The man before me was drenched in sweat, his face deathly pale, legs still trembling as he sat on the sofa in the lobby, terror etched across his features. The boss, by now, had sobered up considerably.
"Did you just wake up confused, sir?"
"There really is a ghost, boss, I swear. It dragged me right off the bed."
As he spoke, the man pulled up his pant leg, but there wasn’t a single mark on his foot. I could see he’d been badly frightened, though whether it was a ghost, I couldn’t say—maybe it was the same kind of thing I’d experienced.
"How... how could there be a ghost? Heh."
The boss said this with a pained expression. I looked at the man’s forehead—there was no sign of corrupt miasma, so I could be sure it wasn’t a ghost.
"Sir, how about you take me there to have a look?"
But the man shook his head, insisting he’d wait here for daylight and wouldn’t dare go back. He even begged the boss not to leave. I sighed and stepped forward.
"How about I go check it out for you, boss?"
The boss told me the man was staying in room 217 on the second floor, so I headed straight up. The hallway was empty and only one light was on. I walked over—room 217 was pitch dark inside. I flipped on the light, and for a moment, I thought I saw someone standing by the bed. Instantly, I lunged forward, slashing with Belle in my hand—only to find there was nothing there.
"What on earth is going on here?"
I walked over to the door and flipped the light switch on and off several times, but saw nothing at all.
The blanket had fallen to the floor, and what the man just described was exactly what I’d seen in my second Prophetic Dream. Something haunted this place, and I was starting to suspect my dream had foretold it.
I started inspecting the room. There were quite a few high-end photography devices—the man seemed to be a photographer. Finding nothing, I returned to the lobby, where the man was still shivering under a blanket. The boss yawned, wide awake now, still chatting with him.
"Sir, maybe you really were just half asleep. It’s freezing out—why not go back to your room?"
Eventually, the boss persuaded the man to return to his room, and I went back to mine. As soon as I opened the door, I caught a glimpse of a shadow darting past. Fury surged in me—I rushed to the bedside, scanning all around. Crimson flames flickered over my skin.
"What on earth is going on?"
It was already past 4 a.m. I couldn’t fight off the exhaustion anymore, so I lay down to sleep. I slept deeply, and in my haze, I seemed to hear someone rummaging through drawers and cabinets. I was too tired to open my eyes, so I ignored it. But gradually, the creaking of drawers being pulled out and pushed in grew louder. Annoyed, I sat up and instantly saw a shadow. I turned on the light and sighed—again, there was nothing.
If this keeps up, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.
I’d barely drifted off when I heard what sounded like someone sitting by the edge of the hot spring pool, splashing their feet in the water, then jumping in.
"I can't take this anymore."
I got up, my head buzzing and splitting with pain. I walked over to the hot spring pool—nothing there. I slipped right in.
By now, dawn was breaking. The snow had stopped, and outside was a world of white. Yet I heard a commotion. Though it was just past seven, the streets were already filling with people.
After putting on my coat, I headed out. Many guests from the inns were already outside, most of them talking about the haunting.
When I got closer, I learned it wasn’t just our inn—the haunting happened at every hot spring inn. Many people had been tormented all night, too afraid to sleep. Most gathered to play cards until dawn. Some had already checked out and packed to leave. The innkeepers insisted there was nothing wrong, that ghosts were impossible.
The whole situation was growing more and more baffling. Eventually, everyone dispersed, thinking ghosts wouldn’t appear in broad daylight. Some went back to sleep. I returned to my room to catch up on rest, but things weren’t so simple. I’d barely lain down when the toilet started flushing by itself, over and over. It drove me crazy. I couldn’t take it—I got up, and by ten o’clock, I’d finally felt comfortable for a moment.
I opened the bathroom door—nothing there. Outside, the shouting grew louder. More people were talking about ghosts.
I knocked on my dad’s door—he was already up.
"Dad, you really didn’t feel anything last night?"
