Chapter 62

Chapter 62: Setting Sixty-Two

Setting Sixty-Two: Supernatural Research Club (Part 15)

If you were to rank the most well-known spiritual games of the 21st century, Ouija Board would definitely be in the top three. The rules were simple: two people prepare a pen and paper, cross their hands to hold the pen together, chant the invocation to invite the board spirit, and take turns asking questions. The invited spirit would then answer on the paper. During the process, no outsiders could interfere, no one could ask about the spirit’s identity or manner of death, and after the questions, the spirit had to be properly dismissed to avoid inviting trouble.

Crucially, the spirit could choose not to answer—but when it did answer, it had to be the truth.

After hearing Shan Ziwei’s explanation of Ouija Board rules, Crimson Rose’s suspicion of him didn’t ease much.

He was stuck. As the suspect, nothing he said would be believed.

“He’s right.”

Host’s words made his heart skip. He forced himself not to look back. Crimson Rose looked from him to Host: “You know Ouija Board?”

Host said nothing—which, as Shan Ziwei had come to know, was confirmation. He gritted his teeth internally. Every time, Host knew everything but said nothing, leaving everyone confused.

Host’s endorsement reassured Crimson Rose. She said to him: “I’ll play with you.”

She glanced at him: “One, I don’t fully trust him. Two, I haven’t completed my Setting 2 yet—I still need 2 more ‘risks.'”

He checked his own Setting 2—the floodgate he’d once feared had long since been fulfilled.

[Setting 2: You are an active member of the Supernatural Research Club, who believes in “No risk, no fun” (10/8). (00:29:40)]

He’d exceeded it. He was shocked by his own risk-taking. Looking at the half-hour remaining, he realized the Chessboard had been running for almost 10 hours.

Only nine-odd hours? It felt like a century. Could they even clear this? With less than 3 hours left, the clear condition hadn’t even appeared.

Crimson Rose realized it too, more urgently. With the clear condition still far off and Setting 2’s deadline approaching, she stared at Host—who glanced back, empty and cold, making her feel a chill.

Then Host said: “Alright.”

She only snapped out of it when Host knelt by the coffee table. Hesitantly, she sat beside him—the closer she got, the more pressure she felt, like disturbing a predator poised to strike.

Shan Ziwei watched them play from the sidelines. Being excluded didn’t bother him—in fact, he was relieved. Any game requiring physical contact was just asking for trouble.

They held their hands over the table, fingers interlaced, palms facing outward, the pen between them, tip on paper. In Ouija Board, the player on the right was the main questioner, responsible for the invocation and dismissal. Crimson Rose, on the right, chanted: “Past life, past life, I am your present life. If you wish to continue our connection, draw a circle on the paper.”

Almost instantly, the room’s temperature dropped several degrees. A faint, muffled laughter seemed to come from the void. Under their watch, the pen moved on its own, drawing a black circle on the white paper.

The spirit had arrived.

Though called a “spirit,” Ouija Board entities were the unspeakable kind. The one they’d summoned was most likely one of the three tragic deaths—or the fourth, A-Gui. Now they had to uncover the truth.

Crimson Rose asked first—but the moment she opened her mouth, her expression changed. Everyone’s attention shifted to the settings panel.

[Setting 9: You have left the haunted house.]

Finally, the clear condition! Horror puzzle games always ended with escaping the haunted area. He almost wept. Though the situation was dire, this setting meant there was hope!

—How to leave the now-distorted mansion? That’s what the Ouija board was for!

Even Crimson Rose dropped her suspicion of him, asking the spirit first: “How do we leave Manda Mansion?”

Under their watch, the spirit traced four characters. The first two were drawn carefully, the last two hurriedly, as if afraid to disturb someone.

[Kill A-Gui.]

The three of them stared at the words, reactions varying—the question returned: who was A-Gui?

He believed it was the hidden boss summoned by the Wei child; Crimson Rose thought it was him. Now the spirit, which couldn’t lie, would decide.

