The rain fell in sheets across Dragon Pearl City, each droplet carrying the weight of ancient secrets that had long been buried beneath the city's modern facade. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that seemed to echo the city's buried memories. Lightning flashed briefly, illuminating the towering glass skyscrapers that stood like sentinels over the ancient streets below.
Mark Li stood at the entrance of Dragon Pearl City University, his black leather trench coat dripping water onto the polished marble floor of the administration building. The coat was heavy with rain, each movement sending small cascades of water down its length. His boots left wet footprints on the marble, dark stains that slowly faded as the water evaporated in the overly warm air of the lobby. The university had been established in 1958, but the land it occupied had a history that stretched back centuries, a fact that made it both prestigious and, for those who knew how to listen, dangerous.
The administration building itself was a study in contradictions—modern architecture with traditional Chinese elements. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the rain-swept campus, while wooden beams carved with dragons and phoenixes stretched across the high ceiling. The air inside carried the scent of expensive coffee from the nearby faculty lounge, mixed with the faint, almost imperceptible smell of old paper and dust that seemed to permeate every institution of learning.
"Mr. Li, thank you for coming on such short notice," said President Zhang Weiwen, a man in his late fifties whose silver hair and wrinkled face spoke more of stress than age. His hands trembled slightly as he extended one to Mark, a gesture that was both formal and desperate. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles beneath them that suggested sleepless nights. The president's expensive suit was rumpled, his tie slightly crooked—small details that spoke volumes about the strain he was under. "I wasn't sure who else to call. The police can't help us, and the media... well, the media would destroy us."
Mark Li nodded slowly, his dark eyes scanning the hallway with an intensity that made the university president uncomfortable. Mark was thirty-two years old, but carried himself like someone who had seen lifetimes of darkness. His features were sharp and angular, with high cheekbones that spoke of his mixed heritage—Han Chinese father, Mongolian mother. His hair was cut short, military style, and his build was lean but powerful, like that of a martial artist who had honed his body to be as much a weapon as any tool he might carry.
There was a stillness about Mark that contrasted sharply with the president's nervous energy. He moved with a deliberate grace, each gesture economical and precise. His eyes, dark as midnight, seemed to absorb the light around them, missing nothing. A thin, white scar ran along his jawline, barely visible but telling its own story of dangerous encounters. His hands, though scarred in places, were steady and capable—hands that had faced down both human and supernatural threats.
"What exactly has been happening, President Zhang?" Mark asked, his voice low and steady, carrying the slight rasp of someone who had spent too many nights in places where the air was thick with whispers. The sound seemed to hang in the air between them, cutting through the artificial warmth of the lobby.
The president sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. The gesture was weary, as if the weight of what he was about to say was physically crushing him. "It started three months ago. Students in Building Seven—our oldest dormitory—began reporting sightings. A woman in red, they said." He paused, swallowing hard as if the words themselves were difficult to speak. "Walking the corridors at midnight, sometimes stopping outside their doors, sometimes just appearing in their rooms without any explanation."
President Zhang's voice dropped to a near whisper, the sound barely audible over the rain lashing against the windows. "The first reports were dismissed as pranks, university rumors. But then... then the descriptions became too consistent, too detailed. Students who didn't know each other, who had never spoken, were describing the same woman, the same details."
Mark's eyes narrowed slightly. "A woman in red. In Chinese folklore, that's rarely a good sign." His mind was already racing through possibilities—vengeful spirits, hungry ghosts, the countless entities that Chinese folklore had warned about for millennia. Red was the color of celebration, but also the color of death, of tragedy, of souls bound to earth by unresolved pain.
"At first, we dismissed it as mass hysteria," President Zhang continued, leading Mark down a corridor lined with photographs of distinguished alumni. The photographs showed generations of successful graduates—doctors, lawyers, scientists, politicians—smiling faces frozen in time that seemed to mock the current crisis. "You know how university students can be. One person tells a story, and suddenly everyone's seeing ghosts. But then... then the incidents became more difficult to explain."
The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the polished marble floor reflecting the overhead lights in wavering patterns. The walls were painted in institutional beige, the color of bureaucracy and suppressed emotions. As they walked, President Zhang's footsteps echoed heavily, each step weighted with responsibility and fear.
They stopped outside the president's office, and Zhang unlocked the heavy wooden door. The room was spacious and elegantly furnished, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the rain-soaked campus. Beyond the glass, the university's modern buildings stood in stark contrast to the ancient trees that dotted the landscape, their branches reaching like skeletal fingers toward the gray sky. The office itself was a sanctuary of order and control—massive mahogany desk, leather chairs, walls lined with books and awards—but even this carefully curated space couldn't keep out the darkness that had infected the campus.
"Two weeks ago," Zhang said, closing the door behind them, the soft click of the lock sounding like a gunshot in the tense silence. "A student jumped from the seventh floor of Building Seven. Liu Xiaoming, nineteen years old, engineering student. Left a note saying he couldn't sleep anymore, that the red woman kept visiting his room, telling him things he shouldn't know."
President Zhang moved to the window, his back to Mark as he stared out at the rain-soaked campus. His reflection in the glass showed a man breaking under pressure, his shoulders slumped, his face etched with grief. "Liu was an exceptional student. Full scholarship, top of his class. His parents... his parents sacrificed everything to send him here. They were so proud."
Mark remained silent, letting the president speak, knowing that people often revealed more when they weren't being prompted.
"Then last week," the president continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that was barely audible above the rain, "another student. Sun Mei, twenty, literature major. Same floor, same circumstances." He turned from the window, his eyes pleading with Mark to understand. "Her note said the woman in red was singing to her, songs that made her want to join her in the darkness. Sun was a poet, sensitive, creative. She wrote about beauty and hope, not... not this."
The president sank into his leather chair, the expensive leather creaking under his weight. "Two young lives, Mr. Li. Two futures extinguished. And the university... the university can't even admit what's really happening. We have to call it depression, academic pressure, anything but the truth."
Mark walked to the window, looking out at Building Seven, which rose above the other dormitories like a tombstone. "What do the other students say? Have there been other sightings?"
