What the hell?
Why was this spam ad popping up again?
Bo Ting’s first reaction was—why was it targeting him specifically?
Was there no end to these messages?!
Did they think he was some kind of idiot?
He stared speechlessly at the false notification on his phone, twitching the corner of his mouth. He felt like whoever sent it hadn’t even bothered to make it believable.
Dying from a “heartbreak” under stage lights? What kind of ridiculous phrasing was that?
Even if there was an accident, it would be a “heart attack,” right?
This shady spam was utterly absurd.
And the last part about everyone staying away from stage lights was even more nonsensical.
What, did getting hit by spotlights cause accidents?
Then why was Aunt Qian fine?
He instinctively looked up at the stage across the way to confirm. Sure enough, not only was Aunt Qian unharmed, but so were all her dance partners who practiced square dancing with her every day.
Clearly, this ad was just fearmongering.
Case closed, Bo Ting casually clicked on a block package option without any intention of engaging further.
Resurgence Management Office:
The Third Esper Squad had sent out pushes like this before, but they still felt a bit nervous.
“This should have been sent already, right?”
“Will the modifications work?”
Since they’d already pushed the Night Crying Woman incident last time, they worried the same format wouldn’t catch the weird entity’s interest. So Wang Dong had rewritten the copy.
As he watched the messages show as sent, his heart raced with anxiety.
“Tch.”
Lu Jingshan glanced at the young man and patted his shoulder.
“It’s fine.”
“It definitely received it.”
Whether it took interest or not was beyond their control.
Were they supposed to charge into Taiping Luxury Garden and force the weird entity’s head down to make it pay attention?
Yeah, right. They weren’t tired of living yet.
The office atmosphere lightened up immediately.
Lu Jingshan stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“I’ve always suspected the Light Shadow Heartbreak Incident killed through light rays, but after sending that out, I suddenly had another idea.”
“What if… it’s shadows?”
Shadows?
Yin Liao looked up from nearby.
“The team in charge at the time suspected that too.”
“But unfortunately, there were no other shadows at the scene—only the victim’s own.”
The incident had happened abruptly. The moment the light hit, the person on stage died. It couldn’t be the victim’s own shadow suddenly mutating upon exposure, right?
And most importantly, post-incident checks showed no weirdification in the victim themselves.
—That was why shadows were ruled out from the start.
Lu Jingshan nodded.
“Yeah.”
“I overthought it simply. No wonder this weird event ranks so high.”
“If it keeps going without resolution and more deaths pile up, it’ll probably become the second Night Crying Woman incident.”
The group discussed it among themselves.
In the neighborhood:
After putting away his phone, Bo Ting went to help out.
Due to his status, Bo Ting had no plans to perform on stage. But he could certainly help the neighbors by taking photos.
Sure enough, just as he pocketed his phone, Elder Wen, the overall director, raised his hand.
“Little Bo.”
“If you don’t have a program today, help take more photos for everyone later.”
This is the first event in the neighborhood since the transmigration. We need plenty of photos to commemorate it.
“Sure, Uncle Wen.”
“Should I use the camera?”
Bo Ting turned and saw Uncle Wen pulling out his long-cherished camera. He immediately understood—Uncle Wen was serious about this.
Uncle Wen affectionately stroked the camera.
“Sigh.”
“This old thing hasn’t been powered on in ages.”
“Time to give it some exercise.”
He withdrew his rough hand from the camera and handed it to Bo Ting.
“I’ll leave it to you later, Little Bo.”
Bo Ting shook his head, a bit curious about how photos from a camera differed from phone shots.
It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but as a poor office drone before transmigrating, Bo Ting had never owned a camera.
He’d only seen bloggers online using them, sharing all sorts of tips.
Bo Ting, who often took group photos at work, raised the camera. He recalled the steps in his mind, fiddled with the settings, aimed it around to test.
Hm.
He spotted Boss Zhu coming down from the building just in time.
Boss Zhu walked ramrod straight, exuding high spirits—a far cry from his previous broken-down despair. He practically overflowed with vital energy.
The only issue was how stiff and rigid his walking was.
Not very natural.
