a shallow cut, but deep enough to bleed. The drop slid down slowly, painting his collarbone. It simply watched as the blood trickled down his skin

Shen Yi began struggling again. Hard. Muscles straining, wrists twisting, legs started kicking—but there was no give, no weakness in the grip. He was tied and helpless. Like a creature waiting to be carved open.

A cold, slick sensation brushed against his lips, startling in its unnatural stillness. Shen Yi’s breath hitched, and instinct took over—his jaw clenched tight, lips pressing into a firm line. He refused. Whatever this thing was trying to do, he would not let it in.

His head jerked back—once, twice—shaking in small, desperate motions to keep it away. A faint, panicked whimper rose in his throat, but he forced it down. 

The tendrils hovered, still and waiting. Then the creature moved. It raised that jagged claw again—calmly, patiently—and dragged it down the side of Shen Yi’s throat, just lightly enough to draw another thin line of blood.

The pain was sharp, but not enough to make him cry out. Knowing the human still persistent.

And then came the real cruelty.

One of the bloodvine tendrils slithered down, and Shen Yi felt it wrap around his neck—not tightly enough to choke him, but enough to constrict. Enough to build pressure. He couldn't breathe through his nose anymore. The air thinned.

Panic swelled. His lips trembled, still held shut with every ounce of his will.

Then something else brushed against his cheek.

A second tendril rose—this one soaked in his own blood from the earlier cut. It smeared the warmth across his jaw, and then… it slipped downward. Toward his chest. His ribs.

And then—with terrifying precision—it dug in.

Not deep. Not fatal. But enough.

Pain erupted sharply beneath his ribs as the tendril pierced just beneath the skin. Shen Yi jerked involuntarily, his eyes wide, and in that single moment of agony—his lips parted in a reflexive, desperate gasp.

That was all it needed.

The tendril surged forward, immediately slipping between his teeth, past his tongue, down his throat.

Shen Yi gagged violently.

The sensation was unbearable—an alien pressure dragging down his throat like a serpent burrowing deep. He couldn’t breathe. His body bucked uselessly against the restraints, throat convulsing around the intruder as panic shot white-hot through his chest. His vision blurred. Tears spilled down the corners of his eyes, stinging as they trailed into his hairline.

He didn’t know how many tendrils there were anymore. They kept coming—relentless, invasive, never-ending. His throat burned, stretched past comfort into a kind of horror he couldn't process.

The shadow simply stood there, watching. Grinning.

Shen Yi's fingers curled instinctively, fists clenching and unclenching as his body spasmed. His lungs screamed for air. White flecks started dancing in the corners of his vision, blinking like stars in a dying sky.

And just as he thought he might black out—

The movement stopped.

Shen Yi gasped as soon as the last of it left him, coughing and choking on the air that returned too late, leaving behind dark, pulsing veins across Shen Yi's pale body. His body shuddered beneath him, slick with cold sweat and wracked by sobs he couldn’t hold back. His throat burned raw, like something had scraped its way through layers of skin and dignity alike. 

His head dropped forward limply, chin brushing his damp chest with his damp hair clinging to his face. His arms were stretched wide at either side, wrists bound so tightly they’d long since gone numb. His legs remained locked in place, ankles restrained against the cold surface beneath him.

 What the hell was that thing?

His stomach churned, but he didn’t even have the strength to vomit. There was only that lingering sensation—like something foreign and cold still swam through his veins, curled behind his heart.

From the shadows, a faint shimmer coalesced into a small, ancient dagger—its blade black as midnight, etched with runes that pulsed faintly with crimson light. 

With a swift motion, the dagger's tip pressed lightly against Shen Yi's palm, drawing a thin line of blood that made him hiss at the sting. The wound was small, but the moment the crimson drop fell, it shimmered unnaturally—catching the room's dim light like liquid fire.

The shadow began an incantation, voice rising in an ancient cadence. The blood on the floor writhed and twisted, forming intricate patterns—symbols of binding, of submission, of eternal connection.

Shen Yi felt a sudden tug deep within his chest—a cold, tightening grip on his very soul. His heart raced as a sharp pain flared, and he let out a strained, agonized scream, the sound echoing through the silent room. The pull was like chains wrapping tighter around his will, squeezing every ounce of resistance from him.

Tears pricked Shen Yi's eyes. "What... what is this? What do you want from me?" His voice cracked, trembling with anguish. "Please... stop..."

The black-figure glanced at him coldly, ignoring his plea as it continued chanting the spell.

As the ritual sealed, the bloodvine tendrils pulsed once more, merging fully with the glowing blood pattern below, weaving Shen Yi's essence into the demon's dark tapestry. The crimson droplet gleamed on the floor, its glow pulsing in rhythm with the tendrils winding beneath Shen Yi's skin. 

With a whisper, the ancient runes etched on the dagger flared bright, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. The black-shadow knelt, tracing the glowing blood with a clawed finger, murmuring words that seemed to twist the very air.

Shen Yi closed his eyes tightly, veins darkening beneath his skin like taut cords as the bloodvine tendrils tightened, their grip no longer just physical but deeper, threading into his soul. A warm, metallic taste filled his mouth as a thin trickle of blood seeped from his nose and lips. Waves of pressure pulsed through his chest and limbs as each incantation tightening like an invisible grip. Shen Yi's heart hammered in his chest, the lingering flicker of resistance flickering like a dying ember. 

As the shimmer of blood sealed into the ritual mark, a deep pulse throbbed through the room—low and resonant, like the final toll of a distant bell. The bloodvine tendrils, which had coiled and flickered along Shen Yi's limbs, stirred with new urgency.

One by one, they began to move again.

With a fluid, unsettling grace, they slithered toward him with purpose. They coiled around his chest and spine, drawing themselves into him like threads being stitched into fabric. Others twined up his neck and into the hollow beneath his jaw, weaving along his veins like they were tracing the path to his heart.

The final tendrils hovered for a breathless moment before pressing forward. One slipped past his parted lips once again—slow, deliberate—joining the ones that had already rooted within. Another traced the line of the shallow wound on his palm, soaking in the last of the shimmering blood before vanishing beneath the skin.

Shen Yi's eyes widened as a sudden heat rushed through him, followed by an eerie stillness. It felt as if his body had stopped belonging entirely to him—as though something ancient had curled up inside him and made a home.

Shen Yi's limbs dropped limp in the invisible bonds in the air. His heartbeat echoed unnaturally in his ears—slow, altered, unfamiliar.

Something inside had shifted. Something permanent.

The demon's shadowed form solidified further, coalescing into a dark, semi-corporeal shape. Its cold fingers brushed against Shen Yi's jaw, tilting his head upward. Though his eyes were heavy and half-closed, they met the demon's unblinking gaze.

A whisper curled through Shen Yi's mind—soft, suffocating—a shroud woven from shadows and silence. Memories of the ritual, sharp and searing moments, began to unravel, slipping away like smoke through trembling fingers. The demon's will pressed down, erasing what had passed, leaving behind only a void where certainty once lived.

"You will serve my will, little vessel," the demon murmured, voice a chilling whisper that resonated deep within Shen Yi's mind. "Rest now, for the mission has only just begun."

Shen Yi's vision blurred, his strength ebbing away as he slip into unconsciousness. The touch lingered—a silent, cruel promise etched into his soul.

A/N:

Okay… that was some intense stuff, huh? >.<

Hey there, lovely readers! How are you feeling about the chapter so far? Did it give you the chills like I hoped?

I’m such a sucker for horror stories, so when this scene popped into my head, I just had to write it out. I really hope you’re enjoying the thrill and suspense as much as I am!

Thanks for sticking with me—can’t wait to share what’s next! 

Chapter Text

Scene: Shen Yi's Apartment — Morning

Morning finally came, and a faint light slipped through the closed curtains, casting a pale glow across part of the room. Shen Yi’s eyelids fluttered open, the world around him hazy and indistinct. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, as if he’d been holding it underwater for too long. A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes, and the faint taste of copper lingered on his tongue. 

He tried to sit up, but the cold, hard floor pressed beneath him, sending a jolt of confusion through his mind. Why am I sleeping on the floor? The question hit him before he even realized it. As he shifted, a sharp sting made him hiss.

Shen Yi closed his eyes tightly, his brows knitting together in a deep, troubled frown as a dull, persistent ache throbbed beneath his chest that spreading like a slow-burning ember just beneath the surface. 

His breath came shallow and uneven as each inhale tinged with pain. Once the ache had dulled enough to move, he slowly pushed himself up, using the couch for support. He sank onto it, body heavy, muscles still tense, his heart pounding in his chest like a frantic drum. The room blurred at the edges, the air thick and suffocating around him.

Shen Yi closed his eyes, battling the dizziness that swirled unsteadily within his head and the sudden weakness that had settled over his body this morning. He’d felt off since yesterday—ever since the last case—but today was different. It's felt worse. More unsettling. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling of his dimly lit room, the soft shadows stretching across the walls. He tried to piece together the fragments of the previous day. He remembered leaving the hospital with Du Cheng, the sharp scent of antiseptic still lingering in his nose. Then he came home, feeling a sudden chill brush against the back of his neck. And then... nothing.

That was strange. Had he fallen asleep right after? But he couldn’t recall lying down or drifting off, especially not on the floor. A creeping unease settled in his chest as he tried to shake the fog clouding his mind. 

With effort, Shen Yi pushed himself up, his body protesting every movement. The room tilted slightly as he sat up, the edges of his vision threatening to blur. A wave of nausea surged up his throat, and he instinctively pressed a hand over his mouth, pausing until it passed. His head throbbed, heavy and clouded, but the need to clear his mind—to feel something solid and grounding—urged him to his feet. Unsteady but determined, he moved toward the bathroom.

He reached the mirror with trembling hands. Reflected back was a face pale and drawn, eyes shadowed with unease. Something was wrong with him—something he couldn’t yet name—but the weight of it pressed down on him with brutal certainty. The reflection stared back, silent and accusing, as if warning him of an invisible danger lurking just beyond sight.

He froze, hand hovering above the sink as his eyes dropped to his arms. 

Bruises wrapped around them in cruel, jagged patterns—dark purples and blacks twisting from his wrists up to his elbows like thick, tangled ropes beneath the skin. The marks branched out like vines, spreading and curling in a way that felt almost alive. They looked like something that had gripped him tightly. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and for a moment, he simply stared, unsure how or when the wounds had appeared.

His eyes dropped to his legs. The same vine-like bruises wound up from his ankles, slithering halfway up his calves. His neck bore a similar trace—a tight, sinuous band of darkened veins wrapping just beneath his jawline, as if a creeping thing had tried to choke the breath from him.

Then his palm.

A clean, shallow cut sat there, stark against his skin, the edges faintly red. He stared at it, unmoving. There was nothing in the room sharp enough to do that. Nothing near him that could explain it.

Hell...
He didn't even remember hurting himself.

Wait—this wasn’t the first time. There had been the cut on his palm the night he met Du Cheng in that dim corridor, a wound he never remembered causing. And now these bruises and another wound—just like then, he had no memory of how they came to be. The thought unsettled him deeply, as if some part of himself was slipping beyond his control.

He swallowed hard, throat tight. The panic that had been stirring inside him now pushed up fast, threatening to spill over. None of this was here yesterday. Not the bruises. Not the marks. Not the pain that throbbed through his muscles with each breath.

His mind scrambled for answers, but the memories slipped through his grasp—hazy, distant, sealed behind a wall he couldn't breach.

What had happened to him?

