Chapter 44 The Passage of Time

The stench of blood and decay clung to their nostrils, and the countless corpses littering their path made their progress uneven and treacherous. Yet Shen Lin had no time to care for such discomforts.

Xiong Wenwen’s precognitive visions had faltered multiple times, much like Xu Fang’s situation. Both were influenced by some strange, mysterious force, and Shen Lin dared not allow further attempts.

Their current knowledge was pitifully scant.

They knew they were facing that black-robed ghost, whose time of death was recorded as 12:10, though the identity of the deceased remained uncertain.

In the visions, the person who died inside the mall was Xiong Wenwen, but outside the mall, it was Shen Lin himself.

Two completely contradictory outcomes left Shen Lin unable to confirm any of his suspicions.

Official records had once provided him with partial data, which stated that every night, 36 people died from unknown causes, each bleeding from their seven orifices.

This led Shen Lin to initially reject the theory that anything happening precisely at 12:10 triggered a fixed pattern. According to such a pattern, 36 deaths each night were impossible, not to mention such an exact number.

He was certain the ghost’s power was limited.

This meant that if they could decipher the pattern, they could survive. This gave him a surge of confidence.

Why thirty-six deaths each night? What did this number signify?

Why exactly at 12:10? The ghost had passed right before them once, so close, yet it made no move.

Wait—every night? Shen Lin paused.

If similar deaths occurred during the day, the authorities would not have failed to notify them.

This ghost only acted at night, connected to the 12:10 time point.

Shen Lin speculated that the ghost targeted those who performed certain actions at specific times each night.

What could those actions be?

The crisp echo of footsteps rang through the empty mall. His thoughts spread but yielded no result: time was short, and clues too few. Shen Lin could not piece together any viable plan.

The clock struck 12:08, two minutes before the predicted time of death.

Xiong Wenwen’s trembling intensified; he had seen the ghost with his own eyes, the image of those eyes flickering incessantly in his mind.

They could wait no longer. Shen Lin’s heart sank as he decided to light the spirit candle.

Though precious, it was impossible to ignite the candle exactly at 12:10. No one knew the ghost’s precise rules, nor whether it might strike earlier. Better safe than sorry.

The flashlight went out as the candle’s eerie green flame flickered to life, the only light in the darkness.

The green fire danced gently, swayed by a faint breeze, stirring the minds of the four.

At 12:09, one minute before the foretold death, Shen Lin scanned his surroundings but detected no movement.

The candle burned steadily, showing no signs of hastening.

Confusion, helplessness—the terrifying scene he had imagined failed to materialize. The second candle, ready to be lit at any moment, remained frozen in his hand.

Shen Lin was stunned. What was this? Had the ghost not arrived? Or had the candle failed?

Seconds ticked by until the watch struck 12:10. Xiong Wenwen closed his eyes in terror, like a man anxiously awaiting death, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

Tick, tick—

The second hand’s sound was the only noise in the dark; even their breathing slowed.

Tick, tick—

The moment passed. Shen Lin frantically scanned the surroundings again, but the darkness seemed to swallow everything whole.

Fear of the unknown gripped them.

Tick—

The final second passed, and the clock struck 12:11.

Shock, daze, confusion, helplessness—when the predicted event failed to occur, it was not relief but boundless dread that gripped them.

Knowing death is imminent might drive one insane.

But living in constant fear of death is enough to break any mind.

Shen Lin looked toward Xiong Wenwen, needing confirmation.

“Open your eyes. The time has passed.”

Xiong Wenwen’s trembling body froze, and the moment his eyes opened, he checked himself thoroughly, as if to confirm no parts were missing.

He was filled with profound disbelief.

This was impossible. Their visions had twice foretold death without survival—how could this be?

“Did you kill the ghost?” Xiong Wenwen asked excitedly, briefly convinced Shen Lin was their savior.

Shen Lin shook his head slowly under the eerie green glow, bringing Xiong Wenwen crashing back down.

“No. The ghost didn’t come. There are two possibilities: we unconsciously avoided the pattern, or your precognition is faulty.” Shen Lin’s gaze burned fiercely, unsettling Xiong Wenwen.

