Whether humans were more terrifying than ghosts had long been debated.

But right now, lying flat on the floor, Jiang Qianyu could only watch helplessly as the man approached with a coiled rope. This moment felt far more horrifying than facing the so-called white-clad ghost.

Drinking the corpse water might have meant psychic control—but being caught by this grinning man? The outcome was anyone’s guess.

If she were truly alive—a little girl of eight or nine—her fate here would likely be worse than death.

“Who told you to come out? You haven’t taken your medicine in so long…” The man muttered, rope dragging behind him as he loomed over Jiang Qianyu. His large hand shot toward her slender arm.

The next second, his expression froze. Her tiny hand had seized his wrist—immovable, impossibly strong.

Jiang Qianyu held fast. A flicker of dark red light flashed in her eyes. Black tendrils spiraled from her palm, piercing his skin and crawling relentlessly up his arm.

Before their eyes, his limb drained of color from the wrist upward.

This doll body of Jiang Qianyu’s was far more than vampire-like.

It devoured souls—and for the living, blood too.

For the first time within it, she felt warmth. Scalding blood flowed into her like a current. Most crucially, the gnawing hunger inside her eased as she consumed fragments of his soul.

She rose to fling him away—then froze. Another figure stood at the door.

A woman in a white dress.

Her face: pale, swollen, bloated beyond recognition. Deeply decomposed, dripping pale yellow fluid—pus or fat, impossible to tell. Hair patchy; damp strands clung to her scalp like wriggling black worms burrowing inward.

Yet her body, beneath the thin white dress, remained tall, curvaceous, flawless—save for skin bleached nearly black.

The grotesque mismatch was deeply unsettling.

The moment Jiang Qianyu saw her, vision blurred—flickering between reality and phantom.

No doubt: her psyche was affected by the water she’d willingly drunk.

But that wasn’t the point.

The white-clad woman didn’t enter. She seemed intent on showing something… or shattering Jiang Qianyu’s mind, like the others.

In her daze, the man vanished. The wooden door closed. The woman disappeared.

Her mind grew hazy. Frantic knocking echoed outside. Her body moved without consent—step by step toward the door, as if trapped in another’s perspective.

She could only watch “herself” reach the door and peer through the peephole.

The knocker was the rope-wielding man she’d just faced.

But here, his face was calm—no bloodshot eyes, no eerie grin.

Only the rope remained in his hand.

Events rewound. Only when she saw his face did Jiang Qianyu’s foggy mind snap clear.

She was under the ghost’s psychic influence—or “spirit wandering,” immersed in the woman’s memories.

The elevated viewpoint, the absence of her usual 1.3-meter stature, the shifted furniture—all confirmed it.

She could only relive the memory firsthand. Like stepping into a film.

Same house. Same hour. The rope-bearing man appeared again.

Jiang Qianyu already knew what came next.

“She” trembled violently at the sight of him, pressing her back against the door, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle every sound.

A key turned. *Click.* The door swung open.

Resistance was futile. One shove sent “her” tumbling to the floor.

In reality, Jiang Qianyu could subdue him.

Here, she was yanked by the hair, dragged into the innermost room, and bound tightly to a recliner with the very rope.

The man returned, poured hot water, dumped yellowed pills from multiple bottles into her mouth, and forced the liquid down her throat.

Her struggles weakened. Through fading vision, Jiang Qianyu saw him linger—eager, wearing that utterly revolting smile.

She already guessed what followed.

Thankfully, the medicine blurred the woman’s consciousness.

Enduring it firsthand would have been sheer torture.

Just as Jiang Qianyu thought the memory ended—

The scene shifted again. Night. Same room.

Knocking. A key turned.

This time, an old man in his sixties entered.

Unlike before, Jiang Qianyu watched helplessly as scalding water was poured over “her” hands—a “punishment” for not taking medicine properly.

Then others came. All with the same key. All forcing pills down “her” throat.

The medicine was labeled for mental illness.

But Jiang Qianyu saw the truth: their real goal was to drive “her” insane.

...