"Let me introduce you all—this is Ethan Zhang, one of our team." Suddenly, Quentin Wang pulled me forward, and a dozen puzzled eyes turned my way.
I looked again—the woman who'd been sitting there just moments ago had vanished. I was certain the laughter earlier had come from her.
"Don't be fooled by his looks. He’s the guy who won over Rachel Lan from our company."
Out of nowhere, Quentin Wang shouted. I stared at him, startled, and tried to explain, but the room was drowned in hushing whispers.
I quickly leaned in close to Quentin Wang's ear.
"Mr. Wang, can we move somewhere else? This place... it isn’t clean."
Quentin Wang’s face suddenly tightened, then he burst out laughing.
"Ethan Zhang, have you been hanging around that nutcase so long you’re turning into one yourself?"
Afterwards, we went up to the third floor. I sat down, feeling isolated and awkward. If I’d known it’d be like this, I wouldn’t have come.
All through dinner, sneering comments flew my way. I could only manage a strained smile. The others, dressed in expensive brands, made their privilege painfully clear.
I sat there in my old, faded blue tracksuit, bought years ago, feeling like a stain among all that luxury.
Finally, the meal began. There were many dishes I’d never seen before. I picked a few and tasted them. They were good, but somehow, none of them compared to Yuna Ji’s cooking.
After a long day’s work, I was starving and started eating.
Quentin Wang, reeking of booze, leaned in. I fumbled for words, trying to explain.
"Mr. Wang, Rachel and I are just friends. There’s nothing special between us."
"Bullshit! Rachel Lan is always defending you. Seriously, how did you pull it off? Damn, of all the people she could choose, why go for someone as broke as you?"
Clearly, Quentin Wang was drunk and still bitter about being rejected by Rachel Lan. I’d heard he’d gone to great lengths to pursue her, but she’d rebuffed him time and again, never once considering him seriously.
I could see why he was upset. Quentin Wang was a classic rich kid—handsome, privileged, and a little arrogant. But watching him banter with the others at the table, he clearly knew how to hold his own.
After eating, I sat on a nearby sofa. I heard we’d be heading to the fourth floor for karaoke next. I wanted to leave, but Quentin Wang wouldn’t let me. He said if I left, I shouldn’t bother coming to work tomorrow.
I was angry, but after thinking it over, I decided it was best not to fight with anyone.
I carefully observed my surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I wondered what Rachel Lan meant when she said I could see things too.
Absentmindedly, I watched Quentin Wang drinking. Suddenly, I rubbed my eyes—above his head, a dark cloud seemed to gather. The more I stared, the bigger and blacker it grew, a thick mass pressing down on him.
Just then, I saw the woman in the old gray wool sweater enter through the door. Step by step, she walked toward Quentin Wang. I stood up.
"What are you doing?" I shouted when I saw the woman reach out, as if to harm Quentin Wang.
Suddenly, the woman turned her head. Her eyes were ringed with bruises, bloodshot, her face deathly pale. She glared at me.
"What’s wrong with you, Ethan Zhang?" Quentin Wang, holding his wine jug, walked over. Only then did I notice all the guests staring at me in confusion.
"That woman over there…" I pointed, but she had vanished.
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck. I looked out the window—a massive flash lit up the sky, close yet impossibly distant. Then, rain began to pour.
A cold wind blew in through the window.
I quickly pulled Quentin Wang into a corner and told him about the woman in the gray wool sweater following him. He just laughed, saying I was crazy.
I felt a surge of anger and wanted to leave right away. But then I thought, if I can help, I should—after all, I can see these things, and I’ve encountered them before.
Quentin Wang, drunk, barged into the two-story KTV suite, grabbed the microphone, and started shouting into it.
He sang for a while, then started laughing and crying, stumbling over to me.
"Ethan Zhang, why? Tell me why! Why doesn’t Rachel Lan like me?"
I let out a sound of surprise.
"Mr. Wang, you’re drunk. Maybe you should…"
"Call Rachel Lan here! I want her here! I like her, I like her…"
Suddenly, Quentin Wang started crying and making a scene. His girlfriend stormed over, her face furious, and began to interrogate him.
"Get lost. This isn’t your place to talk."
Many guests saw Quentin Wang so drunk and started doing their own thing. Quentin kept holding onto me.
"This is the first time I’ve ever liked someone so much. Ethan Zhang, please—call Rachel Lan, get her here."
