Chapter 65

Chapter 65: Setting Sixty-Five

Setting Sixty-Five: Supernatural Research Club (Part 18)

His head rang, then fell back into chaos.

The protagonist of that memory stood before him. The man’s feet were clad in cloth boots embroidered with gold-thread qilin—fine work, clearly of wealthy origin. Above that, a long, dark cheongsam with gold patterns hung, adorned with strings of white beads, the deep fabric nearly purple in its darkness. Shan Ziwei’s eyes trembled—the moving patterns seemed to hypnotize him, dragging his consciousness toward a swarm of demons, threatening to devour him—

Cold hands cupped his face, tearing his gaze away from the clothes.

“Don’t look—it’s too harsh for you.”

His frightened eyes met a face as beautiful as jade. This was the most classically refined man he’d ever seen. His vermilion lips curved like fresh blood, as if he’d stepped out of a painting—slender eyebrows, phoenix eyes with sharp inner and outer corners, and a cinnabar dot between his brows—yet it held no Buddhist compassion, only cold menace.

Shan Ziwei seemed struck by that menace, his voice weak as he breathed a name.

“…A-Gui…?”

Hearing his whisper, the man’s elegant brows curved warmly. “Mm.”

He answered, a sigh of both relief and regret: “My Wei’er has grown up.”

Shan Ziwei was stunned by the sudden “recognition.” A-Gui tilted his face up, examining the white-haired youth’s features as if he couldn’t get enough. Even his wide, terrified eyes seemed adorable.

“Wei’er, my Wei’er—still so endearing.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to Shan Ziwei’s forehead with pity.

That blood-red kiss chilled him to the bone. He jolted, wrenching free—and his face was scratched in three lines by A-Gui’s nail guards.

Hiss…

He held his scratched face, staring warily at A-Gui—only daring to look above the neck. That ink-and-gold robe seemed woven from the world’s foulest miasma; simply looking at it could drag a person into the abyss.

A-Gui lowered his gaze to the blood on his nail guards. His expression clouded with a rain-like sorrow. He stood there, a father rejected by his child, pitiful and heart-wrenching.

His heart skipped—from a strange sympathy and an inexplicable sense of danger, he quickly said: “I… I’m not used to being touched.”

Both Wei Gui and Shan Ziwei could say that; it made perfect sense. But the ghost’s brow only furrowed deeper. In an instant, he was beside him, lifting his chin, examining the three “whiskers,” and leaning in to blow on them.

The icy breath brushed his cheek, gentle as if soothing a child. He shivered; the pain faded, but he’d rather endure the pain than be treated so tenderly by the boss.

“Wei’er, no one in this world treats you as well as I do.” A-Gui called him warmly, his expression full of adoration. “Don’t be distant with me.”

The lingering tone was like melted chocolate—rich and sticky. He could feel A-Gui’s genuine love for Wei Gui. To him, Wei Gui was like a child he’d raised and lost—and now, having found him again, he was afraid his favorite child would grow estranged.

But Boss, are you sure this is a happy family reunion? That memory was rated R—the servant might have done the dirty work, but you were clearly the mastermind!

Despite his internal complaints, he didn’t dare resist openly. Everything indicated this ghost was no pushover. Even if he acted gentle now, a looming sense of danger weighed on him, making every step precarious.

The best move was not to oppose him. Nodding along, he looked for an opening to complete the reverse summoning circle—just a moment to draw a rune.

But that nod opened a floodgate.

As if filling a decade-long void, A-Gui wrapped him in a full embrace. His delicately carved nail guards threaded through Shan Ziwei’s soft white hair, stroking and soothing. This particular sufferer’s fight-or-flight response kicked in. Earlier, A-Gui’s inhuman temperature and limited contact had been bearable—but a full embrace was another matter…

“Wei’er, be good.”

His struggle barely started when the ghost’s cool voice whispered in his ear. He froze—not soothed, but because of the hand piercing his back.

That beautiful, delicate, nail-guard-adorned hand, as he’d first seen it, slowly penetrated his body and firmly gripped his heart.

