Chen Ge plopped down in the darkened room, muttering to himself like a Ravenclaw puzzling over a runes riddle. Four ragdolls sat before him—grubby little sentinels of doom—making the scene weirder than a Hogsmeade shop selling cursed candy. Good thing no one else was around to gawk; he'd look like a nutcase hosting a tea party for ghosts.
"No clue how you lot popped into my Haunted House—or what to even call you—but here's my promise: I'm not here to mess with you," he said, voice bouncing off the walls like a spell gone astray. Staring at the dolls, his gut twisted—half hoping for a twitch to prove his hunch, half dreading they'd spring up and hex him into next week.
Seconds dragged—nothing. Overthinking it, Chen Ge. He switched gears, leaning forward like a Slytherin hatching a plan. "Murder by Midnight's ripped straight from that Fu An Apartments arson four years back. You four? Gotta be the victims."
Bingo—he'd poked a hornet's nest. The air chilled fast, like a dementor had swooped in. The door slammed shut behind him—locked tight as the Gryffindor common room after curfew—and the furniture jittered, a poltergeist's tantrum brewing.
"Whoa, hold up! The case is cracked—that lunatic who torched your lives? Nabbed, waiting for justice!" Chen Ge's cool cracked as he yanked out his phone, fumbling for the morning news like it was a Patronus charm. "Look—proof! Caught him myself!"
He thrust the screen at them, banking on Wang Qi's capture to calm the storm. The dolls' grudge tied to that creep—he'd nabbed him, so they'd chill, right? Wrong. The room's vibe turned frostier, a Snape-level sneer in the air. Panic nibbled at him—communication was a brick wall, and he was fresh out of clever spells.
They're not buying it! No better ideas hit, and giving up? Not an option. This Haunted House was his kingdom—letting these dolls run wild risked chaos. One big screw-up, and poof—everything he'd built, gone like a vanishing charm. "Hey, cool it! I'm your ally here!" he hollered, but the dolls ignored him—deaf as a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
"Last resort it is," he muttered, fishing Wang Qi's missing person notice from his pocket. The yellowed scrap—smudged with blood—wasn't much to look at, but the second it hit the air, the room hushed. The rattling stopped, the icy grip on his throat easing like a spell lifting. "Wait—this is what you wanted?"
Chen Ge set the paper smack in the middle of the quartet, and—whoa!—when the dolls brushed it, the notice went nuts, flapping like a snitch in a hurricane. No breeze stirred the room, yet the paper and dolls danced wild. He leaned in, eyes wide as a confunded first-year. Minutes ticked—then a face flickered on the notice. Wang Qi? Before he could squint, it shredded—bits slithering into the dolls like sneaky pixies. Silence crashed back, heavy and still.
"That's… it?" Chen Ge blinked, half-expecting a jump scare.
His pocket buzzed—the black phone, his trusty haunted gadget, lit up with a ping: "Hidden Mission cleared in Murder by Midnight! Specter affection +1. Earned the goodwill of Ping An Apartment's lingering victims. They'll tidy the trash daily, keeping Murder by Midnight in top spook shape."
Jackpot! Chen Ge grinned, sly as a Weasley twin with a prank up his sleeve. "Guess I've got some ghostly janitors now."
Chen Ge stared at the black phone's glowing screen, rooted to the spot like a Hufflepuff gawking at a newly sprouted mandrake. "So, that's the sole Hidden Mission done?" he muttered to the empty room, voice echoing like a whisper in the Hogwarts library.
His brain kicked into overdrive, piecing together the puzzle like a Ravenclaw cracking a charms exam. Okay, let's break it down. Nail a Trial Mission with over ninety percent completion, and bam—Hidden Item unlocked. That item's the golden snitch to finishing the scenario's Hidden Mission. So, if I wanna rule every creepy corner of this Haunted House, I've gotta ace those trials—ninety percent or bust.
Flashback time: Ping An Apartments. If he'd just hunkered down and survived the night—y'know, played it safe like a cautious Hufflepuff—he'd have cleared the Trial Mission. But no Hidden Item. No doll posse. This phone's a sneaky git, he thought, smirking. It's rigged to lure you into every trap, dangling shiny rewards like a Slytherin prefect with a bribe.
He swiped through the black phone—his trusty, cursed Marauder's Map—hunting for intel. First stop: My Team of Ghosts and Ghouls. Empty as a Gringotts vault post-heist. "Mission says I've won over the Ping An spirits' goodwill, but no roster update?" he mused, brow furrowing. Are they holding out on me? Or do 'lingering spirits' not count as proper ghosts or ghouls?
No answers. Next tab: My Item Storage. Wang Qi's Missing Person Notice still sat there, but its Malice Points? Zilch. Malice Points—what's that? Spirit chow? The dolls had shredded it like ravenous pixies—did they eat the malice? The spooky side of the world was cracking open, a glimpse into the unknown. Useful or not, Chen Ge filed it all away, sharp as Hermione with a quill.
Wiping sweat from his brow, he stood, joints creaking like a rickety broomstick. No chit-chat with the spirits, but they'll keep this place spotless. Pros outweigh the cons—big time. Scenario upkeep was a grind—time, cash, elbow grease—and these dolls just handed him a free pass. Glancing at the quartet, his last flicker of fear fizzled out. Ghost staff at my Haunted House? Not as bonkers as it sounds.
He ambled to the door, pausing with a twinge of worry. The parent dolls and big sis sat primly, but the littlest one? Flopped on her side, sneaky-like, poised for another jailbreak. Chen Ge sighed—not all spooks are out to get you. This tiny terror was more kitten than killer—curious, skittish, all fluff and no fangs.
"Hey, little miss, quit scampering. You'll get squashed," he chided, half-smiling as he stepped out. Helping the Ping An spirits had cracked the black phone's code wider. These scenarios aren't just scare factories. Each one's got a tale—plots, reasons, restless souls needing a home. I'm not just unlocking haunts; I'm giving these ghosts a digs.
Flashlight off, he strolled down the shadowy corridor—alone, or so he thought. Far enough from prying ears—human or spectral—his lips curled into a foxlike grin, sharp as a Weasley twin plotting mischief. "Natural scare-masters, no paychecks, no whining, no tantrums—perfect crew!"
Visions of a booming future danced in his head. Recharged, Chen Ge practically bounced, ready to unleash holy terror on his next batch of clueless victims.