Security guard Uncle Zhao withdrew his gaze, then spotted it in one of the buildings—a shadowy mass.
【Go back】
After receiving the instruction, he finally headed toward his dilapidated security booth.
The shadowy mass upstairs slowly faded away.
The entire Sunshine Residential Area sank back into deathly silence.
——————————————
Xiao Gui'an felt his recent performance had been quite good.
He had perfectly demonstrated the qualities a good resident should possess.
Although the elderly man in the security uniform seemed somewhat terrifying—his eyeballs bulging as if about to fall out, his voice raspy like an exhaust fan, and the smell of decay on him not particularly pleasant—
Xiao Gui'an was very confident.
That was his perfect smile, practiced thousands upon thousands of times.
He liked to call it the Perfect Smile Mask.
When facing unfamiliar elders or similar situations, it was an unbeatable weapon.
He believed that after this conversation, the ghost security guard uncle must have formed a very good impression of him.
Probably, he rarely encountered such gentle and polite young people.
Oh no, young ghosts.
In this flashy society, there weren't many ghosts as calm and unhurried as him.
Unaware that he had already been labeled as a terrifying, twisted pervert, Xiao Gui'an returned to his small room.
6A666, the second residential building.
Oh, he liked this door number.
Having learned the room location from the System and received the key, Xiao Gui'an opened the door.
Sure enough, the room's decor was identical to his own home; this was one of the benefits the System provided him.
It allowed him to avoid living in a sinister, poorly-equipped haunted house.
Xiao Gui'an took some tea leaves from the tea box, boiled water, and leisurely brewed a pot.
After drinking some tea, always mindful of his responsibilities as an actor, Xiao Gui'an immediately decided to perfect his 【Writer】 identity.
『System, I want to customize the appearance and backstory for the 【Writer】』
Xiao Gui'an directly called out to the System in his mind.
『Current host identity: 【Writer】
Entering 【Writer】 identity refinement interface.
Name: (Not set)
Initial gender: Male (Can be changed)
Age: (Not set)
Past memories: (Not set)
Death experience: (Not set)
……』
Since this was a character he would portray, of course it needed a handsome face.
Xiao Gui'an pulled up image after image, looking at pictures of young masters from the Republican era who were writers, rolled up his sleeves, and began meticulously crafting the 【Writer】's appearance.
After working diligently for several hours, Xiao Gui'an finally created a face that satisfied him.
The long-haired young man had handsome features, his eyes and brows naturally exuding nobility while carrying a scholarly air. Dressed in cloud-patterned brocade robes, he appeared free-spirited and natural, making people instinctively feel close to him upon seeing him.
Looking up, he realized half the time had already passed.
But currently, Xiao Gui'an was still very concerned about matters related to his male dignity, so without delay, he swiped back to the experience writing section.
What should the 【Writer】's life have been like?
How should he design it best?
But this couldn't stump him.
Xiao Gui'an gently curved the corner of his mouth—after all, his second major in university had been screenwriting and directing.
His eyes blazing with intensity, he lightly moved his fingers, radiating the momentum of someone ready for serious work.
He hoped his story-writing abilities hadn't deteriorated too much.
……
【Ghost NPC Acting File 001: Writer】
『Originally a young master from a wealthy family during the Republican era, naturally gifted and intelligent—recognizing characters at age two, composing poetry at five, writing essays at seven. Everyone who met him praised him endlessly; he was truly heaven's favored one.
Although he received praise from childhood, he avoided the tragedy of premature genius, remaining humble, polite, and gentle toward others. He studied under numerous literary masters, went abroad for education, striving for perfection in writing without chasing empty fame.
An elegant gentleman, warm as jade, peerless in the world.
Returning home and sensing the critical moment of his homeland's survival, filled with patriotic ambition, he resolutely kowtowed and left his family.
【Dear Mother—It has been half a month since I left home. I joined the irregular forces in the southwestern region. The formal training is somewhat overwhelming, but it gives a different feeling... My shooting scores recently earned continuous praise from the instructor...
Life here is dull and monotonous, but fortunately, I have a few beloved books for company... There's an old church nearby used as a temporary medical facility, which actually has an old piano. I've been going there often to play some tunes...
