Chapter Forty-Five: The Splintered Phantom Candle
Time seemed to freeze in that moment; the breaths of the four felt suspended, as if they were inches away from the vengeful spirit. Shen Lin’s mind raced wildly, trying to make sense of everything unfolding before him.
The ghostly staircase was here. The black-robed specter was here as well.
What was this? Mere coincidence? Or a premeditated trap?
These thoughts flashed through Shen Lin’s mind like lightning. He strained to devise a way to escape this dire predicament.
The ghostly staircase lay just ahead—they were only a step away from success.
None dared to breathe, especially Xu Fang and Xiong Wenwen. Both had deeply sensed the terror emanating from the fearsome spirit through their own spiritual perceptions.
In the dim corridor, the four were above; the black-robed ghost was below, separated by a worn stone step, their gazes locked.
By the flickering candlelight, Shen Lin saw it clearly for the first time.
Beneath the black robe was what appeared to be a withered old face, resembling a corpse baked under the sun for days. Shen Lin even faintly saw something dripping from its body, accompanied by a pungent stench of decay.
Horrifying and uncanny. When a spirit of such caliber targets you, escape becomes a luxury beyond reach.
The black-robed ghost stood motionless, not making a move.
The scene fell into a deadly silence.
A dark red glow surged within Shen Lin’s body, ready to burst forth in a desperate fight to the death.
They had yet to discern any pattern; if attacked, their only option was to fight desperately.
Wait—what was that?
Shen Lin sensed something strange. Bathed in the ghostly green candlelight, he noticed beneath the black robe two broken wooden sticks—one thick, one thin. Their age was indiscernible, but an indescribable aura of eeriness and ancient sorrow clung to them.
It was as if Shen Lin had grasped something, a memory just on the edge of his mind, yet he could not recall it no matter how hard he tried.
Wait, no—that couldn’t be right. Why would a ghost carry objects in its hand?
Shen Lin’s eyes widened slightly as the most terrifying suspicion leapt through his mind.
In the original tale of Mysterious Awakening, descriptions of supernatural artifacts were scarce, yet each was terrifying and sinister.
Among them, only a few could be considered weapons.
One was the coffin nail sealed within a temple in Dachang City, capable of unconditionally pinning down a vengeful spirit.
Another was the eerie machete Yang Jian once encountered in a dreadfully haunted hotel, able to wound and sever such spirits.
A third was the ghostly scissors wielded by Fang Shiming, able to effortlessly kill Yang Jian using just a photo and name.
Each of these left a profound mark on the story’s revival—each was capable of bringing despair to any spirit master.
“What is this? Is this ghost connected to the Republican era incident?” Shen Lin’s thoughts swirled like a storm. He couldn’t help but link the specter before him to that historical event.
The horror was suffocating.
---
Wait, something wasn’t right. The broken wooden sticks the ghost held felt strangely familiar, as if Shen Lin had seen something similar before.
“Damn it, Shen Lin, think of something! If we don’t figure this out, we’re all done for here. If worst comes to worst, just run—if one of us survives, it’s better than nothing.” Xiong Wenwen was panicked. He had never faced such a standoff; the predicted deadly spirit stood right before him, and every moment his heart pounded in fear of the ghost suddenly striking.
“You’ve all seen the projector, right? Because of the ghostly staircase, there are all kinds of spirits involved in the incident. We’ve already reached the core of this event. If we run now, it’s certain death.”
Shen Lin squinted, holding up his right hand to signal the others to slowly retreat.
“This ghost hasn’t made a move yet. Its killing pattern is stricter than we imagined. If it strikes, we have no chance. But conversely, before it acts, we are absolutely safe.”
Shen Lin trusted his analysis. A spirit capable of suppressing that strange projector and restraining the inverted ghost was likely unique in this area. As long as they stayed wary of the ghostly staircase, they were temporarily safe.
