Encountering a Ghost at the Opening Ceremony

When the iron gate of the ancient castle was pushed open at noon, it let out a long, rusty grinding sound.

Shen Zhixia lay behind the third-floor windowsill, watching car after car pull into the courtyard. She had been in this building for so long that she couldn't remember the last time a living person had entered.

The car doors opened, and people in work clothes jumped out, starting to carry in light stands, tracks, and reflectors. Someone shouted, "Watch the steps!" Someone else used a walkie-talkie to confirm the filming area. A few young girls clutching folders ran back and forth, their high heels clicking against the stone floor—a sound so crisp it seemed intent on shattering the silence.

Shen Zhixia blinked. She pressed her fingertip against the glass and drew a small circle in the condensation.

She wasn't entirely sure what these people were here for, but she knew she couldn't leave this building. Last month, she had tried—she'd walked to the courtyard gate, only to be blocked by an invisible membrane. One more step forward and her body began to dissolve from her fingertips upward. Terrified, she'd retreated and crouched under the porch for a long time before she fully solidified again.

So all she could do was watch.

The first-floor hall was cleared out. The old furniture that had been piled in the corner was moved away, and the floor was covered with thick protective mats. Someone set up a ring of lights, and when they turned on, the entire space suddenly became bright—unlike the version she remembered. The cracks in the walls, the water stains on the ceiling, the peeling paint on the stair railings—all were illuminated in sharp clarity.

Shen Zhixia wrinkled her nose. She didn't like this brightness. It was too harsh, making her want to retreat to the unvisited rooms upstairs.

But she didn't leave.

Because she saw them set up a long table in the middle of the hall. On it were fruit, an incense burner, and a golden-roasted suckling pig. In front of the table stood a piece of red cloth embroidered with gold thread, bearing the words: "Wishing a Great Start to Filming."

Shen Zhixia tilted her head. She didn't really understand what they were doing, but the people looked serious. Some even bowed to the table, murmuring under their breath.

"May this shoot go smoothly and the box office be a hit."

"Bless us with safety, no accidents."

Listening to them, Shen Zhixia found it a little amusing. She thought, if they knew there was a ghost in this building, would they still be this devout?

Suddenly, someone in the crowd screamed.

Shen Zhixia was startled and nearly slid off the windowsill. She leaned out halfway and saw a girl in a light-colored dress covering her mouth, stumbling backward several steps, her face pale.

"What's wrong?" Someone ran over to support her.

The girl pointed at the stairway entrance, her voice trembling. "Th-there... something moved over there just now."

Shen Zhixia followed her gaze. There was nothing at the stairway entrance. It was sealed off by a wooden board with a yellow warning sign that read: "Construction Area—Do Not Enter."

"You must have seen wrong. It's sealed off," someone nearby said.

"I really saw it! It looked like something black..." The girl's voice grew softer, until even she seemed uncertain.

The crowd fell silent for a few seconds, then someone laughed. "Wanqiao, did you not sleep well last night? This ancient castle is gloomy—it's easy to see things."

The girl named Lin Wanqiao forced a smile and said nothing more.

Shen Zhixia stared at the wooden board, her brow slowly furrowing.

She had seen it.

Just now, an extremely fine wisp of black mist had seeped through the gaps in the wooden board. It moved like a living thing, crawling along the floor for a short distance before retreating back inside.

That wasn't her.

Shen Zhixia was certain. She had been in this building for so long and had never seen anything like that. The mist carried a malice that her instincts instinctively rejected—completely different from her own lingering consciousness. She was merely trapped here, but that black mist seemed to want to devour something.

She remembered that when she first became like this, she had once tried to approach that sealed stairway entrance. At the time, she had just been looking for a way out, but before she could get close, she was driven back by an icy malice. The feeling was exactly like the black mist she saw now—not just a cold chill, but a hunger that wanted to consume everything.

If there was something else in this building, could her being trapped here also be related to that black mist?

While she was still hesitating, another black business van pulled into the courtyard.

The car stopped, the rear door opened, and a man in a long black trench coat stepped out.

The moment Shen Zhixia saw him, she felt he was different from the others.

He was tall, with a straight back. His steps were not large, but each one was steady. His black hair was neatly trimmed, with a lock falling over his forehead, accentuating the sharp lines of his brow bone and the corners of his eyes. He wore a pair of thin-rimmed glasses, and behind the lenses, his eyes swept across the courtyard, paused for a moment, then landed on the hall's entrance—or rather, on the wooden board sealing the stairway.

