The Haunted House - Chapter 5

“I am just a prisoner here, a prisoner who will never see the sun. I think you must have experienced that dream as well? No matter whom you met in your dream or what they told you, I just want to tell you that you can never escape. Everything has been predetermined. We can never leave this apartment alive,” Bai Qingqing saw endless despair in his eyes, but she didn’t believe in anything that was supposedly destined by fate.

Thus, she stubbornly asked, “Then why did someone tell me to come here? He said that I would find the answers I was looking for.” The monster laughed heartily, mocking Bai Qingqing’s naivety.

Pointing at the human skins hanging on both sides, he said, “Do you see these human skins? I peeled them off one by one. At first, I felt like a ruthlessly cruel demon, harvesting countless souls. I thought to myself that I would surely go to hell after I died. So I prayed every day while continuing to do this horrible thing, because, like you, I wanted to leave this place. But the reality turned out to be even more terrifying than I had imagined! I didn’t die, nor did I go to hell, but I became a living demon, just like what you see now!”

He trembled incessantly, seemingly recalling some dreadful thing, his eyes becoming even more despairing than before.

Bai Qingqing was petrified by his expression, swallowing hard and trembling as she asked, “Then what? Does this have anything to do with leaving this place?”

He suddenly turned around with a nearly insane look in his eyes, causing Bai Qingqing to stagger back a few steps in fear.

Fortunately, the prisoner’s emotions gradually stabilized as he continued, “There are only two ways out. One is to collect enough human skins. So many that you can’t even count them yourself until you’ve become numb to it all, and your heart has been utterly disfigured by those horrible things. Even then, you’ve only completed the first step.”

Bai Qingqing seemed to be infected by his deep despair, feeling very downhearted.

Yet she still wouldn’t give up without trying, she continued to ask, “You said there were two ways, so what is the other way?”

The prisoner replied with a bitter smile, “The other way is one I don’t have the courage to pursue. For me, it’s also a road of no return.” Bai Qingqing, seeing that he did not answer her question directly, pressed on, “How will you know I can’t do it if you don’t tell me?”

Li Qian glanced at Bai Qingqing and said, “Everyone has scars buried deep within them, wounds they desperately wish would never be touched. No matter who you are, if someone accidentally stumbles upon those scars, the pain will tear through you like a storm, leaving you exposed and raw. Deep down, don’t you also have something you fear more than anything-a piece of your past that you wish would stay forgotten?”

Bai Qingqing’s mind drifted to the image of her father with his prematurely white hair, and her once heartfelt but now trampled dream of becoming a writer. Her thoughts grew hazy, her heart heavy.

Still, a frown crossed her face as she asked, “What does that have to do with whether we can leave this place?”

“The other path,” Li Qian began, his voice low and steady, “it holds nothing. It only forces you to relive your worst pain over and over again. Every day, at the same time and place, you’ll face the same torment on repeat. It’ll rip open the same scar that had long healed, at the exact same spot, with the same depth and force. All over again. And again.”

For the first time, Li Qian closed his eyes, and a tear rolled down his face. The shimmering emerald-green droplet left a faint trail as it fell, splashing silently onto the dark ground below. Bai Qingqing, witnessing his silent suffering, didn’t press the issue any further. She began to think of the pain she herself had buried-those wounds so tightly guarded in the recesses of her soul. In that moment, she finally understood why this prisoner had chosen such an unthinkable path, this road to nowhere.

Because no one could endure the agony of having their tragedies played on an endless loop. No one could survive the torture of their deepest scars being torn open, time and time again. Bai Qingqing certainly couldn’t.

For the first time, she found herself questioning fate. Was all of this truly predetermined? She thought bitterly, Why must my life always be so turbulent? Why does it feel like my future, no matter how hard I try, is always snatched away from me before I can even begin? Or perhaps… there is no future at all, is there?