“Impossible. Ask headquarters; my precognition has never failed.” Xiong Wenwen shouted, having faced death and despair moments ago, now calmer but resolute.

Shen Lin nodded slowly.

“So the second possibility remains: someone among us was supposed to die but avoided the pattern for some reason.”

Xiong Wenwen’s precognitive powers were strong; if they were so easily affected, headquarters would not have valued him so highly. He was still some way from full awakening, so error was unlikely.

Shen Lin preferred to believe the second explanation.

By some accident, they had avoided the pattern.

“Try precognition again—we need more clues.”

Shen Lin remained vigilant. Their survival had been a stroke of luck, but it did not guarantee safety. Death could come at any time, in any form.

To rely on luck during the ghost plague was a death sentence; their predicament remained unchanged, just a matter of time.

Xiong Wenwen nodded hesitantly. The ghost’s predatory gaze haunted him, but he steeled himself and agreed. After his breakdown, this young man had matured.

The new vision showed them, led by Shen Lin, heading toward the third floor. The oppressive darkness was unsettling. Xiong Wenwen glanced at his watch: 12:19.

His precognition was partially impaired; he could not see what happened between 12:11 and 12:19.

He quietly observed, trying to discern any clues, but as the watch reset, a scream pierced the silence.

It was Xu Fang! He collapsed without warning while climbing the stairs, tumbling down into a pile of corpses, bleeding from his seven orifices, disbelief etched on his face. Even in death, he could not understand what had happened.

A strange feeling flooded Xiong Wenwen's mind once more. He quickly cut off his precognition to avoid a repeat of the previous trauma.

When awareness returned, Xiong Wenwen’s expression showed lingering fear—the restless spirit inside him warned that any delay could bring terrible consequences.

“He’s dead. Xu Fang died at 12:20,” Xiong Wenwen said, pointing with his right hand.

From these incidents, the ghost appeared to kill only one person at a time. Knowing the next victim was not himself calmed the mischievous youth somewhat.

“Me? It’s me?” Xu Fang jolted awake, reflexively scanning the darkness around him, fearful of what might come.

Xu Fang was next? Shen Lin frowned. The deaths were random—why Xu Fang again?

12:20? Shen Lin noticed this time point again: the deaths occurred precisely at round numbers. Did the ghost kill only on the hour?

“How did he die?” Shen Lin asked.

“No warning. Just suddenly collapsed, bleeding from seven orifices,” Xiong Wenwen answered honestly.

Xu Fang looked at Shen Lin urgently; he was his last hope.

“Mr. Shen, please do something to save my uncle,” Zhou Bin said.

Shen Lin ignored him. He could barely guarantee his own survival.

“Give your spirit candle to Xu Fang. If anything happens, it might buy him some time.”

Shen Lin made his decision.

“What now?” Xiong Wenwen, surprisingly calm, trusted his precognition. Since he wasn’t fated to die yet, he felt safe—for now.

“Let’s find and eliminate the original ghost quickly. The haunted staircase is the root of this. If we neutralize it, maybe the ghost will leave,” Shen Lin explained coolly.

It was a desperate gamble but the most viable option.

“It’s 12:12 now. We have less than eight minutes to resolve this.”

Every second counted.

Xu Fang and Zhou Bin exchanged looks. They had no choice but to follow Shen Lin. Xiong Wenwen was the most relaxed, nodding without hesitation.

They set off again.

The mall, designed per major city standards, had elevators centrally located, with stairways along the sides for evacuation.

The northeast corner had four passageways: two elevators and two staircases.

Xiong Wenwen was unsure of exact positions; they had to search one by one.

The haunted staircase’s worn stone steps were distinctive and easy to find.

At 12:15, they found the first elevator—it wasn’t the one.

At 12:16, they hurried to the second elevator, again no.

At 12:17, they reached the third staircase.

It was a weathered stone stairway, incongruous amid the modern mall.

Its mottled patterns and bloodstains spoke of ominous and unnatural presence.

What caught their attention was the figure at the bottom of the stairs.

Clad in a black robe, blending perfectly into the darkness, the ghostly candlelight barely revealed a shriveled face beneath the robe, dripping with layers of grime. The stench of death here was even stronger than inside the mall.

It was the black-robed ghost.