[Host sister looks really angry.]  

[Why did the host sister say he wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t asked for it? What did he do?]  

[Tsk, this guy didn’t go sleep in a graveyard for thrills, did he?]  

Huo Ning shook her head, first glancing at the comments before giving Qi An a deep look.  

“It’s much worse than seeking thrills by sleeping in a graveyard.”  

Qi An broke down sobbing uncontrollably in front of the camera.  

Now, he lived every day in endless pain and fear. The immense psychological torment had completely crushed him, pushing him to his limits.  

He didn’t want to die—he wanted to live.  

But living felt worse than death.  

[Bro, you suddenly crying like this has me at a loss.]  

[If you’re in trouble, just say it. Maybe the host and everyone here can help you.]  

[Crying at the drop of a hat is so annoying. Can’t you have some dignity as a man?]  

[Hey, be a little kinder with your words. What if he’s really going through something? Everyone has moments of emotional breakdown. If it were you, you might not even handle it as well as him!]  

[Oh, so you’re the understanding one, huh? If something really happened, what’s the point of crying? Does crying solve anything?]  

[Stop arguing and just ask the guy what’s going on first!]  

[Why did the host say he wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t asked for it?]  

Qi An stared blankly at the camera, his gaze unfocused.  

The lights behind him flickered faintly, and shadows seemed to loom in the room, shifting between light and dark.  

Even through the screen, the audience could sense an overwhelming, oppressive chill.  

Upon closer inspection, talismans of all kinds were pasted on his cabinets and desk.  

A coin sword even hung from the ceiling beam.  

In short, the room was filled with countless items meant to ward off evil spirits.  

This left the netizens utterly baffled.  

[Buddy, what’s with all this? Is exorcism your side hustle?]  

[Am I the only one who feels super uneasy about this room? It’s like there’s something in there…]  

[You’re not alone. I feel it too, and it seems like there’s more than one thing in that room!]

Seeing these two comments, Qi An let out a bitter laugh.  

“You guessed right. There really is something in my room, and… I probably don’t have much longer to live.”  

[No way, man, don’t say such unlucky things at such a young age!]  

[The host said you wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t asked for it—don’t tell me you brought all this on yourself? Holy crap, what did you do?!]  

Qi An clutched his hair in agony, looking back on his past self with a mix of regret and self-mockery.  

“Since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the occult. I was especially into horror movies, and I always wanted to know if ghosts really existed. So, relying on my own fearlessness, I did something I’d regret for the rest of my life.”  

“I played one of those ghost-summoning games that have been circulating online…”  

The first “experiment” Qi An tried was half a year ago, on a night with a full moon. He stood alone at the entrance of a dark, deserted, and damp alley.  

Step by step, he walked forward, calling out his own name.  

According to the legends, by the thirteenth step, an extra shadow would appear on the ground.  

One would be his own.  

The other… would belong to a ghost.  

The narrow alley was dimly lit, the ground slick with stagnant water. A streetlamp, caked in grime, cast a murky glow.  

In the dead of winter, the wind howled like a crying baby.  

Qi An walked step by step, calling his name just as the online posts had instructed.  

One step, two steps, three steps…  

When he finally reached the thirteenth step, something suddenly darted past behind him.  

In that instant, his scalp prickled, every hair on his body standing on end.  

He whipped his head around, barely catching a glimpse of what looked like a black cat vanishing around the corner.  

“F*ck! Scared the hell out of me!”  

“I thought it was something serious—turns out it was just a damn cat!”  

He patted his chest, cursing under his breath as he turned back. When he glanced at the ground again, the moonlight stretched his shadow long and thin.  

“Pfft. What ‘second shadow’? Total nonsense!”  

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he leaned against the alley wall and walked home without a second thought.  

“Actually, on my way back that night, I kept feeling a chill on the back of my neck—like someone was breathing cold air right against my skin. But at the time, I just thought it was the cold weather, so I didn’t pay it any mind.”  

After recounting his first reckless act, Qi An smiled bitterly, full of self-mockery.  

“Looking back now, I was an absolute idiot.”

[Wait, bro, isn’t it possible that it was just really cold out? I don’t believe in this so-called ghost nonsense—it’s pure superstition.]  

[The guy above is still too young. I’ve been single for 35 years—I’d love to see what a ghost looks like. Praying for a female ghost to visit me, preferably one in a red wedding dress and embroidered shoes. If she’s not in a wedding dress, I don’t want her!]  

[Opened this by accident—bad luck, stay away! Prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony, freedom, equality, justice, rule of law!]  

[I’d advise that netizen not to mess around. Even if you don’t believe, you should at least maintain some basic respect.]  

[Come on, do you really think Qi An actually summoned a ghost on his first try? If he had that kind of luck, he’d be rich from buying lottery tickets by now!]  

Huo Ning slurped down a mouthful of sour and spicy rice noodles.  

So tangy, so spicy—so delicious!  

After swallowing, she glanced at Qi An and filled in the details he hadn’t mentioned.  

“That day, when you got home, your black Labrador kept barking at you. Not only did you ignore it, but you also kicked him.”  

“Later, when you tried to carry him to bed like usual, he refused to enter your room and kept howling at you. That night, you slept terribly, but you brushed it off the next day.”  

Qi An nodded with a bitter smile.  

“Brushed it off” was an understatement.  

The next day at school, he even joked about it with his classmates.  

Among them were a few bold souls who were also into the occult.  

Xiao Pang and A Jun were the bravest.  

Almost as soon as Qi An finished his story, the two eagerly volunteered to join in on the “game.”  

Qi An came from a wealthy family—his parents ran a company and were always working overtime, rarely coming home.  

A nanny usually took care of him.  

While this meant less parental supervision, it also meant far fewer restrictions.  

So the three of them quickly agreed to hold their second ghost-summoning session at Qi An’s house.  

This time, the game they played was called Don’t Open the Door. 

[Holy crap, if it were me, I wouldn’t dare play even once—and they actually went for a second round?!]  

[My verdict? They clearly don’t have enough homework.]  

[As a homeroom teacher, I’m going to make sure all my subject teachers assign more homework. Not for any other reason—I just don’t want my students ending up as bored as these guys.]  

[Dammit, Qi An, you and your friends are a menace!]  

[What kind of game is Don’t Open the Door? Can someone explain?]

—

Hi everyone! I just wanted to clarify something—I’ve decided to use the term “host” instead of “streamer” moving forward. I was a bit confused earlier about which one to use. Sometimes “streamer” felt right, but other times “host” sounded better. After thinking it over, I feel “host” is better. Thanks for understanding!