His unwounded hand clutched the edge of the sink, knuckles white, eyes still fixed on the strange, vine-shaped bruises crawling up his skin like a curse. The silence pressed in. The quiet was shattered only by the sharp buzz of his phone on the bedside table.

He fumbled for it. The screen lit up: Du Cheng.

A shaky breath escaped him.

He answered, voice rough and brittle.

"Hey... Du Cheng."

Du Cheng's voice broke through the heavy silence, calm but edged with concern. "How are you feeling, Shen Yi? Are you alright?"

Shen Yi's mind churned. How could I even explain this ? The creeping emptiness, the shadow that gnawed at his insides—he didn't have words for it. How could he tell Du Cheng about something he didn't even understand himself?

He swallowed, forcing a steady breath. "I... I think I'm okay," he said quietly, then after a pause, added, "Can I go to work today?"

Du Cheng's brow furrowed, clearly hesitant. "You shouldn't. You need more rest. If you push yourself now, it could get worse."

"I'm not going to just lie here doing nothing, Du Cheng" Shen Yi snapped, voice low but edged with stubbornness. 

"You okay? You sound a little off."

Shen Yi swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in his throat.

"Sorry. It's just...I'm bored," he finally said, voice flat.

The room settled into a heavy silence, both men locked in their quiet battle. Du Cheng's gaze softened, and he exhaled slowly. "Alright," he said finally, voice thick with reluctant acceptance. "But I'm picking you up. We're going together."

"Okay, Thanks Du." Shen Yi cut in softly, his voice barely above a whisper—more to convince himself than Du Cheng. The words felt fragile, tentative, like a thread stretched too thin.

His fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening, as if holding on to the conversation could keep the growing dread at bay. His breath caught, uneven, and for a moment his chest felt tight, as if the unseen weight in his soul pressed harder.

Du Cheng's voice came through again, steady and reassuring. "I'll be there soon. Just rest until then."

The call ended, leaving Shen Yi alone in the quiet stillness of his apartment. The silence wrapped around him—both a comfort and a reminder of the emptiness he couldn't fill.

He stared at the bruises on his neck for a long moment, chest tight.

Then he took off off of his clothes and headed toward the shower. He didn't want to think about it anymore.

Steam began to fill the small space as he turned the shower knob. The sound of water masked the thoughts rising in his head, pushing them down like stones into deep water. He stepped beneath the stream, letting the heat soak into his sore muscles, hoping it would wash something away—anything.

After a while, he reached for a towel, dried off quickly, and moved back into his room. The wound in his palm pulsed with fresh sting as the warmth faded, drawing his attention at last. He sat on the edge of the bed and unwrapped the small first-aid kit he kept tucked in a drawer.

The cut was clean and shallow. It looked like it had been done by something deliberate, something sharp. 

He cleaned the wound with quiet care, lips pressed into a thin line that sometimes letto=ing out a low hiss from the sting he felt, then wrapped it with gauze. Only once the bandage was secure did he rise and cross to the wardrobe.

The bruises had to be hidden.

He dug through the neatly folded stacks until he found what he was looking for—a dark turtleneck with long sleeves that would cover everything from wrist to collarbone. He pulled it over his head, smoothing the fabric down his arms, making sure nothing showed. Then jeans. Socks. All normal. All neat.

He glanced at himself in the mirror briefly—just long enough to check if anything was visible.

Nothing.

Good.

He lay back against the pillow again, staring at the ceiling, fully dressed, his bandaged hand resting in his lap. 

The ache in his body was still there—A burning pain flared faintly in his chest. He didn't understand what had happened last night. Didn't know how to explain the nightmare buried beneath his skin.

So he stayed quiet with his eyes closed.

And let the silence swallow everything else.

Scene: Police Station — Later

Du Cheng picked up Shen yi and directly went to the office soon after. As they arrived, Shen yi thanked him and went inside together in silence. 

He had been watching Shen Yi throughout the day with growing concern. Started when he picked him up, to along the way to the office. His friend's usual composed grace was replaced by stiff movements, as if every step required an effort Shen Yi had to force himself to muster. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion—dark circles underscored a distant, haunted look that didn't belong to the man Du Cheng thought he knew.

"It's not even winter, and he's wearing a turtleneck?" Du Cheng frowned inwardly, debating whether he should ask about it now or wait until later.

Shen Yi's calm demeanor had cracked. Where once he was quite talkative when talking about a case and focused, now he barely spoke. When he did, his voice was clipped, his responses short. His glances flickered away, avoiding eye contact like he was trying to hide something—or perhaps escape himself.

During a rare quiet moment, Du Cheng caught his friend staring blankly at a case file. Shen Yi's fingers twitched nervously, tapping the edge of the paper.

"Hey, you okay?" Du Cheng said gently, "you're not yourself today."

Shen Yi blinked, forcing a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm fine," Shen Yi said, voice low, barely above a breath.

But Du Cheng didn't move. His gaze lingered on Shen Yi, searching his face—the pallor in his skin, the faint tremble in his fingers, the way his shoulders curled in slightly like he was trying to hold himself together. The tiredness in his eyes wasn't just fatigue. It was something deeper. Like something was rotting under the surface.

"No, you're not." Du Cheng's tone hardened. "You shouldn't be here. You look like hell."

"I said I'm fine," Shen Yi repeated, a flicker of sharpness breaking through. It was defensive, quick—almost too quick.

Du Cheng folded his arms. "Don't give me that. You're looking like you haven't sleep for days, Shen Yi."

"I said I'm fine," Shen Yi snapped suddenly, sharper than either of them expected. The words hit the air like a whip crack, brittle and defensive. His eyes flared with anger. "Just—stop pushing me."

Du Cheng blinked, startled into silence for a moment.

Shen Yi's breath caught. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

"I'm fine. There's nothing wrong. I was just- had a nightmare last night." he muttered, voice trembling now.

Du Cheng inhaled slowly, the sharp edge of Shen Yi's outburst softening something in his own expression. He didn't retaliate. Didn't raise his voice. Just stood quietly with that frustrating, calm patience that Shen Yi hated and needed in equal measure.

"I'm worried, Shen yi." Du Cheng said finally. "You have eye-bags underneath, you keep zoning out, you're even more silent than ever  Even though I know you're not the talkative type like me or Jiang Feng. But today, you...I just don't want your health worsen."

A silence followed, longer this time. Shen Yi looked away, jaw tight. The fire in his tone had already fizzled, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

"I just..." he exhaled, the fight draining out of him. "I don't want to be alone at my house right now."

Du Cheng took a step forward, his voice softer now. "Then let me take you home. You can rest. I'll stay, if you want. Will that be okay?"

"You're still working, Du Cheng. It's fine, I can go home by myself." 

"I can do the report at home. You know, like a working from home?" Du Cheng offer him a gentle smile, even though his eyes still showing concern and pleading.

Another pause. Shen Yi finally nodded, the defiance slipping away.

The tension eased, but not entirely.

On the drive back, the silence between them was taut with everything that remained unsaid. Eventually, Du Cheng spoke again, cautious.

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Shen Yi's eyes didn't leave the road ahead. "No," he whispered. "I don't even know what I'd say at this time."

And Du Cheng didn't ask again. Not that day.

A/N:

Hellowww my lovely readers~ 💖 Thank you so much for all the kudos and support, it really means the world to me!

Yesterday, I randomly got nostalgic and ended up missing my old HunHan (Sehun Luhan from EXO) fanfics from my college days 🥺 So I went back to the site I used to post on—does anyone here remember or know about Asianfanfics website? It’s kinda like AO3, but I haven’t used it in forever. These days I mostly stick to Wattpad and AO3, but wow, the memories hit hard 😭

ANYWAY—what do you think of this chapter so far? 👀 Shen Yi’s situation is getting more and more intense... I’m honestly a little worried for him too, ngl. Will he be okay?? T^T

Drop your thoughts, theories, or just scream with me in the comments! I love hearing from you all 💬💕

Chapter Text

The ride back was quiet.

Shen Yi sat with a paper bag of warm takeout on his lap, the faint scent of sesame oil and braised pork filling the car. Du Cheng had insisted they grab something to eat on the way back—nothing fancy, just something comforting. Shen Yi hadn't protested. Also, he didn't have the energy to.

The silence between them wasn't awkward, just... fragile. As though any sudden word would make it crumble. Every so often, Du Cheng glanced over at Shen Yi, to quietly reassure himself that nothing was wrong to worry about. 

When they arrived at Shen Yi's apartment, Du Cheng parked neatly by the curb and grabbed the drinks with one hand. Shen Yi unlocked the door and they went inside, flicking on the lights as the soft hum of the air conditioner welcomed them. The place was clean and orderly—just as one would expect from Shen Yi. He had always been meticulous, a person who found comfort in structure and routine.

Du Cheng set the food down on the kitchen counter. "Let's eat first."

They didn't speak much over lunch. Shen Yi ate slowly, as if the rice weighed more than it should. Du Cheng watched him more than he let on, still observing the dark circles carved under Shen Yi's eyes, the sluggish blink of his lashes, the way his shoulders curved in on themselves like he was trying to make himself smaller. He wanted to ask if he was really okay, but after seeing his previous reaction. He thought Shen yi might have a personal problem that he couldn't share it yet. So he let it go, for now.

Once the plates were cleared and silence settled over the room again, Du Cheng leaned back slightly and said in a calm, casual tone, "Go get some rest. I'll be in the living room if you need me."

Shen Yi looked up, sending him a reassuring smile "I'm fine," he murmured the same answer again to Du Cheng, but the words felt like paper—thin and transparent.

"Shen Yi, I know you're tired," Du Cheng said softly. "I'll work out here. So please just take a rest first, okay? Please?"

Shen Yi hesitated. It was subtle, just a flicker in his eyes, but Du Cheng caught it.

"Something bothering you?"

Shen Yi lowered his gaze, fingers curling slightly against his palm.

He couldn't say it. Couldn't tell Du Cheng that under the high collar and long sleeves were bruises he didn't want him to see. Because if Du cheng saw it, he would ask and Shen yi — and he didn't know how to explain it. 

"It's nothing," Shen Yi said softly. "Then, I'll just take a little nap."

Du Cheng didn't believe him but he didn't press any further and just nodded instead. "Alright."

Shen Yi retreated to his bedroom, still in his turtleneck and long sleeves. It was cooler inside, the air conditioning humming softly above. He lay down without changing, eyes wide open at first, hands gripping the edge of the blanket that he didn't pull over himself. But the weight in his body caught up with him quickly, and eventually—finally—he drifted into sleep.

The living room was quiet except for the soft clicks of Du Cheng's keyboard.

He worked efficiently, occasionally glancing at his phone, then back to his laptop screen. Time passed unnoticed until the light through the windows started to shift, slanting in gold and deepening shadows.

Du Cheng stretched his arms with a low sigh and glanced toward the opened door of Shen Yi's bedroom.

Du Cheng stood and padded silently down the hall, cracked the door open slightly wider and peeked inside.

Shen Yi was still asleep without his blanket, his body curled slightly toward the wall, hair tousled across his forehead. His brows were faintly furrowed even in sleep, as if something troubled him even in dreams. 

Du Cheng stepped in quietly.

He reached for the blanket and carefully draped it over Shen Yi's sleeping form, tugging it to cover his shoulders—but as he adjusted the blanket, his eyes caught something that made his fingers still.

The sleeve of Shen Yi's left arm had ridden up slightly, and just at the edge of his wrist, peeking out beneath the fabric, was a faint purple mark.

Du Cheng's eyes narrowed.

He didn't move for a moment. Then, cautiously, he lifted the sleeve a little further.

His breath caught.