Li Qian seemed to emerge from the depths of his grief, his green eyes finding focus once more. He continued, his voice softer now but laden with resolve. “A long time ago, I had a name: Li Qian. Since some things in life are destined and unchangeable, the only choice left is acceptance. Loneliness that lasts too long is the surest path to madness. If you’re willing to overlook the way I am now…” He paused, and for the first time, a glint of vulnerability softened his expression. “…I hope that we can be friends.”

As he spoke, he extended his right hand toward her. It was filthy, smeared with unknown, viscous grime that smelled faintly of despair. Bai Qingqing stared at it, revolted. The sight made her hesitate, instinctively wanting to turn away.

But after a moment of reflection, she realized she had no choice. If they were to face whatever lay ahead together, this would not be the last time she would have to set aside her fears. In the end, what mattered wasn’t his dirtied hand, but the connection it represented. Slowly, she reached out and wrapped her hand around his, ignoring the unpleasant sensation.

Li Qian’s expression lit up with heartfelt joy, but where Bai Qingqing smiled gently and politely, his reaction was raw and unrestrained. For the first time in countless years, he burst out laughing-a booming, triumphant sound that took over the silent room.

In his laughter was a mix of relief, disbelief, and pure happiness. After so long in isolation, he had finally found a friend-a genuine, living friend who didn’t look at him with fear or disgust but with understanding. The crushing loneliness that had weighed on him for so many years lightened in an instant, and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing aloud. Even as the darkness of their surroundings loomed, in that moment, Li Qian felt something he’d thought he would never feel again: hope.

Watching Bai Qingqing’s retreating figure, Li Qian suddenly remembered something and called out to her, “Be careful of Wang Chenxi!” Bai Qingqing did not turn back, nor did she stop. He didn’t know if Bai Qingqing had heard him. Staring in the direction Bai Qingqing had left, he muttered to himself, “Sister, can you see this? I have friends now. Although I can’t leave this room like she can, I’m still happy because I won’t be lonely anymore. Sister, I miss you so much.”

As Bai Qingqing was about to close the worn wooden door, she heard Li Qian saying something to her, but she couldn’t make it out clearly. She turned the corner and saw Wang Chenxi’s eyes, sinister like the grim reaper’s. Bai Qingqing didn’t know why she was so fearful of those eyes, but the malevolent gaze seemed to sober her up significantly. She should have realized sooner; how could there be a normal human being here? Why was he able to come and go freely? The thoughts of Li Qian shouting something as she left crossed her mind-was he warning her? The more Bai Qingqing thought about it, the more nervous she became, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

“What are you doing here?” came Wang Chenxi’s voice, full of suspicion and gravity. Startled by his sudden question, Bai Qingqing scrambled to think of an answer, but her mind only grew more chaotic. “Does he already know something? What will he do? Kill me or-” her thoughts raced wildly.

“I’m talking to you! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just bored in my room, so I was walking around aimlessly.”

When Wang Chenxi’s voice grew even more grave with his next question, Bai Qingqing instinctively blurted out a lie so transparent that even a fool could see through it. However, Wang Chenxi didn’t seem suspicious and casually remarked, “Oh, it’s best not to wander around unnecessarily, as there are indeed some unspeakable things here.”

Bai Qingqing was surprised how easily she had fooled him. Wang Chenxi continued, “You should go back now.”

Looking into Wang Chenxi’s now pale eyes, his seemingly calm tone revealed an undeniable authority. It felt like a heavy stone pressing on her chest, making it impossible for her to refuse.

Bai Qingqing awkwardly nodded, somewhat panicked, and hurried back to her room. But what Bai Qingqing didn’t realize was that her clearly flustered expression could hardly deceive Wang Chenxi.

Thus, as Bai Qingqing closed the door to her room, Wang Chenxi reopened the wooden door in the corner.

Wang Chenxi knew every corner of the apartment as if it were his own home. He called out loudly, “Li Qian, come out. I need to see you.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Li Qian appeared in front of him. Looking at Li Qian’s face, Wang Chenxi’s tone softened. “Your face… it’s even more corroded than the last time I saw you.”

