Zhao Liren's eyes widened.
For a moment, it felt like the air inside the apartment stopped moving... like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Shen Lian stood frozen beside him, the faint hum of the ceiling light flickering against the silence that pressed on all three of them.
Then Zhao moved... swift and desperate... grabbing Yi Chen by the collar and slamming him against the wall. His voice cracked with anger and terror.
"Who the hell are you? Why are you doing this? Tell me everything before I kill you!"
Yi Chen didn't flinch. He just blinked... slow, deliberate... as if he were studying Zhao's rage like it was something amusing.
The faint curl of a smile touched his lips.
Shen Lian's hand shot out, pulling Zhao back.
"Enough," Shen muttered. His voice sounded low, hollow... a voice that didn't quite belong to him.
Yi Chen exhaled softly, fixing his collar with almost delicate grace. "Your Qin Yuelin won't survive if you treat me like this," he said. His tone was calm... too calm... a whisper lined with poison.
Zhao's breath hitched. His grip on Shen's sleeve trembled. "What… what did you say?"
Yi Chen tilted his head slightly, and that faint smile deepened... sharp as a blade. "You heard me."
Zhao's throat tightened, eyes glistening. He looked at Shen Lian, who was standing too still, too silent, like a statue carved from something colder than stone. "Shen… why are you quiet?" Zhao's voice cracked. "Didn't you hear what he said?"
Yi Chen giggled.
The sound didn't belong to anything human... it was sweet, melodic, but so wrong it made the skin crawl.
"He won't listen to you," Yi Chen whispered, taking a step closer to Shen. "He'll only listen to me."
His gaze slid toward Shen, his blue eyes shimmering with something otherworldly. "Isn't that right, detective?"
Shen's lips moved slowly, the words breaking out of him like something forced through clenched teeth.
"Yes."
The single word shattered Zhao Liren's world. He stumbled backward. "What are you saying, Shen? What's wrong with you?"
Yi Chen's smile stretched wider... unnaturally wide... until it didn't even look like a human expression anymore.
And then his eyes began to glow... a violent, unnatural blue that bled into the shadows. His skin rippled as if something underneath was pushing to break free.
Within a blink, the beautiful, angelic figure before them twisted... bones cracking, skin peeling, the air heavy with the stench of rot.
Yi Chen was gone.
What stood in his place was a corpse that shouldn't be moving... skin gray and decaying, lips torn, teeth jagged. His eyes were pure black voids that seemed to drink the light from the room.
The apartment filled with the smell of death.
Zhao gagged, stumbling against the wall, covering his mouth as bile rose in his throat.
Shen didn't move.
He stood like a marionette waiting for its puppeteer's pull... eyes blank, chest rising and falling shallowly.
"Detective," the thing croaked, voice deep and grating, every syllable scraping like rusted metal. "Kill him."
Shen's hand twitched.
Inside his head, something screamed... his own voice, far away, buried under layers of thick, choking fog.
Don't. Move.
But his body didn't listen. His hand reached for the gun at his side, slow and mechanical.
Zhao Liren backed away, panic flooding his veins. "Shen, please… it's me!"
The gun clicked.
Shen's eyes, glassy and unfocused, locked onto Zhao. His finger hovered over the trigger.
Stop. Don't hurt him.
But his body stepped forward.
Zhao turned and bolted... out the door, down the staircase, his heart slamming against his ribs so violently he thought it would tear through.
Behind him, he heard Shen's steady footsteps following... unhurried, precise, cold.
"Shen!" Zhao shouted, voice breaking. "Wake up! Please!"
The night outside was black and wet, the air heavy with rain that hadn't yet fallen. Zhao ran, his shoes slapping against the pavement, breath coming out in ragged bursts. He didn't know where to go... only that he had to get away, had to survive, had to find help.
He looked over his shoulder... saw the silhouette of Shen emerging from the building, gun in hand, head tilted slightly as if listening to something only he could hear.
The world blurred.
Streetlights flashed by like ghosts as Zhao sprinted toward the nearest mall, drawn by the faint hum of voices, by the illusion of safety that came with crowds.
He burst through the glass doors, chest heaving, gasping for air that refused to fill his lungs. He spun around... no Shen.
No one chasing him.
He stood still for a moment, trembling. People passed him, oblivious... laughing, talking, their faces bright under the cold white lights.
Zhao took a step forward, trying to steady his breathing. The floor beneath him felt unreal, like it might collapse at any second.
He rubbed his face, forcing himself to calm down.
But then-
A hand caught his wrist.
Zhao flinched, jerking his head toward the stranger.
It was a man... tall, dressed in dark clothes, face half-hidden by a shadow. His grip was firm but not violent.
"You've encountered an evil spirit," the stranger said, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through the noise of the mall.
Zhao's breath froze.
He looked at the man, eyes wide... his reflection trembling in the stranger's dark irises.
And before Zhao could speak... the lights above flickered once, twice... and then went out.
END OF THE CHAPTER.