The bruise wasn't small. It seems like a long, dusky stain of pain that stretched across the pale skin of Shen Yi's forearm. Old enough not to be raw, but recent enough that the discoloration hadn't faded.

Du Cheng's chest tightened.

His gaze flicked toward the high collar of Shen Yi's turtleneck. He didn't want to check. He really didn't. But something in him couldn't let it go now.

His hand reached out again, hesitant. The fabric was soft under his fingers as he tugged the collar gently down just enough to see.

There it was.

Another mark—darker, more brutal. A bruise along the curve of his neck, like a rope pressed too hard.

Du Cheng's fingers curled into a fist. Is this why he wore a long-sleeves turtleneck? To hide this? 

He stood there for a long moment, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on Shen Yi's sleeping face. The faint lines of exhaustion still lingered there, so peaceful yet so fragile. And now, that peace felt like a lie—like a mask placed carefully over something far uglier.

Who had done this? Did someone hurt him? or did he do this to himself?

Why hadn't Shen Yi said anything?

The questions burned inside him, loud and persistent, but he couldn't wake him for now. Shen Yi looked like he hadn't had a real rest in days. To rip him out of that would feel like cruelty.

So Du Cheng did the only thing he could: he gently pulled the sleeve back down, smoothed the blanket over Shen Yi again, and stepped back.

But he didn't return to his laptop.

Instead, he stood in the dim light by the bedroom door, arms crossed, eyes shadowed by thoughts that refused to settle.

Something was wrong. And no matter how quiet Shen Yi stayed, no matter how much he tried to hide it beneath calm words and careful clothes—Du Cheng had seen it now.

And he wasn't going to look away or pretending he did not see any of those mark.

Scene: The Dream

The world was silent when Shen Yi opened his eyes.

Not the kind of silence that brought peace—but the kind that pressed, like the air had thickened into water. He stood in the center of an endless corridor. The walls were pulsing, almost organic, soaked in shadow. The floor beneath his bare feet was cold, slick, and damp—as if it had been crying.

He didn't remember falling asleep. But deep down, he knew this wasn't reality. That this was a dreamland.

His breath misted in the air. He looked around. No windows. No doors. Just an infinite stretch of walls that seemed to breathe with him.

Shen Yi turned—and there he stood.

It was Du Cheng.

He looked the same at first glance: tall, steady, eyes dark and observant. But the closer Shen Yi looked, the more wrong it became.

The skin was too smooth, the smile too sharp—stretching in a way Du Cheng's never would. The eyes were black—not just the pupils, but the entire iris swallowed by darkness, gleaming like oil. And there was something hollow behind them. Something hungry.

"Du Cheng...?" Shen Yi's voice cracked.

The demon tilted its head, amused. "Yes Shen Yi, It's me. You look confused. Isn't this the face you trust most?"

Its voice was a near-perfect imitation, the same calm cadence Du Cheng used when coaxing Shen Yi to rest. The same tone that once said, "It's okay. I'm here."

But here, in this place, it felt like a mockery.

Shen Yi backed away, jaw clenched. "Who are you?"

"I'm Du cheng. Don't you remember me?" the demon purred, stepping forward.

He turned away, but the hallway spun. No matter where he looked, Du Cheng's face was there—at the end of the hall, behind his shoulder, reflected in the damp glass of a cracked mirror.

"You're not him."

"I could be." the demon whispered, suddenly close behind him. 

Shen Yi's breath caught.

The walls around them bled. Slowly. Thick streaks of dark red slithered down like the house itself was rotting. And still, Du Cheng smiled with his face—warm, tender, yet unbearably cold.

"You trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him," the demon said. "You let him work in your living room. You let him near when you never let anyone close."

"Because he's not you," Shen Yi growled.

The smile curled crueler.

"But what if he becomes me?"

Shen Yi's blood ran cold.

"What are you saying?"

The demon raised a finger and tapped his chest—still wearing Du Cheng's appearance, down to the slope of his shoulders and the faint crease of his brow.

"I'm in here," it whispered. "Still inside you. I watch you. I see what you fear. And what you cling to. The more you trust him, the more I wonder—what would happen if I wore him next time?"

Shen Yi lunged—desperate, furious—but the moment he reached out, the floor beneath him shattered like glass. He fell again, swallowed by the dark.

He woke with a violent jolt, chest heaving, sweat slicking the back of his neck. His eyes darted wildly across the dim room and saw the familiar outline of the bed beneath him, the low gleam of the nightstand, and the faint hum of the air conditioner slowly bled into focus. The silence was thick, heavy enough to press against his skin, yet it carried the muted safety of his own room. His breathing steadied, but the weight in his chest refused to lift.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hand to his temple, yet he could still see it—Du Cheng's face, with the unfamiliar dark voice.

The dream shattered into fragments, slipping through his fingers like black sand. But the cold stayed. It clung to his skin, soaked into his spine. His lungs ached like he'd been holding his breath for hours. The faint hum of the air conditioner barely masked the pounding of his heart.

Then—

A presence.

He turned his head slowly towards the door.

Du Cheng stood in front of him. The soft evening light from the window caught the edge of his features. Calm and familiar.

But Shen Yi didn't move.

He stared and breath stilled with fingers curled in the blanket.

That face. That same face.

Same eyes. Same line of the jaw. Same furrow in the brow that always appeared when Du Cheng was worried about him.

But in his dream, the demon wore that face too.

A tremble passed through Shen Yi's hand.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't even blink. Something in his mind screamed Don't trust it. What if he'd never woken up at all? What if this was still part of the illusion—just a deeper level of the dream?

Du Cheng noticed the weird behaviour from Shen Yi. So He turned to him fully and gentle.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're awake."

Shen Yi flinched.

Not visibly—but just enough for Du Cheng to see it. Just enough for that sharp instinct in him to rise.

Shen Yi's eyes darted down, avoiding his face entirely now.

Du Cheng froze, confused of what cause this kind of reaction towards him. Then lowered his voice. "It's me."

The words meant to comfort instead scraped against the inside of Shen Yi's skull. It's me—the same thing the demon had said. The same way it had whispered in the dark. He pressed his hand to the blanket, grounding himself. He could feel the texture, the weight. It's real. Wasn't it?

Du Cheng move closer, keeping his posture non-threatening, gaze steady. "Shen Yi, did you have a nightmare?"

Shen Yi's throat was dry. He gave the barest nod.

Du Cheng glanced at the sweat clinging to his temple, the faint tremble in his arms.

"Do you want me to give you space?" He said, gently.

Shen Yi opened his mouth—but nothing came out. His chest tightened painfully. Slowly, he raised his eyes. Just for a second.

Their gazes met.

Du Cheng's eyes weren't black voids. They weren't hollow. They were warm, tired, and furrowed with concern. No twisted smile. No mockery.

Just him.

Shen Yi's shoulders slumped as if a string holding him up had been cut. His breath left in a shaky exhale. "...I thought you weren't real."

Du Cheng didn't react right away. Then he sat down on the tip of the bed.

"I'm real," Du Cheng said softly, his voice steady but touched with concern. "And I'm standing right here. See?" He spread his hands slightly, as if offering proof of his existence, of his solidity—an anchor in whatever storm Shen Yi was caught in.

Shen Yi’s lashes lowered, shutting out the sight of him. His fingers twitched against his own thighs as he drew a slow, shaky breath. He needed to believe it—to believe that the warmth in that voice belonged to the real Du Cheng, not some figment born of fear. The air around him felt slowly back to light, and it took every ounce of will to remind himself that the man before him was flesh and bone, not a shadow from his mind.

Even then, a flicker of doubt lingered. Not in Du Cheng—but in himself. In how deep the demon's claws still reached. In how easily it turned trust into fear.

"...Sorry," he whispered, voice barely audible. 

The silence had grown soft, no longer the thick tension that had smothered the room when Shen Yi first woke. He sat with the blanket around his waist, one hand resting loosely on his lap. His breathing had steadied. The stiffness in his spine had faded—only a quiet weariness remained.

Du Cheng watched him carefully, the way he always did. Years on the force had trained his eyes to catch the smallest tells—the twitch of a muscle, the flicker of hesitation. That sharpness had become second nature, and tonight he was grateful for it. It told him, without a doubt, that something was gnawing at Shen Yi.

The bruises on Shen Yi's skin still haunted the back of his min, the glimpse of purple at his neck, now hidden once more beneath the high collar of his turtleneck. He hadn't said anything. Didn't want to push it either. But the weight of it sat on his chest like a stone.

Would Shen Yi ever tell him, if he didn't ask?

He swallowed the question inside his throat and never let it out. At least not for now. But maybe he could asked him another question. 

Du Cheng hesitated at first, then added carefully, "Do you...want to talk about your dream?"

There was a pause.

Shen Yi didn't answer right away, but he didn't shut down either. His fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, then loosened again.

Du Cheng offered a gentler route, voice light, even trying to tease, "Was I in it? The dream, I mean."

To his surprise, Shen Yi nodded.

Du Cheng blinked. "...Really?"

Shen Yi didn't smile. Didn't look amused. He only glanced over, something quiet and unreadable in his expression.

"I see," Du Cheng said carefully, trying to maintain the thread. "What kind of person was I in your dream to make you flinch like that?"

A pause.

Then, almost reluctantly, Shen Yi replied, "You looked like yourself. But not quite."

Du Cheng tilted his head, his smile now more cautious. "Not quite?"

Shen Yi looked down at his hands. His voice dropped a register, soft and tired. "It's like... You have same face. Same voice. But your eyes were black. Like void. And your smile..." He hesitated, brow pinching slightly as the memory crept back like a cold wind across his skin. "It wasn't yours."

Du Cheng's throat tightened. His smile faded entirely.

Shen Yi added, "...I knew it wasn't you inside my dream. And when I woke up, It just... took a moment to believe that I'm already awake."

Du Cheng's jaw clenched faintly. He tried to smile again, just enough to soften the air. "So I'm the villain in your dreams now? Cold smile and all."

This time, Shen Yi gave a slight chuckled "You didn't look that evil. Just...different."

Du Cheng let the silence hold.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was low but certain. "If i was ever shows up again looking like that," he said, "Tell me. I'll tear his face off for looking like that."

That earned a faint huff from Shen Yi. Half amusement. Half disbelief. But not rejection.

Not this time.

And for now, Du Cheng let that be enough.

Chapter Text

It had been two quiet days.

Shen Yi's color had returned little by little, the faint bruises fading into his skin, the exhaustion retreating behind a clearer gaze. His smiles had become easier—not the empty, polite ones he used to deflect concern, but real, if still soft. And most importantly, the nightmares had stopped. No more faceless dark, no twisted reflection of Du Cheng waiting behind closed eyelids. Sleep came, and it stayed. Peacefully.

Du Cheng had been with him nearly the whole time.

Whether in the living room answering work calls or bringing Shen Yi hot porridge and barely-sweetened tea, he remained a quiet, steady presence in the house. He didn't ask questions Shen Yi wasn't ready to answer. Didn't hover too close. But he was there with Shen Yi.

And Shen Yi let him be.

By the third morning, Shen Yi had woken with no pressure behind his eyes. No tension in his shoulders. He'd pulled on a fresh shirt—still high collars or long sleeves since the bruises slightly still there—and greeted Du Cheng in the kitchen with a soft, "Morning," and a real, familiar smile.

Du Cheng, setting two mugs of coffee on the table, had raised a brow. "You look suspiciously well."

"I slept," Shen Yi said simply, curling his fingers around the mug, "which is more than I can say for the last week."

Du Cheng watched him over the rim of his cup. "That's goof to hear. But still... maybe take it slow?"

