The cameraman followed closely, not leaving even half a step behind.
Even after entering the villa, he was still filming, practically shoving the camera into Su Er’s face. Su Er said, “I need some personal privacy.”
The cameraman replied coldly, “Filming will stop at critical moments.”
Su Er casually picked up a fruit knife from the table and was just about to close the bathroom door when the cameraman suddenly asked, “You’re taking a knife to the toilet?”
Mimicking the other’s emotionless tone, Su Er replied, “Everyone has their own habits.”
Click.
Once the door closed, the sound of the lock clicking into place followed.
Behind the door, Su Er pulled out the stun gun.
He had tried dripping a drop of blood on it before, but the device had no reaction at the time. Inspired now by the idea of a blood-fed item, he suspected maybe he hadn’t used enough blood previously.
Gripping the knife handle, Su Er rolled up his sleeve. The blade was sharp—one light slash and a cut opened up.
Scarlet blood dripped onto the black metal casing, the two colors merging in a strangely harmonious way. But he wasn’t in the mood to admire the sight—he first stopped the bleeding. The wound wasn’t deep; aside from the sting, it didn’t affect his movements.
Watching the blood run to the edge of the device without being absorbed, Su Er gently smeared it across the surface, careful not to let it seep inside and cause damage.
Still, the device showed no reaction. Su Er sighed—he should’ve asked Zhu Yun for a user manual back in the last instance.
Just as he was about to give up, the stun gun finally changed: a thin red line stretched from top to bottom, impossible to wipe away.
The wound on his arm had mostly stopped bleeding, so Su Er used the knife to prick his fingertip and gently rubbed the blood within the area blocked by the red line.
Suddenly, the word ‘Store’ appeared and flashed for a second before disappearing. Then the word ‘Release’ lit up briefly on the right before fading too, replaced by two buttons—one red, one green.
Seeing the transformation of the device, Su Er’s smile slowly turned serious. The essence of this game was blood and darkness; blood and death were often the most direct representations. He should have thought of feeding the device with blood sooner.
Now, he needed a test subject.
Su Er rolled his sleeve down to hide the wound.
He temporarily put the device away, opened the bathroom door just a crack, and called to the cameraman outside, “Come in.”
Ghosts were naturally sensitive to the smell of blood. Some had splashed on his pants earlier, but Su Er hadn’t noticed. The cameraman, however, did—and began to speculate.
“You’re self-harming?”
Such contestants were common—under intense pressure, they often resorted to self-harm as a form of emotional relief.
Su Er didn’t correct the misunderstanding. Instead, he said, “Just gave myself a cut.”
“Because you rejected my date yesterday. I was heartbroken.”
The cameraman distinctly remembered refusing because he’d seen Su Er flirting with a judge outside the kitchen.
Ghosts had no emotions, but they did have curiosity. The cameraman was eager to know what this human was up to, constantly dating ghosts. His subconscious contempt for humans made him step into the bathroom.
The moment he entered, Su Er slammed the door shut and grabbed the camera in one fluid motion.
A cramped space was perfect for pinning someone against a wall. Su Er pushed the camera forward until only it separated them, then smiled and said slowly:
“Contestants may seem like the weaker party during filming, but in fact, staff like you aren’t allowed to lay hands on us.”
Struck at his weak spot, the cameraman narrowed his eyes.
Su Er continued, “Unless you’re attacked and act in self-defense. Even then, you lose the initiative.”
Leaning in slightly, his warm breath brushed against the cameraman’s face.
The smell of human flesh.
The cameraman’s lips trembled. He always ate corpse meat—here was a fresh, living human. What an opportunity.
Regulations forbade attacking contestants without cause, but if he only took one bite… maybe the punishment wouldn’t be so bad. Su Er’s smile felt harsh, and just as the cameraman decided to bite into his face, he suddenly felt a jolt in his waist.
Su Er pressed hard on the red ‘Store’ button and began drawing ghostly energy from him.
As he suspected, charm value merely extended the stun gun’s capabilities. By that logic, the yin energy absorbed could likely be released too—if only he knew how.
The cameraman was much stronger than the spider woman; even with part of his yin energy sucked away, he still retaliated instantly. Su Er’s pendant blocked some of the attack, but the cut on his arm split open again from the pressure in the air, blood soaking his sleeve.
The cameraman opened his jaws wide, aiming to crush Su Er’s skull with a single bite.
Unable to dodge, Su Er quickly took out the crying doll—just as the cameraman’s aura abruptly weakened. The camera on his shoulder crashed to the ground with a loud bang, shattering into pieces.
At the same time, Su Er staggered back a few steps and leaned against the sink, exhausted. He looked at the nearly drained cameraman and said with difficulty: “People figured this out centuries ago: strike first to gain the upper hand.”
The cameraman tried to open his mouth, seemingly using his last strength for a final bite.
Su Er: “You want to eat my flesh. I want to suck out your yin energy. Spiritually, we’re aligned.”
Maybe from rage, or exhaustion, the cameraman’s last breath escaped. His head tilted, flesh softened, and then his whole body exploded like flour dust.
