Jiang Qianyu felt utterly shattered inside. Damn, the heavens still held such deep malice toward her. She even wondered if she’d committed some unforgivable sin in a past life—why else would her luck, in both this life and the last, be so consistently worse than anyone else’s?

She kept scrolling through the content on her phone until she finished reading the chat logs between “the original owner of this body” and Lu Yunzhi.

From the records, it was clear: “the original owner of this body” had been a desperate admirer, relentlessly pestering Lu Yunzhi, who remained cold and distant in reply.

It felt like a marriage in name only. Truthfully, their relationship resembled little more than friends bound by a marital title.

The transaction history confirmed it too—Lu Yunzhi had been the sole provider for this disabled body, with almost zero reciprocation.

This “financial arrangement” left Jiang Qianyu uneasy. By that logic, they weren’t even friends. It was purely patron and kept woman.

The reason for their marriage was simple. A chat log from a year and a half ago showed Lu Yunzhi, exhausted by relentless family pressure to marry, which severely disrupted her work as a Nightwatcher. She had no interest in men—none at all. Without further ado, she decided to marry a woman. The law allowed it. It served two purposes: appease her family and send a clear message to her “prospective marriage partner”—that Lu Yunzhi was, in fact, a lesbian. Face-saving alone would make them back off. For Lu Yunzhi, it was all benefit, zero drawback. The marriage was fake, so family couldn’t trap her. Thirty thousand yuan monthly to her “wife” fulfilled her duty. Money was never an issue. On holidays, she could even visit her “wife and daughter” to unwind.

“Mom, it’s almost seven.” A small hand tugged gently at her sleeve. Bai Dongqing whispered, “Should we close the shop door?”

Outside, winter night had long swallowed the sky. Jiang Qianyu glanced up. “Why close so early?”

“But Mom—you always say I must lock the door before seven. No matter who knocks, don’t open it. Don’t step outside. Ever.”

Bai Dongqing tilted her head, eyes puzzled. Jiang Qianyu repeated this every day. Why did she seem to forget today?

“Close at dusk?”

Jiang Qianyu tucked away her phone and wheeled herself to the window. She pulled back the heavy curtain. Through the steel-welded burglar bars, the street lay empty. Most shops were dark; some abandoned, signs bleached and faded, doors sealed shut with rusted iron locks. The dim streetlights deepened the gloom. Suddenly—a shadow flickered under a lamppost and vanished.

From her second-floor vantage, her Witch physique granted sharp vision and faint night sight. She saw it clearly: scorch marks on the three-story building across the way. Smoke-blackened walls. Second-floor windows sealed tight. Pitch darkness within. On the opposite burglar bars—two stark black handprints. As if someone, desperate during the fire, had clawed at the bars for help… and perished.

Her window stood barely fifteen meters from that room. She even caught a faint, nauseating stench of burnt matter.

Had the fire happened recently?

But the faded signs, the rust-locked doors—this building hadn’t seen a soul in years.

She shifted her gaze to a dimly lit shop diagonally across: funeral robes and wreaths. One of the few still lit on the entire street.

In that split second of looking away—she glanced back. The two broken windows on the fire-scarred second floor were now open.

Inside: charred furniture, soot-stained walls, tattered curtains hanging limp. A grim testament to the blaze’s fury. With the welded bars and sealed door, escape would’ve been impossible.

Jiang Qianyu shut the window firmly. She wouldn’t let that foul stench seep in.

Then—movement. A young couple, laughing, stepped into a brightly lit noodle shop. Oblivious.

Fire-scarred room. Old noodle shop. Deserted funeral store. That lingering stench.

Now Jiang Qianyu understood: never open the door after dark.

She’d only glanced—and saw this. Heaven knew what crawled the streets past midnight.

She’d seen the world’s hidden side. She was part of it.

Skepticism was a luxury she no longer had. Caution was non-negotiable.

She flipped on every light in the room. Warmth pushed back the unease, just a little.

Shaking off the dread, she wheeled toward the stairs. Dinner time. Also a chance to see what kind of shop she now ran.

“Mm. Let’s go down, lock the door tight, then eat.”

Bai Dongqing obediently pushed the wheelchair. A stairlift waited at the steps.

Downstairs, Jiang Qianyu surveyed her audio-visual store, found the kitchen tucked behind the storage stairwell. The fridge held normal food—not the chilled horrors she’d half-imagined.

“Sweetheart, what would you like for dinner?”

“Mom… you’re cooking?” Bai Dongqing blinked, stunned.

“Yep. Thought I’d try it. From now on, I’ll handle meals.” Jiang Qianyu ruffled the girl’s hair with feigned ease and pulled out tomatoes and eggs.

Then—problem two.

Cooking at the stove was impossible from a wheelchair.

They exchanged a glance. Jiang Qianyu flushed slightly.

“I’ll do it.” Bai Dongqing took the ingredients, dragged over a small stool, stood on tiptoe, and began chopping and stir-frying with tiny, earnest arms. Clumsy only because she was small—short arms, short legs.

Watching the little figure work, Jiang Qianyu’s eyes drifted to the black street outside. Worry crept back.

In her previous life, Dong Qing—because of her Witch physique—was hunted by people and “monsters” alike, all wanting to kill her for something she carried.

Would this life’s Bai Dongqing share that same burden?

If yes… tonight would be trouble.

This street likely held more eerie legends than living souls…

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