Shen Lin cast a deep glance at the two broken wooden sticks at the ghost’s waist, a strong sense of dread rising within him. This ghostly artifact was not to be trifled with—it would cause serious trouble if provoked.
Time struck 12:18. Xu Fang’s breath grew heavy; the feeling of awaiting death weighed unbearably on him, his mental state on the verge of collapse.
“Y-you guys go... I’ll stay. No need for all of us to die together, really.”
When the terror of death reached its peak, Xu Fang didn’t even know what he was saying. He gave Shen Lin and the others a defeated smile. Only heaven knew how timid he was normally, yet here he was, seemingly ready to embrace death.
No one moved. They had no intention of abandoning Xu Fang—not because of some noble loyalty at the critical moment.
In such vengeful spirit cases, such thinking was tantamount to suicide. If sacrificing Xu Fang could quell the incident, Shen Lin would act without hesitation.
But it wasn’t possible.
“Stop talking nonsense. None of us know this spirit’s pattern, or who might have triggered it. Maybe we all have. But this spirit’s rules force it to kill one by one. Giving you up won’t solve anything.”
Shen Lin bluntly stated their predicament. Facing this terrifying spirit, they knew far too little. This was never an equal contest.
Tick-tock... tick-tock...
Like the time they waited downstairs, the moments before death were agonizing.
“Think positively, think positively,” Shen Lin kept reassuring himself. So far, the ghost candle had not malfunctioned. Even the formidable inverted ghost hadn’t caused him serious harm. In other words, with the ghost candle’s protection, they should be relatively safe.
At worst, the candle would be consumed. Judging by the spirit’s harsh killing pattern—striking once every ten minutes—they could endure for quite some time.
“Shen Lin, time—time is almost up.”
Xiong Wenwen called out, his watch’s hands ticking closer to 12:20.
The four’s hearts seemed to lodge in their throats.
The dark red glow in Shen Lin’s chest flickered uncontrollably; he braced himself for action.
Tick...
The final second arrived. The four stood ready. Xu Fang had already lost hope, harboring no expectation of survival.
Wait—no—the ghost didn’t move.
The four exchanged glances as if sharing a silent understanding. None could say what this meant.
---
Shen Lin recalled the scene downstairs. Xiong Wenwen, predicted to die, had survived as well. What did this imply? Had they once again avoided triggering the pattern?
What exactly had Xu Fang done?
Tick-tock... tick-tock...
Each tick of the second hand felt like a blow to their hearts. As 12:20 approached, they all instinctively prepared to exhale in relief.
Then, the ghost moved!
“Shen Lin!” Xiong Wenwen screamed.
The dark red light exploded forth as Shen Lin unleashed his long-prepared power—a weakened version of the inverted world enveloped the scene.
The glow spread rapidly, almost instantaneously covering the space. But as it neared the black-robed ghost...
It faltered.
Like a shadow unreachable by streetlights, a place where light could not penetrate.
Within this world bathed in deep red light, the black-robed ghost lingered in darkness, slowly making its move as if utterly unaffected by its surroundings.
The disparity was despairingly vast.
“Ghost candle!” Shen Lin roared.
Xu Fang snapped to attention at the shout, rushing forward. The eerie green candlelight was placed before them, and under the interplay of dark red and green flames, they saw the ghost’s movements clearly.
Like a mechanical motion, it gently withdrew one of the wooden sticks from its embrace, then slowly swung it.
“Clang!”
The crisp clatter of the two sticks striking echoed throughout the space.
The green flame trembled violently, and Shen Lin sensed a terrible omen.
Damn it! No way!
“Bang!”
As if answering his dread, the ghost candle shattered with that sound, its sharp crack like a sinister melody piercing their minds.
Blood spurted simultaneously from all four’s orifices. Shen Lin even heard the mournful wail of the ghostly image within him. The inverted ghost figure in his chest quivered, as if about to disintegrate. Two streams of vivid red tears flowed from its eyes.
This time, it was not blood strokes.
But tears—crimson tears.
The sight was unimaginably terrifying.