Chapter 312: Shalishali

After the ghost entered the opera house, Ning Zhe made numerous assumptions about its rules based on the information gathered—for example, that the ghost selects only one person at a time, and that whoever is chosen by the ghost dies.

But now, these assumptions seemed to be collapsing one by one. He Nianjun, chosen by the ghost, had not died, and the ghost was no longer selecting just one person at a time. In the audience seats, panic spread as people stared at the five suddenly empty seats, gripped by terror of the unknown.

Fasolles looked up toward the fifth balcony and cast a pleading glance at Ning Zhe. But Ning Zhe was just as bewildered as he was.

What happened? What on earth was going on? Why had five people vanished at once, instead of just one as before? Before Ning Zhe could think further, the panic spreading through the audience rapidly spiraled into chaos; many female staff members screamed in fright.

Amid the chaos, a middle-aged man in elegant attire leapt to his feet and angrily demanded of Fasolles: “What is happening here? I demand a reasonable explanation!”

His furious eyes held a trace of fear—he already had a guess he most dreaded to admit. Seeing Fasolles’s evasive gaze, he could no longer deny it.

This place seems to be haunted.

“I must leave this place immediately!” the man roared. “Get out of my way!”

Though Fasolles felt unease too, he forced himself to remain calm and smiled apologetically: “Sir, you know this is no ordinary ‘incident.’ To prevent escalation, we must secure the scene… we hope you understand.”

“That’s your concern—I don’t care. I must leave now, this instant.” The man’s tone was rigid, showing no hint of compromise. As a European noble familiar with the strange, he knew full well how dangerous a haunted opera house could be.

Before Fasolles could say more, the man pulled a pistol from his coat and, with his butler at his side, strode out of the audience seats, heading straight for the main exit.

Fasolles made no move to stop him, nor did he need to—he had sealed this place himself.

The veneer of decorum had been torn away. The middle-aged man’s departure gave other dignitaries the courage to act without hesitation; they departed with their attendants, abandoning their seats without a word, scattering toward different exits from all directions.

“What do we do now?” Xia Yubing tugged at his sleeve and asked softly.

“We go downstairs.” Ning Zhe left the fifth balcony and descended with Xia Yubing to the first floor.

All the dignitaries who had participated in the gift auction had left. Only Fasolles and a few trusted staff remained, struggling to calm the opera house’s employees.

Perhaps because the opera house paid well enough, Fasolles commanded considerable authority among his staff; the panicked crowd gradually quieted, obediently returning to their seats, making the empty ones glaringly obvious.

“Huh? What’s going on?” Fasolles was surprised—today’s staff were unusually compliant.

Ning Zhe gave no reaction, silently watching the crowd, calmed by Fasolles, return to their seats.

The five who had vanished sat in the same row: three women and two men—two male attendants, two makeup artists who dressed the gift girls, and one “gift girl” who had not yet been claimed by a client.

Fasolles’s face was grim. Excluding the departed dignitaries and the five vanished, nearly a hundred staff members remained—each had witnessed the bizarre disappearance firsthand.

Everyone who understood the strange world knew what this meant.

—First Law of Strange Events: The more people who know the strange exists, the higher the probability of a strange event occurring. Now, everyone beneath the dance floor had seen it happen. The situation was grim.

“What do we do now?” Fasolles asked. “Do you have any leads, Fan?”

Ning Zhe shook his head: “None at all.”

That was a lie.

He could have tried using the Soul-Buying Coin to resurrect someone killed by the ghost and question the dead, as he had with the driver Bier. But Ning Zhe could not do this in front of Fasolles—because both the previous and current masters of Wu Tong, Ji Bochang and Lan Shiwen, were from Jiuzhou.

The Soul-Buying Coin was an absolutely monopolized rare artifact outside Jiuzhou. Across the entire European Confederation, no family except the Fuliemisileite family, to which Ji Bochang’s brother Ji Boying had defected, dared claim they possessed any surplus.

Fan Daike could not afford extra Soul-Buying Coins.

Ning Zhe could—but he wasn’t sure whether he should. It wasn’t only because he feared suspicion from other Europeans about Fan Daike’s identity, but also because of his lingering doubt: The Saint Galia Opera House had clearly been sealed by Mo Dou’s rules, yet Wu Tong’s Soul-Buying Coin functioned here normally.

How had the God of Wealth entered? Was Lan Shiwen here too?

Fasolles assigned several trusted staff to search for the fleeing guests. Ning Zhe walked into the audience area and stood before the five empty seats.

Red carpets lined the aisles, dividing the semicircular audience seating—centered on the dance floor—into several unequal fan-shaped zones. Fasolles had gathered everyone into the largest section, where they sat tightly packed. Yet now, a gaping void had appeared in the midst—like a patch of coarse linen suddenly stitched onto a silk robe, glaringly obvious, impossible to ignore.

Every single detail is visible!

By questioning nearby staff, Ning Zhe learned the names of the vanished:

Two male attendants: George, Paul.

Two female makeup artists: Anna, Mary.

And a black-haired Persian girl with wheat-toned skin and violet eyes, wearing a white lace nightgown—Fan Daike’s goddaughter, the final “gift girl” auctioned off by Ning Zhe:

Elan Shalishali Anwarnar

Shalishali vanished alongside the two male attendants and two makeup artists before everyone’s eyes; the cameras above the dance floor captured this eerie moment.

Their disappearance was sudden, without warning or preparation—like being swallowed whole by an invisible monster, vanishing instantly, leaving no trace. Just like Bier before them.

Undoubtedly, they had all been chosen by the ghost.

But why five at once? What was different about what had just happened?

Thud. A soft body tumbled onto a plush armrest, triggering gasps. Dark, wavy curls spilled out; her wheat-gold skin was drenched in blood—it was Shalishali, the one who had vanished.

Looking down, a grotesque bloodied hole had exploded open on the girl’s left temple; brain matter mixed with blood streamed down, soaking the carpet.

Ning Zhe ignored the chaos in the audience. He gripped the girl’s chin and lifted her mangled head—around her ears, large patches of skin were charred by gunpowder, clearly the result of a close-range gunshot to the head.

“How… how?”

How could she have been shot dead?

(End of Chapter)