Shen Yi tilted his head slightly. "I can work just fine now I think."

His tone was light but firm—less defiant, more grounded. And Du Cheng, after a long look, finally gave a small nod.

"All right," he said. "But I'm still driving."

A week passed.

They resumed their routines. Morning coffee. Midday debriefs. Briefings at the station, quiet lunches together, late reports. Shen Yi remained steady—tired sometimes, yes, but not fragile. There were no more flickers of black in his eyes. No voices in the night. No cold.

Everything was normal again.

Until a call came.

Du Cheng was midway through chewing a steamed pork bun alongside Shen Yi, who was quietly absorbed in a book, when the office phone rang—cutting through the post-lunch lull. Around them, the team had just finished eating and was settling into light chatter in the station lounge. Du Cheng quickly swallowed his mouthful, took a sip of water to clear his throat, then reached over to answer the call.

As he listened, his brows slowly furrowed—the report was serious.

"There's a shooting incident and the suspect got hostages held inside St. Jude Church. Demanding a priest by name—Father Liang," he said to Shen Yi after hanging up. 

The words had barely left his mouth before Shen Yi stiffened beside him. Du Cheng pushed aside his unfinished lunch and rose from his chair, striding out of his office. His voice cut through the hum of conversation as he addressed the team.

"Everyone—conference room. Now. We need to assess the situation before we move."

But Shen Yi has yet moved from his spot. 

The name struck him like a needle to the chest—sharp, unwelcome. St. Jude. Father Liang.

It meant nothing to Shen Yi. Not truly. And yet, the moment Du Cheng said it, something in his chest twisted. Cold. Vicious. Like the surface of calm water had been pierced by a shadow that didn't belong to him.

He pressed his fingers over his forehead by the sudden dizziness. His mind blurred for a second, heart skipping—not from fear, but from something darker. A ripple of hate. A taste of revenge. Emotions that felt far too visceral for a name he shouldn't even recognize.

As if somewhere deep inside, something that wasn't entirely him... had been waiting to hear it.

It uncoiled from his ribs like a serpent waking in the dark.

His fingers curled slightly, knuckles pale around the edge of the table. Beneath his lowered lashes, a glint of unnatural red flared in his irises—brief, like a flame beneath glass. No one saw it. But it burned just the same.

His lips parted into a small, unfamiliar cold smile. Like he'd been waiting for this day to come.

The conference room quickly filled with the rustle of papers, chair legs scraping against the floor, and the low murmur of officers settling into their seats. The light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs buzzed faintly, a harsh contrast to the weight of what was being discussed.

Du Cheng stood at the front, flipping on the wall-mounted screen with a sharp motion. The image of the church—St. Jude—appeared, taken from street surveillance. A modest, pale stone building nestled between trees, now surrounded by yellow tape and armed police units.

"The situation started about twenty minutes ago," Du Cheng began, pointing to the screen. "A lone suspect entered the premises during a small afternoon service. Witnesses heard two gunshots shortly after. No one was reported injured yet, but several people are being held hostage inside. There were also other officer that has arrived to check the situation."

He paused, clicking to the next slide—a photo of the suspect taken from an earlier incident. Male, mid-thirties, military haircut, blank eyes like someone already halfway gone.

"He's demanding a priest by name—Father Liang. The perpetrator was unstable, potentially armed with more than just a handgun."

The team exchanged grim glances. Tension thickened.

Du Cheng's eyes scanned the room, but they lingered for a second longer on Shen Yi. He was seated quietly at the end of the table, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His usual note-taking was absent. He hadn't touched his pen. Just staring—calm, but... too calm.

"We don't know yet why he's fixated on this priest," Du Cheng continued, his voice steady. "But until we do, our priorities are clear: protect civilians, negotiate if possible, and gather intel on the suspect's motive. No reckless moves."

He stepped back from the screen and crossed his arms. "Everyone else, gear up. We roll out now."

Chairs scraped again as the team moved. The air was tight with urgency, but as Du Cheng turned toward Shen Yi, something in him twisted.

Shen Yi still hadn't moved.

He sat at the table like a man watching something invisible on the other side of the room. There was no tension in his shoulders, no nervous fingers, but his eyes had gone cold—glassy, distant, stripped of warmth. Unreadable.

Du Cheng stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You alright?"

Shen Yi blinked once. Then slowly turned to look at him. The faintest trace of a smile curled at his lips—not quite his usual one. This one was too cold.

"I'm fine," he said softly. "Let's go."

But the words sat wrong in Du Cheng's ears. But he just shook it aside for now, thinking it was him overthinking things because of the situation.

Du Cheng looked over at Shen Yi. "You're coming with me."

Shen Yi stood without hesitation. "Of course."

As they left the room, Du Cheng cast one last glance back at the image of the church glowing on the screen. He couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper had just been set in motion.

The drive was silent.

Du Cheng had glanced at him a few times. Something about Shen Yi's expression—it wasn't anxious or focused like usual. It was cold. 

Shen Yi only stared forward, eyes steady on the road, as if every meter they passed brought him closer to something he knew all too well.

As the church came into view—stone walls, high-arched windows, the iron fence lined with police cars and caution tape. Armed officers had already begun closing the perimeter. Hostage negotiation teams gathered under tents while snipers secured the higher ground.

Du Cheng parked behind the line of patrol units and climbed out with Shen Yi followed from behind. The air was heavy with tension and sirens.

The team spread out, forming a perimeter, coordinating with the local units. Du Cheng gave quick orders while surveying the area.

Then he looked to Shen Yi.

"Stay close," he said.

Shen Yi's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sure."

Du Cheng blinked at that answer, something in it curling strange around the edges.

But he didn't comment it. He need to focus of what was in front of him for now.

Du Cheng turned to face the church. And from somewhere deep within those old walls of stone and shadow—inside the house of prayer now held hostage—a darker memory stirred in Shen Yi's soul.

And the thing inside him...

Smiled back.

Gunfire had long since cleared the street around St. Jude Church, leaving it swallowed in a tense, breathless quiet. Police units were stationed in every corner of the perimeter. Tactical officers crouched behind parked cars and riot shields, waiting. Negotiators had established a communication line, but the suspect refused to talk to anyone—except through screaming.

From within the stained-glass shadows of the church, the man's voice rang out again, raw from shouting, his words cracked and furious.

"I said bring out Father Liang! Now! He's here—I know he's here!"

Du Cheng stood behind the temporary command van, headset pressed to one ear, listening to the chaos unfold. His face was stone, but his jaw clenched.

An officer approached with a tablet in hand and a grave expression. "Got the suspect's background."

Du Cheng took it with a nod and scanned the report quickly.

Name: Fu Yun.  Age: 34. Unmarried. Lives in the eastern district. Works at Xiongying Logistics as a route supervisor. 

"Colleagues said he was reliable and a good co-worker. Neighbors described him as polite and well-mannered. No priors. No history of violence," the officer added. "But the reports from our units watching the windows... he looks completely unhinged. Hair's wild. Shirt half untucked. He's pacing like an animal in a cage. And his eyes—glassy, wide, like he's not even in his right mind anymore."

Another voice cut sharply through the feed. From inside the church.

"Please, calm yourself. This won't bring peace to you or anyone here—"
A gunshot exploded through the line, followed by muffled screams.

Du Cheng's stomach twisted. "What was that?"

The officer checked the comm and winced. "One of the priests tried to speak to him. But got shot in the leg as result."

The line crackled with Fu Yun's voice again, breathing hard, words pouring out like they'd been held back too long.

"He keeps coming back. The demon. In my sleep. Over and over again—saying I have to find Father Liang. That I have to make a scene so he'll show up. It's the only way to make him stop. I can't sleep. I can't think. It keep whispering inside my head that almost making me crazy! Every. Single. Day."

Du Cheng's fingers curled around the tablet.

He leaned closer to the comm line and spoke calmly, "Fu Yun, listen to me. What happens if Father Liang does come? What do you plan to do?"

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Fu Yun's voice returned—softer this time, trembling.

"...Nothing. I'm not supposed to do anything to him. I just need to get him here. The demon said he'd take care of the rest."

The line cut off again. The sound of a distant hymn playing from the church speakers crept through the air, eerie and disjointed.

Du Cheng lowered the tablet slowly, a faint crease forming between his brows. This man kept rambling about demons and whispers, words tumbling out like fragments of a fevered dream. A thought stirred—was he dealing with mental illness? His gaze then flicked to Shen Yi, who stood just behind him, arms folded, expression as unreadable as ever.

Chapter Text

Shen Yi stood just behind Du Cheng, the early summer wind brushing at his clothes as he watched the church like a man watching an old wound reopen.

St. Jude.

The name pulsed in his ears like a whisper. Or maybe it wasn't his ears—it was inside his skull, his veins, his breath. A place he'd never stepped into consciously, and yet it pulled at him with an almost magnetic weight. And Father Liang...

That name echoed too, but not as memory. As instinct.

Shen Yi closed his eyes for half a second as his chest rose with a steady breath. He was trying to push it down, this boiling reaction that didn't feel like his own and he didn't know why. Yet when he thought of the man inside the church—Fu Yun, trembling and desperate—and the name Father Liang, a cruel sense of anticipation stirred like flint against steel.

It was like someone else's hate had been poured into the vessel of his chest and now sloshed angrily inside him, heat gathering behind his sternum. His fists remained loose at his sides, his face composed—but something beneath that surface had begun to coil.

"Shen Yi?"

Du Cheng's voice cut through the fog just enough to anchor him. Shen Yi turned, just slightly. Not too fast. Du Cheng looked at him, scanning his expression. "You okay?"

Shen Yi offered a small nod, calm, even faintly amused. "I'm fine."

But Du Cheng didn't look convinced. His gaze lingered a second longer than it should have—watching the way Shen Yi's lips curled, faintly, at the mention of the suspect's dream. A curl too close to mockery.

And the smile that flickered across his lips before he turned back to face the church again?

It wasn't quite human.

Du Cheng pulled aside one of the nearby officers, keeping his voice low but firm.
"Where's the priest?"

The officer glanced over his shoulder at the church's entrance, voice laced with unease. "He wasn't at the church today. It was said he wasn't feeling well—resting at the dormitory behind the building."
He added, "It's only about a five-minute walk. But when he heard the commotion, he called and said he'd come immediately."

Du Cheng frowned. "He's coming here? Alone?"
Before the officer could respond, a figure appeared near the church gates.

A man in plain robes, aging but upright, moving briskly through the garden path—Father Liang.

"There," the officer said, gesturing.

Du Cheng turned to face him, his jaw tightening. But even before he could speak, a gust of wind slammed into the front yard like a wave. Papers lifted from the ground, leaves spiraled into the air. The air shifted—sudden, unnatural. What had been bright sunshine just minutes ago had twisted into a blanket of dark clouds rolling in overhead.

Shen Yi stood still there. Too still.

His gaze had locked sharply onto the approaching priest—and within him, something had begun to grin.

There you are.

The demon coiled inside his chest like a serpent sensing blood in water. That face... that voice... That man was the one. The one that sealed him long ago. The one it had waited for.

"Now..." it whispered. "I want to take him now."

A pulse of dark power radiated invisibly from Shen Yi's body. The ground beneath his feet felt warmer for a brief moment, like something ancient had stirred. He didn't move a muscle, but his aura shifted—dense and suffocating.

If Du Cheng had turned to look at him then, he might have noticed the brief shimmer in Shen Yi's eyes. A strange of a red hungry glint. 

Father Liang paused as he drew closer. He looked around the courtyard, confused by the sudden shift in weather. His hand subtly clenched the side of his robes. Something was wrong.