But Li Qian seemed unfazed. He wasn’t sure how to face this man standing before him. It was Wang Chenxi who had turned him into this wretched form. Everything-his misery, his torment-was caused by him. And yet, Wang Chenxi was also his savior, the one who had kept him alive until now. This dichotomy left Li Qian with a storm of conflicting emotions every time they met.

In an unusually calm tone, Li Qian asked, “It’s been a long time since you came here. What do you want?”

Wang Chenxi smiled bitterly. “You’re still blaming me. I don’t want to make excuses anymore. The only thing I want to say is that all I’ve ever wanted was to see your sister again. Because I love her. I know you love her too, don’t you?”

At the mention of his sister, Li Qian’s anger finally boiled over. With a voice hollow and chilling, as if it belonged to a guide to the underworld returning to the mortal realm, he roared, “No! You have no right to speak of my sister! If it weren’t for you, we could have lived in peace! Yes, life was hard for me and my sister, but we were happy in our little world! You shattered our quiet life. All of this-ALL of it-is your fault!”

Li Qian was so agitated that his words became incoherent, his fury spilling out uncontrollably.

Wang Chenxi, equally emotional, defended himself in a raised voice. “I loved her, more than anything! I just wanted to share some happy moments with her. Even now, though she’s just here in this apartment, we can never meet. Do you understand that? It’s been so long since I last saw her-I can barely remember what she looked like! Each day like this is breaking my heart bit by bit. Hasn’t my punishment been severe enough? I just want to see her one more time!”

No matter how passionately Wang Chenxi tried to explain himself, his voice always seemed quieter than Li Qian’s rage. Li Qian had long had enough of Wang Chenxi’s justifications. To him, Wang Chenxi’s words were nothing but attempts to shirk responsibility. Li Qian swore to himself that he wouldn’t let Wang Chenxi find solace in explaining away his mistakes. No-he would make sure Wang Chenxi spent the rest of his days wallowing in pain and regret.

Finally calming himself, Wang Chenxi’s expression darkened as he said coldly, “I know Bai Qingqing has been here. I don’t care what the two of you talked about. But mark my words-I won’t let Bai Qingqing get away. Not this time.”

Li Qian’s heart clenched painfully at those words. His emerald-green eyes hardened as his voice trembled with barely contained fury. “What right do you have to do that? You’re nothing but a selfish, despicable coward.”

Li Qian could no longer endure Wang Chenxi’s behavior. Was his only friend now destined to face the same grim fate as him?

“Yes, I’m selfish! So what if I love Xian? Is it wrong to want to see her? Am I selfish, or are all of you the selfish ones?” Wang Chenxi’s furious roar echoed relentlessly within the dark, sun-starved room, the sound reverberating off the cold, damp walls.

After that tumultuous outburst, silence fell once again, heavy and oppressive in the stale, humid air. Finally, Wang Chenxi broke the quiet. His voice was low and dripping with warning, “I just hope you’ll keep your distance from Bai Qingqing. You know I can’t let anyone who comes here go free. If I do, all my efforts will have been for nothing.”

Li Qian knew why Wang Chenxi had come here. He had always known deep down, but he didn’t want to admit it. Now, hearing the words aloud, his breath caught, panic surging through him. Bai Qingqing… she was the only person in all these years, aside from Wang Chenxi, who spoke to him. More than that-they were friends. Because of her, the abyss-like loneliness that had consumed him for so long had begun to loosen its grip. She had brought a flicker of light into his otherwise bleak solitude.

But that light was now in jeopardy. Li Qian’s fragile calm shattered, and he shouted in heated desperation, “You can’t hurt her! She’s my friend!”

This time, Wang Chenxi didn’t bother arguing. His glimmering pale eyes turned cold as he glared at Li Qian with unrestrained malice. “No one can stop me,” he spat venomously, “not even you.” With that, he spun on his heel and strode away, his figure disappearing into the dim shadows.

Li Qian knew he had no power to stop Wang Chenxi. But then, something dawned on him-an idea, a desperate gamble. As Wang Chenxi walked away, Li Qian shouted after him, “You could imprison her here! Like you did with me!”

