“Tie Niu, what’s wrong?” Zhong Cheng asked.

“I just remembered something urgent—bye!”

Tie Niu scrambled to his feet, too flustered to brush the dust off his pants, and bolted.

Full sprint mode.

Holding his phone slowed him down, so he ended the livestream, tossed the selfie stick, shoved the phone into his pocket, and kept running.

Kicking up dust all the way.

Zhong Cheng was speechless. *What’s my childhood buddy up to?* He tilted his head, puzzled.

Shrugging it off, he turned back to the fire—only to find the portrait already reduced to ash.

“This should do it,” Zhong Cheng sneered.

After double-checking the embers were fully out and fire-safe, he headed back toward the ancestral home.

Unseen by him, the shadow behind rose again, smirking as it locked onto the back of his skull.

“?”

Zhong Cheng sensed something. He spun around. Nothing.

Weird.

He’d definitely felt a chill—a prickle, like being watched.

Cautiously, he scanned the dim surroundings. Still nothing. His gaze dropped to his shadow.

He remembered Tie Niu’s horrified face earlier—eyes fixed right on *this* shadow.

And back at Tie Niu’s place, how he’d poked the shadow cautiously with a stick.

Could something be *inside* the shadow?

Zhong Cheng stared, unblinking. But it looked perfectly normal.

A mistake?

Confused, he resumed walking toward the ancestral home.

With a charger now, village life wasn’t so dull. Phone in hand.

A few gigs of data left—movies, games, all good.

No signal? Still had novels. Total bliss.

Only worry: mountain signal sucked.

Thinking of his phone, Zhong Cheng suddenly pulled out the dead device—almost on impulse.

Screen was dark, but the tempered glass was smooth enough to mirror.

He lifted it, stealing a glance at the shadow behind.

Just to ease his mind. Constant suspicion would wreck his sleep.

*Probably Tie Niu messing with me,* he thought. *Classic mischievous-kid prank.*

But then—he saw it.

Through the screen: the shadow moved. Stood. Walked. Fluid. Playful.

It stomped wildflowers, plucked one to twirl.

A grasshopper buzzed by—it snatched it, popped it in its mouth, chewed.

“…”

Impossible. Right before his eyes.

Zhong Cheng froze, blood running cold. Steps halted.

The shadow noticed. Turned. Grinned. Then shrank back into the ground—ordinary again.

*Trying to hide?*

Damn it—you’re already caught! What’s the point?!

His scalp prickled. He spun around, pupils tight, staring at his shadow with bated breath.

Terrified it’d lunge… yet weirdly wanting proof it existed. A tangled dread.

*Last night…?*

No. Don’t think. Thinking makes it real!

*It’s the phone.* Defective screen. Cheap craftsmanship. Scammed consumer.

Hallucination. Had to be.

Later: one-star Taobao review. “Junk phone gave me nightmares. Scared the crap out of me.”

Whoosh.

Sunset vanished behind the peaks. Last light gone.

Darkness swallowed the land. Temperature plunged. A bleak wind rose.

Whistling through mountain gaps, rustling trees—a ghostly wail.

Zhong Cheng knew these sounds. Shouldn’t scare him.

But now?

The wind felt *hungry*. Like vengeful spirits closing in.

He scanned the shadows. Every bush, every stone—hiding something unclean.

He felt like Tang Sanzang, surrounded by drooling demons. Unease shot straight to his skull.

He swallowed hard and ran.

*Get home. Fast.*

Slam the courtyard gate shut. Keep the unclean out.

Door gods Shentu and Yulei were pasted on the wood. *Please hold.*

Back pressed to the door, he gasped for air.

His grandfather sat in the courtyard, water pipe in hand. Seeing his grandson’s panic, he frowned. “What happened?”

Zhong Cheng almost told him. Swallowed the words. *Don’t worry him.*

“Nothing.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Grandpa said, suspicion in his eyes—but didn’t press.

“Mm.” Zhong Cheng nodded, heading inside to fetch table and chairs.

*Should I leave Bao Hua Village now?* Too eerie. Every second felt risky.

But night had fallen. No buses. No predators, maybe—but mountain paths after dark? Suicide.

Evil spirits stirred at night. Stepping out now was walking straight into a trap.

*Wait till dawn,* he decided. *Leave at first light.*

After setting the table, he returned indoors and stood before the shrine.

He didn’t know which deity resided there. Could it withstand the Ghost Emperor?

Still—he’d pray. Cost nothing. Peace of mind.

Before, he’d call this superstitious. Parents had to force him.

Now? After *this*? He needed protection. Needed to believe.

He crouched, opened the drawer: paper gold ingots, candles, incense sticks, spirit money.

More offerings = more sincerity. Gods appreciated effort, right?

Click. Click.

Lighter sparked. The thick bundle of incense resisted—finally caught, smoke curling.

He gripped it firm, planted it deep into the burner. Wide opening helped.

*Diameter matters… but thickness matters more.*

Lit candles. Burned spirit money.

Then bowed ninety degrees, pressed palms together with a soft *pat*, prayed.

Instantly, a little calmer.