“That’s Gao Xiaoyun’s comb!” Ao Qingxue recognized it instantly and gasped. “Didn’t Master Gao throw it away? Why is it still here?!”

For the interstellar audience, this was their first encounter with the classic horror trope of “discarded objects mysteriously returning.” They watched as Mistress Gao gathered all her long, jet-black hair over one shoulder, the dark strands cascading down and partially obscuring her face.

She began to comb her hair, slowly and mechanically.

The camera panned to the mirror.

It was a smooth bronze mirror, but its surface was hazy, as if shrouded in mist. The reflection of the woman’s face appeared distorted and eerie.

With the limited perspective, viewers could only catch glimpses through the mirror. In the background, Master Gao was struggling and screaming, while in the foreground, Mistress Gao continued combing her hair with meticulous precision.

[This is so creepy, help!]

[I’ve never been scared of mirrors before, but now I am!!]

[How long is she going to keep combing?!]

Drip. Drip.

Bright red droplets fell onto the mirror’s surface. Even without a direct shot, the audience understood—it was blood, spilling as Master Gao was strangled by the hair.

“…Help…me…hel…”

Master Gao’s voice grew weaker. Death on one side, combing hair on the other—the stark contrast made the scene all the more unsettling and surreal.

His figure was slowly engulfed, strands of hair wrapping around him, forming a massive, cage-like black mass.

Only then did Mistress Gao finally stop combing. She sat in front of the mirror for a moment, seemingly admiring her hair, before standing up and returning to bed.

Completely unaware, she walked through the hair’s intricate web. Her white robes became stained with blood, turning into what resembled a crimson wedding gown.

Was it over…?

Ao Qingxue cautiously lowered her defensive stance, but just as she let her guard down, the camera delivered the final, chilling blow—

The shot returned to the mirror. Inside, the blood-stained “Mistress Gao” was still sitting there!

Even Ao Qingxue couldn’t hold back a scream. On Earth, where haunted mirror tropes were common, this would still be terrifying. For the unprepared interstellar viewers, it was pure nightmare fuel.

The woman in the mirror slowly curled her lips into a sinister, delighted smile.

The night ended. The scene faded out, but the barrage of terrified comments didn’t stop.

[AHHH I’M GONNA CRY QAQ]

[OH MY GOD MY HEART NEARLY JUMPED OUT OF MY THROAT! That thing in the mirror… it’s “Deadly Silk Hair,” isn’t it?!]

[Damn, gotta give it to Director Shang. We never even saw what the hair ghost actually looks like, yet just this setup alone makes it feel overwhelmingly terrifying and powerful… Ahhh!]

By dawn, not only was Master Gao dead, but his eldest son had also inexplicably turned into a lifeless corpse. Every adult male in the Gao family’s main bloodline had perished overnight. When Mistress Gao awoke the next day, drenched in blood and faced with her husband’s gruesome demise, she was so overwhelmed with shock that she lost her mind entirely.

The tragedy sent shockwaves through the entire capital.

There was no covering it up anymore. Previously, the public only knew that the Gao family’s second son had died a violent death, but the details were unclear. Now, with the entire household leaderless, all the secrets spilled out at once.

From high-ranking nobles to commoners of all trades, everyone was talking about the haunting of the Gao family.

Even though Ao Qingxue lived in a completely different era, she could still feel the chilling weight of the fear that had gripped those people.

Gao Xiaoyun and her five-year-old half-brother were now the only two left with any say in the family. Dressed in mourning clothes, she presided over the funeral rites for her father and brothers.

Even more funeral money rained down this time, covering the ground in a dense white layer.

[Think about it—do you really think this hair ghost will stop at just one family? If the worst happens and the Gaos are wiped out, wouldn’t it move on to another household?]

[Gao Xiaoyun should be terrified too. That comb is way more dangerous than anyone ever imagined. This is completely out of control now…]

[If I were their neighbor, I’d either move out or call in an exorcist.]

The characters in the show were clearly thinking the same thing.