"Many," Zhang admitted. "But most are too scared to talk about it officially. We've had thirty-seven students request room changes or move out entirely in the past month. The ones who remain... they sleep with lights on, in groups, some have even started sleeping during the day and staying awake at night, convinced that's when they're safest."
Mark turned from the window. "And the police? What did they conclude?"
"Suicide, depression, academic pressure," Zhang said bitterly. "They found no evidence of foul play, no signs of struggle. Just two tragic young people who couldn't handle the pressure of university life. But I know better, Mr. Li. I've been president of this university for fifteen years, and I've seen students under pressure before. This is different. This is... other."
Mark nodded slowly. "When can I see the building?"
"Tonight," Zhang said. "I've arranged for you to have access to Liu Xiaoming's room. The police have finished their investigation, and his parents have agreed to let us seal the room until the end of the semester. No one's been in it since the incident."
"Good," Mark said, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small leather bag. "I'll need some time to prepare. Are there any specific times when the sightings are most common?"
"Midnight," Zhang replied immediately. "Almost always between midnight and three in the morning. The students call it 'the red hours'."
Mark smiled faintly, a humorless expression that didn't reach his eyes. "Clever. And appropriate. I'll need access to the university archives as well. Any records you have about this land, the building, anything unusual that's happened here over the years."
"Of course," Zhang said. "My secretary will give you full access. Mr. Li... I don't know what you charge for this kind of work, but money is no object. We just want this to stop. We want our students to feel safe again."
Mark Li had learned long ago that money was rarely the most important currency in his line of work. Information, favors, debts—these were the things that truly mattered in the world he inhabited. But he understood that university presidents needed to believe they could solve problems with budgets and purchase orders.
"We'll discuss payment after the matter is resolved," Mark said. "Now, about those archives..."
The university archives were located in the basement of the library, a climate-controlled room that smelled of old paper and preservation chemicals. The air was cold and dry, maintained at the perfect temperature to preserve the delicate documents stored within. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile white light that seemed to leach the color from everything it touched. Metal shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with boxes and bound volumes that held the recorded history of the institution.
For three hours, Mark sat at a wooden table, reading through decades of university records, his eyes scanning page after page of mundane information—construction reports, maintenance logs, student disciplinary records. The documents were dry and bureaucratic, filled with the language of administration rather than the lived experiences of the people who had passed through these halls. Each page turned was accompanied by the soft rustle of paper, the only sound in the otherwise silent room.
Mark's fingers traced the faded ink on some documents, feeling the texture of paper that had absorbed decades of basement air. Some pages were brittle with age, threatening to crumble at the slightest touch. Others were surprisingly fresh, preserved by the careful climate control. The weight of history seemed to press down on him, the countless stories of students and faculty, triumphs and tragedies, all reduced to ink on paper.
It was in a box labeled "Miscellaneous Incidents 1972-1978," a thin folder containing newspaper clippings and internal memos about a series of strange occurrences that had taken place in Building Seven. The folder itself was unassuming, beige and labeled in neat black letters, but its contents told a different story. The newspaper clippings were yellowed with age, their edges brittle, but the text was still legible. According to the reports, several students had reported seeing a woman in red on the seventh floor, and one had been found in a catatonic state, muttering about a song that wouldn't stop playing in her head. The incidents had stopped as suddenly as they had begun, and the university had quietly suppressed the stories to avoid panic.
The internal memos were even more revealing, written in the careful, diplomatic language of university administrators trying to manage a crisis without acknowledging its true nature. Words like "psychological distress" and "mass suggestion" were used to describe what was clearly something else entirely.
What caught Mark's attention, however, was a small detail in one of the newspaper clippings from 1975. The woman described by the students had worn a traditional red qipao, the kind that hadn't been fashionable since the 1940s. The description was precise, detailed—the high collar, the slitted skirt, the delicate embroidery of phoenixes along the hem. And one witness, a student majoring in music, had described the song the woman sang as an old folk melody from Hunan province, a lullaby about lost souls seeking vengeance.
Mark made a copy of the file and slipped it into his coat pocket. The paper felt cool against his hand, the weight of information that might save lives. He was heading for the exit when he noticed her standing between two bookshelves, watching him with an intensity that was unusual even for university students who were naturally curious.
She was perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two, with long black hair that fell past her shoulders in a glossy cascade that seemed to absorb the dim light of the archive room. Her eyes were dark and intelligent, shaped like almonds and fringed with long lashes that gave her an appearance of perpetual curiosity. They seemed to take in everything at once, missing no detail. Her face was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and a full mouth that was currently set in a line of concentration.
She wore dark wash jeans that fit her slender frame well, and a simple white blouse whose collar was open at the throat, revealing a delicate silver necklace with a small jade pendant. The clothes were modest but of obvious quality, suggesting she came from a family of some means but preferred understated elegance. What struck Mark most, however, was that she wasn't looking at him with the usual mixture of fear and curiosity he encountered. She was looking at him with recognition, her head tilted slightly as if studying a specimen she'd only read about before.
She moved toward him with a grace that seemed natural rather than practiced, her steps quiet on the concrete floor. The air around her seemed to vibrate with an energy that was both familiar and intriguing—the energy of someone who stood between worlds, who understood that reality was more layered than most people believed.
"You're Mark Li," she said, not as a question but as a statement. Her voice was clear and melodious, with a hint of northern Chinese accent that gave her words a musical quality. "The supernatural investigator."
Mark paused, his hand on the door handle. "And you are?"
"Lin Wei," she replied. "Third-year student, archaeology department. I've read about your work. The Shanghai vampire case, the Hangzhou mirror demon, the Guangzhou phantom ship. You have a reputation for solving cases that the police can't."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "You follow supernatural crime stories?"
"Only the ones that are real," Lin Wei said, walking closer. "Most of what you read online is nonsense. But your cases... they have details that only someone who actually deals with the supernatural would know. The way you describe energy patterns, the specific types of manifestations, the methods you use for containment and elimination."