After lowering the camera, Bo Ting smiled and greeted him.
“Brother Zhu, looking good.”
What sound was that?!
Boss Zhu, who had been forcing his stiff gait, froze in shock. Hearing the familiar voice, his foot slipped, nearly sending him crashing to the ground. He barely caught himself on a nearby table.
“Ahem, Little Bo.”
“Playing with a camera?”
Boss Zhu turned back with a forced smile, inwardly regretting it to death.
He should’ve hurried his legs faster—or waited longer to come down. Great, now he’d run into this jinx again!
Their eyes met, and Bo Ting nodded.
Seeing Boss Zhu’s smile stiffen, he added an assessment.
It wasn’t just the legs; his face looked guilty too.
This wouldn’t do.
Not with so many people around.
What if someone noticed?
After a long moment of rigid terror, Boss Zhu saw Bo Ting pat his shoulder reassuringly.
“Brother Zhu, don’t worry.”
“No one noticed.”
Boss Zhu: …???
What did that mean?
His mind blanked in confusion. He couldn’t make sense of Little Bo’s words and smiled even more puzzled.
Bo Ting: Perfect!
Much more relaxed now, right?
Releasing Boss Zhu, Bo Ting turned his attention back to the camera.
Uncle Wen’s camera was no ordinary gear.
Yesterday, he’d clearly tied Boss Zhu’s bones with rope and glued them in place. Yet today, through the lens, the glue traces were still visible.
The clarity was impressive.
Bo Ting shook his head slightly and excitedly shared with his online friend.
“Mr. Xu, guess what good thing happened to me today?”
Before the reply came, Bo Ting couldn’t hold back.
“Today I scored a camera!”
“Super useful!”
The emojis in the chat practically bounced with joy.
Xu Qinglai glanced over, sensing Bo Ting’s great mood.
“Is that so?”
“Camera photos do feel different.”
“You can really experience it today.”
Mr. Xu was spot on, as expected.
Bo Ting nodded and cleared his throat.
“Wait a sec, Mr. Xu. I’ll snap some pics of our neighborhood setup.”
Elder Wen, in charge of the scene, had put real effort in.
Long tables lined both sides like at a wedding, laden with self-serve pastries and drinks.
Bo Ting aimed the lens at the surroundings, took a couple shots, uploaded them to his phone, and sent them to Mr. Xu.
It was Xu Qinglai’s first look at the plaza in its “proper” state.
Bo Ting had shared random photos before—even his profile pic was a neighborhood streetlamp. But those scattered shots didn’t paint the full picture even pieced together.
These were more comprehensive.
Worn fitness equipment gleamed under the trees, opposite a garden blooming with flowers.
In the center—a crude red stage had been thrown together.
Rows of bloodstained tables and chairs were scattered about, like a vision of hell on earth.
The only touch of warmth was probably the normal food on the tables.
At least, from Xu Qinglai’s view, nothing obviously wrong with the eats.
Bo Ting shared enthusiastically.
“Half an hour till it starts.”
“They organized it pretty formally this time—even got a rehearsal phase.”
Xu Qinglai: …
Staring at the ragtag chaos like a circus of demons, he didn’t recognize “formal” anymore.
But no matter. He’d learned to keep a straight face while bullshitting with Bo Ting.
“Impressive indeed.”
“Right? Right?”
Bo Ting beamed proudly for a second before griping like it was a joke.
“Such a lively stage, and some nutjob has to curse it.”
“Mr. Xu, you won’t believe this—soon as I came down this morning, I got spam ads cursing us, saying performers die under the lights.”
“Ha! As if!”
“Does this look deadly?!”
Bo Ting aimed right at the stage.
“Die from stage lights?”
Xu Qinglai was about to reply when his expression turned odd. He instantly recalled the buzz around the Light Shadow Heartbreak Incident…
Realizing—this might be a “push ad” from the Resurgence Management Office.
Were they probing? Or feeding info?
Xu Qinglai pondered deeply.
The next second, he saw Bo Ting send a photo from the stage: a crowd of white-faced figures with umbrellas shuffling back and forth—”paper people.” His train of thought shattered; he twitched his mouth.
