Xie Mingchi woke up to the sound of singing.
The melody was hollow and haunting, as if a few children were singing together, their voices echoing down an unseen corridor.
He strained to make out the lyrics, catching vague fragments:
> "Four little kids are playing a game,
> Stand in the corners, nice and straight.
> First one walks till the turn is met,
> Taps a shoulder, not a word is said…
> Second one walks, then halts with a cough,
> Third gives light so the fourth won't be lost…
> The fourth keeps walking, again and again—
> Walks till the end… and disappears then."
The tune dragged slow and eerie, chillingly off-key. The children were singing from somewhere in the hallway, but their exact location was impossible to pinpoint.
As soon as the song ended, it started up again.
Xie Mingchi recognized the game: Four Corners.
Four players each stand in a corner, and move in turn. One steps forward and replaces the person at the next corner. The last person—the fourth—disappears.
And in a place like this, "disappearing" likely meant something far worse.
His sleep was never deep to begin with, so by the time he sat up, He Qi and Shen Feinian were still fast asleep on the opposite side of the room. But turning his head slightly, he saw Wan Wuqiu—already awake, sitting stiff and upright on the smaller bed next to his.
Staring straight at him.
Xie Mingchi narrowed his eyes. "You—"
Wan Wuqiu raised a hand, silencing him with a *shh*, and pointed toward the door.
Xie Mingchi didn't know exactly what was out in the hallway, but judging from the singing alone, he figured staying quiet was the safer choice.
Maybe pleased with his cooperation, Wan Wuqiu offered a faint smile, then stood and walked toward him, feet silent against the carpet. When he reached the bedside, he paused, picked up the notepad on the nightstand, and scribbled something:
"How well does your brother sleep?"
Xie Mingchi blinked, confused, then took the pen and wrote back: "?"
Wan Wuqiu glanced at him and jotted down another line:
"Cant write?"
Was he serious? Sure, it'd been years since they'd seen each other, but Xie Mingchi had lived in this world for over a decade. He hadn't forgotten how to write, for god's sake. This place hadn't scared him *that* much.
Xie Mingchi: "…"
This guy really might not be right in the head. Still, to save time, he scribbled back: "Can. Sleeps lightly."
Wan Wuqiu nodded. "Not good."
Xie Mingchi was about to ask why, but something changed. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the air felt off.
Then he realized—
The singing had stopped.
And through the crack under their door, he saw shadows. Several of them.
Something was standing right outside.
His body went tense. Whatever had been singing was now at their door.
The lock wasn't complex—just a standard one you'd find in any house. He'd only flipped the latch shut before bed.
Then suddenly—
*Clatter.*
The entire lock disassembled itself, as if something had reached inside and unraveled it piece by piece. The metal parts dropped onto the carpet with dull thuds.
But somehow… the noise didn't wake He Qi or Shen Feinian. They were still asleep.
Xie Mingchi's pulse jumped. The door creaked open, inch by inch, all the way. A gust of cold air rushed in, making every hair on his body stand on end.
And then—
Two children stepped inside.
Or rather, two ghosts.
Their skin was a sickly pale, as if someone had smeared plaster all over their bodies. Their eyes were slitted into thin, unchanging crescents, like something drawn in permanent ink.
They walked over with identical smiles, and each one grabbed a wrist—one for Xie Mingchi, one for Wan Wuqiu.
"Mr. Du has invited you to come play a game," they said cheerily, voices crisp and icy.
Wan Wuqiu didn't flinch. "Can we say no?"
The kids just kept smiling, repeating in the same tone:
"Mr. Du has invited you to come play a game."
Xie Mingchi felt a shiver crawl down his spine. "Well," he said, standing up and glancing at Wan Wuqiu with a strained smile, "guess we're playing. Middle of the night's a great time to entertain Mr. Du."
He'd meant it as a joke to cut the tension. But strangely, Wan Wuqiu didn't smile back.
That's when Xie Mingchi knew—really knew—they were screwed.
Wan Wuqiu let the ghost lead him without resistance. Xie Mingchi followed.
The hallway stretched on forever, with a dim light glowing at each corner—just enough to reveal the turn, but nothing more.
Two people, two ghosts, walking side by side in near darkness.
Their vision was limited, so every other sense felt sharper.
Xie Mingchi thought he heard chains clinking. When he focused, he realized they were coming from the ghosts. Looking closer, he could faintly see chain-like shadows looping around their arms.
When they reached the northwest corner, the ghost holding Wan Wuqiu stopped.
The one holding Xie Mingchi kept walking.
Xie was about to glance back when Wan Wuqiu spoke behind him:
"Don't turn around. Just follow him. Be good."
...
That tone. Like talking to a child. Xie half-expected him to add, *and I'll buy you candy when this is over*.
