By the time the clock struck 7 pm, Liu Dao and Chen Ge had already taken two wrong turns on the winding, poorly marked roads leading out of the city. After some backtracking and muttered curses under his breath, Liu Dao finally guided the car to their intended destination, pulling up at the edge of a desolate, overgrown area that felt far removed from any trace of civilization.
"Come on, I'll introduce you to the other workers from our studio," Liu Dao said with a casual wave of his hand as he killed the engine. He stepped out of the car without hesitation and immediately headed straight into the thick brush that bordered the dirt path, his figure quickly swallowed by the dense foliage as if he'd done this route a hundred times before.
"We're really on the outskirts of Jiujiang district now, aren't we?" Chen Ge muttered to himself while carefully inspecting the contents of his backpack one last time before climbing out of the vehicle. The narrow road they'd arrived on was in terrible condition, pockmarked with deep potholes from years of neglect and outright abandonment. A small mound of loose rocks had been piled haphazardly across part of the path, almost as if someone had deliberately tried to block access or discourage visitors. Tall, ancient trees lined both sides of the road, their thick trunks and sprawling branches likely planted decades earlier, creating an oppressive natural barrier.
The dense canopy overhead completely blocked out what little moonlight filtered through the evening sky, turning the surroundings into an inky void. Once Chen Ge stepped into the brush behind Liu Dao, the darkness deepened dramatically, making it feel as though full night had already fallen despite the early hour. He flicked on his flashlight, its narrow beam cutting through the gloom, and hurried to keep pace with Liu Dao as they pushed deeper into the overgrown thicket. They had already been trekking through the tangled vegetation for a full ten minutes, yet there was still no sign of an end to the trees or any hint of their destination.
"Brother, are we actually lost out here?" Chen Ge finally asked, his voice carrying a note of unease as he scanned the surroundings. All around him stretched nothing but endless shadows and impenetrable undergrowth, with absolutely no trace of human activity—no footprints, no discarded trash, not even a faint path worn into the earth.
"Don't fret, don't fret," Liu Dao replied reassuringly, though he pulled out his phone to make a quick call, presumably to confirm directions. After ending the call, he veered sharply down an even narrower lane that was barely visible among the weeds. "This whole area is incredibly complicated and maze-like. There's hardly anything reliable to use as a landmark, so it's far too easy to lose your way. Since you'll be entering the mental hospital building completely alone later, you need to be extra careful. I strongly advise you to mark some of the trees with scratches or something as you move toward the main structure—it'll help you find your way back if things get disorienting."
After several more minutes of trudging through the dense brush, pushing aside low branches and stepping over fallen logs, Liu Dao and Chen Ge finally emerged into a small clearing. Directly ahead of them stood a large, weathered tent that had been erected in the only open patch of ground for what seemed like miles around.
"This is the only decent open space anywhere nearby, and it's also the spot with the strongest cell signal," Liu Dao explained as they approached. The moment the people inside the tent caught sight of Liu Dao's familiar figure, several of them immediately stepped out to greet the newcomers, their faces illuminated faintly by the glow of lanterns hanging inside.
"Brother Liu, where the hell have you been all this time?" a young man with a close-cropped crew cut and a distinctly round, pot-lid-shaped head complained loudly as he strode over. He appeared to be barely twenty years old, yet he spoke with the blunt familiarity of someone who'd worked alongside Liu Dao for years. "You know we're already short-handed as it is—are you seriously trying to work Sister Lee and me to death out here?"
"Why on earth did we send him to fetch the new guy when everyone knows he's absolutely hopeless with directions?" Sister Lee chimed in with a wry shake of her head. Her skin was weathered and rough from long hours outdoors, and her build was noticeably more muscular and solid than that of most men, giving her an imposing presence even in the dim light.
To quickly smooth over the awkward tension hanging in the air, Liu Dao grabbed Chen Ge by the arm and pulled him forward into the center of the group. "Everyone, this is the host who'll be doing the solo livestream inside the Third Sick Hall tonight—Chen Ge. There's still a decent amount of time before we go live, so feel free to walk him through how to operate the livestreaming equipment properly and share some basic camera techniques that'll make the broadcast more engaging."