Mark studied her more carefully now. She was beautiful, yes, but it was her intelligence that truly stood out. She spoke with the confidence of someone who had done her research, who understood that the world contained more than what could be explained by science alone.
"You know a lot about this," Mark said. "More than most university students should."
"My grandfather was a Taoist priest," Lin Wei explained. "He taught me about the old ways, about how to recognize the signs of supernatural activity, how to protect oneself, how to help those who are troubled by spirits that can't find peace." She paused, her expression growing serious. "And I've been investigating the incidents in Building Seven myself. The university administration won't admit it, but what's happening there now isn't the first time."
Mark felt a genuine interest spark within him. "Go on."
"In 1975," Lin Wei continued, "there were similar sightings. A woman in red, students experiencing sleep paralysis, one found in a trance-like state. The university covered it up, but my grandfather kept notes. He said the entity was a vengeful spirit, a woman who had died violently and was seeking revenge on the living."
"And you believe this is the same entity?" Mark asked.
"The descriptions match perfectly," Lin Wei said. "Red qipao, midnight appearances, the singing. But what's different now is the aggression. In 1975, the spirit seemed content to frighten people. Now... now it's actively seeking to cause harm."
Mark considered her words carefully. He had learned to trust his instincts, and his instincts were telling him that this young woman was not only telling the truth but might actually be useful. Her knowledge of Chinese folklore and supernatural entities could save him hours of research, and more importantly, could provide insights that he, with his mixed heritage and Western training, might miss.
"Have you been to Building Seven?" Mark asked.
Lin Wei shook her head. "The university has sealed it off. Only authorized personnel are allowed in. But I've been watching from the windows of my dormitory. I've seen the lights flicker on the seventh floor at midnight, even when the power to that floor has been shut off. I've heard students talking about the cold spots that appear and disappear, the smell of jasmine perfume that comes and goes."
"Jasmine perfume," Mark repeated thoughtfully. "Any other details?"
"Sometimes," Lin Wei said hesitantly, "students report hearing weeping. Not loud crying, but soft, heartbreaking sobbing, like someone trying to cry without being heard. And sometimes... sometimes they say the woman in red looks right at them, and her eyes are empty, like she's not really seeing them but looking through them, at something else entirely."
Mark nodded slowly. "You've done good work, Miss Lin. Better than most professionals I've worked with."
"Will you let me help you?" Lin Wei asked, her voice urgent. "I know I'm just a student, but I have knowledge that could be useful. My grandfather taught me things, rituals and methods for dealing with spirits. I can recognize different types of entities, understand their motivations, help determine what they want."
Mark looked at her for a long moment, weighing the risks and benefits. Bringing a civilian into a supernatural investigation was dangerous, especially one this young. But she had knowledge, resources, and most importantly, access to places and people he couldn't easily reach. And he had to admit, he was intrigued by her intelligence and courage.
"It's dangerous," Mark said finally. "I won't lie to you about that. Spirits like the one we're dealing with don't follow rules, and they don't care about innocent bystanders. If you get involved, there's a real possibility that you could get hurt, or worse."
"I understand the risks," Lin Wei said firmly. "But I can't just sit by while more students die or get driven insane. This is my university, my friends who are at risk. I have to do something."
Mark nodded slowly. "Alright. But you follow my instructions exactly. If I tell you to leave, you leave. If I tell you not to touch something, don't touch it. This isn't a research project or an adventure. This is a matter of life and death."
"I understand," Lin Wei promised. "When do we start?"
"Tonight," Mark said. "At midnight. Meet me at the entrance to Building Seven. And wear something practical. We may need to move quickly, and I don't want you tripping over designer shoes."
Lin Wei smiled, and for the first time, Mark saw the vulnerability behind her confident exterior. "I'll be there. And don't worry, I don't own designer shoes."
As Mark walked away from the library, he couldn't help but feel that meeting Lin Wei was more than coincidence. In his line of work, he had learned that the universe rarely operated on chance alone. Sometimes, people were brought together for reasons that weren't immediately apparent, and he had a feeling that his partnership with Lin Wei was just beginning.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of preparation. Mark returned to his hotel room—a modest establishment near the university that offered both privacy and easy access to the campus—and began laying out his tools. These weren't the dramatic weapons of Hollywood movies, but practical instruments that he had learned through years of trial and error what worked and what didn't.
There were talismans hand-drawn by Buddhist monks and consecrated in temples, each containing specific prayers and symbols for protection and purification. There were small mirrors wrapped in red cloth, believed to repel evil spirits in Chinese folklore. There were packets of blessed salt and incense made from rare herbs that could cleanse spaces of negative energy. And there were more modern implements as well—EMF meters to detect electromagnetic fluctuations, digital recorders to capture electronic voice phenomena, infrared cameras to see what the human eye couldn't.
But Mark's most powerful tools were intangible: the knowledge passed down to him from his maternal grandmother, a shaman from Inner Mongolia who had taught him how to sense and manipulate spiritual energy; the training he had received from a Buddhist monastery in the mountains of Tibet, where he had learned meditation techniques that allowed him to maintain clarity of mind even in the face of terror; and the countless hours he had spent studying ancient texts and modern paranormal research, combining the wisdom of the old ways with the precision of scientific method.
By 11:30 PM, Mark was back at the university, his equipment bag slung over his shoulder. The rain had stopped, but the air was still thick with moisture, making the campus grounds glisten under the moonlight that occasionally broke through the clouds. Building Seven stood dark and silent, its windows like vacant eyes staring out at the world.
Lin Wei was already waiting at the entrance, dressed in dark jeans and a black jacket that made her nearly invisible in the shadows. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder and carried a flashlight, though she didn't turn it on.
"You're early," Mark said, checking his watch.
"So are you," Lin Wei replied. "I couldn't wait. Besides, I wanted to take one last look at the building before we went inside. It feels... wrong tonight. More than usual."
Mark looked up at the building, letting his senses expand outward. He had always been sensitive to spiritual energy, a gift that had been both a blessing and a curse throughout his life. Even from outside, he could feel it—a cold, oppressive energy that seemed to emanate from the seventh floor, a presence that was ancient and hungry.
