Chapter 1: Strange Tales

Early morning, beneath a parasol tree.

The sunlight was warm and gentle, a light breeze brushed past, green leaves swayed, and dappled shadows danced across the ground.

A short-haired boy in a blue-and-white school uniform leaned against the tree, gnawing on a steaming nori rice ball, staring absently at the shimmering canal water ahead.

Li Cheng, third year of high school, eighteen years old.

Like many of his peers, he had once fantasized that he possessed some unknown, extraordinary gift that would reveal itself at the right moment.

But alas — a mundane world, a mundane life.

The pull of reality was so heavy: no owl had delivered a Hogwarts acceptance letter, no invitation from Kassel College had arrived, and his never-before-met parents had bequeathed him no kekkei genkai or Kryptonian genes.

That's right — Li Cheng was an orphan. He lived together with his aunt's family.

According to his aunt, one winter eighteen years ago, she had just opened the front door when she saw a cradle placed at the entrance.

Inside the cradle was a baby clutching an envelope. The envelope stated Li Cheng's name, along with Li Cheng's father's apology for disturbing his sister's life. Tucked beneath the cradle, as a bonus, were two hundred thousand yuan in cash.

Two hundred thousand might be enough to raise a child elsewhere, but Yin City was, after all, an international metropolis with steep prices. Food, clothing, housing, transport — every aspect cost money. That sum was gone within a few years.

From childhood on, Li Cheng attended the same aristocratic school as his cousins, enrolled in the same interest classes, ate the same meals. The only slight differences were in the size of his bedroom and how new his phone was. By no stretch of the imagination could it be called abuse.

In contrast, the attitude of his aunt's family toward him — not as kin, but at most familiar strangers under the same roof.

Politeness far outweighed affection.

Considering that his aunt was unwilling to bring up Li Cheng's father on her own, the relationship between the two was probably especially complicated.

It was precisely because of the strange family atmosphere that Li Cheng, every morning, biked to school under the pretense of liking the rice balls from the snack stall on the east side of campus, deliberately taking the long way so he wouldn't walk together with his cousins who attended the same high school.

In another year and a half, once the college entrance exams were over, he'd apply to a university far away. Get in somewhere really distant. As for the money he owed his aunt's family over the years, that could only wait until he had a proper job.

Before he knew it, the nori rice ball was already finished. Li Cheng crumpled the plastic bag into a ball, tossed it casually into the trash can, and called out to the stall owner: "Uncle Chen, I'm off."

The stall owner uncle nodded. "Mm, be careful on the road."

Li Cheng, pushing his bicycle, hesitated for a moment and asked: "Uncle Chen, are you still setting up your stall in the evening?"

The stall owner looked a bit baffled. "Of course. My kid's got school fees to pay."

"Then stay safe. The city hasn't been too peaceful lately."

That was all Li Cheng could say. He pedaled off toward the campus.

Over the past year, more and more bizarre and uncanny urban ghost stories had been circulating online.

Things like a bus that only ran at night, packed with corpses;

a killing text message that guaranteed death within seven days of receipt;

mall mannequins wearing human skin, disguised as people;

Li Cheng had even seen a short video on a foreign site — a few teenagers skateboarding in a park accidentally knocked over a trash can, and a charred human head crawling with maggots tumbled out.

Li Cheng had often visited that park as a child, so he was especially familiar with it, and the incident shown in the video had happened just one week prior.

What was even more outrageous was that the case had zero presence on domestic networks — not a single clue could be searched up. The park remained bustling, pedestrians weaving through as always.

Out of some vague concern, Li Cheng had specially bought a Swiss Army knife from Taobao and kept it in the outer pocket of his backpack — although he knew full well that, faced with real danger, such a short blade probably wouldn't do much.

The bicycle passed through several intersections and turned onto a tree-lined avenue. Past that stream of luxury cars, the gilded characters of Zhuoyue Middle School could be faintly seen.