This bunch seemed pretty hard to kill.
“Huh?”
“Mr. Xu, why’d you go quiet?”
After sending, Bo Ting saw no reply and puzzledly pulled away from the camera to check his phone.
A minute later, Mr. Xu’s message arrived.
“Sorry, just signed a document.”
Xu Qinglai lowered his gaze.
“But while most spam is fake, better safe than sorry. Keep an eye on the lights today.”
“No harm in it, right?”
Xu Qinglai clicked send gently.
Bo Ting was surprised Mr. Xu would say that.
But fair enough. With the camera to his face, he’d notice the spotlights anyway. One extra glance hurt no one.
Minutes later, the site was set, order restored.
Elder Wen waved and started the music. Performing teams lined up backstage in sequence.
Neighborhood folks like Boss Zhu clapped supportively from their seats.
Bo Ting, camera at the ready, felt fully immersed as photographer.
“Alright, now welcoming—the ‘Moon So Round’ team to the stage!”
Upstart Bro’s host voice dropped, cheers erupted.
Bo Ting quickly peered through the lens.
But minutes later, he pinched his mask, baffled.
Was the camera busted?
Otherwise, why did the stage look packed with people?
The platform was only about thirty square meters, and Aunt Qian’s group was just over ten folks.
No way it was that crowded.
The shutter clicked; he checked the photo—even the edges were jammed full.
Not just Aunt Qian; others who looked eerily familiar.
Super familiar faces.
Bo Ting stared at the woman framed with Aunt Qian, racking his brain but drawing a blank.
No biggie—ask Auntie Qian later.
He shook his head slightly and kept shooting.
Soon, Moon So Round hit the step-change part.
Aunt Qian gracefully swapped spots with her gal pal beside her; the shadow behind shifted with her heels, like glued to her feet.
How’d they dance with such proximity?
Bo Ting blinked, snapped a shot, grabbed his milk tea for a casual glance.
But… huh?
Where’d the woman’s face on Aunt Qian’s shoulder go?
He’d just seen it through the lens.
Yet now the stage looked half-empty?
Bo Ting blinked blankly, leaned back to the camera skeptically.
The next second, the familiar ten figures reappeared, twisting freely along with Aunt Qian and the others.
Bo Ting let out a sigh of relief. He knew he couldn’t have been seeing things.
However, only the camera lens could capture them—the naked eye saw nothing. Wasn’t that a bit unscientific?
It felt just like those ghost stories from his childhood.
A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, and Bo Ting couldn’t help but recall the spam ad he’d received that morning.
Could it be that the ad had made him paranoid, seeing ghosts in everything?
Maybe it was just light refraction?
Thinking this way, Bo Ting stared seriously at the lens.
As he watched, the duet transitioned into the final moments, and Aunt Qian returned to her spot in the center of the front row.
Bo Ting’s gaze swept over them one by one, and he finally realized why the faces behind Aunt Qian and the others looked so familiar.
—Weren’t those their own faces?!
They were identical!
At that moment, Aunt Qian’s rouged head rested on her own shoulder, revealing a faint, eerie smile under the light refraction.
Behind the head, the blurry shadow had already merged with her body.
When the shadow of the head fully attached to Aunt Qian’s skull, the “warning” from the ad flashed in Bo Ting’s mind—heartbreak and death.
Tch, what if, when Auntie Qian took her bow at the end, the head fused with her and something went wrong?
Bo Ting’s eyes widened as a bad premonition rose in his heart.
No, he had to stop this ridiculous thing!
He instinctively wanted to warn Auntie Qian, but before he could open his mouth, the shadow on her shoulder seemed to notice. It suddenly covered her as she turned.
The next second, it vanished completely.
Bo Ting’s heart sank.
A minute passed, then two, then three…
Until the entire square dance ended, and the group of aunties bowed in thanks.
Auntie Qian was still… lively and bouncing right in front of him, her heart showing no signs of trouble.
The other ladies beside her were the same, making the earlier horror feel like a joke.
However, Bo Ting noticed that at the end, only Auntie Qian’s shadow had fused. The others had naturally dissipated as they moved away from the light.