"You're right," Mark said quietly. "It's stronger tonight. Something's drawing it out."
"The moon," Lin Wei said, pointing upward. "It's a full moon tonight. In Chinese folklore, full moons are times when the boundary between the living and the dead is at its thinnest. Spirits are more active, more powerful."
Mark nodded. He had noticed the moon as well, large and silver in the clear patches of sky between the clouds. Full moons were indeed significant in supernatural phenomena, though scientists would argue that it was merely psychological. Mark knew better.
"Let's go inside," Mark said, unlocking the door with the key President Zhang had given him. "But stay close to me, and don't wander off. If you see or hear anything unusual, tell me immediately. Don't investigate on your own."
Building Seven was unnervingly silent as they entered, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor of the lobby. The air was cold despite the building's central heating, carrying a faint scent of jasmine perfume that shouldn't have been there.
"The elevator is out of service," Mark said, noting the sign taped to the elevator doors. "We'll have to take the stairs."
The stairwell was even colder than the lobby, their breath fogging in the air as they began to climb. Each floor they passed seemed to grow progressively more oppressive, the air thickening with an energy that felt both ancient and malicious.
"I can feel it getting stronger," Lin Wei whispered, her hand tightening on her flashlight. "It's like walking through water that's getting deeper and colder."
Mark nodded, his hand moving to the small bag of blessed salt in his pocket. "Stay alert. We're getting close to the heart of it."
The seventh floor hallway was suffocatingly dark, the emergency lights providing only dim illumination that cast long, distorted shadows down the corridor. The air was cold enough to see their breath, each exhale creating small white clouds that dissipated quickly in the dead air. The doors to the student rooms were closed, some bearing name tags written in cheerful colors, others empty where students had fled in terror. The silence was absolute, broken only by the distant hum of the building's heating system and the sound of their own breathing.
Liu Xiaoming's room was at the far end of the hall, number 734. As they approached, Mark noticed that the temperature continued to drop, each step taking them deeper into an unnatural cold that seemed to emanate from the very walls. The floor beneath their feet felt like ice, even through their shoes, and the air carried the unmistakable scent of jasmine perfume—sweet, cloying, and entirely out of place in a university dormitory.
As they approached the room, Mark noticed something strange on the floor—a series of dark stains that looked suspiciously like old blood, though the police reports had made no mention of any violent struggle. The stains formed irregular patterns, like something had been dragged across the concrete floor, leaving behind trails of darkness that seemed to absorb what little light there was.
"These weren't here before," Lin Wei said, noticing the stains as well. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her breath visible in the frigid air. "I was on this floor two days ago, and the hallway was clean. I would have noticed... this."
Mark knelt down, examining the stains without touching them. They were dry and seemed to have absorbed into the concrete, leaving dark patches that couldn't be scrubbed away. He had seen similar markings before, left behind by powerful spirits that could manifest physical phenomena. The stains seemed to pulse slightly, as if with a faint heartbeat, though Mark knew it was just a trick of the poor lighting.
"This is spiritual residue," Mark said quietly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "The entity is becoming strong enough to affect the physical world directly. We need to be careful." He stood slowly, his hand moving instinctively to the small bag of blessed salt in his pocket. "It's feeding on the fear, the negative energy. Every student who's been terrified has made it stronger."
The door to room 734 was locked with a heavy chain that President Zhang had provided the key for. Mark unlocked it, the chain clanking loudly in the silent hallway. The room inside was exactly as the police had found it—a single bed against one wall, a desk piled with textbooks, a closet door slightly ajar. But the energy in the room was overwhelming, a coldness that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves.
"His parents haven't been in to collect his things yet," Mark said, stepping inside carefully. "The university sealed the room immediately after the incident."
Lin Wei followed him in, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. The room was neat, almost too neat, as if Liu Xiaoming had known he wouldn't be coming back. His textbooks were stacked perfectly on his desk, his clothes were folded in the closet, and his bed was made with military precision.
"This doesn't look like someone who was depressed or suicidal," Lin Wei observed. "Look at his desk—he was studying advanced calculus and physics. His notes are detailed, his handwriting is clear. This is someone who had plans, someone who was engaged with his studies and his future."
Mark nodded, walking to the desk and examining the textbooks. They were filled with detailed notes and highlighted passages, evidence of a dedicated student. But what caught his attention was a small notebook lying open on the desk, its pages filled with frantic writing that grew increasingly illegible toward the end.
"His suicide note," Mark said quietly, reading the last page. "I can't sleep anymore. She comes every night, singing her song, showing me things I shouldn't see. She says she's lonely, that she wants me to join her. I can't fight anymore. Forgive me."
Lin Wei looked over his shoulder, her expression sad. "He was trying to fight it. He wasn't giving up willingly."
"He wasn't," Mark agreed. "This entity is powerful, capable of breaking down even the strongest will. But there's something here that doesn't make sense. Why these particular students? Why now?"
As if in answer to his question, the temperature in the room suddenly dropped dramatically, their breath visible in the air like small white clouds. The flashlight beam flickered wildly, the light dimming and brightening erratically before dying completely, plunging them into near darkness. The only illumination came from the emergency light in the hallway, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to move and writhe like living things.
"She's here," Lin Wei whispered, her voice trembling slightly despite her attempt to sound brave. The air around them seemed to thicken, becoming heavy and oppressive, as if they were underwater.
Mark didn't need to ask who she meant. The energy in the room had shifted dramatically, becoming focused and predatory. He could feel a presence forming in the corner near the window, a darkness that seemed to absorb the light around it, creating a void of pure blackness that defied the dim lighting from the hallway.
"Stay behind me," Mark said softly, pulling a small mirror from his pocket. The mirror was wrapped in red cloth, its surface polished to a high sheen. "And don't look directly at her, whatever you do."