A heaviness had settled on his chest.

He scanned the area until his eyes met Shen Yi's—those clear, calm eyes watching him with such piercing focus that it sent a faint chill crawling up the back of his neck. But Shen Yi didn't blink. nor looked away.

He was calculating and waiting for a perfect time.

"He doesn't recognize you," the demon sneered with delight. "But I do. I never forget the face of someone who tried to burn me out."

The priest took another step forward, brushing off the unease. Du Cheng intercepted him quickly.

"Father Liang?" Du Cheng greeted, voice sharp and clipped, shaking off his own discomfort at the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "We have a situation inside the church—a man with a gun and had multiple hostages. He's demanding you specifically."

Father Liang nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes. I heard. That's why I came as quickly as I could."

Du Cheng gave him a once-over, then added, "We're handling it. But I need you to stay behind the patrol vehicles for now. We're still assessing the threat level. The man inside may not be... stable."

As they spoke, Shen Yi remained unmoving near the edge of the perimeter, eyes fixed, expression unreadable.

But inside—inside—the demon seethed with exhilaration.

"Soon."
"He'll be close enough to touch."
"I'll tear the breath from his throat and leave his soul in ash."

The wind swirled again, this time colder, as if the sky itself was bracing for something unseen.

Father Liang hesitated only briefly as Du Cheng stepped back and issued orders to the officers to hold position. But seeing the chaos unfold—the taped perimeter, the armed team securing their cover behind vehicles—he began to move toward the church entrance despite Du Cheng's warning.

"Father!" Du Cheng called out, catching his arm. "You can't go in yet."

"I have to," the priest said quietly, though urgency rang clear in his voice. "If he's asking for me, I might be able to calm him down before someone else gets hurt."

Another gust of wind swept through the courtyard, more violent this time. The leaves from the surrounding trees scattered through the air like fleeing insects. The sky had turned nearly black above them, casting eerie shadows over the stained glass windows of the church.

Du Cheng turned, eyes narrowing—something wasn't right. His instincts screamed it. But he couldn't name what was wrong, only that the air felt... charged. He glanced to where Shen Yi stood.

Shen Yi hadn't moved an inch. His shoulders were still. His hands relaxed at his sides. But his eyes—his eyes were not calm.

They followed Father Liang with intensity that didn't match the man Du Cheng knew. Cold. Focused. And fixed like a predator on prey. No fear. No worry. No trace of the gentle weariness Shen Yi usually wore on his face.

Du Cheng's mouth went dry. What's wrong with him?

The moment the priest took another step toward the main doors, a scream rang out from inside the church.

The hostage-taker's voice echoed out through the opened window, distorted by panic and rage:
"WHERE IS HE?! YOU PROMISED ME! BRING HIM OUT—BRING FATHER LIANG TO ME OR THEY ALL DIE!"

The priest flinched but kept walking.

And inside Shen Yi's chest, something laughed.

Not a sound, not aloud—but a vibration. A dark, writhing pulse beneath his ribs. The demon leaned forward like a shadow stretching toward the light.

"Closer... closer..."

A barely perceptible shimmer stirred the air around Shen Yi, as though heat waves were rising from his skin. He didn't even notice the fine tremor in his hands. Didn't notice the way the concrete beneath his feet had begun to hum with pressure only he could feel.

He didn't blink when Du Cheng stepped into his line of sight.

"Shen Yi." Du Cheng's voice was low, steady—firm, but laced with unease as he gripped at Shen Yi's shoulders. "What's going on with you?"

Shen Yi didn't answer.

His eyes remained fixed ahead, unflinching. Silent. There was no recognition in Shen Yi's eyes—only a glint that Du Cheng had never seen before. That Cold and predatory look. Something that didn't belong in Shen Yi's body.

At that moment, Father Liang reached the threshold of the church, the heavy wooden door groaning slightly as he pushed it open and stepped fully into view.

The armed team immediately surrounded him. One officer reached for his arm, murmuring for him to hold back. "We need to negotiate. We haven't secured—"

"I can't wait," Father Liang said, his voice grave. "This man needs me."

The door creaked open.

From inside, the suspect—Fu Yun—stood, sweaty and frantic, waving his pistol around. His shirt was stained with something dark, maybe blood. His hair stuck to his forehead in clumps. His eyes were too wide. Madness gripped him like a vice.

He saw Father Liang—and froze.

"YOU!" he roared. "You're the one he wants!"

The wind howled. The sky churned like a great eye turning downward. The pressure of something not human pressed down on the entire courtyard.

It howled through the courtyard like a beast unchained—stirring leaves, tugging at coats, snapping the edge of the police tape with erratic fury. Clouds had devoured the sky, the once-sunny afternoon now cloaked in a dim, foreboding gray.

Du Cheng's voice echoed again, sharper this time. "Shen Yi!"

But Shen Yi stood still, breathing deeply through his nose as if tasting something only he could sense. His eyes, once dulled from exhaustion and recovery, now shimmered with a faint crimson gleam beneath his lashes. Not bright enough to catch attention outright—but it was there, flickering like dying embers in a fire stoked to life again.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

He felt the pressure crawling up his spine—slow, sweet, and unbearable. A hand inside his ribs, gripping, turning, threading its will through muscle and bone.

"Now," the demon whispered, its voice like silk over steel.
"Let me walk."

Shen Yi didn't resist at the command anymore. 

He wasn't giving in. Not consciously. But his limbs... they moved. His took Du Cheng's hands that were gripping him away from his shoulder and started walking.

Slowly, step by step.

Du Cheng's eyes locked on him and holding his wrist to stop him now. "Shen Yi, stop—where are you going?"

"I need to... talk to him," Shen Yi said evenly, his tone too smooth, too even. Like his voice had been ironed clean of emotion.

Du Cheng stepped in front of him. "We haven't cleared it. Don't do anything stupid—"

Shen Yi sidestepped him, gracefully. Almost too gracefully. His movements fluid and detached, not like someone moving through a tense crime scene, but like something gliding toward its prey.

"Shen Yi." Du Cheng's voice was sharp now, low with warning.

But Shen Yi didn't answer.

He walked across the concrete like someone who had all the time in the world, the chaos of the scene around him no more than a backdrop. Police officers glanced up from their positions. Some reached for their radios. One began to move to intercept—but Du Cheng raised a hand, stopping him.

Because Shen Yi had stopped, just before the stairs of the church.

He tilted his head.

The door had been left ajar. Inside, Fu Yun was still shouting, still waving the pistol erratically as he screamed for Father Liang to come closer. The priest had stepped cautiously toward the threshold, arms raised, mouth moving in calm tones.

But Shen Yi wasn't looking at the suspect.

He was staring straight at Father Liang.

And inside him, the demon was practically thrumming.

"Closer, closer. Let me—just a little closer—"

The air around Shen Yi had begun to shift. The shadows beneath his feet seemed darker than they should be. His presence pressed outward—not loud or showy, but dense. Like standing in a pocket of gravity stronger than the rest of the world.

Father Liang paused. His eyes flicked back to see a young man on the steps. His brow furrowed, uncertain.

He felt it again. That cold dread crawling under his skin.

He had felt this once before—years ago, during a failed exorcism in a village too small to matter, where a boy had died screaming and the church had buried the truth. That same suffocating pressure, that unnatural stillness, hung in the air now, clinging to Shen Yi like a veil.

He blinked—and realized Shen Yi was staring straight at him. Not blinking. Not moving. Just staring.

Behind his eyes, the demon leaned forward.

"Let me kill him."

Shen Yi's fingers curled at his side. One twitch, one flick—and he could lunge.

"He doesn't deserve to breathe. I will rip his throat out with your bare hands if you just stop resisting—"

"Shen Yi!" Du Cheng's voice cut through the tension like a whip.

Shen Yi blinked.

His jaw clenched. He turned his head slightly, not to look back—but as if trying to shake something loose from his own mind.

The priest took a small step backward. Something in Shen Yi's expression—calm, serene, but soulless—triggered the survival instinct in him like nothing else.

He knew then.

He didn't know how. But he knew something was inside this man.

The demon licked its metaphorical lips.

"One step closer, Father. One more. And you'll be gone."

Chapter Text

Fu Yun stood a short distance from the church steps, gripping the gun in his trembling hand. Sweat beaded along his temples, his breathing shallow, erratic. His shirt clung to his back, and his eyes—wide, bloodshot—flicked between the surrounding officers like a trapped animal.

Father Liang emerged from the doorway, his presence calm but firm. "Fu Yun," he called gently, stepping forward, "put the weapon down. No one here wants to hurt you."

Fu Yun's aim wavered slightly as he stared at the priest. "He told me you'd come..." he muttered, lips twitching. "He told me to make you come, and you came..."

The officers tensed. One slowly moved into position, ready to intervene.

Father Liang took another cautious step. "You're not alone, Mr. Fu. We can help you."

For a moment, it seemed like the man might actually yield. His shoulders drooped, and the gun lowered an inch.

Then his gaze slipped sideways.

Past the priest.

Right to Shen Yi.

Shen Yi was standing at the edge of the crowd, motionless, yet every inch of him radiated a quiet, lethal presence. His expression was unreadable, a mask that offered no clue to the storm behind his dark eyes. And yet, those eyes—sharp, gleaming with an intensity that made the air around him feel heavier—were fixed unwaveringly on Fu Yun. There was something in that gaze, something that crawled under the skin, cold and calculating, as if he could see straight into the marrow of Fu Yun's bones.

And then, something shifted.

Fu Yun felt it first as a prickling at the back of his neck, a subtle, insidious pressure that seemed to radiate from Shen Yi's stare straight into his chest. His breath hitched, shallow and irregular. The words he had rehearsed, the plans he had meticulously constructed—they all slipped away, evaporating under the weight of Shen Yi's presence.

A sudden tightness gripped his chest, sharp enough that he instinctively pressed a hand over it. The pounding in his skull intensified, a relentless drum that threatened to split his thoughts in two. Every nerve ending seemed alive, screaming at him to run, to hide, yet his body refused to obey.

"No..." he whispered, voice strained. "Don't—don't look at me like that..."

But Shen Yi didn't stop. His stare deepened—piercing, overwhelming, as if peering straight into Fu Yun's soul.

Fu Yun's knees wobbled.

His vision blurred at the edges. He could feel something crawling up his spine, whispering in a voice he thought he'd escaped.

"He's in you," Fu Yun gasped, trembling. "He's—he's inside you too..."

His breathing turned to ragged pants. He clutched his head with one hand, the other still holding the gun. His whole body shook.

"Stop it!" he cried suddenly, staggering sideways. "Get out of my head! I did what you asked—I brought him, I did it!"

"Fu Yun!" one of the officers called, raising a hand to calm him. "Drop the weapon!"

Then Shen Yi took a single step forward.

And that broke him.

Bang!

A single gunshot exploded through the air.

Gasps and screams broke out.

Father Liang staggered, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeped through his robes, dark red against white. He fell to the steps with a pained grunt.

"No—!" Fu Yun yelled in horror, eyes wide as the gun clattered from his hands. "I didn't mean to—I didn't—!"

"Get the shooter down! Now!" Du Cheng barked, already in motion.

Two officers rushed him instantly, slamming him down and restraining him before he could move again. His limbs flailed briefly, then gave up in defeat. He began to sob, face twisted in shock.

"Clear the church! Everyone, evacuate now!" he shouted, voice sharp with command.

Startled cries and shuffling footsteps followed as the remaining hostages, pale-faced and trembling, were guided out by officers. Some clung to each other, others covered their ears from the echoes of the gunshot still ringing in the air. The tension was thick, the fear palpable—but Du Cheng's order cut through it like a blade, giving them something to follow.

