The vivid, living example of Wang Hailong's group—five young adults emerging pale, trembling, and utterly drained—lent undeniable weight to Chen Ge's explanation. Phones captured every shaky step, every haunted glance, and the crowd's initial outrage began to fracture into thoughtful murmurs. Some visitors nodded slowly, recognizing the logic in the level system; others still grumbled, but the sight of real consequences had a way of silencing skepticism. The queue shifted, people exchanging glances as they weighed excitement against the very visible evidence of what "too scary" looked like. Chen Ge stood calmly amid the buzz, letting the scene speak for itself.
"This is the first time I've heard of a Haunted House splitting scenarios by difficulty levels," one man in the middle of the line said to his friend, voice carrying over the chatter. "But the boss makes sense—it's professional, like difficulty settings in a game." His companion nodded, eyeing the five exhausted visitors with a mix of awe and caution. "I get wanting the ultimate thrill, but seeing them like that… maybe starting small isn't such a bad idea." The sentiment rippled outward, conversations turning from accusation to consideration. A few bold souls still insisted on jumping straight to Mu Yang High School, but most began asking about the lower-level scenarios, curiosity tempered by the morning's dramatic proof.
Chen Ge sighed inwardly with relief as the new rules took root. Leading Wang Hailong's group to the shaded benches where previous visitors had recovered—coincidentally the same spot where the medical students had once fainted—he helped them settle. "How are you feeling? Need a doctor?" he asked, voice genuinely concerned. Wang Hailong managed a weak wave, his lips still tinged purple, face ghostly pale, eyes unfocused behind a glassy film of lingering shock. "We're… much better, thanks," he rasped, though his voice betrayed the lie. The others nodded mutely, too drained to speak. Chen Ge crouched beside Hailong, tone light but pointed. "You're lucky. The last person who skipped levels is still hospitalized." Hailong's bitter smile was more grimace than humor. "Trying to console me?"
"Just stating facts," Chen Ge replied with a shrug, collecting the scattered nametags from their trembling hands. He turned to Uncle Xu, who had hurried over with water bottles. "Let's get them some shade and rest." Uncle Xu, still flustered from the morning's chaos, nodded vigorously, ushering the group to benches while shooting Chen Ge worried glances. The old man's initial anger had cooled after hearing Chen Ge's reasoning; fewer fainting incidents meant fewer headaches for the park. As the visitors recovered, Chen Ge's level system solidified—not just a rule, but a necessity etched in their shaken expressions.
Uncle Xu lingered after settling the group, his brow furrowed with lingering concern. "Xiao Chen, was this planned?" he asked quietly as they walked back toward the ticket booth. "The level separation will boost income, no doubt, but won't it scare off casual visitors? Some folks just want a quick thrill, not a full progression." His question was practical, born from years managing a struggling park—protect the majority, keep the gates open.
Chen Ge's answer was unwavering. "It has to be this way." He paused under the Haunted House's awning, the ghost-face sign creaking above them. "I've explained it already—it protects people. The new scenarios, the ones coming… some will be too intense for beginners. Editing them down would ruin what makes them special." His eyes distant, he thought of the Third Sick Hall, the red door, the entities that bled through mirrors. "The goal isn't just scaring the majority. It's giving everyone the right scare—the one they can handle, the one they'll never forget."
Uncle Xu scratched his head, unconvinced but trusting. "If you say so. Just don't send too many to the hospital." He brightened suddenly. "Speaking of equipment—you asked about spare surveillance cameras earlier?"
Chen Ge nodded. "Mu Yang High School has no cameras yet. Feels risky."
"Lending's out," Uncle Xu said with a wry grin, "but I can sell you the spares at second-hand price. Need Director Luo's okay first, though. Your Haunted House is turning into the park's star attraction—he'll probably agree this afternoon."
The two returned to the entrance. Uncle Xu resumed ticket sales with renewed energy, while Chen Ge slipped inside to reset nametags, each placement deliberate, each trap recalibrated. A few groups challenged Mu Yang High School that day, but most balked at the sealed classroom's window, the mannequins' twisted smiles enough to send them retreating. The wooden boards allowed easy exit; no one pushed as far as Wang Hailong's group. No further accidents—Chen Ge's careful balance held.
By lunch break, Chen Ge shed the murderer's coat and stepped into the sunlight. Wang Hailong and Wang Wenlong approached, the elder brother's swagger diminished, replaced by cautious respect. "Why are you two still here?" Chen Ge asked with a teasing grin. "Round two?"