The darkness in the corner began to take shape, slowly resolving into the form of a woman. She materialized like a photograph developing in reverse—first a vague outline, then gradually gaining detail and substance. She was beautiful in a tragic way, with long black hair that fell to her waist like a waterfall of night. Her features were delicate and refined, speaking of the kind of nobility that could only be born into wealth and privilege. She wore a red qipao that was faded with age but still elegant, the silk threadbare in places but maintaining its graceful silhouette. Her feet were bare, though she didn't seem to feel the cold that had permeated the room.
But it was her eyes that were most terrifying—empty black voids that seemed to contain no light, no warmth, no humanity at all. They were like windows into nothingness, into a void so complete that it seemed to pull at the very soul of anyone who looked into them. As Mark watched, she turned her head slowly, the movement unnatural, like that of a doll being manipulated by invisible strings. Her gaze swept across the room until it landed on them.
"You're not students," she said, her voice like wind through dead leaves, carrying the chill of the grave. "You don't belong here." The words seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing in the small room and vibrating through the floorboards.
Mark held up the mirror, angling it so that it reflected her image back at her. The woman recoiled, her form flickering like a bad television signal.
"Who are you?" Mark asked, his voice steady despite the cold that was seeping into his bones. "Why are you haunting this place?"
The woman's form solidified again, her empty eyes fixing on Mark. "My name is Mei Ling. This was my university, my room. They took everything from me, and now I take from them. It's only fair."
"What did they take from you?" Mark asked, keeping the mirror between them.
The woman—Mei Ling—drifted closer, her bare feet making no sound on the floor. "My life. My love. My future. They promised me everything, then they left me with nothing. I died in this room, alone and broken. Now I keep them company, so they won't be lonely like I was."
Lin Wei made a small sound of sympathy, and Mei Ling's head snapped toward her. "You understand, don't you? The pain of being left behind, of having your heart broken by those you trusted."
"My grandfather always said that vengeful spirits are the saddest of all," Lin Wei said softly. "Trapped by their pain, unable to move on, hurting others because they can't heal their own wounds."
Mei Ling's form wavered, the anger in her energy momentarily replaced by something that looked like sorrow. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want... I just want the pain to stop. But it never stops. It's been with me for so long."
"What happened to you?" Mark asked, lowering the mirror slightly. "How did you die?"
Mei Ling drifted toward the window, looking out at the campus below. "It was 1947. I was a student here, the daughter of a wealthy merchant. I fell in love with another student, a poor boy who couldn't afford tuition. My father found out and forbade me from seeing him. But we continued to meet in secret, planning to run away together after graduation."
She paused, her form growing fainter. "A week before graduation, my father discovered our plans. He came to the university with his men, dragged me from this very room, and took me home. They beat me, trying to make me reveal where my lover was hiding. When I refused, they locked me in my room and set fire to the house."
Mark and Lin Wei listened in horrified silence.
"I died in the fire," Mei Ling continued, her voice barely audible. "But my spirit... my spirit was bound to this place, to this room, by the love I had for the boy who was waiting for me. I waited for him, but he never came. Later, I learned that my father's men had found him and killed him, buried him in an unmarked grave somewhere outside the city."
The room grew even colder as Mei Ling's sorrow turned to rage. "I waited for decades, alone and in pain. Then students started returning to this room, young people full of life and hope. I was so lonely, so desperate for company. At first, I just wanted them to stay with me, to keep me from being alone. But as the years passed, my loneliness turned to bitterness, my sadness to anger. Why should they have happiness when I had none? Why should they live when I had died?"
"They're not responsible for what happened to you," Mark said gently. "They're innocent."
"No one is innocent," Mei Ling hissed, her form flickering violently. "Everyone takes, everyone betrays. I'm just giving them what they deserve."
As she spoke, the room began to shake, books falling from shelves, the desk rattling on its legs. Mark could feel the energy building, the spirit's rage manifesting physically.
"Lin Wei, get back!" Mark shouted, pulling a talisman from his pocket. "Now!"
But it was too late. Mei Ling's form exploded outward, a wave of cold energy that threw both Mark and Lin Wei against the wall. Mark hit his head hard, his vision swimming for a moment, but he forced himself to focus, pushing through the pain and disorientation.
The room was in chaos—books and papers scattered everywhere, the desk overturned, the window cracked. Lin Wei was struggling to her feet, her face pale but determined.
"We need to get out of here," Mark said, pulling her toward the door. "She's too strong to fight directly."
"But we can't just leave her," Lin Wei protested. "She'll continue to hurt people."
"We're not leaving her," Mark said, pulling another talisman from his pocket. "We're regrouping. There's a ritual we can perform, but it requires preparation and the right location. We need to draw her out, then trap and purify her."
They fled down the hallway, the sound of shattering glass following them as Mei Ling's rage destroyed the room. The emergency lights flickered and died as they reached the stairwell, plunging the entire floor into darkness.
"What do we need for the ritual?" Lin Wei asked as they hurried down the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the enclosed space.
"Traditionally, it would require specific items—blessed water, consecrated ashes, a properly prepared altar," Mark said, his mind racing through the possibilities. "But we don't have time for that. We need to improvise, using what we have available."
"The campus temple," Lin Wei said suddenly. "There's a small Buddhist temple on the north side of campus, used by students and faculty for meditation. It has sacred space, blessed objects, and most importantly, it's consecrated ground. Spirits like Mei Ling can't easily enter consecrated spaces."
Mark nodded. "Good thinking. That's our best option. But we'll need to draw her there, and that won't be easy. She's bound to this building, to this room. Getting her to follow us will require bait."
"What kind of bait?" Lin Wei asked.
Mark looked at her grimly. "Someone who resembles her former lover, or someone who represents the youth and happiness she lost. Someone she'd want to take with her."
They reached the ground floor and burst out of the building into the cool night air. The campus was eerily quiet, most students having retreated to their rooms after midnight. The moon was high and bright, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns.
"I can do it," Lin Wei said quietly.
Mark looked at her in surprise. "No. It's too dangerous. You don't understand what she's capable of."