As a private K-through-12 school whose overall conditions ranked among the city's top, Zhuoyue's student body was either from wealthy and powerful families, or students whose grades were exceptionally outstanding, or those with average grades whose families had to pay a fortune for them to attend.

Mixed in among the polished, gleaming classmates, the utterly unremarkable Li Cheng stepped onto campus, accompanied by the sound of reading drifting through the air, and walked into the classroom of Class 5, Grade 12.

"Good morning."

The moment he hung his backpack on the chair back, the girl in the seat to his left — named Ye Jiaying — set down her book, tilted her head, and greeted him with a light, lovely smile, beautiful as a painting.

"Y-you too."

Li Cheng froze for a beat before catching on, tightened his expression, and slowly sat down, inwardly cursing himself for suddenly losing the ability to speak.

He still remembered the first day he saw Ye Jiaying. School had just started, and she walked down the hallway in a white sweater and a brown plaid skirt, stepping along in pale blue canvas shoes.

The boys in the classroom — Li Cheng included — all stopped their chatting and reading at the same time, staring dumbly out the window.

Some of the girls in the class who had dressed up carefully for the first day of school were so irritated their gums itched. But for some reason, that sweater-and-plaid-skirt combo stayed trendy on campus for months.

"No way, Brother Sheng—"

The moment he sat down, the boy at the desk to his right nudged him with his elbow, his face full of mischief. "That reply of yours was way too lame."

Han Letian — a childhood friend Li Cheng had known for over ten years.

Li Cheng shot him a sideways glance and lowered his voice: "Then what? You've got a better line?"

Han Letian said with perfect seriousness: "You should've said, 'Only when I see you does the morning count as good.'"

"Ugh, can you get any greasier? So greasy the U. S. military's gonna come invade you." Li Cheng rolled his eyes, dug out the homework to be turned in from his backpack, and set it on the desk.

"Believe me or don't, up to you. By the way, lend me your homework to copy. Stayed up all night playing that VR horror game from Prometheus Company — gotta say, it's seriously addictive."

Han Letian pouted, skillfully fished out the math homework from Li Cheng's desk, and copied it while cross-referencing with several other assignments. He muttered from time to time, "Is the answer to this one B, or 13? Why is it written so smudgy?"

Campus life, peaceful as always.

Normal classes, breaks, lunch, afternoon nap, dismissal. As the sun set in the west, Li Cheng deliberately stayed behind to erase the blackboard, just to have a bit more time with Ye Jiaying.

Class seats were reshuffled once a month — in other words, the time he could sit next to Ye Jiaying was limited to one month.

Once she skipped off out of the classroom with her besties to head home after school, he finally set down the eraser, grabbed his bag, and biked off to Zhao's Dessert Shop for his shift.

The shop owner, Uncle Zhao, was a good man and paid a decent hourly wage. When the shop wasn't busy, Li Cheng delivered cakes as a takeout rider. When it was busy, he'd also pitch in and make them. After a year of practice, he could already graduate from apprenticeship.

Compared with those gifted geniuses at school, his grades could only be considered middling, and in the future he'd most likely attend an ordinary university and hold an ordinary job.

Learning a trade early that could support himself — say, making cakes and desserts — wasn't a bad idea.

In fact, Li Cheng had long suspected that his aunt and uncle actually knew he didn't go to the library to study after school every day. The reason they didn't stop him was also because learning a skill would let him become independent sooner.

After several hours at the dessert shop, he checked the time — it was nearly eleven at night.

Li Cheng called out: "Uncle Zhao, I'm clocking out."

"Oh, alright." The owner's voice came from behind the plastic roll-up door. "Take the milk tea on the table with you — a customer canceled their order last minute, don't let it go to waste."

"Mm, thanks, Uncle."

Li Cheng slung his backpack over his shoulder, grabbed the milk tea, and rode away from the dessert shop.

Night was deep; the alleys of the old district were narrow and dark. The boy sipped his milk tea, pedaling slowly.

Boom—

A muffled sound came from far away, not like thunder.