Wang Chenxi froze mid-step but didn’t turn around. His voice came out low and detached, devoid of emotion, “No one would willingly stay trapped here forever.”

He said no more. The heavy creak of the old wooden door broke the silence, and with its closing, the faint trace of light in the room vanished. Darkness once again claimed the space, swallowing everything in its void. The only thing visible was the faint glow of Li Qian’s dark green eyes.

He stood frozen in the suffocating darkness, his chest tight with a searing ache. Slowly, the pain grew unbearable, as though his heart were being torn apart. Clutching his chest, he sank to his knees, emerald-green tears dripping onto the cold, unfeeling floor beneath him.

Wiping his tears away, Li Qian whispered hoarsely to himself, “It’s true. No one would ever want to be trapped here forever. How could I ever be so selfish as to drag my only friend into this hell with me?”

Resolving to hold onto the last shred of humanity left in him, Li Qian rose to his feet, his glowing green eyes piercing the oppressive darkness surrounding him. Without another word, he stepped forward, vanishing into the endless black abyss.

Inside the room, Bai Qingqing paced back and forth, her mind a chaotic mess. She couldn’t understand why Li Xian had directed her to that secret room. How could she know so much about it? And now, why had she disappeared? These unanswered questions pushed Bai Qingqing to the edge of collapse. She longed to escape, but it seemed impossible now. Her thoughts wandered back to her gray-haired father. Staring absentmindedly at the dead leaves drifting outside the window, she muttered to herself, “He must be heartbroken.”

Bai Qingqing dove into her bed, hoping that sleep would chase away her troubles. However, her mind, stubborn and unruly, refused to obey her. The more she tried to avoid thinking about it all, the more her thoughts spiraled out of control. Suddenly, she threw the blanket off and sat up. She wanted to rush out and uncover the secret of the secret room again. But as her hand reached for the doorknob, the thought of Wang Chenxi being outside stopped her. Her hand froze, and she hesitated. “I’ll wait until it’s dark,” she thought. “Why am I so terrified of looking into Wang Chenxi’s eyes? Could it be that supernatural ability Li Xian mentioned? Either way, it’s best to stay clear of him.” With that in mind, Bai Qingqing crawled back under the blanket, tightened it around herself, and drifted off into a deep sleep.

When Bai Qingqing woke, it was already late at night. Outside, there was no moon, and the darkness was suffocating. Yet she felt nothing in particular-it was as if she could somehow see faint outlines in the pitch black. While relieved, she also found it peculiar. Why was there still a faint glimmer of light in such total darkness? But none of this mattered to Bai Qingqing now. What mattered was that she needed to return to the secret room.

Standing at the secret room’s door, she hesitated no longer. She opened it and stepped inside. In a soft voice, she called out, “Li Qian? Li Qian?” Li Qian did not disappoint her. As before, the first thing she saw were his emerald-green eyes staring back at her. Overcome with emotion, Bai Qingqing blurted, “Come out, I-”

“Leave. Don’t come back!”

Li Qian interrupted her, his voice filled with anger. Bai Qingqing blinked in confusion. Why was his attitude so different this time from the last? Tentatively, she continued, “Aren’t we friends? I… I just have something I need to ask you.”

At these words, something in Li Qian’s heart twisted painfully. He let out a bitter laugh. “Friends? Would you really be friends with a demon who harbors such a sinful soul? A demon is always a demon. Evil and loneliness will forever follow me!”

Bai Qingqing had no idea what he was talking about. She decided it wasn’t worth getting entangled in the argument. So, she cut straight to the point. “But you are human! Even if you refuse to admit it, what if… what if we could leave here? Imagine walking freely on a soft, sandy beach. The sea breeze brushing against your face, making every inch of your body relax as you lounge lazily in the warm sun.”

Li Qian laughed again. Bai Qingqing’s words didn’t ignite even a spark of hope in him. Instead, he sneered, “Leave? If I could leave, I would’ve been gone a long time ago.”