His breathing grew heavy. That unforgettable cold-fire surge engulfed him again, freezing his veins, igniting his blood. Every nerve seemed to have migrated to his heart, trembling under another’s caress, melting into blissful numbness.

The ghost sensed his child had calmed. Wei’er huddled in his arms, trembling helplessly like a small beast abandoned in snow and ice.

His hand, stroking his hair, paused—then returned to lift Shan Ziwei’s chin.

“Don’t be afraid, Wei…”

A-Gui’s words died on his lips. His dull black eyes showed a flicker of surprise. In his arms, the white-haired youth was forced to tilt his head back; his expression was icy, but his eyes shimmered like spring thawing through ice—enough to intoxicate.

The ghost’s lifeless eyes grew darker. “…My Wei’er really has grown up.”

Though similar to before, the words carried a new, unspoken meaning. Unable to control his body, Shan Ziwei couldn’t even close his eyes to hide his arousal. It had been a long time since he’d exposed his condition so directly to another. Even if that other was just a computer-controlled avatar, it was still humiliating—he mocked himself, both pained and pleasured: A-Gui would probably be at a loss, since the developers hadn’t planned for a deviant like him in their AI.

Then he heard the ghost say: “I’m very pleased.”

His ears rang. He stood frozen like a split log. Through his blurry, teary vision, A-Gui’s expression was indistinct—except for that cinnabar dot, vivid as a hellflower blooming in darkness.

“You were adorable as a child—but some things were inconvenient.”

The icy hand withdrew from his body, tracing his skin, sliding down his spine.

“Wei’er, I’ve missed you for so long…”

If a bookshelf hadn’t collapsed toward them, he might have become the first player molested to death by a Chess Piece. Frowning, A-Gui—unwilling to let him get hurt—shoved him away, letting the bookshelf pass through him.

Behind the fallen shelf stood Host. His gaze was sharp as a drawn blade, formidable and dangerous. He shouted to Shan Ziwei: “Draw the rune!”

His only remaining ally had descended like a savior. Without thinking, he acted on instinct—crawling to the magic circle, biting his finger—

A-Gui wouldn’t let them do as they pleased. He moved toward him—but Host stopped him.

“Su Zigui—do you want to become a human cauldron again?”

A-Gui—Su Zigui—paused. Mentioning a ghost’s death was taboo. He turned fully to Host, seeming almost amused.

“Why don’t you teach me?” He asked, serene and polite.

Against a boss, with no possessions and no skills, even a title-holder was limited. Host was thrown into the bookshelves, crashing through several. The crumbling shelves collapsed, burying the silent black-haired youth under a mound of books.

He’d only drawn two-thirds of the rune when Su Zigui’s feet appeared before him. His hand jerked, nearly ruining it—the ghost’s touch still fresh in his mind. Summoning his courage, he looked up and met his gaze.

“Su Zigui, haven’t you hurt me enough?”

Su Zigui seemed taken aback. His Wei’er spoke with an unfamiliar tone, questioning him deliberately.

“You killed my parents—how dare you show your face to me?”

His palms were sweating. Whether the ghost felt guilty or enraged, he just needed a few more strokes—

“…I wanted to protect you.”

The ghost said.

His eyes held the whole white-haired youth. His voice was soft, mournful—like a night snowfall in the dark, falling silently and melting alone.

No guilt, no anger—just those words, spoken softly:

I wanted to protect you.

His hand slipped—and he completed the final stroke.

Hum…

The magic circle came alive, drinking the blood rune. Its flowing lines seemed like sullied blood, dark and ominous. The ghost before him shattered into countless light particles and faded, so fast he couldn’t react.

Was that—it?

Like a symphony cut off at its climax, leaving a meaningful silence. He watched the spot where Su Zigui had vanished. Footsteps approached; he turned to see Host, hand on his injured neck, stopping at a distance—knowing he was wary.

For some reason, he said: “He said… he wanted to protect me.”

Lost in Su Zigui’s final gaze, he didn’t expect a response—just voicing what weighed on him. But Host said: “Mm.”

“Do you know something?”

Host glanced at him: “You have the servant’s diary.”

He’d almost forgotten. He pulled out the long-neglected diary, about to say he didn’t know the code—but realized he might.

