Chapter 155: Do You Know You

The surroundings were dark, save for a faint glow in her hand that illuminated the woman's face obscured by strands of hair—her pale skin stained with crimson blood, while the face on her neck was wheat-colored.

Zhen's facial features were twisted and distorted, her mouth skewed and eyes askew, as if she had endured immense agony before death, dying with eyes wide open.

Abandoning the medical box in her hand, Jiang Han bolted away, fleeing blindly in panic, not even knowing which direction he ran—stumbling and staggering, row after row of houses blurred past behind him as moonlight spilled like water.

The instant he saw that face, before his mind could react, his legs had already begun running on their own.

Intellectually, he thought it must be a makeup actor hired by the production team, but emotionally, he knew it was truly a ghost—he had been genuinely terrified.

"Ha…"

Jiang Han pushed off the wall with one hand, leaping over the low courtyard fence collapsed by rain, landing on the other side of the ruined street. He had run too hastily to determine his location in the town.

Fortunately, the Four-Faced Buddha stood prominent at the town center, visible even from afar—once he confirmed which direction the featureless north face pointed, he could recalibrate his bearings.

The moment he lifted his head, the slight relaxation in his nerves snapped taut again.

He saw light.

A two-story house stood alone beside the ruined street; all neighboring homes had been shattered by wind and rain, leaving only this one structure standing out—its waterproof coating on the exterior walls still looked newly painted, no more than two years old.

Bright white light seeped from between the curtains on the second floor, spilling onto the ground not far from Jiang Han like a lethal blade slicing through darkness.

"Oh…"

"…Ohhh…"

A weak moan drifted from the second-floor window, as if a vengeful spirit hovered above the town—Jiang Han's already chilled heart grew half-frozen.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

He cursed inwardly, turning to flee—but before he could move, his legs felt heavy and sluggish, as if tangled by riverweed while swimming.

Looking down, he saw a pair of human hands, gripping his pant leg with iron force.

"Tang Xin?!" Under the bright moonlight, Jiang Han recognized the face of the person whose hands he was holding: "Where did you come from… no, what happened to you?! What's going on here?!"

Tang Xin did not answer his questions, only clung tighter to his pant leg, a hoarse moan escaping her throat.

Seeing her pale face and feeble state, Jiang Han suddenly understood: "Another fainting spell from low blood sugar? Didn't you bring any candy or something… how did you end up like this…?"

Jiang Han was not one to chatter, but perhaps to dispel the fear of the unknown, he spoke more than usual now—muttering reproaches at Tang Xin for being careless, he pulled a Snickers bar from his pocket, dissolved it in water, and slowly fed it into her mouth.

Tang Xin's condition improved slightly; Jiang Han exhaled in relief, one arm wrapping around her shoulders to help her up while the other reached for the satellite phone in his waist pouch. He wanted to follow the production team's script, but this situation demanded an emergency call.

His hand fumbled blindly in the pouch, but as he searched, his movements slowed, his worried expression froze, and the expression of "fear" spread across Jiang Han's face.

Tang Xin was wearing a beige sundress with a bare back; his palm rested on her shoulder, his bare forearm in direct contact with her soft skin—cold, motionless, silent as death.

She had no heartbeat… her heartbeat had stopped.

And it seemed, it had stopped long ago.

Realizing this, Jiang Han's face turned ashen. He withdrew his hand from the pouch and trembled as he pressed it against Tang Xin's neck—the carotid artery.

No pulse. No heartbeat. Even her body temperature was cooling.

A woman lay limp in his arms, whispering faintly: "Save… save me…"

Jiang Han's mind went blank.

At the same time, a long moan drifted from the second-floor window.

"Oh…"

…

"Why haven't Jiang Han and the others arrived yet?"

Xia Chong squatted on the steps by the roadside, idly exchanging half-hearted banter with live-stream comments, her temper simmering—how absurd, she was always the one others waited for, never the one waiting for others—utterly outrageous.

'Look at the jade foot'

Another comment scrolled across the screen; Xia Chong bit her lip, annoyed. Why the rush? Why the rush?

Dozens of identical comments had flooded the stream—not perverted foot fetishists teasing the host to take off her shoes, but demanding she return to where she'd dropped her phone and dig up the stone statue buried head-down in the ground.

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"Jiang Han hasn't come back yet, and I don't have tools—am I supposed to dig with my hands?" Xia Chong huffed, turning and walking back with her phone raised.

She was feeling increasingly frustrated—the production team's phone was unreachable, her messages to Xiao Ke and Tang Xin went unanswered, and Jiang Han had claimed he'd go find the crew to bring help, but nothing followed.

The wounds on her hands and belly still throbbed; in this deserted town, Xia Chong felt abandoned by heaven and earth for the first time. The unnaturally silent, decaying surroundings, especially now that she'd lost something valuable, left her deeply agitated.

"Fine, fine, jade foot, jade foot, here's your jade foot, you dead foot fetishists, enough already!" Xia Chong grumbled as she returned to the spot where Snow had run off.

She hadn't gone far—just circled narrowly around the stone foot protruding from the ground, hoping to get lucky and find her lost cat.

Her luck proved poor—she saw not a single strand of cat fur. Fortunately, the live-stream viewers weren't offended by her sour expression; instead, they flooded the chat, urging her to curse more.

She wouldn't curse—because as she raised her selfie stick and returned to the spot, a half-crouched figure appeared silently in the center of the frame.

"Huh…?"

A young man in a beige shirt and black jeans stood there—plainly dressed but clean, his long legs bent in a half-kneel, head lowered as he studied a stone on the ground.

It was the same stone foot Xia Chong had discovered earlier.

"W-what are you doing?" Xia Chong summoned courage to ask.

Hearing her voice, the young man turned his head, silent, gazing at Xia Chong holding the selfie stick.

As he turned, a green-faced, fanged, grotesque ghost mask appeared before Xia Chong.

"Pleased to meet you. Do you know you're dead?"

He asked.

(End of Chapter)