Gao Xiaoyun received two pieces of news. First, even the imperial court had been alarmed and planned to send experts to purge the supernatural menace from the Gao estate. Second, the family that had once arranged her engagement was now offering to overlook the bad luck and let her marry three months after the mourning period.

Ao Qingxue grew anxious again and sighed in frustration. “Ugh, I just want to skip ahead to the ending!”

…

Meanwhile, Wu Rui stared at the words [Episode 3 – End] on the screen, momentarily dazed. She felt as if something was clawing at her insides with curiosity.

Even as an actress, she only knew her own script. She had no idea how the story would conclude.

So, what was the reaction on the star network?

Nervously, Wu Rui refreshed the page.

[One crisis after another—Gao Xiaoyun’s survival path is too damn hard!]

[This makes no sense. Why is that family so eager to marry her now?]

[Part of it must be because she’s an “unmarried orphan.” Easy to control, right?]

[Wu Rui nailed her performance as the White-Bone Scholar! She and Director Shang need to blow up in popularity already!]

[Director Shang has such a sharp eye. From Tang Chuntao to Wu Rui, even the actress playing Mistress Gao—his casting is flawless.]

[It’s not surprising that a newbie Dreamweaver can adjust parameters well. But to direct live actors this masterfully? That’s rare. Director Shang was born for this.]

White-Bone Scholar… hair ghost… Director Shang… Wu Rui…

These keywords kept popping up. Wu Rui sensed the shift in momentum. She looked closer—after the release of Episode 3, Rouge Comb’s number of viewers was skyrocketing, outshining every other trending short drama on the platform.

A flicker of excitement stirred in her chest.

After so long, Director Shang’s work—and her performance—were finally on the verge of exploding into mainstream success.

–

In the interstellar era, where infinite information overflowed, personal echo chambers formed easily.

Audiences of specific platforms tended to focus only on their niche interests. But on Evergreen, the name “Shang Jingyan” had started to appear more and more frequently.

Some users even claimed that her work had helped alleviate their emptiness syndrome.

People were speculating—when would Evergreen officially sign him?

As for her growing fanbase, they could list every recent milestone by heart: “Director Shang’s first project topped the themed event rankings,” “A viral Gamma System streamer is following our Dreamweaver’s show,” “That same streamer got so scared they went viral again!”

But what about the rest of the Exiled Star Systems?

So far, Shang Jingyan was still a nobody. But after Episode 3, that was starting to change.

On Exile Planet V066, in a modest home…

“Hey, bro, check this out! This ‘White-Bone Lianyun’ ship is blowing up!”

A teenage girl eagerly tapped her lightbrain, expanding the video projection.

It was a fan edit titled: [I’m Obsessed—The Most Beautiful Forbidden Love Story! Bone Demon Scholar X Aristocratic Lady—These Two Newcomers Just Made History!]

The editing was masterful, perfectly capturing the chemistry between the White-Bone Scholar and the noblewoman. Just watching the short clip, endless possibilities unfolded in the mind.

“I saw this too!” her older brother grinned. “I’m really intrigued. I was planning to check out the original tonight.”

The siblings—Jiang Yubai and Jiang Yuran—were the definition of casual viewers, drawn in by algorithm-driven trends.

Jiang Yuran sighed dreamily. “I’ve watched this edit so many times already. It’s so sweet! But… the comments are kinda weird. Now I’m a little hesitant.”

She tapped on the top comment and showed it to her brother—

“Oh my god, look at those views! This scam has gone viral. Video creator, are you shaking in your boots? (doge face)”

The video creator replied: “It’s my honor to bring more people into Rouge Comb to ship Whitebone and Lianyun! (doge face) (salute)”

The top comments were just as chaotic. Some were issuing repeated warnings:

“Brace yourselves before watching. You might want to keep some heart medicine on hand.”

“Wait, is it because the romance is so bad it makes you want to scream for help?”

“No, the romance isn’t even the main focus, and it’s actually pretty well done… The screaming-for-help part comes from something else! This is a horror-themed short series! I’ll say it again—be prepared!”

“Horror? Whatever, as long as the romance is good, I’m in!”