"I understand perfectly," Lin Wei insisted. "I've studied cases like this for years. Mei Ling is drawn to young women who remind her of herself—students with dreams, with lovers, with futures ahead of them. I'm a university student, same age as she was when she died. I represent everything she lost. If I walk through the building, calling out to her, talking about love and hope and the future, she'll follow me."
"It's too risky," Mark said firmly. "I can't let you do that."
"You don't have a choice," Lin Wei replied, her voice steady despite the fear Mark could see in her eyes. "We can't perform the ritual without drawing her out, and we can't draw her out without proper bait. I'm the best option you have."
Mark studied her face, seeing the determination there, the courage that went beyond mere bravado. She was right, though he hated to admit it. The ritual would only work if Mei Ling was drawn away from her place of power, and Lin Wei was indeed the perfect bait.
"Alright," Mark said finally. "But we need to prepare carefully. First, we need to get to the temple and set up the space. Then we need to establish protections for you, something that will keep you safe long enough to lead her to the trap."
"What kind of protections?" Lin Wei asked.
Mark reached into his bag and pulled out a small silk pouch. "Blessed salt, mixed with herbs and consecrated ash. If you carry this and focus on protective thoughts, it should create a barrier that she can't easily penetrate. It won't last forever, but it might give us the time we need."
He also pulled out a small jade amulet on a red cord. "This was consecrated by a high lama in Tibet. It offers protection against spiritual attacks. Wear it around your neck, and don't take it off for any reason."
Lin Wei took the amulet, her fingers brushing against Mark's. "Thank you. I'll be careful."
The Buddhist temple was a small, elegant structure nestled among ancient trees on the north side of campus. It was built in traditional Chinese style, with curved tile roofs that seemed to float against the night sky and intricate wooden latticework that cast complex shadows in the moonlight. The temple had clearly been maintained with loving care—each wooden beam polished to a warm glow, each stone placed with precision and reverence. Ancient ginkgo trees surrounded the building, their fan-shaped leaves rustling in the gentle breeze like whispers from the past.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sandalwood incense, the smoke rising in thin curls toward the high ceiling where golden dragons coiled around wooden pillars. The space felt peaceful, protected from the darkness that seemed to emanate from Building Seven. The floor was made of dark wood, polished smooth by generations of worshippers, and the walls were adorned with intricate paintings of Buddhist deities and scenes from sacred texts.
"There should be a ritual bell somewhere," Mark said, looking around the main worship hall. "And consecrated water for blessing the space."
Lin Wei found a small bronze bell on a side altar and a bowl of blessed water near the entrance. "These should work. What do we need to do?"
"We need to create a sacred circle, a space where Mei Ling can be contained and purified," Mark explained, taking out a small pouch of blessed salt. "The circle needs to be complete, with no breaks in the protection. Once inside, she won't be able to leave until we've helped her find peace."
He began pouring the salt in a circle around the center of the room, chanting softly in Tibetan as he worked. Lin Wei watched in fascination, recognizing some of the words from her grandfather's teachings.
"You're calling on protective deities," she said quietly. "Asking for their help in purifying the space."
Mark nodded. "This isn't just about trapping a spirit. It's about helping her find peace, releasing her from the pain that's kept her bound to this world for so long. That requires compassion as well as power."
Once the circle was complete, Mark placed several lit candles at key points around its perimeter. The flames burned steadily, creating a warm, protective light that seemed to push back the shadows.
"Now what?" Lin Wei asked, her voice slightly nervous.
"Now you go to Building Seven," Mark said, his expression serious. "Walk through the seventh floor hallway, but don't go into the room. Call out to her, tell her you understand her pain, that you want to help her find peace. But be careful not to get too close, and remember the protections I gave you."
"What will you be doing?" Lin Wei asked.
"Preparing the final purification ritual," Mark said, arranging various items in the center of the circle. "I need to be ready the moment you bring her here. This will only work if we can trap her quickly, before she realizes what's happening."
Lin Wei took a deep breath, her hand instinctively touching the jade amulet around her neck. "Alright. I'll do my best."
"I know you will," Mark said, his voice softening. "But remember, if anything goes wrong, if you feel like you're losing control, run. Don't try to fight her directly. Just run back here as fast as you can."
"I will," Lin Wei promised, turning to leave. "Be ready."
As Lin Wei disappeared into the night, Mark began the final preparations for the ritual. He arranged the talismans in specific patterns, lit the incense, and began the meditation techniques that would clear his mind and strengthen his spiritual energy. He could feel the darkness gathering across campus, a cold presence that was slowly being drawn toward the temple.
The ritual he was preparing was ancient, a Tibetan purification ceremony that required both power and compassion. It was dangerous—many practitioners had been driven insane or killed attempting to purify spirits as powerful and tormented as Mei Ling. But it was also their only chance of helping her find peace and protecting the students of Dragon Pearl City University.
Meanwhile, Lin Wei approached Building Seven with a mixture of fear and determination. The building seemed even more menacing than before, its windows like empty eyes watching her approach. She took a deep breath, clutching the silk pouch of blessed salt in one hand and the jade amulet in the other.
"Mei Ling," she called out as she entered the building, her voice echoing in the silent lobby. "I know you're here. I want to talk to you."
The air grew cold around her, the familiar scent of jasmine filling the space. Lin Wei began to climb the stairs, each step taking her deeper into the oppressive energy that emanated from the seventh floor.
"I know what happened to you," Lin Wei continued, her voice gaining strength. "I know about the fire, about your lover, about the pain you've carried for so long. You don't have to be alone anymore. There are people who can help you, people who understand your suffering."
As she reached the seventh floor landing, she could feel Mei Ling's presence growing stronger, a cold anger that seemed to pulse in the air around her. The hallway was dark, the emergency lights still out, but Lin Wei could make out the familiar shape of the woman in red standing outside room 734.
"You shouldn't have come back," Mei Ling said, her voice like ice. "You can't help me. No one can help me."
"I can," Lin Wei said, walking slowly toward her. "I know about love and loss. My grandfather taught me that even the most broken spirits can find peace if they're willing to let go of their pain."
