He’d tossed the jar away countless times—yet every night, the same nightmare returned. Waking in a cold sweat, he’d always find it resting beside him. After enduring relentless dread that pushed his mind and body to the brink, Dr. Chen finally accepted the truth.

He never should’ve let greed take hold and hidden that antique. Without it, *that thing* would never have latched onto him… and he wouldn’t be here now.

Days earlier, while digging in the outskirts, he’d unearthed an ancient jar sealed with a tattered yellow paper. Having lived in poverty too long, a selfish impulse seized him—he’d sneak it home, sell it later.

He never imagined it was the start of his torment. From that night on, the dream repeated: a woman clad in Crimson Robe slipping into his room, leaning over his bed, her face inches from his. Her long black hair spilled across Dr. Chen’s chest—icy cold. Hollow sockets wept blood down her pale cheeks; she had no eyes.

Moving homes changed nothing. The jar followed—unbreakable, unlosable. Thrown from a high floor? Unscathed.

One night, she crawled onto the bed. Pinning him down, her frostbitten hands clamped his throat. As suffocation closed in, he jolted awake. The mirror later revealed a purple bruise circling his neck.

From then on, he fought sleep, terrified of dying in the dream. Exhaustion and fear eroded him—until thoughts of ending it all crept in.

“Am I really dying like this? I can’t accept it… I never even had a girlfriend!” Dark circles shadowed his hollow eyes. His mind blurred; body and spirit frayed to the limit. “Just loop a rope… a few minutes.”

As the thought formed—*vibrate*.

“Hah… So the last message I get is spam? How ironic…” He unlocked his phone. Sender: scrambled digits. Content: a download link. And the words: *Do you want to survive “her”?*—with *her* in quotes.

“What…?” Heart hammering, Dr. Chen clicked.

The app installed. A pitch-black icon stood out starkly among colorful apps. Tapped—it plunged the screen into darkness. Then, blood-red text surfaced:

[Do you believe ghosts exist in this world?]

“I believe! Of course I do!” Once, Dr. Chen—the rational modern man—would’ve scoffed at superstition. Not after these days. He tapped *Believe*.

[Congratulations. You are chosen. You shall know all.] A chat box appeared below.

“I need to escape the thing haunting me,” he typed and sent.

[The bride, murdered on her wedding night. Her grudge forged her into a Malevolent Ghost, sealed eternally within the jar. You freed her with your own hands. In gratitude… she offers herself to you.]

“Marry me?! She’s a ghost! She’s trying to strangle me!”

[A Malevolent Ghost’s obsession knows no bounds. Hatred consumes her—so does love. Only by killing you and turning you ghost can she keep you… forever.]

“Is there ANY way to stop her?”

[No.]

“Damn you! What’s the point?!” He nearly hurled the phone—but held back.

[Daoist arts may repel her, but she is too strong. She will return. Only a ghost can defeat a ghost.]

“What do you mean?”

[Her prey is forbidden to others. Before she kills you, summon another spirit. Let them destroy each other. Then you’ll be safe.]

“How?!”

[Many ways exist. Summon the Pen Spirit with friends. Or at midnight, crouch at a dark crossroads with a bowl of rice, tapping it with chopsticks.]

Dr. Chen knew the “Ten Methods to Summon Ghosts”—once dismissed as urban legend.

—————— Nightfall

Past midnight. On a desolate, pitch-black street, *clink… clink… clink…* echoed hauntingly. A cold wind raised goosebumps. A bowl of rice held three incense sticks. His trembling fingers tapped with a chopstick.

“Will this work?” A chill crawled up his spine. Breathing heavy. Silence—only tapping and ragged breaths.

*Cough…* He froze, glanced around. Empty. Tapped faster.

*Cough, cough, cough…*

Clear this time—right behind him. Ice shot down his back. Slowly, he turned.

An upside-down ghostly face filled his vision: pale, grinning grotesquely.

*Keep tapping until it eats the rice. Stop… and die.*

“MOMMY—!” He shrieked, hurling the bowl.

Silence. Then—the hungry ghost peeled the bowl from its face. Bloodshot eyes locked on him.

“I WILL KILL YOU————————!” Rice grains flew with a bone-chilling gust. Dr. Chen’s legs turned to jelly.

As it lunged—a crimson figure shimmered behind him. The hungry ghost’s face twisted in terror… as if *it* had seen a ghost. Before it could scream, it exploded into black smoke, vanishing mid-lunge. The crimson figure faded too.

“What…?”

[Too weak. Obliterated by the aura of the ghost behind you.]

“What now?!”

[Summon a stronger spirit.]

[Return home. Alone in the bathroom. Face the mirror. Lights off. Place white candles on each side. Comb your hair—but never break a strand. If strange things happen: do NOT stop. Blow out candles. Stare into the mirror. Back away while combing. Or… something terrible happens.]

“Seriously?!”

Home. Bathroom. Lights off. Only his ragged breaths. No windows. No moonlight. He lit the candles. Flickering flame lit his gaunt face. Phone glow: almost midnight. The air turned icy—like stepping into a freezer. *Drip… drip…* Water echoed behind him, drawing near. The door he’d entered through… cold seeped into his neck. Someone was there.

“It’s starting!”

Heart *thump… thump… thump…* Candlelight dimmed by darkness. He combed his untrimmed hair. Strands fell sparsely into the sink.

“So staying up *does* make you lose hair…”

“Damn… Is this a young man’s hairline?”

A breeze brushed his neck. Candle flames danced wildly—no windows. *Thump-thump-thump!* He stared into the mirror, unblinking. Minutes of terror… until his eyes burned dry. He squeezed them shut, blinked tears away—and looked again.

The reflection wasn’t his.

A man glared darkly at the comb, face pressed against the glass, straining to break through.

*Blow candles. Back away. Don’t stop.*

Dr. Chen knew the rule. Hands shook. Hair fell faster. Then…

“H-hello…” After agonizing hesitation, he set down the comb and waved weakly.

“…” The ghost paused, confused.

“I SAID—HELLO! Damn it… CAN’T YOU HEAR ME?!” Voice cracking with forced bravado, he hurled the comb and bolted.

*CRASH!* Shattering glass. Freezing aura surged up his spine. Legs numbed. Movement slowed.

“MOMMY——————!” Less terrifying than the Crimson Robe woman—but real. Outside the dream. He nearly lost control.

Frozen at the door, he turned. Candles out. A shadow crept closer in the dark.

Just as it reached him—a crimson light flickered. Within its pulse, a black tendril slithered across the floor. *Snake?* No—hair. Long, black hair. *Hers.*

*Hssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!*

As darkness swallowed him, he glimpsed the hair coiling around the shadow. A shrill scream tore the air.

Then—nothing.

He sank into deep, dreamless sleep.

“Ah… What a good sleep.” Dr. Chen stretched awake the next afternoon, utterly refreshed.