Others were just downright excited:

“AAAHHH I watched it! How do I even put this… I can only say AHHHHH!!”

“Is it so sweet it makes you howl? Now I’m intrigued.”

“NO AHHHHH!! But it’s really good! (incoherent screaming)”

“???”

Jiang Yubai blinked in confusion. He searched for “Dreamweaver” and immediately choked on a laugh when he saw a meme featuring You Yao. “Oh wow, so this is where that meme comes from? I’ve been using it for my thesis! ‘Crawling in darkness and madness’—it looks hilarious. How is this horror?”

Jiang Yuran scratched his head. “I have no clue, but just in case, let’s watch it together tonight.”

Jiang Yubai nodded.

–

Conversations like this were happening all over the place that day.

“Congrats, Director Shang!”

“Hahaha, Shang is about to blow up!”

“Go, Yanyan, go!”

–

Shang Jingyan’s inbox was flooded, and even strangers were trying to cozy up to her.

She normally didn’t bother with private messages, but as she skimmed through, she noticed a few official emails gleaming in green. She rubbed her chin.

Evergreen’s branding was green, and its mascot, “Qingqing,” was a little water spirit girl with leaves sprouting from her head. When Shang Jingyan opened the email, Qingqing appeared, twirling and throwing flower petals in celebration.

“Dear [Jingyan],

Your work meets the signing standards for Dreamweavers on the Evergreen platform. Qingqing would love to invite you to become a contracted Dreamweaver! Are you interested? If you’d like to learn more, please contact Editor Muxiu~ [flower emoji] Contact info: …

P.S. If you’re interested, you can start prepping for your debut interview! Qingqing has put together a reference outline: [link] …

No matter what you decide, we wish you great success and a meteoric rise!”

Signing a contract, huh…

Shang Jingyan had already been considering it. No one can make it alone, and with a platform’s support, her Dreamweaver journey would go much smoother.

After researching her options, Chang Qingqing had always been at the top of her list. It had the best reputation and the most fair recommendation system.

Evergreen—officially Evergreen Dreamweaver Dream City—was one of the largest Dreamweaver platforms in the Exile Star System. Or, honestly, you could even drop the “one of.”

Its history was legendary, one of the rare platforms that had existed since the last star era.

Back in the single-planet days, it started as a literature site. Over time, it incorporated games, music, and other creative forms, growing into an empire. When humanity entered the Era of Mental Power, it was the first to introduce the concept of Dreamweavers—creators who combined multiple artistic disciplines into immersive experiences.

In that sense, it was the oldest and most prestigious platform for Dreamweavers.

But when humanity expanded beyond the Alpha Star System, Evergreen didn’t follow the migration. Instead, it chose to stay.

No one knew why its leadership made that decision, but the result was clear—its former glory had faded. Though it still had branches in the central star system, people always attached a qualifier to its name: “Oh, that one from the Exile Star System…”

As a result, its decision was often cited as one of the biggest business miscalculations in history.

Shang Jingyan mulled over it for two seconds, then clicked on Editor Muxiu’s contact info and sent a request.

–

Even Ao Qingxue could feel the ripple effect of Shang Jingyan’s rising popularity.

The moment she started streaming the next day, she was stunned. “Whoa, where did all these people come from?”

Her viewership was up by 30% compared to usual.

“New here! I watched Rouge Comb and got hooked, but I’m too scared to play horror games, so I came to the stream instead. Haha.”

“Same! I’m waiting for the streamer to beat it first before I try.”

“Yeah, there aren’t even any guides yet. I don’t wanna suffer through trial and error…”

The chat was filled with similar sentiments. Seeing a fellow Dreamweaver succeed, Ao Qingxue was thrilled and hyped up her stream even more. “Perfect timing! Today, I’m diving into new area!”

For the past week, she had been trying to figure out the cursed doll’s purpose and hadn’t yet dared to enter Building 18.

Meanwhile, players had started figuring things out, and the results were… amusing.

A new forum section had popped up for Building 18, and the most popular thread was:

“Tell us your weirdest experiences in the game!”