The brothers shook their heads vigorously. "No chance," Wenlong muttered. Hailong cleared his throat. "We were rash this morning. Hope you're not holding it against us." His tone had lost its earlier bravado, the Haunted House's lesson etched deep.
Chen Ge's smile turned knowing. "Your tone's changed. What do you really want?" He wasn't naive; people rarely apologized without motive.
Hailong glanced at his brother, then back. "We… want to come back. With more friends. Properly this time—start from the beginning levels." The request was earnest, the morning's terror transformed into reluctant admiration.
Chen Ge's grin widened. "Welcome anytime." The Haunted House's reputation was spreading—not just as the scariest, but as the one that earned its fear.
Wang Hailong, who was normally so direct and brash, suddenly appeared uncharacteristically bashful, his broad shoulders hunching slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. The confidence that had carried him through the morning's challenge had evaporated, replaced by a nervous hesitation that made him look younger, almost vulnerable. He glanced around to ensure no one was close enough to overhear, then leaned in toward Chen Ge, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Actually… Wenlong and I have a younger brother named Wang Shenglong. Before he turned five, he was just like any other kid—loud, playful, always running around causing mischief. But something changed overnight. The day he hit five, he just… stopped talking. Completely mute. No matter how much we coaxed or scolded, he wouldn't utter a word."
Chen Ge tilted his head, genuinely confused about the sudden shift in topic. "What's your point exactly?" he asked, crossing his arms. The story of a five-year-old suddenly losing his voice was tragic, but he couldn't see how it connected to the Haunted House or the morning's chaos. Wang Hailong swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and leaned even closer, as if the words themselves were dangerous. "Long story short…" He paused again, checking over his shoulder once more before continuing in a hushed rush. "Boss, inside your Haunted House earlier, I saw a girl—a scary girl. She was hanging on my back, her feet planted right on my shoulders, like she was riding me. The position, the weight… it was exactly how my little brother described the night before everything went wrong for him."
Wang Wenlong, quieter but no less intense, leaned in from the other side, his analytical eyes wide with remembered fear. "It's true," he added, voice low and urgent. "That night, the three of us shared a room. Past midnight, Shenglong suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, eyes huge, whispering that someone was standing on his shoulders, pressing down, begging us to make her get off. We thought he was pranking us—kids do that stuff all the time. We teased him, told him to go back to sleep. But the next morning… he couldn't speak anymore. He'd open his mouth, make sounds, but no words came out. Complete sentences were gone, like someone had stolen them."
Wang Hailong's hand moved unconsciously to his own shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle as if he could still feel the phantom weight. His voice shook when he continued, the memory clearly haunting him. "After he lost his voice, we gave him paper to write what he needed. What he wrote… it still gives me chills. He said the night before, he'd seen someone outside the wall, staring at him through the darkness. Then, somehow, that person got inside the house—no doors, no windows, just suddenly there." The words hung heavy, the brothers' faces pale under the afternoon sun, the park's cheerful music feeling mocking in the background.
"That's scary?" Chen Ge asked, though his tone held curiosity rather than dismissal. He had faced far worse—mirror monsters, red doors, entities that bled through walls—but he let them continue, sensing the story's importance to them.
"When we were kids, we lived in a village," Wang Hailong explained, his grip tightening on his shoulder. "The courtyard walls were two and a half meters tall, solid brick. For someone to stare over them at a child inside, they'd have to be at least two-point-six meters—maybe taller. That's not a person anymore. That's… something else." His voice dropped to a whisper, eyes darting as if expecting the figure to appear behind Chen Ge.
"That's the point," Wang Wenlong interjected, his analytical mind piecing it together even as fear lingered. "The scariest part was what happened next. The thing got inside somehow and asked Shenglong to play a game. If he refused, it would take something from him—something important. Shenglong wrote that he was too scared to say no, so he agreed. The game was called 'Who Speaks First.' The moment he nodded, the thing climbed onto his shoulders, standing on them, making itself even taller. And then… silence. The next morning, his voice was gone."
Chen Ge's interest sharpened, the black phone warm in his pocket. A game that stole speech, a tall figure entering without doors, a child's shoulders as a perch—the details echoed the supernatural patterns he knew too well. But he kept his expression neutral, letting the brothers finish, the park's cheerful facade feeling thinner with every word they spoke.