Chapter Three: The First Peek
3
The scales slipped from Zhao Yan's hand, falling to the floor with a crisp "ding."
Thefaint blue glow dimmed instantly, reverting to an ordinary, faintly luminous scale.
Zhao Yan staggered, grabbing the nearby shelf for support. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. The wound on his back, strained by the mental exertion, began to throb anew. But worse was his mind—it felt hollowed out, dizzy and foggy, accompanied by an eerie, clammy chill. It was as if something had crawled into his brain through his eyes, leaving behind a sticky trail.
"How are you?" Erin rushed over, her fingers touching his neck—cold as ice—"Your heart rate's too fast, and your pupils are dilated. What did you see?"
Everyone crowded around, their eyes filled with concern.
Zhao Yan took several deep breaths before finally suppressing the wave of nausea. He bent down to pick up the scale, feeling it had grown even colder than before.
"I saw something," he said carefully, his gaze sweeping over each face. Their expressions held tension, concern, fear, and an undeniable hint of suspicion. "Not the 'gray mist' itself, but... light. Different colors of light, on each person."
"Light?" Old Zhang frowned, confused.
"It was like... emotions or essence," Zhao Yan struggled to describe it. "Old Zhang, yours is golden, solid and grounded. Dr. Erin's is silvery white, incredibly intricate. Chen Mo's is pale blue, like a data stream..."
As he briefly described each person's light, the atmosphere in the shop suddenly turned awkward. The feeling of being seen through, even in a moment like this, was deeply uncomfortable.
"What about the gray aura?" Zhou Ming pressed, his gaze sharp as knives. "Did you see the Replacer's gray aura?"
Zhao Yan paused.
This wasn't something he could say outright. If he admitted he'd seen it, only to have it vanish, it would only fuel suspicion. The fragile trust they shared would shatter instantly. But to remain silent...
"I saw it," he finally said, his voice heavy. "But it was incredibly faint, and... it wasn't fixed to any one person."
"What do you mean?" Erin immediately latched onto the crucial point.
"Three people," Zhao Yan said slowly, his gaze sweeping over the three who had just shown the gray aura—though he didn't name names. "A faint gray aura flickered around the edges of their silhouettes. But it was just a moment. When I tried to look again, it was gone. Like... like it was running away."
The shop erupted in chaos.
"Three people?!" Wang Hu screamed. "There are three ghosts here?!"
"Impossible!" Chen Mo's voice trembled. "Qing Xingdeng said there was only one replacement!"
"You must have seen wrong!" Lisa's face drained of color as she took a step back.
"No, he didn't missee it," Wu Feng suddenly spoke, his voice still calm. "Gray mist moves, disperses, hides... that's not unusual. But if that thing isn't possessing someone's body, if it's like a shadow that can shift around, attaching itself to others..."
He didn't finish, but his meaning was clear.
That "ghost" might not have replaced someone.
Instead, like a parasite or a specter, it could jump back and forth between all nine of them...
"This is fucking worse!" Wang Hu was on the verge of breaking down. "Then what the hell are we looking for? It's on me now, and the next second it'll jump onto him!"
Panic spread like a plague.
Even Old Zhang and Erin's expressions darkened. If the enemy were fixed, they could guard against it, track it down. But if the enemy was alive, free to roam, invisible and intangible, able to possess anyone at any moment—how could they defend against that?
Zhao Yan clenched the scale in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. Three chances, and he'd already used one. Not only had he found no answers, but things had only gotten more chaotic. He knew deep down he hadn't been entirely clear earlier—the three people the gray mist had appeared on were Old Zhang, Erin, and Wu Feng.
Was it truly on them, or between them? Had they been "tainted," or was that thing hidden among the three of them?
He didn't know. The clues were too sparse, all mere conjecture.
"Don't panic." Erin took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, suppressing the faint tremor in her voice. "Even if the gray mist moves, it must follow some pattern. Either it responds to emotions or requires specific conditions. Chen Mo, check the bullet comments again. Has anyone mentioned the patterns of this 'flowing gray mist'?"
Chen Mo snapped his head up, eyes wide as saucers, scanning the screen rapidly. "There are... several posts! They say this gray mist thrives on 'negative emotions'—it gravitates toward whoever feels fear, doubt, or harbors dark thoughts... Some even claim there's only one true host, and the gray mist is just a 'test' or a 'distraction'!"
Negative emotions.
A heavy weight settled in everyone's hearts. After learning about the "ghost," who hadn't felt fear? Who hadn't suspected those around them? Who hadn't harbored a dark thought?
So, the gray mist flickered over those three because their negative emotions were strongest at that moment?
Was the true host among Old Zhang, Erin, or Wu Feng?
Or was this a trap, deliberately sowing suspicion among them?