“I tried to play as a chill teacher, treating it like a normal sim game. Director Shang’s AI is so advanced that outwitting my students was actually fun… But guess what ending I got?? ‘Bad Ending 2: You’ve finally had enough. ‘You are the worst class I have ever taught!’ After yelling this, you quit Baishui No. 2 High School. You will never uncover its secrets. Better luck next life.’”

“LMAO, this is the devs roasting us! Y’all turned a horror game into Teacher Simulator!”

“At least you’re better than me. I’ve hit BE3 three times. The ending title? ‘Dating Won’t Save No. 2 High School’… Like, come on! All I did was try to romance the literature teacher, Lin Huailu! And every time, I died differently! Once at an amusement park—safety harness failed. Once choking on couple’s ice cream. Once poisoned by expired chocolate.”

“Wait… you always die while with Lin Huailu? That’s kinda sus.”

–

Ao Qingxue was focused on the main storyline, but she kept an eye on these posts for both entertainment and hidden clues. Lin Huailu had officially made her “watch list.”

After countless experiments, she confirmed: the cursed doll could open a time rift to ten years ago, but only at dusk.

“In ancient texts, dusk is called the ‘witching hour,’” she explained to the new viewers. “That’s probably why it triggers time travel. Oh, and by the way—18 is a significant number. Some legends say the underworld has eighteen levels of hell.”

Numbers in Building 18 were all ominous. Even the protagonist, Langzhu, was surrounded by unlucky ‘4s’—a homophone for ‘death.’

Ao Qingxue waved the doll. “I think I’ve cracked its mechanics. Today, we’re going inside Building 18.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, she held the cursed doll high, letting the last light cast half its body in shadow.

A moment later, the world distorted.

Dusk turned to night.

The biggest change? The view outside—she could see Building 18 from the principal’s office. It was supposed to be a ruin, cordoned off with caution tape. But now… the entire building was alive, its windows glowing, figures moving inside.

Ao Qingxue slung her bag over her shoulder—inside was a hammer for safety.

Then, she stepped out and headed toward Building 18.

She moved forward unimpeded. The eerie corridor looked vastly different in this timeline—brightly lit, alive with students on their evening study break, laughing and roughhousing. Some of them ran straight through her body as they passed—this timeline didn’t allow for interaction with past figures.

[Someone tag Lu Zibing! Look at this!]

[Hahahaha, Lu Zibing would cough up blood if he saw this. Why aren’t there any ratmen here? Why is she just strolling along like it’s nothing? The only difference is whether you bring your brain when playing the game. (doge emoji)]

[Speaking of which, Lu Zibing hasn’t dared touch Building 18 for a whole week now. Still pretending it’s because he’s mad at the devs. 2333.]

Ten years ago, Building 18 hadn’t been renovated yet. Like the other old buildings on campus, it had a distinct air of age. The once-white tiles in the hallway had faded to a dull cement gray, and the paint on the stair railings was peeling.

It was still evening study time, so the dormitory floor was deserted, the lights all off. Fortunately, Ao Qingxue had brought a flashlight. The stark white beam illuminated a small circular patch in front of her.

[Ugh, this is starting to feel creepy…]

[I hate this limited-visibility stuff, QAQ.]

[Ahhh, I’m terrified a rat-man is going to jump out of the shadows!]

Restricting vision to the flashlight’s beam—classic horror game trick. Always effective.

Ao Qingxue instinctively became more cautious, meticulously checking each floor. She soon arrived at the door Lu Zibing hadn’t managed to get a good look at before—“404.” Strange. Lu Zibing had clearly climbed in through a first-floor window, yet somehow, he’d ended up on the fourth floor. Another sign of spatial distortion, perhaps.

In this entire building, only the fourth floor had a Dorm 404. The other floors stopped at Room 3, meaning this was the only dorm with a “4” in its number.

Dorm 404 was a girls’ dormitory. Ao Qingxue phased through the door, triggering a pop-up notification:

[*You’ve found an item you can interact with.*]

It was a blue hardcover notebook. Its spine was barely holding together, as if someone had torn it in half. One corner was even scorched, evidence of fire damage.