But then, Du Cheng's eyes weren't on Fu Yun anymore.

They were locked on Shen Yi. The younger man had stopped walking—but not because of the gunshot.

Shen Yi's head tilted ever so slightly, like a creature assessing a failed strike. And then his expression darkened.

There was no shock, no trace of fear in his eyes. Nothing human flickered there—only a cold, simmering fury, quiet yet unnerving, as if it had been coiled for years and was now finally breaking free. His lips parted just enough to reveal clenched teeth, the tension in his jaw so sharp it looked almost painful to behold. Du Cheng's gaze dropped to Shen Yi's hand, and he saw the sheer force of it—fist clenched so tightly that the knuckles gleamed white under the light, veins standing out like cords beneath his skin.

On the other side, Shen Yi's eyes never wavered from Father Liang. They shone with a brilliance that was more predator than man, a gaze stripped of mercy, of hesitation, of humanity itself. It was a look that promised reckoning—slow, deliberate, and inevitable.

The bullet hadn't done its job.

And whatever stared out from behind Shen Yi's eyes was not pleased.

Du Cheng's breath caught. His gaze snapped to Shen Yi, heart lurching at the cold fury etched across his face. But only for a second. He tore his eyes away and rushed to Father Liang's side, dropping to a crouch beside him.

"Father, are you alright? Can you stand?"

Grimacing through the pain, the priest nodded. Blood seeped through the fingers pressed against his shoulder, but his voice was steady. "I'm alright. Just... grazed."

The officer gently helped him to his feet, careful with the injured arm. As Father Liang turned—intending to face the commotion near Fu Yun—his eyes inadvertently landed on Shen Yi again.

His heart lurched.

Something in the boy's face wasn't right. 

The priest's breath caught. "You..."

A sudden invisible force slammed into him, sending him rolling down the last few steps and onto the pavement below. The officers nearby rushed to him, shouting, but he didn't move right away—still winded, stunned.

Gasps erupted. People stared.

"What the hell was that?!" one officer exclaimed, looking around as if expecting a storm.

Du Cheng's eyes whipped toward Shen Yi who hadn't moved—but that smile... that smile wasn't his.

"Shen Yi!" Du Cheng barked. "Look at me! Hey!"

Shen Yi didn't blink.

Du Cheng stepped in front of him.

"Shen Yi! Snap out of it!"

Shen Yi’s body quivered in subtle jolts, as though something unseen was thrumming beneath his skin, rattling through his nerves like a barely contained storm. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling against the air.

Then—Du Cheng caught it. A dark red streak glistening under the dim light, sliding slowly from Shen Yi’s nostril.

That's when his instincts screamed as a sharp chill of alarm shot down his spine. In the same breath, Du Cheng moved—his hand cutting in a swift, precise strike to the back of Shen Yi’s neck.

The effect was immediate. Shen Yi crumpled, all tension dissolving as his body went slack. Du Cheng lunged forward, arms wrapping around him before he could hit the ground. The sudden weight nearly knocked him off balance, but he held firm, dragging Shen Yi against his chest.

His heart hammered painfully in his ribs. Shen Yi’s face was so pale and the blood that kept trailing from his nose, dripping in bright, scarlet drops that spattered across Du Cheng’s sleeve and into the silence like a steady metronome.

“Damn it,” Du Cheng breathed, his voice rough, edged with panic he didn’t dare let slip. His grip tightened, unwilling to let Shen Yi fall. “What the hell is happening to you…?”

Behind them, the officers had secured the shooter. Paramedics were already tending to Father Liang's arm, but the priest's gaze never left the unconscious figure in Du Cheng's arms. His lips parted slightly, almost in disbelief, almost in dread.

"That boy..." he whispered, voice weak but certain. "He's... possessed."

The priest struggled against the pain, eyes fixed on Du Cheng as he carried Shen Yi toward the ambulance. His voice was low, almost a plea.

"Stop him... he's dangerous..."

But unfortunately, the words didn't reach Du Cheng.

A sudden cough escaped the priest as he watched the ambulance doors close, carrying Shen Yi away from the chaos.

"Careful—he got his nose bleeding," Du Cheng warned, voice tense. 

Du Cheng climbed into the ambulance, careful to keep Shen Yi steady in his arms as the EMTs worked quickly to assess his condition. 

The ambulance siren wailed through the streets as Du Cheng kept a steady grip on Shen Yi's limp form. Shen Yi's breathing was shallow but steady. His face was pale, lips slightly parted, and the blood from his nose was beginning to stop running. Despite the calm on the surface, an eerie stillness clung to him — like a storm quietly gathering strength.

Nearby, Father Liang struggled to his feet, wincing from his wounded arm. He caught sight of Du Cheng carrying Shen Yi toward the ambulance. His voice was low, almost a whisper meant for the officer standing beside him.

"Take me to where they're bringing him," Father Liang said, his voice trembling slightly despite the fierce determination burning in his eyes. He winced, clutching his wounded arm as he forced himself upright. His gaze sharpened, locking onto the officer beside him with a weight that seemed to press down on the very air around them. "I need to see for myself... those eyes. They're too familiar."

The officer hesitated for a moment, sensing the deep fear behind the priest's words. "Who exactly are you referring to, Father?"

Father Liang swallowed hard, his throat dry. His eyes darted away briefly, then met the officer's again—filled with a haunting mixture of dread and urgency. "The young man—The one officer Du Cheng brought out just now."

The officer's brow furrowed, trying to keep his tone steady and reassuring. "You mean Shen Yi? Are you sure? You're worried about him?"

The priest's hands trembled, but his voice dropped to a desperate plea. "Yes. Please... bring me to him. Now. Before it's too late."

Without another word, the officer nodded sharply and motioned for the others to clear a path. Father Liang's breath hitched painfully as he prepared to follow, a silent prayer slipping past his lips: I hope I'm wrong. But if I'm not... may God give me the strength to help him.

Du Cheng, unaware of the priest's silent plea, focused entirely on Shen Yi's fragile form inside the ambulance. The questions spun in his mind — but for now, the only thing he could do was hold on and prepare for whatever was coming next.

__

Shen Yi drifted deeper into the haze of unconsciousness, the world around him dissolving into a shifting fog of shadows and faint whispers. In the dimness, a figure slowly materialized — solid and familiar, yet disturbingly wrong.

It was Du Cheng.

The man stood close, eyes calm and steady as always, but the smile that played on his lips was too sharp. It was the smile of someone who held secrets darker than the night.

"Shen Yi," the figure murmured, its voice like Du Cheng's but stretched thin, echoing in the void. "Why do you keep holding on to yourself?"

Shen Yi blinked, confused, his mind struggling to grasp the meaning. "Du Cheng...?" he whispered, cautious.

The figure tilted his head, eyes narrowing with a cold amusement. "Not quite. But close enough, don't you think?"

A chill ran down Shen Yi's spine. 

"This man...is not bad." the figure continued, stepping closer, "He was so worried about you out there. But let's just forget about that. I'm here....to show you some truth."

Shen Yi shook his head, his voice trembling. "What truth?"

The figure's smile widened — a cruel, thin curve. "The truth that your soul now belong to me. That no matter how hard you run, how much you resist... you cannot escape."

The air thickened into a suffocating haze, a void pressing down with the weight of buried memories and things best left unnamed. Shen Yi stood frozen, staring at the figure before him.

Then the ground shifted.

With a wet hiss, vines burst from the darkness, slithering up around Shen Yi's ankles, his wrists—cold and damp, like something pulled from beneath a grave. Before he could move, they yanked.

Hard. Wh- what's going on? What's this? Why does this felt like deja vu.

His body jolted forward, dragged across the void as if gravity itself had turned against him. His heels scraped the unseen floor, breath hitching.

Du Cheng let out a low, almost sinister laugh, a sound that carried both amusement and unease. He could feel it—the pulse of questions rattling through Shen Yi's mind, sharp and relentless, each one slicing into the silence like a knife. 

"What do you want?!" he cried, struggling against the living bonds. "Let go!"

But the vines only tightened their grip.

The demon caught him.

A hand snapped out and seized him by the neck, not quite choking—but firm, unrelenting. Shen Yi gasped, his hands flying up to claw at the grip instinctively, but couldn't as they're being held steady by the veins. 

"Always resisting again...and again." the demon said, its voice still wrapped in Du Cheng's tone—but off, distant, like an echo distorted through water. "When deep down you already know you can not escape."

He froze as a cold hand reached up, gently caressing his face. Fingers ghosted along his cheekbone, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his brow, then trailing down to his neck—slow and deliberate. Shen Yi flinched at the touch, his body instinctively recoiling, but the vines held him firmly in place.

"What-what are you?" Shen Yi muttered, eyes narrowing. "What is this thing? Let me go!"

The figure smiled, but it wasn't Du Cheng's smile. This smile looked more devil.

"You let me in before" the figure said, thumb brushing over Shen Yi's jaw. "And now I'm already part of you."

"What are you talking about? When did I let you in?" Shen Yi hissed, squirming in the hold. "Let go."

"You were also the one that came to me," the figure whispered. "You called me out. You freed me from that prison that priest gave me. I saw your heart, and I could help you...Shen Yi. You won't be suffering no more."

Shen Yi's heartbeat quickened. "You're not Du Cheng. Stop wearing his face!"

The demon only smiled wider, the vines pulsing like veins full of poison.

"But I am whoever you need me to be," it said. "And right now, you still want to believe I'm him."

Shen Yi's voice cracked. "Get out of my head."

"I'm not in your head, Shen Yi" the demon whispered, leaning in close. "I am...inside of you."

Then the vines snapped tighter, his pulse thudded in his ears. And then as the void shattered—vines recoiling, the figure unraveling like smoke—leaving Shen Yi alone with a cold dread that crawled beneath his skin.

Chapter Text

The sirens wailed faintly beyond the thick hum of tires over uneven road. Inside the cramped ambulance, Shen Yi jolted awake with a gasp, eyes wide in terror.

"NO!!" Shen yi gasping, eyes snapping open.

His body surged upward, muscles straining, lungs desperate for air. He hit resistance—a strong hand gripping his shoulder, pinning him gently but firmly back down.

"Shen Yi!" Du Cheng's voice came sharp. "Shen Yi! Hey—hey! It's me! You're alright. You're safe."

Shen Yi blinked, his heart pounding in his chest. The harsh glow of the ambulance lights revealed Du Cheng’s face—worried, tense and etched with a strain that felt jarringly real. So unlike the version of him that had haunted Shen Yi’s dream.

But Shen Yi couldn't breathe properly.

His fingers clawed weakly at the fabric of Du Cheng's sleeve, eyes wild looking at him. "He was here—he was here again—"

Du Cheng's expression changed with confusion. "What are you talking about? You were unconscious, Shen Yi. It was just a dream."

"No," Shen Yi rasped, still trembling. "He was you. I thought it was you—but it wasn't—he... he said things."

Du Cheng kept one hand on Shen Yi's chest, grounding him. His other hovered, uncertain whether to comfort or prepare to restrain if panic took over again.

"You were dreaming," he said, quieter now. "You're not making sense right now. You just... need to rest for now, alright? You might be still tired."

Shen Yi turned his face away, pressing his forehead to the gurney's edge, eyes clenched shut. But even in the dim hum of the ambulance, he still felt the pressure on his neck.

Still felt the vines tightening, deep inside.

This wasn't just a dream. And he was sure of it.