"This is the Chen Ge we've been waiting for?" Sister Lee exclaimed, immediately shoving Liu Dao lightly to the side so she could get a better look. She and the young man began openly studying Chen Ge from head to toe, their expressions shifting to visible confusion and disbelief the moment they took in his unusual attire and the odd item he carried. Isn't this supposed to be a serious supernatural livestream challenge? Why in the world did he bring a live chicken along with him?
The pair clearly had plenty of mocking comments on the tip of their tongues, but since this was their very first meeting with Chen Ge, they managed to bite them back out of basic courtesy and professionalism.
"I'm Zhang Pin, and this here is Sister Lee," the young man introduced himself briskly as he gestured for Chen Ge to follow him. "We'll be the ones handling the technical side and helping relay your livestream feed smoothly." He led Chen Ge inside the spacious tent, which was crammed full of various pieces of equipment—monitors, cables, batteries, and recording devices neatly arranged on folding tables. Zhang Pin patiently demonstrated how to operate each item, then instructed Chen Ge to open the large black suitcase he'd brought. One by one, he explained the specific purpose and proper usage of every piece of gear inside.
Outside the tent, under the faint glow of a hanging lantern, Sister Lee lowered her voice and leaned closer to Liu Dao to continue their earlier conversation. "Ol' Liu, are you absolutely sure this kid is going to work out? We've already sacrificed the prime slots of two established hosts—who each have over 100,000 regular viewers—just to secure a level-two platform recommendation for him. The higher-ups are clearly terrified of offending Qin Guang and are deliberately making things as difficult as possible for anyone challenging him."
Liu Dao pulled out a cigarette, lit it calmly, and took a slow drag before responding. On the platform, recommendations were strictly divided into five distinct levels, with level one being the most prominent and valuable exposure and level five offering virtually no visibility at all. For a completely unknown newcomer like Chen Ge, the absolute best they'd been able to negotiate was a middling level-two spot.
"He's stuck with just a single level-two recommendation, while Qin Guang has been handed three full level-one recommendations plus a prominent featured advertisement right on the front page," Sister Lee continued, her tone heavy with worry. "It's painfully obvious which side is going to come out on top tonight." Her lack of confidence in Chen Ge had only grown stronger after finally meeting him in person. To succeed as a famous livestream host in this cutthroat field, one typically needed either strikingly handsome or beautiful features or an overwhelmingly magnetic personality that drew viewers in. Chen Ge possessed neither, at least not on the surface—he appeared utterly ordinary, just a regular young man going about his daily life without any flashy affectations. He carried himself with a quiet calmness and steady composure that felt far more suited to a thoughtful doctor than to a high-energy internet performer.
"You're only judging him by his surface appearance," Liu Dao countered mildly, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "If you actually sit down and talk with him for a while, you'll quickly discover that this guy has a very unique kind of charm. His understanding of fear—and how to convey it effectively—is on a completely different level from most people." As he spoke, Liu Dao couldn't help but recall his own first extended conversation with Chen Ge, during which he'd found himself skillfully led through every topic, leaving him inwardly panicking and thinking, This guy is a total lunatic!
Later, after he'd had time to reflect on the encounter more calmly, Liu Dao realized the truth was far simpler: their ways of thinking simply weren't operating on the same wavelength at all.
"It's not that I'm looking down on him personally," Sister Lee admitted with a deep sigh, "but we've already invested way too many resources into pushing him forward." She paused, glancing back toward the tent where Chen Ge was still being briefed. "On top of that, the simple fact that we've managed to snag even a minor recommendation for him is definitely going to paint a target on our entire studio's back. Right now, the platform is pouring everything into promoting Qin Guang as their next big featured host. Once his position is fully solidified and his influence grows, it'll be absolute hell for every other host signed under our studio."
Liu Dao quickly raised a finger to his lips, shushing Sister Lee before she could say anything more in her increasingly worried tone. He leaned in closer so their words wouldn't carry into the tent where Chen Ge was still being briefed. "Have a little more faith in Chen Ge, alright? To tell you the truth, both of Qin Guang's previous so-called 'supernatural' livestreams turned out to be carefully staged copies—nothing but recycled tricks and hired actors. The man standing right in there with us tonight? He's the genuine article. What he brings is real, unfiltered experience."