People often used familiar numbers as passwords: birthdays, phone numbers, student IDs. And he knew the servant A-Gui’s birthday—from the Hannya mask memory, it was clearly written on the blackboard.

The clue was so obscure he’d only just noticed. He entered “0626” into the lock—click. The diary opened.

[XX/XX, Day X, Clear
I’m so lucky.
With so many children at home, Madam Wei chose me to keep her child company.
Because my name echoes the young master’s—bearing good fortune.
I’d never seen such a big house, or lived in such a fine room.
Aunt Chen said I should keep a diary to avoid mistakes.]

…

[XX/XX, Day X, Windy
The master and madam are good people—they let me study with the young master.
Life here is wonderful—nothing like home.
I want to stay forever.]

…

[XX/XX, Day X, Storm
The master scolded the young master today.
He tore up the doll he always played with, and blamed his wife—saying she’d given birth to a monster.
The look in the young master’s eyes still gives me chills.
He seems to think that doll was alive—and that we killed his friend.
That night, I went into his room and saw a terrifying magic circle.
The young master seemed to be working on some dark ritual…]

…

[XX/XX, Day X, Light Rain
Aunt Chen visited today and told me something.
It turns out my family is distantly related to the master’s—by blood, I could be the young master’s cousin.
I suddenly feel resentful.
I’m better than the young master. I don’t have a strange illness. Only our blood ties set us apart—so I have to be a servant forever.
If only I were the master’s child…]

…

[XX/XX, Day X, Clear
The doctor came today—no improvement in the young master’s condition.
The master and madam seem to have given up.
Though I shouldn’t, I’m very happy.
I’ve thought it over—though I’m a servant, I’m already treated like an heir.
When the master and madam are old, this household will depend on me.
They probably mean it that way too.]

…

[XX/XX, Day X, Cloudy
…Madam is pregnant again.
…
…
What do I do.]

…

[XX/XX, Day X, Showery
I heard the master and madam plan to send the young master to the countryside—so the baby won’t be disturbed.
I have to go too.
…I can’t wait any longer.
The master scolded the young master again recently—he’s sulking.
I’ve prepared sleeping pills. I’ll put them in his food tomorrow.
It’ll be fine.
No one will suspect me.
The young master is just that unlikable.]

He’s just that unlikable…

A mix of sorrow and anger filled his chest. He closed the diary, his feelings hard to name.

Just as the ghost had said: I wanted to protect you.

He’d wanted to protect the child the servant was trying to frame, the child about to be sent away. Though his methods were wrong, he was the only one who genuinely cared.

He turned to face Host—he had so many questions, all embarrassment forgotten.

“You…”

Rumble…

As he began to speak, the whole mansion trembled and groaned in pain. The furniture around him faded and decayed, like Cinderella’s magic at midnight, returning to its original state.

Host was the first to head for the exit: “Hurry.”

He got up from the magic circle and walked a few steps—then heard a thin voice behind him.

「Who are you?」

Startled, he turned to see a white-haired child, clutching a patchwork doll, kneeling in the center of the circle. The child looked exactly like a young Shan Ziwei, his body translucent, his voice distant and muffled.

「My name is A-Gui. What’s yours?」

Before the child was a blurry dark shape, cold and silent.

「Then…」 The child didn’t press, just looked at it with hope and shyness. 「Will you play with me? I’m always in this house—no one to play with.」

The dark shape seemed moved by the child’s words. Its shadow rippled—as if in reply.

「Su… Zigui?」 The child repeated. 「Your name is beautiful.」

The dark shape swayed, as if shaking its head.

「…You don’t like it?」 The child thought, then smiled. 「I just realized my name suits you perfectly. How about I give it to you?」

「A-Gui, A-Gui—from now on, I’ll call you ‘A-Gui.’」

The image faded like a light going out. A sharp pain in his head—a moment of remembering, a moment of forgetting.

“Old images.”

He turned in surprise, meeting Host’s gaze from the bottom of the stairs.

“Come on.” Host said. “The house is collapsing.”

As Host had said, Manda Mansion was in its death throes. Holes corroded the floor; his delay had let the decay creep almost to his feet.