Scene: Hospital Arrival – ER Bay

The ambulance doors swung open with a metallic clatter, and the cold fluorescent lights of the emergency bay bled into the dim compartment. Paramedics rolled Shen Yi out on the gurney, his eyes half-open, breaths shallow but even.

"I've got you," Du Cheng murmured, staying close as he walked beside the stretcher. Shen Yi's head lolled slightly toward his voice, the faintest flicker of confusion still visible in his half-lidded gaze.

They moved quickly down the hall and into the ER, the sliding doors parting with a hiss.

"Twenty-eight-year-old male," the paramedic reported. "Sudden epistaxis and brief loss of consciousness en route. Responsive now, vitals stable."

A nurse came to meet them. "Clear bed five. Let's get him seated."

Du Cheng helped steady Shen Yi as they transferred him from the gurney to the hospital bed. Shen Yi winced, one hand rising to touch the dried blood caked beneath his nose.

The ER doctor entered shortly after — a man in his early forties with a calm, clinical demeanor. "I'm Dr. Liu. Let's have a look."

He gestured for the nurse to clean the blood while he slipped on gloves and gently tilted Shen Yi's chin upward. "Still bleeding?"

"A little," Shen Yi murmured, voice dry and strained.

"Have you had nosebleeds like this before?" Dr. Liu asked.

"No"

As the nurse swabbed away the remaining blood and packed gauze beneath Shen Yi's nostril, the doctor placed a stethoscope over his chest. He listened for a long few seconds.

Du Cheng stood nearby, arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on Shen Yi. He hadn't said much since they arrived — his silence brittle, like he was trying not to break it out of fear of what might slip through.

The doctor removed the stethoscope and gave Shen Yi a look of faint concern.

"Heart rate's elevated," he said. "Not dangerously so, but for someone resting like this, it's a bit high."

"Is that bad?" Du Cheng asked, stepping forward.

"Not immediately," Dr. Liu replied, checking the pulse ox monitor. "But given he lost consciousness and has no history of these symptoms, we'll run a few quick tests to be sure. Could be dehydration, fatigue... or just stress."

“Uhm—Doc, actually… I was the one who… knocked him out before,” Du Cheng admitted at last.

The doctors and Shen Yi looked up briefly, and the doctor was frowning, but they didn’t interrupt. Their silence pressed at him, signaling for him to go on.

Du Cheng let out a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “Well… we got a case at the church. A man was inside with a weapon and fired someone. The scene was quite chaotic and people panicking. I was trying to keep things under control, but then…” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to Shen Yi lying motionless on the gurney. 

“He—I saw Shen Yi—started acting… strange. Like something was wrong with him. I tried calling him but then...he got this nosebleed out of nowhere, and it just—it didn’t sit right with me. It worried me.”

His hands tightened into fists at his sides, a trace of guilt flickering across his face. “So I made a judgment call. I knocked him out. I didn’t know what else to do in that moment.” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I couldn’t risk him getting worse—or putting himself in danger.”

The doctors exchanged another glance, their expressions unreadable. One of them scribbled something down on a chart, while the other returned to checking Shen Yi’s vitals. Neither spoke, but the weight of their silence lingered heavily in the air, leaving Du Cheng standing there, his own explanation echoing uncomfortably in his ears.

Dr. Liu looked between the two of them. "Mr. Shen, have you been overworking yourself lately? Not sleeping, maybe skipping meals?"

Shen Yi shook his head slowly. "No... I've been tired, but I've been eating and  sleep fine."

"Any medications?"

"No."

Dr. Liu gave a quiet hum of consideration. He turned back to Shen Yi, glancing over the preliminary blood pressure reading. "Your BP's a little low. Nothing critical, but we'll give you a vitamin and electrolyte drip to help replenish what you've lost."

He nodded to the nurse. "Start a slow saline IV with the multivitamin additive. After that, if he feels steady, we'll let him rest a bit and discharge him."

"Just like that?" Du Cheng asked, frowning. "Shouldn't we keep him overnight?"

"There's no sign of trauma, infection, or neurological distress," Dr. Liu said evenly. "If he gives a positive responds to the fluids, we won't need to keep him. But he needs rest. Not just sleep — rest. If this keeps happening, we'll run more further tests."

The nurse hooked up the IV and gently adjusted Shen Yi's arm on the pillow. The bag above slowly began to drip clear liquid tinged faintly yellow with the vitamin mix.

Dr. Liu gave one final check of Shen Yi's pupils and nods of acknowledgment. "Stay another hour. We'll monitor the vitals, then reassess. In the meantime, try not to stress."

He left with the nurse, leaving Du Cheng and Shen Yi alone behind the curtain.

Shen Yi didn't speak for a long moment. The plastic tubing in his arm glinted under the lights. His fingers twitched faintly — as if grasping for something that wasn't there.

"...You scared the hell out of me," Du Cheng muttered eventually, dropping into the visitor's chair.

Shen Yi turned his face to the side, eyes a little distant.

Shen Yi, still pale but awake enough to catch the tone, turned his head slightly. His voice came quiet, almost fragile. “For what?”

Du Cheng hesitated, eyes flickering away before settling back on him.

“For knocking me out?” Shen Yi asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Du Cheng gave the smallest nod, the guilt evident in his eyes even if his expression stayed guarded.

Shen Yi let out a soft chuckle, “It’s alright. You did what you had to do in that moment. I don’t blame you for it.”

For a brief second, Du Cheng’s tense shoulders eased, though his gaze lingered on Shen Yi with an unspoken weight—something between concern and regret.

Behind them, the beeping of the heart monitor slowed — still slightly fast, but finally easing toward a more natural rhythm.

After awhile, the small IV bag hung already empty when Dr. Liu returned, clipboard in hand and a faint smile planted on his lips. Shen Yi was sitting upright now, the color having returned to his face. The faint smudges of dried blood under his nose had been carefully cleaned away.

Du Cheng stood as the doctor stepped inside the curtain partition and the nurse carefully pulled the IV needle out of his arm and cover it with a clean cotton.

"Vitals have stabilized. Blood work's back — electrolytes were low, hemoglobin slightly under average, but no red flags," Dr. Liu announced, flipping through the chart. "All signs point to exhaustion and acute stress response. Nothing that needs overnight observation, the patient can be discharge soon."

Shen Yi nodded silently, gaze lowered. 

"Rest. Hydrate. Proper meals, regular sleep. No all-nighters. No stimulants. At least for a week. I'll prescribe a short vitamin course and an iron supplement — pick them up before you leave."

Du Cheng nodded while Shen Yi offered a soft, obedient "Okay."

Dr. Liu glanced between them before signing the bottom of the chart.

"If this happens again, especially the nosebleed and syncope together, come back immediately. Exhaustion can accumulate quietly until the damage becomes permanent."

With that, the doctor gave a short nod and turned to leave. "You're cleared to go."

By the time they stepped out into the quiet evening air, the sky had darkened to a deep navy, city lights flickering faintly in the distance. The hospital parking lot buzzed softly with distant traffic, the air thick with humidity and lingering heat.

Du Cheng walked beside Shen Yi in silence, watching as he moved carefully, a little slower than usual. His steps were even, but there was something fragile in them — like he could tip over if the world nudged just slightly too hard.

"You good to walk to the car?" Du Cheng asked, finally breaking the silence.

Shen Yi gave a short nod. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"That's the second lie tonight," Du Cheng muttered under his breath, but didn't press further.

He unlocked the car and held the passenger door open for Shen Yi ducked inside slowly, settling back against the seat with a soft sigh, eyes closed for a brief second as if the weight of everything caught up with him at once.

Du Cheng got in on the driver's side, closing the door with a heavy thud. The silence lingered between them like fog — not hostile, just... tired.

"...Thanks for staying," Shen Yi said quietly, not looking at him.

Du Cheng didn't reply right away. His fingers drummed the steering wheel, jaw tight.

"I don't know what happened back there," he said at last, glancing over. "But I've seen you in pressure before. You don't break like that. So whatever it was—don't shrug it off like it's nothing."

Shen Yi didn't answer.

The engine started with a low growl, headlights casting a pale glow on the empty parking rows. Du Cheng shifted into drive and pulled out slowly.

As they merged onto the quiet street, city lights stretched ahead in blurry rivers of gold.

"Just... don't scare me like that again," Du Cheng said, softer this time.

Shen Yi gave the smallest nod. But even as he rested his head against the window, lips pressed thin, his fingers subtly gripped the seatbelt — as if bracing for something only he could still see in the dark.

Chapter Text

“No.”

“Come on, Du Cheng. I’m fine already. No headache, no nosebleed. Can you please let me go to work today?” Shen Yi’s tone was soft, almost pleading, but Du Cheng’s expression was already dark with frustration.

Why wouldn’t he be angry? He had come early that morning, arms full with breakfast, only to be greeted not with thanks but with Shen Yi’s stubborn insistence about returning to work. The memory of the last time—the way Shen Yi had suddenly started bleeding from his nose without warning—was still fresh enough to make Du Cheng’s chest tighten just thinking about it.

“Once a no, it’s final.” His voice cut through the room like a blade. “Shen Yi, did you forget what the doctor said? Rest. Don’t stress yourself. And now you’re talking about going to work? Absolutely not.”

Du Cheng turned, ready to leave before his temper slipped further, but then he felt a tug. Shen Yi’s hand had caught the edge of his shirt, holding him back with more quiet resolve than force.

Du Cheng froze at the gentle pull, his jaw tightening. Slowly, he turned his head to look down at Shen Yi, who hadn’t let go.

“Shen Yi…” His tone carried tired, low and heavy.

“I can’t just stay here doing nothing,” Shen Yi said firmly, his eyes steady despite the lingering pallor in his face. “Work keeps me grounded. If I sit here all day, I’ll only overthink. Isn’t that more stressful?”

“You think stressing your body at work is better?” Du Cheng shot back, his voice rising sharper than he intended. “Don’t twist logic just to get what you want. The doctor was clear—your condition isn’t something to brush aside.”

“Then watch me. If you’re that worried, I’ll only rest—maybe sketch or paint a little in my office. No heavy work, I promise. Just… please, don’t leave me alone in this house for the time being.”

The request lingered in the air, soft yet heavy.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Du Cheng’s jaw worked as if he were grinding down words he couldn’t say, his gaze locked on Shen Yi’s pale face. The air between them throbbed with tension—Shen Yi, refusing to yield even in weakness, and Du Cheng, torn between the iron weight of his worry and the urge to give in.

It wasn’t just defiance he saw in Shen Yi’s eyes. It was loneliness and fear. That realization unsettled him more than any nosebleed or fainting spell.

Du Cheng let out a long breath through his nose, his shoulders finally sagging. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice had softened.

Shen Yi tilted his head slightly, waiting, his grip still fixed on Du Cheng’s shirt like an anchor.

“If I agree to this,” Du Cheng said at last, his eyes narrowing, “it’s on my terms. You don’t lift anything, you don’t push yourself, and if you feel even the slightest headache, dizziness, anything—you tell me. Immediately. No hiding it, no brushing it off.”

Shen Yi’s lips curved into the faintest smile, the stubbornness in his eyes easing. “Alright. I’ll behave. You have my word.”

Du Cheng studied him for a long moment, as if testing whether the promise would hold. Finally, he pried Shen Yi’s hand gently from his shirt and set it back against the blanket. “Don’t make me regret this, Shen Yi.”

“I won’t,” Shen Yi said quietly. “Thank you.”

Though he tried to appear stern, Du Cheng couldn’t quite mask the way his chest eased at those words. Still, the fear lingered at the back of his mind—an unspoken reminder of how fragile the man in front of him truly was.