Under normal circumstances, Xie Mingchi would've disobeyed just out of spite. But right now… he kind of wanted to believe him. He *wanted* there to be candy.
So he kept his eyes forward and walked on.
Once his silhouette disappeared into the shadows, Wan Wuqiu's faint smile vanished. He lowered his gaze and looked at the ghost coldly.
"Your master should be glad he's not the target," he said softly.
A pause. Then a chuckle. "Otherwise? He wouldn't walk away from this."
—
Xie Mingchi, unaware of Wan Wuqiu's quiet threats, stopped when his ghost did—at the northeast corner.
They stood there, facing each other. The ghost's creepy smile didn't falter.
Then, like something had triggered it, the ghost clapped its hands and shouted:
"They're all here! Let's play the game!"
The eerie song started again, echoing louder now, filling the corridor like a curse.
Suddenly, the ghost's mouth dropped open—literally. Its jaw unhinged and fell to the floor, and its body stretched grotesquely, towering over Xie Mingchi as if to swallow him whole.
Its gaping maw was toothless, but it looked like a bloodstained pit.
Xie backed up, trapped against the wall. The mouth loomed closer—
*This is it*, he thought. *I'm done for.*
He raised his arm instinctively to shield himself… but nothing happened.
Slowly, he peeked out.
The ghost was gone.
The hallway lights had turned blood red.
The only illumination left was an oppressive, crimson glow, washing everything in black and red.
The song continued.
Xie realized what was happening.
They'd been chosen. Four people, one in each corner, each forced to play the game.
And one of them was going to vanish.
But which one?
Was he the first? The second? The third? The doomed fourth?
Xie tried to focus, listening carefully to the lyrics again:
> "Four little kids are playing a game,
> Stand in the corners, nice and straight…"
Well, four were here now. He didn't know why *he* counted as a "kid," but the game had clearly started.
> "First one walks till the turn is met,
> Taps a shoulder, not a word is said…"
So the first person walks to the next corner and taps the second—but silently.
Then:
> "Second one walks, then halts with a cough…"
A clear signal.
> "Third gives light so the fourth won't be lost…"
Wait—'gives light'? What kind of light?
The fourth one just walks until they disappear.
So the first two had straightforward tasks. The third had to provide this so-called light, and the fourth… was screwed.
Unless someone cheated death.
Footsteps echoed in the hall.
The game had begun.
And the footsteps weren't coming from the corner next to him—they were coming from across the hall.
That made him… third.
His eye twitched. 'Light.'He needed to provide 'light'. But what kind?
He didn't smoke, so he had no lighter. No flashlight either.
Only the red bulb above him.
Should he rip it out? Would that work? Would tampering with the setup trigger a punishment?
What if he stole the bulb from the fourth corner instead?
He was still weighing options when the footsteps grew closer—someone was walking clockwise.
Wan Wuqiu was second.
But if they were going *counter*-clockwise...
Then he'd be fourth.
That thought sent a cold spike of dread through him.
He strained to hear. The footsteps *were* coming from the right. Clockwise.
Wan Wuqiu was second.
Xie was about to turn around, confirm his guess—
But then he remembered what Wan Wuqiu had said earlier:
"Don't turn around."
Why? Why not? He hadn't seen anything dangerous behind him. Unless Wan Wuqiu had spotted some hidden rule…
Suddenly, he didn't dare risk it.
So he froze, stiffly, and waited.
Knowing someone was slowly walking up behind him… was hell.
Worse than surprise—this was the kind of fear that built up, second by second, waiting for the knife to drop.
Xie's nerves were taut, muscles clenched. His ears picked up every step.
The footsteps stopped. Right behind him.
He could hear breathing.
Wan Wuqiu didn't cough. Instead, there were faint rustles—he was doing something. The light above flickered.
"He's taking the bulb?!" Xie thought. "But it'll go out if he does!"
Then, from the left, a hand extended—offering a candle.
It was white, with a flame glowing red—the same red as the ghost's aura.
"Take this," Wan Wuqiu's voice said calmly. "Walk forward."
Xie hesitated. Then accepted it, taking a breath and moving on.
A candle made sense. "Giving light" could be literal. Maybe passing the flame to the fourth player was the goal.
And having it ahead of time? Extra insurance.
His respect for Wan Wuqiu ticked up another notch.
He remembered earlier when they'd counted the rooms—five on each side. The hallway was around fifty meters. Not far.
But he had to protect the flame.
He cupped the candle carefully, hands shielding it from drafts.
There were no windows on the fourth floor. No wind. He should be safe—
Until a gust of wind came out of nowhere and snuffed the candle in a blink.
At the same time, a soft laugh whispered right beside his ear.
Xie Mingchi: "…"
Screw this game. Let someone else play it.