"Let go?" Mei Ling laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Pain is all I have left. It's the only thing that's real, the only thing that's stayed with me through all these years. Why would I let go of the only thing that's truly mine?"
"Because holding onto it is destroying you," Lin Wei said gently, stopping a few feet from the spirit. "Look at what you've become. You're hurting innocent people, students who have nothing to do with what happened to you. Is that what you want? To become the same kind of monster that destroyed you?"
Mei Ling's form flickered, the anger in her energy momentarily replaced by confusion. "I... I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm just so lonely, so angry. It hurts all the time, and I don't know how to make it stop."
"There's a place where it can stop," Lin Wei said softly. "A place where you can find peace, where you can be reunited with your lover. But you have to be willing to let go of the anger, to forgive those who hurt you."
"Forgive them?" Mei Ling hissed, her form growing darker. "They killed me! They killed the man I loved! How can I forgive that?"
"Holding onto your anger doesn't hurt them anymore," Lin Wei reasoned. "They're gone, dead decades ago. You're only hurting yourself, and now you're hurting others. Let me help you find peace. Let me help you move on."
Mei Ling studied her, the empty voids of her eyes seeming to search for something in Lin Wei's face. "You really believe you can help me?"
"I do," Lin Wei said. "But you have to trust me. You have to come with me to a place where we can perform the ritual that will release you from your pain."
Slowly, hesitantly, Mei Ling nodded. "Alright. But if you're lying to me, if this is a trap..."
"It's not a trap," Lin Wei promised. "I want to help you. Come with me."
As Lin Wei led Mei Ling down the stairs and out of Building Seven, Mark could feel their approach from the temple. The energy shifted, the cold presence growing stronger as they drew closer. He made the final preparations, lighting the last of the candles and beginning the purification chant that would help Mei Ling find peace.
The temple doors opened, and Lin Wei entered with Mei Ling following behind her. The spirit paused at the entrance to the sacred circle, sensing the protective energy that filled the space.
"It's alright," Lin Wei said gently. "This is a safe place. No one here will hurt you."
Mark began the ritual, his voice steady and clear as he chanted the ancient Tibetan words that would help Mei Ling release her pain and find peace. The candles burned brighter, the air filled with the scent of incense and the sound of the ritual bell that Lin Wei rang at key moments in the ceremony.
Mei Ling stood in the center of the circle, her form flickering as waves of energy washed over her. At first, she resisted, the anger and pain that had sustained her for decades fighting against the purification. But as Mark continued the chant, speaking to her of forgiveness, of letting go, of finding peace, she began to soften.
Images appeared in the air around her—scenes from her life, her time as a student, her meetings with her lover, the happiness they had shared. Then came the darker images—the confrontation with her father, the fire, her last moments of agony and despair.
"You don't have to relive that pain anymore," Mark said softly, continuing the chant. "You can let it go. You can find peace."
Mei Ling looked at Lin Wei, her eyes no longer empty voids but filled with something that looked like hope. "I can? I can really find peace?"
"You can," Lin Wei promised. "We'll help you. Just let go of the anger, let go of the pain. Focus on the love you shared, the happiness you knew. That's what's real, not the pain and anger."
Slowly, Mei Ling's form began to change, the darkness fading from her energy, replaced by a soft, warm light. She smiled, a genuine smile that transformed her face from tragic to beautiful.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Thank you for helping me remember."
As the final words of the ritual were spoken, Mei Ling's form dissolved completely, transforming into thousands of points of light that floated upward like fireflies before disappearing. The coldness that had filled the temple vanished, replaced by a warmth and peace that seemed to settle over the space.
Mark finished the chant and opened his eyes, smiling at Lin Wei. "You did it. You helped her find peace."
Lin Wei collapsed onto one of the meditation cushions, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming her. "We did it. I couldn't have done it without you."
"You were the key," Mark said, sitting opposite her. "Your compassion, your understanding—that's what reached her. I just provided the framework for the purification."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both recovering from the intensity of the ritual. The sun was beginning to rise, its first rays filtering through the temple windows and illuminating the space with a soft, golden light.
"What happens now?" Lin Wei asked finally.
"Now we wait," Mark said. "President Zhang will want to know what happened, but we need to be careful about how we explain it. Most people won't understand what really occurred here tonight."
"But the students will be safe now, right?" Lin Wei asked. "Mei Ling won't hurt anyone else?"
"No," Mark assured her. "She's moved on, found peace. The energy in Building Seven should return to normal, though it might take some time for the fear to fade."
Lin Wei nodded, then looked at Mark with renewed interest. "You do this kind of work all the time? Dealing with spirits, helping them find peace?"
"Mostly," Mark admitted. "Though not all cases are as successful as this one. Some spirits are too corrupted by their pain, too consumed by their anger to be helped. Those are the dangerous ones, the ones that have to be contained rather than purified."
"And you do this alone?" Lin Wei asked.
"Usually," Mark said. "It's safer that way, fewer people at risk. But tonight... tonight having you here made all the difference. Your knowledge of Chinese folklore, your understanding of spiritual matters—it was invaluable."
Lin Wei smiled. "My grandfather would be proud. He always wanted me to use his teachings to help people, not just study them as academic subjects."
"He would be very proud," Mark agreed. "You have natural talent, and more importantly, you have the compassion and courage needed for this kind of work."
As they spoke, Mark realized that he was thinking about the future, about the possibility of working with Lin Wei again. He had always worked alone, preferring the solitude and simplicity of not having to worry about anyone else's safety. But she had proven herself tonight, not just as an assistant but as a partner.
"Lin Wei," he said hesitantly, "have you ever considered doing this kind of work professionally? Not as a hobby or academic interest, but as a career?"
Lin Wei looked surprised. "You mean like you? A supernatural investigator?"
"Something like that," Mark said. "There's a need for people who understand both the traditional ways and modern methods, who can bridge the gap between science and spirituality. You have that understanding, that natural ability."
"I... I don't know," Lin Wei stammered. "I've always planned to go to graduate school, maybe become a professor of archaeology or religious studies. But..." She trailed off, considering the possibility.