Sister Lee crossed her arms, still unconvinced, her brows knitted tightly together. "But look at the situation—he doesn't have a prepared script, no fancy props, no team of actors waiting in the wings to jump out and scream on cue. How is a completely unscripted, bare-bones livestream like that supposed to hold anyone's attention? Viewers these days expect polished entertainment; they'll click away the second it starts feeling slow or boring."
"I'm not here to argue the point with you anymore," Liu Dao replied firmly, though he kept his voice low. "Whatever doubts you have, set them aside for tonight. Your only job right now is to focus on the technical side—make absolutely sure there are no dropped connections, no audio glitches, no camera freezes, nothing that could ruin the broadcast. That's all I'm asking." He straightened up, took a deep breath to compose himself, then pushed aside the tent flap and stepped inside with his usual easygoing smile already back in place.
Once inside, Liu Dao walked straight over to Chen Ge, who was still examining the equipment Zhang Pin had just demonstrated. "Chen Ge, come here for a second and take a look at this," he said, pulling his laptop from his bag and setting it down on one of the folding tables. He quickly navigated to a bookmarked webpage and turned the screen toward Chen Ge.
Chen Ge leaned in, expecting to see a detailed shooting script or at least an outline of planned scares and camera angles. Instead, the screen displayed a collection of news articles and forum threads. He raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.
"Trying to write a full script would be too obvious—it gets exposed the moment something doesn't match reality, and then the whole thing feels fake and staged," Liu Dao explained patiently. "So we're leaving the actual flow of the night completely in your hands. You decide how to handle the plot as it unfolds. But here—" he tapped the screen "—is some solid inspiration to work with. These are the three topics that get brought up most often whenever people discuss the abandoned mental hospital online. First, there's the mystery of the missing hospital director. To this day, no one can even confirm whether the man ever truly existed; some say he vanished without a trace, others insist he's still somewhere inside those walls—alive or dead, nobody knows. Second, every single midnight without fail, strange noises echo through the entire building complex—sounds that don't match any normal explanation. And third, the bloody words that mysteriously appear on the walls. Multiple people have claimed they saw fresh red characters scrawled across corridors or inside rooms during the night, only for those same words to vanish completely by the time the sun rises. If you focus your exploration around these three elements, the atmosphere and impact should hit much harder."
Chen Ge studied the articles carefully, scrolling through old news clippings, blurry photos, and heated forum debates. By the time he finished reading, he had a much clearer picture of the hospital's dark reputation and the specific legends that still clung to it like stubborn shadows.
"Let's take a short break and eat something first," Sister Lee suggested, stepping in to break the serious mood. "We can go over any last-minute details afterward." She opened a large insulated cabinet in the corner of the tent and began distributing several neatly packed rice boxes, each one still warm from the restaurant they'd ordered from earlier. Everyone sat on folding chairs or directly on equipment crates, eating quietly while the night outside grew steadily deeper and quieter.
By 9:30 pm, Liu Dao excused himself and stepped outside the tent to make a quick phone call—likely a final check-in with someone at the platform or a last confirmation of the broadcast slot. When he returned a few minutes later, his expression was calm but focused. "Alright, Chen Ge," he announced, "it's time. We're going live soon."
Zhang Pin immediately moved to the black suitcase and began carefully unpacking and connecting the final pieces of livestreaming gear—extra batteries, backup transmitters, the main camera rig. Meanwhile, Chen Ge stepped to one side to make his own last preparations. He unzipped the large bag he had carried with him all evening. With everyone in the tent now watching curiously, he reached inside, pulled out a white cat that had been nestled comfortably in a jacket, and then swiftly slipped that same jacket onto his own shoulders.
The jacket carried a strong, unmistakable scent of kitchen grease and leftover food. Only by wearing it would the white cat be willing to follow him all the way into the abandoned mental hospital instead of bolting at the first sign of danger.
Chen Ge noticed the strange looks he was getting from Zhang Pin, Sister Lee, and even Liu Dao. He gave a small shrug and met their eyes without embarrassment. "Why are you all staring at me like that?" he asked casually as he reached back into the bag, pulled out a small ragdoll, and tucked it securely into one of the jacket's deep pockets. Then he set the white cat down gently on the ground beside him. "Isn't this perfectly normal for a supernatural livestream? A live rooster earlier, a ragdoll now, and a white cat tagging along—classic combination, right?"