The children and medical staff there really enjoy it. Once, I even saw our local regiment leader there—his usually stern face showed a hint of smile. I think music always brings peace to people...】
Holding a pen, he could write history; lifting a sword, he could go to battle and kill enemies. Facing national crisis, he rushed to the battlefield. The mountains and seas did not betray him—his exquisite brush wrote articles, his long spear killed foes. He didn't seek unparalleled glory, only wished to have a clear conscience...
【Dear Mother—I'm afraid I cannot return home for this Spring Festival either. I hope you and father remain in good health, and please don't worry about me. I've moved around and gone to the coastal areas...
I've met many like-minded individuals. We discussed and held a poetry gathering to celebrate the new year. The liquor we drank late at night was brought by a friend from the north. Perhaps like the people of the northern mountains and rivers, the liquor was extremely strong with a lingering aftertaste. I felt somewhat unaccustomed to it, yet found myself raising another cup...
He generously shared the brewing recipe with me. I was delighted and shared Mother's favorite peach blossom wine with him. If there's a chance, I'll definitely bring them to taste your cooking...
Recently, my humble opinions in the newspapers have stirred up some controversy again. I can't quite describe my feelings, but I still hope people can understand more. Many are looking for me, but fortunately, my childhood pen name isn't easily uncovered...
Yanqing, Yanqing... "When the dim light is about to cease, I knot the secluded orchid and linger long" "My thin shadow faces the spring water, you should pity me as I pity you"—I really had a youthful temperament back then...】
『He attracted envy and hatred, his pen name identity was exposed, he was framed and imprisoned, trusted people betrayed him, conflicts erupted everywhere, sweeping across the land, countless families torn apart and destroyed in various regions, the war escalated once more...』
【Dear Mother—It's been a long time since I received any letters. Perhaps the newspapers have already published news about me, but don't worry. Although I'm in prison, I receive some respect and haven't been severely tortured...
My suffering has awakened many among the masses. Your son feels it might be worth it...
When you suggested leaving our homeland to go abroad, I chose to stay. You two didn't have to stay with me—I should have been more insistent then. The situation is turbulent and truly dangerous...
I've heard significant storms have risen inland, with those having some family wealth being labeled... I'm somewhat worried, but Father has always been steady and forward-thinking. I previously wrote urging him to donate assets to aid the front lines. I think there must be ways to avoid this turmoil...
I believe the neighbors in our town know what kind of people we are. I don't ask for their help, only hope they won't kick us when we're down. Your son is incompetent, unable to return now—I feel ashamed...】
『The war escalated again, spreading across the entire land. No letters had come from home for a long time. He entrusted someone to return home with greetings, but unexpectedly, greed gradually clouded minds, former friends turned their blades against him, he misplaced trust in villains, endured severe torture, poison seeped into his internal organs...』
【Dear Mother—I never expected that immensely powerful figure to seek me out. I understand the principle of hitting with a stick then offering candy—he wants me to write a defense for him. How laughable!...
As someone of this land, facing the nation's crisis, yet betraying the country for personal gain—even if my ten fingers were broken inch by inch, I would never write a single word for him. Our bodies, hair, and skin are received from our parents—your son is unfilial. If I die for my country today, I have no regrets...
I don't know if this letter can be sent. I expect they'll read it first. If that powerful figure has worse temperament, he'll definitely tear this paper directly...
If you're well, no need to reply—it would only add risk...】
『"Extra, extra—Mr. Yanqing claims the nation is beyond saving, compromises and writes defense—""
"His former friend expresses deep regret—"
"Ah, I've known Yanqing for a long time. He shouldn't be that kind of person. Ultimately, sincere intentions can't withstand wealth and splendor..."
The person sighing before the flashbulbs had tears in his eyes, but a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.
【Dear Mother—
That wasn't written by your son. Even though it bears traces of my writing style everywhere, even the handwriting is nearly identical—it's just that I misjudged people...
Saying this now, probably no one will believe me... But I only seek to have a clear conscience...】
『The long night stretched on. Who walked to the door? Wanting to avoid the world for peace but having no choice, a great fire burned everything, cries shaking the heavens, continuous lamentations.
"Help, fire!—"
"It's their house..."
"Should we go help..."
"This... better not cause trouble..."
It was just one family among others. Such events had happened countless times inland—it was only a matter of time.