Zhao Yan felt his mind growing more chaotic, more suffocating than the thick smoke in a burning building. He was more exhausted now than after carrying a hose through ten hours of firefighting—at least the enemy in a fire was visible and tangible. But this enemy lurked among his teammates, potentially moving freely among them, leaving everything to guesswork.
The countdown on his wrist kept ticking: 05:38:17.
The night outside the window deepened. Suddenly, a distant song drifted in—a woman's voice, ethereal yet tinged with sorrow, carried on the wind, growing closer. It was accompanied by the rhythmic "clack-clack" of wooden clogs striking the floor, each beat pounding against the heart.
A new monster was approaching.
But the tension inside the convenience store was already stretched to breaking point. That fleeting gray mist had planted seeds of doubt in everyone's mind.
Zhao Yan stared at the scales in his hand. He had two chances left. When should he use them? Against whom?
Just then—
"Ah!"
A sharp scream shattered the store's dead silence.
It was Liu Qiang. The delivery man who had been cowering in the corner suddenly lifted his head, pointing toward the warehouse deep inside the convenience store. His face was as white as paper, his lips trembling. "Th-there... something... just... moved..."
Everyone whipped their heads around to stare at the warehouse door.
The door was closed—an old wooden door with a rusty latch hanging on it.
Yet beneath the door, a pool of dark red liquid was slowly seeping out.
It resembled blood, yet was thicker, darker, and possessed a viscous texture. It spread across the floor, leaving a crimson trail on the tiles.
A strange odor wafted over, a mix of rust and decay, with a sickly sweetness that made one's stomach churn.
"What the hell is that?" Wang Hu took a step back, gripping his utility knife tighter.
"Don't move!" Old Zhang immediately raised his fire axe, his eyes fixed warily on the warehouse door. "Zhao Yan, look at this liquid..."
Zhao Yan moved closer, examining it under the neon glow from outside. The liquid flowed slowly, syrupy thick. When it neared the salt sprinkled near the doorway, it began to bubble faintly, emitting a soft hissing sound, as if being corroded.
"Salt-sensitive?" Zhao Yan's mind raced, recalling the earlier bullet chat mentioning that the demon was vulnerable to salt. "Could this thing be salt-sensitive too?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the warehouse door creaked open, sliding gently to reveal a narrow crack.
It wasn't pushed open by external force; it seemed something inside was slowly pushing against it.
The latch clicked and fell to the floor.
The gap widened, and the pool of dark red liquid flowed faster, surging toward them. Wherever it passed, the salt crystals on the tiles melted, emitting a hissing sound.
"Prepare for battle!" Old Zhang roared, gripping his fire axe tightly.
Zhao Yan raised his axe too, the wound on his back throbbing anew, but he couldn't spare a thought for it. Erin gripped her pepper spray tightly. Lisa held her high-heeled shoe aloft. Wang Hu and Zhou Ming assumed defensive stances. Chen Mo clutched his laptop bag and cowered at the rear. Liu Qiang was shaking so violently he could barely stand.
Only Wu Feng remained calm, his eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the warehouse door, lost in thought.
The warehouse door swung wide open.
Inside, it was pitch black, and nothing could be seen except for the pool of dark red liquid flowing out from the warehouse.
The air seemed to freeze. Everyone held their breath, staring at the pitch-black warehouse entrance, their hearts pounding wildly.
After several seconds.
A rustling sound came from within, like something being dragged, accompanied by faint, satisfied chewing noises.
Then, a dark figure slowly emerged from the warehouse.
It was a man wearing a convenience store uniform, short and hunched over. His face was hidden in shadow, indistinguishable. All visible was the thing he dragged in his hands—like half a corpse, still twitching faintly.
His gait was peculiar, as if his feet barely touched the ground, gliding along. Dark red liquid dripped steadily from his body.
He stopped at the doorway.
Then, he slowly raised his head.
A deathly pale face revealed eyes like two black holes—no pupils, just pitch-black cavities. A sinister curve stretched across his lips, dripping not saliva but that same dark red, viscous fluid.
He saw the nine people inside the convenience store. His hollow eyes scanned them, then he let out a hoarse chuckle, as if something was stuck in his throat.
"New... customers..."
His voice rasped like sandpaper scraping, each word deliberate: "Want... to buy... something?"
After speaking, he extended his hand and pointed toward the shelf.
Zhao Yan followed his finger and saw that the shelf, which had been filled with snacks and drinks moments ago, had somehow been completely transformed—
Rows of eyeballs preserved in formaldehyde, neatly arranged;
pale fingers strung together like necklaces;
and tiny dolls, no bigger than babies, each wearing a sinister grin and clad in bloodstained clothes.
And the shopkeeper, dragging the severed half-corpse in his hands, was slowly "floating" toward them.
The countdown ticked silently on:
05:35:42.
A new battle had begun.
And the "ghost" hiding among them remained undiscovered.
Zhao Yan gripped the fire axe in his hand tighter, glancing once more at the scales in his palm.
Two chances left.
This time, he must find the answer.