Without hesitation, he ran for the exit. Chaotic images flickered everywhere—the mansion, knowing its end, played its memories like a dying slideshow. They ran through countless shadows, unable to step too hard on the groaning floor.

Crack!

Even with care, he stepped on a weak spot. He stumbled, bracing against a wall that crumbled, revealing the recreation room.

A child’s laughter and a dog’s barking drifted out. He glanced over as he pulled his foot free.

A younger Su Zigui stood in the room’s center, watching a child play with a dog, his expression soft.

「A-Gui, thank you for freeing Duke.」 The child laughed as he watched the Samoyed try to lick his fingers—passing right through. The dog tilted its head, puzzled, unaware it was a ghost.

「He was in so much pain.」 Even without touching, the child played happily. 「He’s much better now~」

「How could I refuse you?」 Su Zigui smiled, lifting the Samoyed by the scruff. 「Dawn’s coming—time to go to your room. You can play again tomorrow.」

The child seemed reluctant. He looked up, playful and coaxing.

「A-Gui, sing a song for me~」 His eyes were full of affection. 「Sing, and I’ll go with you.」

As he descended the third-floor stairs, he could still hear Su Zigui humming softly:

「Pluck out my eyes, I can still see you;
Plug my ears, I can still hear you;
Without feet, I can still reach you;
Without a mouth, I can still plead to you;
Break my arms, I will still embrace you…」

The gentle voice was so tender—he realized that the death song that had once terrified him was filled with such warmth. Even knowing it was scripted, he felt a pang of sadness. The past shadows seemed to follow him, asking:

—Do you regret it?

—For others, for other things, do you regret hurting the only one who stayed with you?

He did. He thought sadly. But he’d still do it—in the present, as in the past.

“Watch your step.”

Host called back as he caught up. He acknowledged—they’d reached the living room, the exit to light and hope just ahead.

But they’d watched their feet—not their heads.

Crack—

A web of cracks spread across the ceiling. The massive chandelier above him gave way, crashing down.

He crouched, covering his head—but only heard the roar around him. A few small stones hit him; the expected pain never came.

He looked up—the chandelier had fallen over him like an overturned birdcage, shielding him from the rubble.

It had saved him—but trapped him. Outside, the rubble piled up. He pushed against it—no movement. He’d need someone to clear it from the outside.

He called out: “Host?”

No answer.

Host was either dead or had already left.

He gave up. Sitting under the chandelier, he laughed bitterly.

So this was his ending. No progress at all.

Though the chandelier was large, it barely fit one person. Yet even in this cramped space, old images flickered—a glimpse of Su Zigui’s robe, voices muffled through the cracks…

“Slap.”

A beam of light hit his eyes, making them tear. Even so, he didn’t look away, staring at Host outside.

Host hadn’t left. His hands bloodied, he was clearing the rubble, letting more light into the tight space.

When he’d made a gap big enough, he found the white-haired youth still crouching inside, staring at him.

Thinking he was in shock, Host said: “Don’t be scared—we’ll go out together.”

His gaze wavered like a dying candle. He looked into Host’s dark eyes—as if wanting to see through them, and not wanting to.

After a long moment, he looked down and said softly: “Alright.”

The first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, falling on the ruins of Manda Mansion—kissing the two young men who had escaped.

[System: You have cleared the Chessboard. Would you like to watch the aftermath? Yes/No.]

He chose “No.”

The scene shifted to his personal space. The exhausted white-haired youth collapsed onto his throne. The silver-haired doll jumped to the black-and-white floor, its mask beaming.

Even without looking, he knew the ending.

He covered his eyes with both hands, replaying that final conversation in the darkness, self-flagellating.

「President of the Supernatural Research Club?」
「Yes.」
「You’ll work for me? Good—I have something for you. Do it well, and you’ll leave alive.」
「Alright.」
「Sacrifice six girls in this house, make him draw the rune, and give me your body.」
「…He won’t know it was you.」

The ghost laughed.
「That’s enough.」

「I came into this world to spare him fear, to spare him suffering, to spare him a lifetime of loneliness, to spare him rootlessness. Whatever the role, I can play it for him.」