[*You obtained an item: Diary Fragment 1.*]

[Here we go! The classic romance drama prop—*the diary*!]

[Why is this a horror game item too?!]

[What kind of normal person even writes a diary, smh.jpg.]

Ao Qingxue hesitated for a few moments, but curiosity won out. She flipped it open right then and there, flashlight in hand.

**2122/11/4**

It rained again today. I’m in a bad mood. I argued with Dad. I asked him, “Are you planning to get remarried?” I saw him go on a matchmaking date.

Dad told me to mind my own business. I told him that woman wasn’t a good match for him. We argued more and more, and in the end, we fought. I got out of the car upset.

Honestly, I know I was just picking a fight. I just want him to get back together with Mom. Mom… (This part was burned and unreadable.)

The diary entries weren’t daily—some were spaced out by days or even weeks, and most of them were just everyday trivialities. Ao Qingxue skimmed through them quickly.

But one entry at the end of this page stood out.

**2123/2/20**

I have a suspicion, but I’m not sure yet. This place doesn’t seem right.

I am afraid!!!

The last three words were written in English, each exclamation mark thickly outlined in red ink.

Afraid of what?

Ao Qingxue turned the page—and immediately flinched. The next two full pages were completely covered in erratic, twisted lines drawn in four different ink colors. The chaotic scribbles seemed to pulse under the flashlight, filling her vision.

A cold chill crept up her fingertips as she held the diary.

Wedged between those pages, barely legible in smeared red ink, were the words:

*I left it in the dorm… (unreadable) …it’s gone!*

*So scary, so scary, so scary, so scary, so scary, so scary, so scary, so scary, so scary…* (Repeated at least fifty times.)

[Holy crap, someone do a mental health check on this diary’s owner.]

[Did not expect to be creeped out just by reading handwriting…]

[What did they lose? Is that why they were so terrified?]

Ao Qingxue stared at the pages so long it started to feel like her own sanity was unraveling. Carefully, she turned to the next page.

Either pages were missing, or something else was at play—the next entry resumed as if nothing had happened.

But the date had jumped forward by a whole month.

**2123/3/21**

I’ve had enough! Someone hid my racket again. Last time, I lost it and got scolded by Dad. Just because I don’t make a fuss, does that mean I’m easy to bully?

I really regret it. If (this part was angrily scratched out), I wouldn’t have come to this stupid school.

…Forget it. I need to be like Mom and learn to control my emotions. I can’t take my frustrations out on school or blame the world. That’s the only way to succeed.

But if they push me again, I won’t hold back.

Ao Qingxue thought for a moment. “She was clearly a victim of school bullying… Even in the main timeline, there have been cases of student bullying. Could this be a key clue?”

The diary’s owner had been terrified about losing something—was it taken by the bullies?

The next entry contained only three lines.

**2123/3/30**

It’s my birthday. Nothing worth writing about.

I’ve thought about it a lot, and honestly, I think I really hate you. (This page had water stains—likely from tears.)

I ■ you. (The middle character was completely blacked out.)

Ao Qingxue murmured, “Her birthday is March 30th… That could be another important clue. Ah, that’s the last entry.”

This was only the first half of the diary. The game’s clue log even labeled it as “1,” meaning the second half was still out there somewhere.

It had been a fruitful session, but there wasn’t enough information to connect the dots yet. Ao Qingxue decided to log off and take a break.

Just then, a viewer sent a message in the chat:

[Ahhh, Xuexue, look! Director Shang just signed Evergreen! They’re airing her debut interview tonight!]

In this world, Dreamweavers were treated like full-fledged celebrities. On Evergreen’s official site, the trending topics had #WhiteBoneLianYunCP right next to #Director Shang Talks Creative Process. The pre-show buzz had already started.

Ao Qingxue’s eyes lit up. “!!”

Her favorite Dreamweaver was finally doing an interview!

Director Shang had always been mysterious and low-profile. Finally, she’d get to see her face and hear about her inspirations!