The question of whether ghosts exist is far more complicated than the old "chicken or egg" debate—at least most people know what chicken and eggs taste like. Ghosts, on the other hand, very few have seen with their own eyes.
Even so-called experts in paranormal research can't give a definitive answer. So what could I—a third-rate detective raised under red flags and spring breezes—possibly have to say?
Still, not knowing something doesn't mean you can't answer it. In life, the truth doesn't always matter. Sometimes, all that matters is saying what people want to hear.
The man in the mask had said it earlier:
To become a host for the Netherworld Live Show, you had to do more than engage an audience—you had to survive.
That line had been a clue. The test had started the moment I walked through that door.
I stopped thinking about whether ghosts were real and instead rewound everything I'd experienced that night:
A pitch-black hallway, the legend of a path with no lights, an old woman clutching a doll in the rain, interviewers wearing paper masks, and five twisted questions.
All of it—all the eerie buildup—had led to this moment.
What they wanted me to say was now obvious.
"I believe in ghosts. That's my answer."
As soon as the words left my mouth, applause echoed through the small room.
Across the table, the three men in paper masks clapped stiffly, their movements unnervingly mechanical.
"Four out of five correct," said the man in the center. "Congratulations, Mr. Gao. You've officially been hired as a contracted host for Netherworld Live."
After being rejected by nearly every company in Jiangcheng, I'd developed a trauma around job interviews. So this smooth onboarding felt surreal.
Even more surreal was the fact that I felt no joy at being hired.
"That's it? I'm hired? Doesn't that feel a bit… rushed?"
"Not at all. You're the most suitable candidate we've seen. If you have no other questions, let's move forward with signing the contract."
The middle one stood slowly. He was about my height. His eerie mask aligned with mine across the table.
"Well, I do have one question. Since I got one of the five questions wrong, can you at least tell me which one?"
A flaw in my reasoning? For a detective, that's the ultimate failure.
"You don't need to know," came a giggle from behind the mask.
"Because soon… you'll get to experience that kind of despair firsthand. You'll know which answer was wrong."
Experience it? That was a terrible answer.
Any normal person would never want to live out the scenes from those questions.
"Any more questions, Mr. Gao?"
"…No."
Of course I had questions. My brain was burning with them. But I couldn't ask.
Even if I did, they wouldn't answer—worse, I might end up dead.
Right now, survival depended on pretending to go along with all of this.
As soon as I got out, I'd report them to the police—these lunatics needed to be locked up.
"Very well. Let's proceed with the contract."
He pulled out a weathered, yellowed scroll from beneath the ceremonial table and grabbed my right hand, pressing it down onto the paper.
"So cold…"
It was the first time I touched the masked man. His skin felt freezing—like a corpse pulled out of cold storage.
"What are you doing—?"
Before I could finish, a strange insect crawled up from under the floorboards. It looked like a centipede, but with a horn on its head, like a tiny dragon's.
It scurried up the table leg, darting toward my arm.
I tried to pull away, but the masked man's grip was like an iron clamp. I could only watch as the creature sank its fangs into my wrist.
"Aah!"
Pain pierced straight into my bone, sharp and intense.
But it lasted only a few seconds. When I looked again, a plum-blossom-shaped black wound had appeared on my wrist, staining the contract in blood.
The insect shriveled and dropped into the crack between the floorboards.
"The contract is sealed. From this moment on, you are one of us," said the man.
He released my hand and brought out a suitcase from beside his chair.
"All your streaming equipment will be provided. Your job is to go live and attract as many viewers as possible."
He opened the suitcase—inside was a full kit: camera, encoder, selfie stick, tripod, even a large-screen phone.
If not for the bloodstains on some of the tools, I might have believed this was a legit media company.
"All missions will be pushed directly to your phone.
You're free to choose your streaming format, but remember—you must use the equipment we provide. Only our tools can capture things that normal devices can't."
"After each stream, we'll evaluate your performance based on viewership and donations.
Your points will accumulate and can be exchanged for… quite interesting rewards."
"But," he continued, "for every reward, there's a price.
If your score ever goes negative, you'll disappear. No trace. Just like the one who brought you here—Xia Chi."
That broke my composure.
To make someone vanish without a single trace… this had to be a massive, well-organized criminal syndicate.
And I had walked right into it.
"The details are all in the contract. Let us know if anything's unclear."
I picked up the scroll, now soaked in my blood.
The rules were spelled out plainly: no revealing Netherworld Live's existence, no refusing tasks, etc.
The back listed the reward exchange rates.
Top line:
1 point = 100 grams of pure gold.
"You've got to be kidding me. At today's rate, that's ¥25,000 for a single point."
It got weirder.
5 points: Thai Kuman Thong (spirit doll)
7 points: Corpse Gu from Xiangxi
10 points: Filthland Taotie parasite
12 points: Jade Maiden Desire Sutra (hand-copied)
15 points: Mortal Eye Awakening
20 points: Body Rebirth cleanse
30 points: …
"What the hell is all this?"
I couldn't even process half of it. It felt like a list from another world entirely.
My eyes scanned downward to the last line:
Lifespan Extension
1000 points = 12 hours of life.
10,000 points = Full reset. Return to your original life.
"You done reading? Keep the contract. Learn your tools. Your first stream is likely tomorrow night."
"Can I refuse?"
"You're free to choose. But as of now, your points are zero.
Skipping one stream? That's minus ten."
"…Okay. I get it. Can I leave now?"
"If you have any questions, call me. The phone in your kit connects directly to me."
He adjusted his paper mask and waved his hand. The tightly shut door creaked open.
"Mr. Gao, you're smart and cautious. I hope you take every stream seriously. Don't gamble with your life."
"Don't worry—I still enjoy being alive."
I grabbed the suitcase and walked out. My legs were numb, like they were wrapped in stone.
"Mr. Gao… I sincerely hope you survive."
I didn't catch the rest of what he said. Not that I cared.
Nothing good ever came from the mouths of maniacs.
I pushed open the door to Room 444 and ran upstairs in the dark, not caring about direction.
I just ran.
At last, headlights shone in the distance.
A car!
A taxi pulled up. The driver was a balding uncle.
"Where to?" he asked.
"New District—Jiangcheng, Ting Tang East Road," I gasped, banging on the car door.
"Base fare is twenty. Plus one yuan fuel surcharge. New policy."
"Just open the damn door!"
I was still shaking. Money was the last thing on my mind.
I hugged the suitcase like my life depended on it.
"You look kinda shady, kid. Running around with a case this late at night—how do I know what's inside? What if—"
"You're overthinking."
I opened the suitcase and showed him the camera inside.
"Relax. I'm just a streamer.
One of those guys who risks their life for content."