Shen Zhixia's heart leaped. Could he have seen that wisp of Black Mist too?

But he said nothing. He just nodded slightly, shook hands with the person who came to greet him, and smiled warmly and politely.

"Teacher Lu! You're here!"

"The traffic was a bit heavy. I'm late." The man's voice was low and clean, with a gentle cadence at the end.

"Not late at all. The opening ceremony is about to start."

Shen Zhixia watched him walk into the hall. The crowd automatically parted to make way. Someone handed him a script, someone helped him take off his coat, and someone else brought him tea. He thanked each person politely, his movements refined. But Shen Zhixia noticed that on his left wrist, he wore a string of Black Beads, with a small silver clasp pressed between them.

He stood before the long table, offering incense and bowing along with the others.

Shen Zhixia lay on the windowsill, staring at his back. She couldn't explain why, but she felt there was something strange about this man—standing there, doing the same incense-offering and bowing as everyone else, yet the air around him seemed to have grown a little quieter.

Halfway through the ceremony, the lights suddenly flickered.

Everyone froze.

Then, the temperature in the hall plummeted, turning as cold as if someone had opened the door to an ice cellar.

Shen Zhixia shivered. She was a ghost, not supposed to feel cold, but this chill was different—it carried a pressure that made her instincts want to flee, like being targeted by something more powerful, more malevolent.

From the gaps in the wooden board at the stairway entrance, the Black Mist seeped out again.

This time, it wasn't a single wisp but a large mass, as if something was pushing it out from inside. It spread rapidly along the ground. Wherever the mist passed, the protective mats on the floor began to wrinkle, discolor, and even develop small scorch marks at the edges.

"What's that smell?" Someone covered their nose.

"It smells like... something burning?"

Lin Wanqiao screamed. "There! There it is again!"

Everyone turned to look at the stairway entrance.

The Black Mist had already crawled to the long table. The incense sticks in the burner suddenly all went out. The fruit on the table visibly shriveled and turned black.

The light array began to flicker erratically, emitting harsh electrical noises. Then, the recording equipment set up in the corner of the hall suddenly burst into a piercing shriek—like countless people screaming at once, or like something struggling to claw its way out of the devices.

"Bang!" A fill light exploded, glass shards scattering across the floor.

The crowd erupted in chaos. Some retreated, some pulled out their phones to take pictures, and someone shouted, "Call the police!"

Shen Zhixia gripped the window frame tightly. She could see something writhing inside the Black Mist—like countless hands clawing, or countless mouths screaming in silence. The recording equipment continued to emit strange noises that made her scalp tingle. It wasn't ordinary static; it carried a twisted malevolence, as if something was using the devices to broadcast its presence.

She was afraid, but she wanted even more to know what it was—because if there was another ghost in this building, could her being trapped here also be related to that Black Mist?

Just then, the man they called Teacher Lu moved.

He didn't step back. Instead, he took a step forward, placing himself between the crowd and the Black Mist. He raised his hand to adjust his glasses, the movement as natural as if he were just tidying his appearance. But Shen Zhixia noticed that as his left hand touched the frame, his thumb brushed almost imperceptibly against the Black Beads on his wrist.

In that instant, the spread of the Black Mist slowed down.

It didn't stop all at once, but as if pulled by some invisible force, the churning mist became sluggish and stagnant. The strange noise from the recording equipment also weakened, shifting from a piercing shriek to a low hum, until it finally vanished completely.

"Teacher Lu?" Someone called out to him cautiously, their voice still carrying the remnants of panic.

Lu Chenzhou turned around and smiled at the person. "It's nothing. Probably too much humidity—the equipment got damp." His voice was steady, even carrying a hint of reassurance. "Everyone, don't panic. I'll go check the circuits."

He said it all matter-of-factly, with no trace of panic in his tone—as if he had expected something to happen all along. Shen Zhixia noticed that after saying this, his eyes unhurriedly swept across the hall—past the still-smoking light stand, past the crew members retreating with their equipment cases, and finally landing on the row of third-floor windows.

More precisely, on the window where she was hiding.

Shen Zhixia's heart—if she still had one—leaped violently.

She shrank back behind the windowsill, burying half her face in her hair, leaving only her eyes exposed as she stared down below.

The Black Mist was still there.

It hadn't disappeared. It was only temporarily suppressed. Shen Zhixia watched it continue to seep through the gaps in the stairway entrance, little by little, like some living thing testing the waters.

And that man, through the chaos of the crowd, still seemed to be looking in her direction.