Next, it was Host’s turn to ask. Seated calmly, seemingly oblivious to the tension, he asked evenly: “What other way is there to leave?”

The question surprised him—it was a valid approach; they shouldn’t limit themselves to one path.

But the pen stayed still—the spirit didn’t answer.

That was telling. Either there was no other way, or the spirit didn’t want to tell them.

The question returned to Crimson Rose, who thought Host was overcomplicating things. They had one path—they should focus on it.

After careful thought, she asked: “Is there an ‘A-Gui’ among the three of us?”

It was a clever question. Instead of asking “Who is A-Gui?”—which would violate the rule against asking the spirit’s identity, especially if it was A-Gui—she circled around the issue.

This time, the spirit answered quickly.

[Yes.]

It didn’t stop—adding a line below:

[Among you
There is a traitor.]

Seeing the words, he felt like he’d been struck by lightning—shattered into disbelief.

“Yes”? How could it be “yes”? Was “A-Gui” really one of them? And a traitor?

Crimson Rose’s gaze flickered to Host. One more question—”Who is A-Gui?”—and it would be settled.

Host raised his dark lashes, his gaze sweeping over the stunned Shan Ziwei, a hint of danger in his eyes.

He asked: “How do you kill a ghost here?”

Whoa—they were already discussing how to fight A-Gui? Wait—he noticed something off. Host had asked… how to kill a ghost?

[To kill a ghost…]

The spirit fell for it too. After a few characters, it realized the trap—but couldn’t stop. Under the rules, it either refused to answer or gave the correct answer. Faced with Host’s disrespectful question, it had to complete the answer.

[…one must kill the possessed person.]

The last characters were nearly illegible, a sign of the spirit’s fury. Crimson Rose watched in shock, but Host hadn’t broken any rules—the spirit couldn’t retaliate.

When the pen went still after a frantic trembling, she exhaled in relief. She’d had enough of Host’s unpredictability and couldn’t wait to end this.

She asked the crucial question: “Who is A-Gui?”

Who is A-Gui… who is… who…

Her clear voice dropped into the darkness like a drop of ink, stirring echoes. Something seemed to boil in the shadows—like a performer who’d practiced backstage a thousand times, finally taking the stage. He shuddered as an inexplicable malice fixed on him.

In the shadow-draped living room, the white paper on the table gleamed like funeral linen, spelling out a death song for someone.

[A-Gui is standing here.]

Time and space seemed to freeze. Host sat, Crimson Rose sat—A-Gui was among them. The only one standing, Shan Ziwei looked up from the paper to meet the girl’s “I knew it” gaze. There was no panic, no surprise—only a resigned, almost absurd acceptance.

Ah… so he was A-Gui after all.

In that moment, he almost laughed. It reminded him of the game “Who’s the Spy”—the spy’s most common mistake was believing they weren’t the spy, only to be proven wrong.

Just like him now.

But he refused to accept it! He was only Level 3—why give him this boss-level identity? If he was A-Gui, why hadn’t he gotten any boss bonuses or advantages?! He’d been tortured the whole time! This crappy identity gave him nothing but made him a target for his teammates.

The atmosphere grew dangerous. Crimson Rose opened her mouth to chant the dismissal—but before the words came, the situation reversed.

“Do you want to die again?”

He froze mid-turn, looking back with equal disbelief at the black-haired youth.

Had he misheard? Host had broken the Ouija Board taboo just as they were about to finish?

Under Crimson Rose’s horrified gaze, the pen began to shake violently—like a wild horse, racing across the paper.

[Die die die die die die die die die die…]

“Die” filled every inch of paper. She screamed, trying to let go—but her hand was frozen to the pen. When the last empty space was filled, both she and Host collapsed onto the table.

Shan Ziwei, who’d watched the whole thing, was utterly lost.