"I heard Mr. Yanqing's home was burned down by a fire. Honestly, burning it clean might be better—cutting off Mr.'s attachments..."』
【Dear Mother—I (scratched out)... Father, Mother, are you well?... If possible (scratched out)... reply, reply...】
【Dear Mother—】
"Since youth you've borne great fame—who didn't envy such a complex life... Laughable that you've ended up like this now. Those hands that held the brush truly should disappear..."
It seemed like a long time since he'd seen that brilliant sunlight, his fingertips hadn't touched piano keys either.
All ten fingers connected to the heart—having them all broken inch by inch was no less than having one's heart dug out ten times.
His bony, slender fingers already bore many scars. When they fell one by one into the pool of blood, they still resembled white jade, trembling slightly from the delayed pain.
Suffering—
This mortal world had failed him—
It was merely a fate worse than death...
The deceased longed for replies that would never come.
【Dear Mother—】
【Dear... Mother—】
【Dear... Mother...—】
【No reply...】
【There will never be a reply...】
【Hatred—】
Perhaps on a rainy night, or maybe some afternoon, news of his eternal sleep spread through streets and alleys, occupying small spaces in newspapers, seemingly summarizing his entire life.
The fall of the Literary Star—the world sighed with regret.
His corpse's whereabouts were unknown, rumored to have been thrown into a mass grave. Many righteous individuals tried to find it, to give him proper burial, but unexpectedly found no corpse—nowhere to be found...
Seven days after his death fell on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month—the Ghost Festival.』
『The time for spirits to return—』
『The deceased shall ultimately return—』
『Ghost Festival·Fifteenth of Seventh Month
The mansion garden once shattered by a great fire actually restored its former bustling liveliness. Figures moved in the lamplight, departed old friends laughed and chatted joyfully.
From within came the sound of the young master's favorite piano piece—the one he hadn't played since leaving home years ago.
In his youth, those around him had frequently heard this piece.
This was his most beloved composition.
In the past, hearing it felt like celestial music from heaven—beautiful melodies, harmonious as jade, naturally reflecting the player himself.
Now, hearing it again during the Ghost Festival, it sounded like weeping blood in every note, mournful wails in every phrase, sorrowful and heartbreaking, making people's hair stand on end.
It was clearly the same melody, but circumstances had changed, people's hearts had altered.
Naturally, no one approached that once bustling and lively mansion anymore.
Nor was anyone willing to investigate what was really happening.
Even more frightening was that those who heard the music at night would toss and turn sleeplessly. Waking in the morning, they would find a trail of blood stretching from outside the town to the old mansion, crossing the bluestone-paved streets—a long, dragged trail of filthy, black, stinking blood.
As if some existence had dragged its broken body, crawling back bit by bit.
The handprints stamped clearly on the bluestones, yet missing ten fingers...
Even the so-called town military officers didn't want to deal with that sinister place—who knew what they might encounter.
Even with firearms, it was best not to get involved with those supernatural matters.
How that great fire started had long been buried in endless ashes, nowhere to investigate.
Whether it was done by these neighbors who had once received favors, or by so-called "righteous" individuals—none of it mattered anymore.
Seven days after the piano sounds emerged, someone who had once served as a page boy for that family—named Lin Ming, now somewhat successful—returned from afar.』
『In his youth, he had received great kindness from the young master, unforgettable to this day, always thinking of repaying the favor.
Learning from others that blood-stained envelopes had been continuously arriving at the town post office recently—one after another, the writing on them already illegible.
Only able to sense the twisted, terrifying characters soaked through with blood, revealing deep despair and hatred. The ink strokes penetrated the paper, as if each character wept blood.
【Dear Mother—】
There would never be replies again.
Nor would there ever be incoming letters.
No one knew where these envelopes came from, or why they only arrived now.
Everyone feared for themselves, rumors floating around like in the past.
This allowed Lin Ming, who always cared about this place, to learn some information.
His slightly trembling hands held the blood-stained letter paper, glimpsing traces of his old friend from the badly damaged sheets.
Several attendants came with Lin Ming, along with a one-eyed man claiming some capability.
Many former neighbors gathered, craning their necks to look.
That blood-stained, dilapidated door—only Lin Ming dared to open it!
"Ungrateful people! What an excellent person the young master was—like an immortal from heaven! Even if he truly turned into a fierce ghost, he would absolutely never harm me!"
Lin Ming shouted angrily. He refused to consider why the winding blood trail existed, unable to imagine how the young master had crawled back to the old mansion. He pushed open the long-sealed door with one shove.