Scene: Police Station – Early Afternoon

The station was alive with the usual hum of midday activity — phones ringing, keyboards clacking, low murmurs of officers discussing cases and reports. Outside, the summer sun filtered in through high windows, casting streaks of golden warmth across the tiled floor.

Du Cheng sat at his desk, sifting through paperwork half-heartedly. His thoughts kept drifting — back to Shen Yi's condition yesterday, the cold, empty look in his eyes, and that faint, unsettling smile that wasn't quite his own. Even now, that chill lingered in Du Cheng's gut, twisting tighter with every passing moment.

The mundane rhythm of the station around him—the clatter of keyboards, the murmur of conversations—felt distant, like a thin veil over something darker lurking just beneath the surface. He rubbed his temple, trying to shake off the unease, but it clung stubbornly.

He didn't like mysteries when they involved the people he cared about.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

He looked up — and paused.

Standing just beyond the glass door of the main office was a man in long black robes. The Roman collar was unmistakable. His graying hair was neatly slicked back, his face lined with age and long experience, but his eyes were sharp, restless — scanning the room as though he already knew what he was looking for.

Du Cheng's brows furrowed as the front desk officer waved him over. "Said he's looking for you specifically, sir.  "

The priest stepped forward the moment Du Cheng approached, his hands calmly clasped in front of him.

"Officer Du Cheng," he said, voice steady and deep with quiet urgency. "We've met before — at St. Jude. During the shooting."

Du Cheng paused, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Father Liang?"

Father Liang nodded, just once. "Yes. I hoped I'd find you here. I went to the hospital yesterday... I was hoping to see someone named Shen Yi. But by the time I arrived, the room was already empty."

Du Cheng frowned slightly. "Shen Yi was discharged on the same day, Father. He's condition was not that worrying. Just some fatigue and a nosebleed."

Father Liang gaze flickered, and he took a quiet breath, as if holding back something deeper. "And how is he now?"

"He's currently resting at his office." Du Cheng crossed his arms, brow furrowing. "I'm sorry, not trying to be rude, but why were you looking for him?"

"There's something I need to confirm with him." Father Liang said quietly, leaning in.  He paused, his gaze darkening. "When he looked at me yesterday... he smiled... but something about it chilled me. Like It wasn't a human behavior. It felt like something else. Which is why I needed to see him with my own eyes,"

Du Cheng's eyes sharpened. "Father, I apologize if this sounds rude. But If this is heading into exorcist nonsense, save it. Shen Yi's a portrait artist. He deals with stressful cases all the time. Nightmares, stress symptoms — they're not unusual."

"It's not indeed" Father Liang agreed softly. "But I believe you know what i mean and you've felt it too, haven't you? Something's wrong with him—but choosing to ignore it won't make it go away. It'll only make it worse."

Du Cheng said nothing.

But Father Liang didn't even blink. "I'm not here to lecture you about faith. I won't even force you to believe about god.  I came because if we ignore what's happening to him, it's only going to get worse. And if what I felt yesterday is right based from what I've seen ... it's escalating."

Du Cheng hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Escalating how?"

"I believe there's something around him. A presence," Father Liang said grimly. "But in order to confirm it, I need to speak with him."

Du Cheng's jaw tensed. The logical part of him still bristled at the idea — demons, auras, ancient presences — it was all nonsense to him. But the way Shen Yi had looked in the church before... the coldness in his eyes, the eerie stillness in his smile... It hadn't been like him. Not to mentioned his previous weird behavior. 

And now this priest — came seeking Shen Yi?

It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.

"...Wait here," Du Cheng muttered after a long pause. "I'll ask him."

Father Liang inclined his head solemnly. "Of course."

Du Cheng left Father Liang in his office with heavy steps, retreating down the hallway toward the corner office where Shen Yi had been resting. The door was ajar. Inside, Shen Yi sat on the small couch, a blanket draped loosely over his legs, a sketchpad balanced on his knees. He was awake, silent, pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes — but Du Cheng could tell by the tension in his shoulders and the tightness around his mouth that he hadn't been at ease.

He looked up as Du Cheng entered, his voice dry. "Something wrong?"

"There's someone here to see you," Du Cheng said carefully. "A priest. Father Liang. You met him before at St. Jude."

Shen Yi's expression barely changed, but something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "I remember him."

"He says he came to the hospital last night looking for you," Du Cheng continued. "And wants to speak to you. Is it...alright?."

Shen Yi was quiet for a beat, then asked, "Did he say why?"

Du Cheng hesitated. "He... thinks there's something wrong with you. Not physically. Something else."

Shen Yi gave a quiet, humorless exhale. "Of course he does."

Du Cheng looked at him more closely, brow furrowing. "I can tell him to leave if you want."

Shen Yi shook his head, slow and deliberate. "No. It's alright. Let him in."

Du Cheng's gaze lingered a moment longer, searching Shen Yi's face. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Shen Yi said, voice even. "I've been expecting something like this."

Du Cheng didn't like the sound of that, but he turned and left anyway.

Du Cheng led Father Liang down the corridor toward the far end of the hall, stopping in front of Shen Yi's office. The door stood slightly ajar, so he directly came inside and a warm sliver of lamplight spilling into the hallway.

"I'd like to speak with him alone," Father Liang said, his voice low but firm.

Du Cheng's brows drew together. "That's not—"

"It's alright," Shen Yi's voice cut in from inside, calm and even. "Let him in."

Du Cheng hesitated, his jaw tight, but after a moment, he stepped aside.

Father Liang gave him a brief nod and stepped through the door.

The door closed with a soft click behind him. For a moment, silence stretched between them — heavy, expectant, like the pause before a storm.

The priest approached slowly, calm in posture, though the sharpness in his eyes betrayed a tension he couldn't hide. Shen Yi sat stiffly on the breakroom couch, a faint pallor beneath his skin and dark circles ringing his eyes. 

"I'm glad you're okay now, Mr. Shen." Father Liang began gently. "You gave your friend quite a scare yesterday I believe."

"You were at the church," he said, his voice low.

"You remember."

"Yes."

Father Liang sat down across from him, studying his face carefully. "Then you remember what happened before you passed out?"

Shen Yi's gaze slowly lifted. His expression was unnervingly blank.

"I remember you."

Father Liang frowned slightly, his priestly calm faltering. "Shen Yi?"

"I remember your voice," Shen Yi said. But it wasn't quite his voice. It was the same cadence, but the way he spoke was laced with cold amusement — like a whisper echoing from somewhere far deeper.

Father Liang sat up straighter.

"Who am I speaking to right now?" he asked, his hand inching slowly toward the rosary beads in his pocket.

Shen Yi's smile curved upward — wrong. Thin and cruel.

"Oh, don't tell me you've forgotten already," the thing inside Shen Yi said. "I still remember the words you chanted. The smell of burning myrrh. The taste of ash in the back of my throat when you sealed me into that wretched thing."

The air went still. Even the hum of the ceiling light felt distant now.

Father Liang's blood ran cold.

"...No," he said quietly. "You can't be—"

"That mirror" the voice said with satisfaction, "was a cage of your making. Do you know how long I waited? How many years I slept in your trap, listening to your prayers scrape against the walls?"

Shen Yi tilted his head.

"Until he came. Until he touched the mirror with his blood. He cracked the door open."

Father Liang stood abruptly, knocking his chair back. His fingers trembled as they closed tightly over the rosary in his pocket. The temperature in the room was dropping — he could feel it now. The shadow creeping through the edges of Shen Yi's skin, like something beneath was stirring.

"I sealed you," Father Liang said, his voice now low with horror. "You're supposed to be—"

"Trapped?" The demon laughed softly through Shen Yi's mouth, the sound low and mocking.
"Oh, Father. You should know better by now—nothing you seal stays buried forever."
He raised a hand and pointed to himself with a twisted smile.
"This young man? He was my savior. Even though I kind of... gently persuaded him to do it."

Shen Yi's eyes rolled back slightly—just a flicker—and when they opened again, the real Shen Yi seemed to surface, if only barely.

His lips parted, a tremor running down his arm.

For a moment, he stared blankly, as if trying to grasp a fading shadow. The words that had just been spoken echoed faintly in the room—" What just —"

Confusion clouded his gaze. His mind was a blur, fragmented and hollow. He had no idea what had just happened—no awareness of the voice that had spoken, no recollection of the actions taken while something else held control.

Father Liang was already moving, circling toward the door.

"Don't talk," he said firmly. "Conserve your energy. You're still in control. I'll do something—"

"You can't fix this," the demon interrupted again, that cruel smile curling on its lips. "But you can die."

Father Liang didn't flinch. He stepped forward, gripping the edge of the desk, steadying himself against the oppressive presence.

The room seemed to pulse with dark energy, but Father Liang held his ground, chanting softly under his breath—a shield against the demon's power.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Du Cheng stood there, concern etched deep on his face.

"Father Liang!" he called out urgently. "What's happening? Is Shen Yi—?"

Father Liang didn't turn immediately. Then, locking eyes with Du Cheng, he said grimly, "He's not alone in there. This is worse than we feared. I need your help—now."

Du Cheng stepped into the office, confusion furrowing his brow at Father Liang's words. "What do you mean, he's not alone?"

But the moment his eyes landed on the figure sitting on the couch, the color drained from his face. No, this wasn't Shen Yi.

The gaze was colder, sharper—something off, something not human.

Du Cheng took a cautious step forward. "Shen Yi? What happened to you?"

A slow, cruel smile twisted the lips of the man before him.

"I'm still here," the voice answered, smooth and mocking. "Just... not the one you know."

Du Cheng's heart pounded as realization hit him—he's not Shen Yi.

Du Cheng's breath hitched, a cold wave of fear creeping up his spine. "You're not Shen Yi," he said, voice barely steady. "Who are you?! And what did you do to him?!"

The figure on the couch chuckled low, a sound that sent a shiver through the room. "Who I am doesn't matter," the voice said, eyes gleaming with malevolence. "What matters is what I want."

Du Cheng's fists clenched at his sides, every muscle tense. "Then say it."

A dark smile curled wider. "You, Priest. I want your dead body."

Du Cheng's eyes snapped open, cold and sharp. "You will not touch him."

The demon's eyes gleamed with cruel delight as the room darkened further, shadows stretching and twisting unnaturally along the walls. Its voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "You think you can stop me? Foolish."

Without warning, the figure lunged forward, limbs moving with unnatural speed. Du Cheng barely had time to react, stumbling back as the demon's cold hand shot toward Father Liang.

Father Liang barely flinched. Chanting low and steady, he raised a crucifix, the silver glinting sharply in the dim light. A pulse of radiant energy erupted, forcing the demon's hand to recoil with a hiss.

Du Cheng stood tensely by the door as Father Liang's voice echoed through the cramped room, calm but resolute. "Leave him. Let Shen Yi be."

A low, mocking laugh spilled from Shen Yi's lips — but it wasn't truly Shen Yi. The voice was colder, crueler, dripping with malice. "Leave? You misunderstand. He belongs to me."

Without warning, Shen Yi's possessed hand shot out, gripping his own arm tightly. The demon's mouth—through Shen Yi—twisted into a cruel smile before biting deep into the pale flesh.

Du Cheng's eyes widened in horror. "No!"

Father Liang took a step forward, gripping his crucifix tightly, but the demon's body tensed as if fueled by the blood it drank. 

"Aahh- Sweet... powerful blood indeed," the demon murmured with a twisted smile, its voice dripping with dark satisfaction.

As the demon drank, Shen Yi's eyes rolled back for a moment, then snapped open with an unnatural glow — red and fierce, burning like coals in the dim room.