Su Er weighed the stun gun in his hand, wondering what would happen if he pressed the green ‘Release’ button to emit the stored energy.
Suppressing the dangerous urge for now, he wrapped some of the cameraman’s powdery remains in paper, cleaned up the broken camera parts, washed the blood from his sleeve, and calmly walked out.
He first hid the camera in an unoccupied guest room. As he stepped out, Qu Qingming happened to be coming down the stairs. She had touched up her makeup to conceal the fatigue on her face and asked with slight suspicion, “I thought I heard a loud noise upstairs just now.”
Su Er smiled a little sheepishly. "The floor was too slippery—I slipped and fell."
Qu Qingming nodded and didn’t ask about Su Er’s activities, and Su Er didn’t ask about hers either. He went straight out.
A cool breeze blew by, and his still-wet sleeve brought a bone-chilling cold.
From afar, he could see Ji Heng standing at the edge of the shore, his head slightly tilted back as he gazed at the vast sky. Just a few steps away stood Zhang Baitian, frozen in the same pose as when he died, head bowed with hands crossed—forming a stark contrast in the scene.
Seeing Ji Heng alone, Su Er looked around. “Where's the cameraman?”
Ji Heng turned and, seeing no one behind Su Er either, replied, “Probably reunited with the one tailing you.”
Su Er’s eyelid twitched.
Ji Heng’s expression remained unchanged. “I don’t know who they plan to show the final edit to, but having every move exposed to the camera is never a good thing.”
Skipping over the cameraman topic, Su Er pursed his lips. “Do you think the sacrificial altar is out at sea?”
Ji Heng didn’t answer directly. He only said, “We’re currently lacking a way to get out there.”
Su Er mused, “The production crew couldn’t have appeared on this island out of thin air—it had to be by boat or plane. Maybe we should ask?”
“I already interrogated them. A supply ship comes every two days—arrives in the afternoon and leaves before sunset.”
Su Er caught a keyword: “Interrogated?”
Ji Heng nodded, confirming that the cameraman who had been tailing him was well and truly gone.
There were still several hours until noon. It would be a waste to let the time slip by. After some thought, Su Er tentatively said, “This would be a good time for an experiment.”
If it were any other member of the ‘Grave Return’ team, Ji Heng would’ve let them do as they pleased. But facing Su Er, he cautiously asked, “What kind of experiment?”
“If a ghost dies after being drained of all its yin energy, then what if we do the reverse—inject that same yin energy into a vessel…”
Ji Heng looked at him silently, then suddenly cut him off. “You’re trying to make a ghost?”
Su Er gave a sheepish smile. “It’s just a basic biological experiment.”
Ji Heng shifted his gaze from Su Er’s face, the memory of zombies flashing through his mind.
In response to that bit of dark history, Su Er emphasized again, “We could try molding a little clay figurine first—the risk is low.”
That statement left a heavy silence hanging between them. In the distance, waves crashed intermittently against the shore, adding a suffocating tension to the air.
After a long while, Ji Heng finally asked, “You can use your Charm value to release yin energy?”
Su Er’s answer was vague. “Sort of.”
Ji Heng didn’t press further and turned toward the forest.
Su Er knew this meant the matter was settled. The sand near the shore didn’t have enough stickiness, but the forest had plenty of suitable materials. Ji Heng dug out a lump of sticky black clay. His fingers were nimble, and soon a clay figurine began to take shape.
Su Er had stepped away briefly, but even after Ji Heng finished sculpting a vivid little figure, he still hadn’t returned.
Roughly ten minutes later, Su Er ran back from the woods, holding a blooming flower. After catching his breath, he pulled out the ashes of the ghost that he had wrapped up in the bathroom earlier.
Ji Heng silently watched his whole performance.
Su Er tucked the flower behind the figurine’s ear and carefully wrapped it in another layer of clay. “If things get out of control, we’ll say this child is the offspring of Mister Rose. And that the cameraman was killed by the little one during a psychotic episode.”
This rose would be the best proof of dominant inheritance.
Looking at the figurine, he still seemed dissatisfied. “Can we adjust its facial proportions a bit so it looks more clearly like it’s his biological child?”
Ji Heng replied, “...If it’s too obvious, that might be a problem.”
Su Er gave him a look, smiled without saying anything, and Ji Heng turned around voluntarily.
Only then did Su Er take out the stun gun and press the green button to release yin energy into the figurine. Once again, he marveled at how large his assumptions had been—to think he’d once believed this thing was meant purely as an offensive weapon. “If I can control the figurine, I could fully arm it and send it to scout whether the altar is really in the ocean.”
Way more convenient than waiting for a boat.
Ji Heng, still facing the distance, said, “It won’t be that easy.”
This dungeon wasn’t a charity—it wouldn’t offer players that kind of convenience.
The soil didn’t seem capable of holding much yin energy. After only a small amount had been injected, cracks had already begun to appear. Su Er’s smile stiffened, and his tone became uncertain. “Do you think... it’ll work?”
“No idea,” Ji Heng said flatly. “But the last person to try something like this was Nuwa.”
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