Li Cheng turned his head toward the noise and saw the city's lights suddenly go out—one by one, from the neon signs of skyscrapers to the streetlamps, all plunging into darkness.

Boom!

Another muffled crash, and another district's lights vanished.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The sounds grew faster; the entire city seemed to suffer a massive blackout, sinking into blackness.

Only the streetlamps in the neighborhood where Li Cheng was remained, emitting faint light.

The sudden, eerie situation made his heart pound uncontrollably. He instinctively pulled out his phone—the top-right corner showed no signal.

What's going on?

Just as he was bewildered, a strange force struck Li Cheng's back, hurling him and his bike hard against a brick wall of a residential compound.

"Cough, cough."

Li Cheng's eyes blurred with stars; he coughed and struggled up, seeing the thing that had slammed into him—a deformed monster.

It resembled a hybrid of a spider and a killer wasp, one person's height, with four pairs of compound eyes on its head, each pair embedded with three congealed blood droplets like red amber. Two pairs of membranous wings sprouted from its back; its body was covered in brown-yellow fur, and its tail ended in a long, needle-like tube.

Puff! Puff!

The monster spat dense silk threads, precisely coating Li Cheng's mouth, nose, and hands, gluing him firmly to the stone wall. He could not break free.

Only then did Li Cheng notice that he was not the only victim on this street—two others were stuck to the opposite wall.

One wore a suit and tie, like a corporate white-collar worker just off duty; the other wore a cycling helmet and a standard blue vest, apparently a ride-hailing driver.

All three victims were stuck to the wall. The wasp-like monster floated slowly closer, arriving before the first victim, ignoring his struggles and screams, and plunged its needle into his chest, beginning to slowly suck.

With a "glug-glug" sound, the monster's bloated tail writhed like a pump, drawing out blood and bile.

The victim's chest and abdomen shrank visibly—loose skin hung flaccidly from his bones.

The entire feeding process was neither fast nor slow.

The ride-hailing driver beside him was nearly driven mad; he kicked desperately at the wall, trying to free himself. But with his hands trapped, it was useless.

Li Cheng could do nothing. His mouth and nose were sealed in silk; he could not breathe. The suffocating sensation surged into his brain, and his vision was darkening.

He faintly saw the wasp-like monster finish draining the first victim and thrust its spike into the second's chest.

The driver's desperate whimpers faded quickly—like a candle snuffed out.

At the brink of life and death, Li Cheng's mind was unusually clear, coldly analyzing his situation, searching for a way to save himself.

First, escape. His left wrist was glued fast; his right wrist was stuck only by the sleeve—his right hand still had some mobility.

Li Cheng strained with all his strength, twisting his body to pull his right hand back, threading it out through the collar of his shirt.

One arm freed, he tried to pry at his face—the silk had hardened, incredibly tough, impossible to tear off.

The suffocation grew stronger. Li Cheng reached behind, unzipped the outermost compartment of his backpack—and there, hidden in a lining, was his self-defense Swiss Army knife.

He pulled it out, opened it, and frantically sawed at the silk on his face. Twenty seconds passed—he had only cut through the outermost layer.

His lungs ached as if about to burst; his heart pounded as if trying to leap from his chest; his vision grew darker.

To save himself, there was only one way left.

A strong, cold realization formed in his mind.

Li Cheng's pained expression calmed. He placed the knife blade horizontally against his throat, pressed tightly two and a half centimeters below his Adam's apple.

Then, he slashed down.

His throat was cut; blood flowed. Li Cheng held his chest up, clamping the knife between his chin, and with his feet, kicked the nearby milk tea toward him like a soccer ball.

He did not want to drink it—he wanted the straw.

Snap!

His right hand shot through the air, precisely grasping the thick straw, and shoved its tip diagonally into his trachea through the slit made by the knife.

Huh—inhale—

Oxygen was greedily pumped into his lungs; the blurring from oxygen deprivation vanished rapidly. Li Cheng came back to life.

Temporarily.

(End of Chapter)