I sighed, took out my phone, and stepped outside. Strangely, it was completely silent out there, the lights flickering in a wash of crimson.
I dialed Rachel Lan’s number, but couldn’t get through. I checked—no signal.
Helpless, I opened the private room door. As soon as I stepped in, the singing stopped. Everyone was slumped over the table or on the floor. I rushed over in shock and tried to help someone up.
I screamed. That person had no face. A chill ran down my spine. I spun around, clenched my fist, and swung.
Suddenly, it was the woman in the sweater—she floated to the door.
I was bewitched by a ghost—I knew it clearly.
The female ghost glared at me fiercely.
"Stay out of this, or else…"
I straightened up, fists clenched, Deathbane Aura slowly seeping out.
"Let’s sit down and talk this out, okay? You’re already dead—don’t…"
"Hahahahaha…" The female ghost let out a shrill, piercing laugh.
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Suddenly, the skin on the ghost’s face began to melt, sagging bit by bit like sticky paste.
I swallowed hard.
"Don’t think I’m afraid just because you look like that."
Suddenly, something grabbed my leg. I looked down—it was the faceless guests, crowding around and pulling at me.
"Damn it, let go!"
I clenched my fists and swung wildly. In an instant, the guests in the room vanished—and so did the female ghost.
I closed my eyes, trying to think of a solution. I should really ask how to deal with being bewitched by a ghost.
Rachel Lan warned me not to get involved, but I did anyway.
I kicked open the private room door and looked around. Still no one.
"Come out! If you want to talk, come out…" I kept shouting.
I heard a creaking sound—a door opened at the end of the hallway, as if inviting me in.
Without hesitation, I walked over. The hallway wasn’t long, but somehow, no matter how far I walked, I couldn’t reach the door.
Suddenly, I felt short of breath—the air around me seemed to thin.
I reached the open door. Inside, it was pitch black.
"Are you in there? If you have something to say, let’s talk."
Still no response. I tried to get a little closer.
"Alright, you can come in."
A voice came from inside the door. I clenched my fists and walked in.
Suddenly, the floor beneath me vanished—I fell. I reached out, desperate to grab something, and managed to seize a hard object with both hands.
Suddenly, I realized I was clinging to the edge of a window, my whole body dangling outside—at least ten stories up.
I struggled, gripping the window frame, trying to climb up.
Suddenly, the female ghost was there, staring at me from behind the window.
"You tricked me, damn it."
I glanced down. If I hadn’t reacted quickly, I’d have been a splatter on the ground.
"Don’t meddle anymore, or else…"
I was furious. The rain was pouring down, drenching me as I clung to the window frame with all ten fingers.
The female ghost vanished instantly.
"Ethan Zhang, what are you doing?" Suddenly, Quentin Wang’s voice called out. He looked at me in confusion, reaching out to grab me.
Panting, I climbed back up.
"You didn’t drink tonight, did you? I saw you yelling and climbing up to the window like you were about to jump."
"Mr. Wang, you have to believe me—there really was a ghost. Let’s get out of here."
But Quentin Wang still didn’t believe me.
Suddenly, Quentin Wang’s phone rang. He glanced at the number and answered.
"Dad, what’s wrong?"
"Run, run, son! It’s that woman—she’s after your life! Run!" An old man’s voice shouted urgently.
But the call was cut off.
"Huh? Dad, are you sleepwalking? What woman?"
He hung up as he spoke.
Just as I stood up, ready to drag Quentin Wang out by force, I heard a drip—like water.
"Watch out…"
The wall behind Quentin Wang seemed to turn to water—a hand reached out, grabbed his head, and dragged him into the wall. I rushed over, trying to grab him, but was left with only a shoe. Quentin Wang was gone.
I kicked the wall, but it was just solid concrete—nothing else.
I searched the building for hours but found no trace of Quentin Wang. Later, I called Rachel Lan. She just sighed and told me, "This is Quentin Wang’s fate."
At three in the morning, I finally found Quentin Wang. He was lying in the trash bin behind the hotel, his whole body blue—dead.
Police were investigating the scene. Soon, an old man rushed over, crying. I recognized him as our company’s boss, Leon Wang.
Thinking back, Quentin Wang was arrogant and foul-mouthed, but not really a bad guy.
"Maybe there’s still a way." I muttered. Leon Wang turned, face streaked with tears, and ran toward me.