How had it come to this…

He’d thought Host was unfathomable—now he saw Host as a bottomless pit. No one could predict his intentions. It wasn’t likely Host had sacrificed himself to help; he’d never known Host to be that altruistic!

Before he could process it, Host pushed himself up—faster than Crimson Rose—grabbed the knife the doll had dropped, and lunged at her throat.

She rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the fatal blow, and scrambled to the TV, bracing herself against it—accidentally hitting the power button.

The screen flickered to static, then resolved into a crooked-necked woman. Up close, “Mrs. Wei” was horrifying—her head was caved in, pressed against her left shoulder like a swollen pea.

She stumbled away as “Mrs. Wei” bent down and crawled out of the TV, landing between Host and her, blocking his pursuit.

Shan Ziwei stood at the entrance, watching in shock. Crimson Rose grabbed his sleeve, pulling him toward the kitchen.

“Run—he’s possessed!” She panted. “He must be the traitor—he wouldn’t have done that otherwise. We need weapons from the kitchen!”

His heart raced as he looked at her grip on his sleeve—careful enough to pull him without touching his skin.

In the kitchen, she let go. Pressing her bleeding neck, she glanced at him: “I remember a slicing knife and a boning knife in the cabinet, and a chef’s knife on the counter. Let’s split up.”

He watched her. “Alright.”

She headed for the counter, picked up the chef’s knife—and just as she was about to smile, her heart went cold.

Slowly, she looked down. Several skewers, meant for roasting meat, had pierced her heart from one side to the other.

Death’s familiar shadow loomed. She turned to the white-haired youth behind her, her beautiful face expressionless.

“Why?”

“Your clues were too obvious, ‘Spirit.'” He sighed. “Only you, who knew the inside story, would distinguish between ‘A-Gui’ and ‘traitor.’ Anyone else reading that would conclude ‘A-Gui = traitor’—or was that your deliberate misdirection?”

“Also, Mrs. Wei’s timing was too convenient. It seemed to be helping you. And real Crimson Rose, by nature, would choose to kill A-Gui—she wouldn’t cooperate with me, let alone run while taking me along.”

“Lastly, the person you’ve possessed never studied Culinary Arts. She wouldn’t know those knife classifications.”

He met the girl’s eyes, seeing through to her soul.

“I’ve answered so many of your questions, ‘Spirit.’ Now would you answer one of mine? What is our relationship—that you want me dead so badly?”

Looking back, every answer had targeted him, eager to eliminate “A-Gui.” From the handwriting, the spirit wasn’t the “master” from the dining room, nor Mrs. Wei. That left the Wei child—how had he offended him?

Hearing his question, “Crimson Rose”—the spirit—gave a strange laugh. Ignoring the skewers through her heart, she lunged forward and spun around.

As the skewers were pulled out, blood sprayed. Her eyes instantly turned red. He hadn’t expected such a desperate move—she pinned him to the counter and choked him.

“What relationship?” The spirit glared with reddened eyes. “You’re too forgetful, Young Master.”

Young Master?! His mind exploded—he understood now who he was, and who it was. They’d overlooked a crucial point: there was a servant’s diary, so there had been four people in the Wei household. Where had the servant gone?

The newspaper reported a family of three dead—but now, the servant was dead, and the young master (him) was alive.

“Just like that, you forgot how you killed me… right, you seemed to have amnesia. Was it from shock? How pitiful.” The spirit—the servant—tightened its grip. It seemed bothered by an itch at its neck, unable to resist clawing at itself. “Luckily you came back, so I could… tell you personally…”

With one hand free, he could breathe easier. He watched the servant’s claws dig deeper into its own neck.

It seemed to realize its time was short. Its expression turned furious, then gleeful.

“No… matter… though I can’t… personally… you’ll soon… be joining me…”

Its throat was a ruin, its words like wind through a broken pipe.

The girl’s red eyes gleamed as it spat out bloody words.

“That one… has waited a long time for you… eager… to enjoy you.”