"But you enjoyed tonight," Mark finished for her. "Not the fear, not the danger, but the feeling of helping someone, of making a real difference in someone's existence."
Lin Wei nodded slowly. "I did. It felt... meaningful. More meaningful than anything I've ever done before."
"The work is dangerous," Mark warned. "And it doesn't pay well. Most of the time, the people who need help can't afford to pay much, if anything."
"But the rewards..." Lin Wei said thoughtfully. "The rewards would be extraordinary."
Mark smiled. "They are. But think about it carefully. This isn't something to rush into."
As they left the temple and walked across the campus in the early morning light, Mark found himself hoping that she would consider his offer seriously. He had never considered taking on an apprentice or partner before, but there was something about Lin Wei that made him think they could work well together.
"I need to report to President Zhang," Mark said as they reached the administration building. "Would you like to join me? Your perspective might be helpful in explaining what happened."
"I'd like that," Lin Wei agreed. "Though I'm not sure how we'll explain a purification ritual without sounding crazy."
"We'll be creative with the truth," Mark said with a smile. "We'll talk about psychological counseling, stress management techniques, specialized intervention methods. We'll use words that administrators understand, even if the reality was something quite different."
President Zhang was waiting for them in his office, looking exhausted but relieved when he saw them enter.
"Mr. Li, Miss Lin. I was worried when you didn't return earlier. Was everything... successful?"
"The entity has been dealt with," Mark said carefully. "It was a residual spiritual manifestation, common in old buildings with tragic histories. We performed a cleansing ritual that should resolve the problem permanently."
"And the students?" Zhang asked. "Will they be safe now?"
"They should be," Mark confirmed. "The negative energy has been cleared from Building Seven. It might take some time for the psychological effects to fade, but there should be no more supernatural incidents."
Lin Wei stepped forward. "Mr. President, I think it would be helpful to provide counseling services for the students who were affected. Even if the threat is gone, the fear and trauma they experienced are real."
"An excellent suggestion," Zhang agreed. "We'll set up emergency counseling sessions starting today. Thank you, Miss Lin. Your insight is appreciated."
As they left the administration building, Mark turned to Lin Wei. "You handled that well. You have a talent for translation—taking the supernatural and making it understandable to ordinary people."
"It comes from years of explaining my grandfather's work to skeptical classmates and professors," Lin Wei said with a smile. "I've learned to find the right words to bridge different worldviews."
They walked together across the campus, which was beginning to come alive with the early morning activities of university life. Students were heading to breakfast, professors were arriving for their morning classes, and the normal routine of academic life was resuming.
"I should get back to my dorm room," Lin Wei said eventually. "I have a class at ten, and I should probably change clothes and try to get some rest."
"Before you go," Mark said, pulling a business card from his wallet. "If you decide you want to discuss my offer further, or if you just want to talk about what happened tonight, call me."
Lin Wei took the card, her fingers brushing against his again. "I will. And Mark... thank you. For everything. For trusting me, for letting me help, for showing me that there's more to my grandfather's teachings than I ever realized."
"You earned that trust tonight," Mark said sincerely. "And I have a feeling this is just the beginning of your journey into this world."
As Lin Wei walked away toward her dormitory, Mark watched her go, already looking forward to their next meeting. He had come to Dragon Pearl City University to solve a supernatural problem, but he was leaving with something unexpected—a potential partner, a friend, and someone who might just change the way he approached his work forever.
The red shadow of Dragon Pearl City University had been defeated, but Mark Li knew that there were countless other shadows lurking in the darkness, countless other souls in need of help. And now, perhaps, he wouldn't have to face them alone.
***
Three days later, Mark Li was packing his bags in his hotel room when his phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but he had a feeling he knew who it was.
"Mark Li," he answered.
"It's Lin Wei," her voice came through the line, sounding excited and nervous at the same time. "I've been thinking about your offer, about working with you. I've done some research, talked to my academic advisor, and... I want to accept."
Mark smiled, feeling a genuine sense of pleasure at her decision. "That's wonderful news. But are you sure? This is a big step, a significant change from your planned career path."
"I'm sure," Lin Wei said firmly. "I talked to my advisor, and he was surprisingly supportive. He said that field experience in supernatural phenomena could actually enhance my academic work, that I could eventually write about my experiences, contribute to the academic understanding of these matters."
"He's right," Mark agreed. "There's so much that needs to be documented, so much that traditional academics dismiss without investigation. Your work could be groundbreaking."
"When do we start?" Lin Wei asked.
"That depends on you," Mark said. "Do you have any upcoming cases that need investigation?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," Lin Wei said, and Mark could hear the smile in her voice. "There's a small village in the mountains about a hundred kilometers from here. My grandmother's family comes from there, and she's been telling me stories about strange happenings—people disappearing, unusual lights in the forest, sounds that don't match any known animals. The locals are scared, and they've asked for help."
"How soon can you be ready to travel?" Mark asked, already feeling the familiar excitement of a new case beginning.
"Give me two days to wrap up my university responsibilities," Lin Wei said. "I can arrange for a leave of absence, pack my bags, and be ready to go. My grandmother's family can provide us with accommodation in the village."
"Perfect," Mark said. "I'll make the necessary preparations on my end. Send me the details about the village and the specific phenomena that have been reported."
"I will," Lin Wei promised. "And Mark... thank you again. For giving me this opportunity, for seeing potential in me that I didn't even see in myself."
"You earned it," Mark said. "I'll see you in two days."
As he ended the call, Mark Li felt a sense of optimism that he hadn't experienced in years. The work he did was often lonely and dangerous, but now, for the first time, he had someone to share it with—someone who understood both the dangers and the rewards, someone who had the courage and compassion to make a real difference.
The adventures of Mark Li and Lin Wei were just beginning, and he had a feeling that together, they would face challenges and discover wonders that neither could have imagined alone. The red shadow of Dragon Pearl City University had been defeated, but there were countless other mysteries waiting to be solved, countless other souls waiting to be helped.
And now, he wouldn't have to face them in the dark alone.