"Xunhan-jie, what are you planning to turn the studio into this time?"
Three months ago, in October, members of the studio gathered for a dinner at a restaurant.
"Didn't your last film make two billion at the box office? Why do we need to start tearing things down again? Can't we take a break first?"
After a few drinks, Mo Xunhan brought up her renovation ideas again.
"That last film wasn't the ending I wanted—you only saw the version that got forced out."
"Alright, alright. Then what do you want to turn that floor into this time? Looking for inspiration again?"
"Anyway, the last movie—remember the box in the office? That one's full. It's time I tried something different. No more suspense or grotesque horror films."
Ji Yu stared at the faceless painting, a chill creeping over her skin.
Cold, gray snowflakes drifted down with the draft of the overhead air conditioning. She shivered, tightening the scarf around her neck, then hurried past the unsettling corner.
Just around the bend, the map changed. No longer the endless corridor—it opened into a forest of stone statues.
"I plan to make a film about redemption."
Mo Xunhan smiled faintly, her fingers tapping her glass as if following some rhythm.
"Redemption? That sounds pretty heavy. Tell us more, Xunhan-jie?"
She was flushed with alcohol, though her complexion was still healthy. Years in the industry had trained her well—no matter how much she drank, she could hold it. That was the unspoken rule of survival in this circle.
"Talk about this, and suddenly I'm not tired at all. I want to start with a male lead who's terminally ill, and then… let the heroine save him."
The room went quiet. Everyone stared at her, eyes full of doubt.
"…A doctor?"
"No. Someone who saves his inner world."
"…So… a psychologist?"
How big was this place?
Ji Yu paused beside a block of stone carved into the shape of a princess chair, resting for a moment with a sigh.
To think that such a massive haunted house had been built on the top floor of a mall—the manpower, money, and effort it must have taken, she couldn't even imagine.
Maybe it was the cold air, but she hugged her coat tighter as she looked for the way out. That was when she heard footsteps—quick, deliberate—behind her.
They were slow, too slow. Ji Yu knew it had to be actors stationed here, but the oppressive atmosphere, the echoing steps bouncing off the closed space—it all set her nerves on edge.
"Ugh…"
Nerves taut, she forced herself forward until she found what looked like a proper path.
The darkness gave way to strange, prismatic lights overhead, so sudden they stung her eyes. Blinking through the haze, she saw the statues around her glowing in unnatural colors.
The footsteps followed still. Her first instinct was to dash toward the only white light ahead.
"This is supposed to be a haunted house, right? Where are the jump scares? And that slow stomping behind me… seriously? Such lazy acting."
She rubbed her arms. As she walked, the stone shapes around her grew clearer—sculptures of human figures. Strangely, every single one was female. The bodies were fully carved, but the heads only had eyes chiseled into place, painted in eerie colors that followed her wherever she moved.
Ji Yu realized: this haunted house wasn't about cheap jump scares. It was playing on uncanny valley designs, mismatched expectations, psychological pressure.
But what puzzled her most was—
Why weren't the faces completed? If they really wanted maximum uncanny horror, fully detailed statues would have been far more disturbing. And usually, haunted houses were designed for groups; that way, no one would take too much trauma from it.
Here, though, no actors jumped out, no one added to the tension. Ji Yu just walked on, nervous but unbroken.
"Uuuuu…"
At the end of the statue forest, Ji Yu rested at what looked like a checkpoint—and heard a boy crying.
She figured it was part of the "surprise," clamped her hands over her ears, and was about to leave when footsteps fell right behind her.
"Lucky people spend their childhood healing for a lifetime. Unlucky people spend their whole lifetime healing their childhood. To sum it up—both the male and female leads are unlucky souls."
Mo Xunhan leaned back, her voice dreamlike.
"Tell me, what's the gentlest act in nature?"
She didn't wait for anyone to answer.
"Forget it. I'll tell you. It's when two wounded beasts lick each other's wounds. In that moment, they cast aside everything that separates them, and form the most precious bond."
Mo Yachen opened his eyes. In front of him stood a boy, trembling, face streaked with tears. He rubbed the spot on his arm where the child had bumped into him, then turned to study him silently.
The boy looked about thirteen or fourteen, delicate-featured. His black hair was messy, his eyes swollen red, snot dripping down his face.
"Gege, can you take me out of here? My… my sister works here, she said she'd bring me to play. But when we came in, she ran off on her own…"
The boy sobbed harder, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"She doesn't like me. Because I'm not her real brother. She just wanted to see me embarrassed! Big brother… can I come with you?"
He squatted down again, hugging his knees, gazing up with tear-filled eyes.
Mo Yachen tilted his head, thought for a moment, then reached out and ruffled his hair.
"Gu Rong. Child actor since the age of eight. Shouldn't you be chasing roles with Mo Xunhan? What are you doing wasting time in a haunted house?"
The boy's sobs faltered, an unnatural pause in his performance. After five seconds, he stood up.
"Yachen-ge… how did you figure it out? My makeup was flawless, my acting natural…"
Mo Yachen lifted his gaze toward the three branching corridors ahead, sighing with resignation.
"So… what new trick is your cousin planning this time?"