Chapter 101: What Is a Ghost Story Player Anyway?

Tian Chengyun was an obscure man.

His grades in school were average, his job after graduation was average, but fortunately his love life wasn’t—because he remained single until his death.

A man who had lived his entire life in anonymity, his only moment in the public eye was recently, when he gave a television interview about the electrical leak accident at Bishushanzhuang—his first and last time appearing before the public.

Then he died: the day after barely surviving one accident, Tian Chengyun perished in another “accident.”

Officially, the cause was attributed to stress—PTSD. The horrific experience of watching numerous colleagues die left deep psychological scars, forcing him to take sedative medication to ease his emotions.

The dosage prescribed by the doctor was entirely standard, but due to his emotional instability, Tian Chengyun failed to follow medical instructions, and his family neglected their duty to supervise him, leading him to accidentally overdose and trigger the tragedy.

The overdose caused severe sedation, inducing intense depression, despair, and other emotional disturbances; unable to bear the torment, he ultimately chose suicide.

——That was the official cause of death.

Logical, reasonable, coherent—except for a touch of coincidence and forced plausibility, nothing noteworthy stood out.

The Bishushanzhuang incident wasn’t minor, but neither was it catastrophic; many online users speculated about the hidden connection between Tian Chengyun’s suicide and the electrical leak. Some conspiracy theorists even claimed he had uncovered undisclosed secrets or threatened powerful interests, and was thus “made to suicide.”

Conspiracy theories have never been mainstream; people merely fixated on the vague notion of a “big cover-up.” As for who Tian Chengyun actually was? Who cared?

The only ones who truly grieved his passing, who came in the rain to lay flowers or offerings at his grave, were his parents and family—no one else.

That day, a married couple arrived at the cemetery outside Guzhen and, beneath a light drizzle, found the newly built grave.

The couple looked young, in their thirties—clearly not Tian Chengyun’s parents, but his older brother and sister-in-law. The elderly at home suffered from rheumatism and couldn’t go out in the rain.

Tian Chengyun’s elder brother was named Tian Zaixu—not a prominent figure, just a migrant worker with a vocational diploma. His sister-in-law was surnamed Wu, Wu Lanshu.

“Sigh…”

“Stop sighing. Why are you sighing every single day?” His wife frowned at his gloomy demeanor. “You keep moping like this, Chengyun won’t come back. The dead are gone—no one can change that.”

“I know,” Tian Zaixu sighed again. “Such a good young man—why couldn’t he see through it… sigh.”

Wu Lanshu couldn’t help but sigh too. She understood her husband’s situation: Tian Zaixu’s family was poor, unable to afford meals in the early years, let alone educate both brothers. It was Tian Zaixu, the elder, who dropped out of junior high and went to work to support the household, alongside their parents laboring in the fields.

After over a decade of relentless toil by the three of them, they finally raised Tian Chengyun as their only college graduate.

Yet their sole college graduate couldn’t find work in the city and returned home to become a mindless security guard—she had always resented this injustice on her husband’s behalf.

What if it had been Tian Chengyun who dropped out, and Tian Zaixu who studied? Would things have been different?

But there are no “what ifs.” What happened, happened.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault for not watching him better—I was right beside him when he took his medicine!” Tian Zaixu clenched his fists. “How uneducated and useless I am! When he said he needed to take half a blister, I believed him! I believed his made-up medical instructions… I should’ve stopped him then… If only, if only…”

Tian Zaixu crouched before his brother’s tombstone, weeping uncontrollably.

Wu Lanshu stamped her foot in frustration. For over a decade, the family had sacrificed everything to raise this one college graduate—and now he was gone. Who could bear such a blow?

The pattering of rain echoed in their ears—whether from the sky or from the man’s tears, it was impossible to tell.

“My love remains ununderstood—where are you now? If only you hadn’t refused, why leave without a word?”

“Had I been firmer, never ignored you…”

A sentimental song suddenly rang from his pocket—Tian Zaixu’s phone was ringing.

The man stood up, wiped the tears from his eyes, and answered without looking: “Hello? Who is this?”

The line fell silent for a moment, then a hesitant voice whispered:

“Brother.”

Tian Zaixu froze. “Cheng… Chengyun?… Is that you? Is it really you?!!”

Beside him, Wu Lanshu felt both exasperated and amused, yet also heartbroken. “You’re foolish—he’s dead. How could he call you?”

Before she finished speaking, the voice came again: “Sister-in-law, that’s not funny.”

Wu Lanshu froze too. The tone, the timbre—it was unmistakably familiar. Years of living under the same roof had etched this voice into their memories. It was his brother’s voice—Tian Chengyun’s voice.

“Cheng… Chengyun?” Wu Lanshu could hardly believe it. She and her husband had been present when Tian Chengyun committed suicide—they had watched him plunge a fruit knife into his chest, again and again, until blood flooded the coffee table and dripped onto the floor, a vast, sticky crimson pool.

=9+ Shu _ Ba

How could a man they had seen dead before their eyes now be calling them?

Tian Zaixu pulled the phone from his ear. The caller ID showed the label “Little Brother,” and beneath it, Tian Chengyun’s number—exactly as it was. They hadn’t yet canceled his phone number at the service center.

“Chengyun—is it really you? You, how… I, I…” Tian Zaixu choked, words tumbling over each other, too many, too chaotic—he couldn’t begin.

But before he could utter a single complete sentence, the call ended without warning.

Dum—dum—

The speaker emitted only the hollow buzz of a busy signal. Tian Zaixu frantically redialed, desperate to reconnect with his brother—but once, twice, thrice—his attempts failed. Only fat tears fell onto the screen, triggering accidental touches. The damp display returned to the home screen, then auto-launched WeChat. He swiped left, swiped right, swiped endlessly.

“Chengyun…”

“Sigh,” Wu Lanshu held the umbrella with one hand and gently patted her husband’s shoulder, pitying him.

Meanwhile, in Yundu City, in a hidden building unknown to all, Ning Zhe set down his phone.

“I should return the SIM card to the police evidence room.”

With this call made, the identity of “Tian Chengyun” in the eyes of everyone close to him, everyone present at his death, and everyone who knew the truth—was now fully secured.

“Some unexpected gains,” Ning Zhe murmured, standing up, removing Tian Chengyun’s SIM card from the phone, and gazing out the window at the clear, azure sky. “Suicide…?”

This outcome had surprised him.

“In Yu Zi’s memory, he killed Tian Chengyun—dragged into a distorted timeline by Tu Yu—using Yeyao. Yu Zi’s memory was clear, precise, flawless—he personally killed Tian Chengyun.”

“But in Tian Zaixu and Wu Lanshu’s memories, Tian Chengyun committed suicide—dying plainly before their eyes, a fruit knife plunged into his heart, blood gushing, undeniable.”

Whose memory was true?

(End of Chapter)