So… what was going on with Auntie Qian now?
Bo Ting was a bit dumbfounded. Wasn’t this thing supposed to be harmful? She seemed perfectly fine—could the ad have been just fearmongering?
But with such a large head fusing in, wouldn’t there be some aftereffects?
Bo Ting frowned tightly and decided to observe Auntie Qian.
An entire day passed, and she was the same as always—eating when she should, drinking when she should, arguing with Elder Wen when the mood struck. She even ate three little cakes at noon.
Her voice was loud, her energy even better than before!
Bo Ting: …
Was this reasonable?
He rubbed his eyes instinctively and saw that after the “cultural gala” ended, Auntie Qian had returned the clothes and walked to the audience seats to call Uncle Qian, preparing to head home.
Bo Ting’s expression turned strange.
Elder Wen nearby looked puzzled.
“What are you looking at, Little Bo?”
“Cough, nothing.”
Bo Ting snapped back to attention but still found the whole thing odd.
Even back at home, while casually feeding Tang Yuan and Doudou, Bo Ting pondered the midday events.
Doudou let out a “woof-woo,” dissatisfied at the dog food shoved up its nose. It shook its pitiful dog head, looking utterly ferocious.
Bo Ting finally reacted, quickly pulling the kibble from its nostril and stuffing it back into its mouth.
Doudou: …?
It did love its kibble, but was this really the way?
Tang Yuan instinctively distanced herself from the dog and the human, jumping onto the wardrobe.
Bo Ting sighed, feeling he couldn’t just leave Auntie Qian like this. She seemed fine now, but what about tonight?
What if her “heart” acted up in the evening?
It was his fault too—for not taking that “spam ad” seriously that morning.
Who could’ve known those ghost stories in the ad could come true!
This world was simply too unscientific!
Bo Ting ruffled Doudou’s head, poured two bowls of cat and dog food with a clatter, took a deep breath, and looked toward the neighboring unit.
…
Just one door away:
After returning home, Qian Fen did feel a bit uncomfortable.
But not in her heart—in her back.
“Old Qian, is there something on my clothes?”
Aunt Qian turned around, gesturing for her husband to check.
Uncle Qian put on his reading glasses and examined the shroud.
“There does seem to be something off.”
“Why does your clothing look like it’s got ash on it?”
“Does it?”
“No wonder it feels so uncomfortable.”
Aunt Qian patted it casually, and the shroud emitted a harsh, paper-rubbing sound.
Soon, a piece of blackened, burnt ash paper fell off, standing out starkly under the living room lights.
“Sigh, outdoor events are like this—always picking up dirt.”
Aunt Qian was about to ask her husband to fetch a broom when the doorbell rang.
Ding-dong—the sound came abruptly. Aunt Qian swallowed her words, walked to the door, and opened it to see Bo Ting from across the hall. She looked surprised.
“It’s Little Bo.”
“Anything the matter?”
Bo Ting smiled. “I just uploaded all the midday photos to my phone. Thinking you might need them, Auntie Qian, I came over to ask.”
At the mention of the midday photos, Aunt Qian immediately perked up.
“Yes, yes!”
“You’re so thoughtful, Little Bo.”
“Our dance troupe definitely needs to edit them.”
“Come in and transfer them, and stay for dinner this afternoon.”
Aunt Qian, who hadn’t seemed welcoming earlier, was now visibly enthusiastic.
Bo Ting nodded, sat down in the living room, but as soon as he did, he noticed the gray burnt paper drifting underfoot. He couldn’t help but feel puzzled.
“This is…?”
“Oh, it blew onto me in the garden today—probably from outside.”
Aunt Qian explained casually and turned to fetch water.
From outside… blew onto her?
Wait, could this be that black shadow from today?
A bold guess suddenly struck Bo Ting’s mind, filling him with inexplicable suspicion.
Though this burnt gray paper looked nothing like the shadow under the light—not even resembling a head—it was an intense sixth sense that now warned him: This is it!
But the problem was, the shadow reflected a person’s true form.
Under what circumstances would Auntie Qian’s shadow be—a piece of burnt paper?