My dad smiled and shook his head.
Ghosts themselves aren’t scary—it’s the thought that someone might have done all this on purpose that worries me.
I grunted in agreement. That was all I could think now—someone had orchestrated this. It definitely wasn’t a local, but I couldn’t figure out who or what kind of technique was used.
"Since we're here, let's just settle in. Go grab something to eat, kiddo. We'll have lunch at noon."
Dad and I headed out onto the street. By the riverside, people were gossiping, and lots of folks were packing up, checking out. Some were arguing with the innkeepers, insisting on a refund because of the haunting.
For a while, all of Snowridge Springs was in chaos. It wasn’t just the hotels up front—even the ones further back were affected. People were buzzing, though some tried to calm things down—they probably hadn’t experienced last night’s weirdness.
I spotted the photographer from last night. He wasn’t leaving—he wanted to catch everything on camera. He told me he’d set it all up, so if anything happened, the camera would snap a shot automatically.
I almost told him it was pointless, but changed my mind.
Dad and I spent all day asking around. Some people who’d had weird experiences last night said they’d been dragged out of bed, seen shadows flicker by, heard strange noises from the bathroom, found someone hiding in the wardrobe, had their blankets yanked off, or heard splashing in the hot spring pool—stuff you’d only expect from ghosts.
But Dad and I knew for sure it wasn’t ghosts. It had to be some kind of supernatural technique we didn’t recognize. If there really were ghosts, there’d be Yin Energy lingering here. But we couldn’t sense any—not even a trace.
Night fell again. The streets were emptier than yesterday. Dad and I found a busy-looking restaurant in the back area. Inside, people were still talking about last night’s events. Even those who hadn’t experienced anything were nervous—if just one or two people had seen something, you could chalk it up to confusion or sleepiness, but with so many witnesses, and some even fleeing, everyone was on edge.
I glared at the hotpot, jaw clenched. Dad just laughed and shook his head, then said:
"Roxie, I’ll sleep in your room tonight. Just the floor’s fine for me."
I made a surprised sound. Dad smiled and nodded, and I mumbled my agreement.
After wandering the streets for a bit, Dad and I went back to our room. He asked the boss for some plastic sheeting, spread it out, laid down two blankets, grabbed the room’s quilts and pillows, and said he was going to take a bath.
I soaked for a while, then lay down. Dad came in soon after and lay down beside my bed.
"It’s okay, Roxie. Get some sleep."
I mumbled in response. The night was peaceful—no sounds in the hotel. Besides the photographer, only five guests had seen anything, and all five had already left.
The next morning, I woke up feeling rested. The noise outside was even louder. I opened the window and saw crowds at hotel entrances, yelling at the owners for refunds.
A doctor and a nurse rushed in. Dad had already gone out. After I got ready and headed to the lobby, I saw the photographer clutching his camera, shivering and ranting about ghosts—he seemed unstable. The doctor gave him a sedative, and soon he was asleep. I checked his gear, but aside from what was in the room, there was nothing unusual.
"Sir, please... There really aren’t any ghosts here!"
The boss was about to cry, surrounded by more than ten angry guests demanding refunds. Most looked furious, clearly sleep-deprived.
Dad told me that the people who hadn’t experienced anything the night before had gotten a taste of haunting this time—most were shaken. Some had given up on demanding refunds and left, still fuming.
I noticed a commotion by the road—a man in a yellow Taoist robe from the Mount Mason Order was approaching. He looked capable, so Dad and I went over. He was indeed from the Mount Mason Order, around forty, and people were telling him about the haunting.
"Everyone, please calm down. Let me take a look around."
The Taoist noticed Dad and me, gave us a meaningful look, and after a moment, we followed him into a room.
"You two from the Hades Circle—did you notice anything strange last night or the night before?"
I shook my head. Dad answered:
"Master, there are no ghosts here. This is man-made."
The Taoist nodded and said:
"I’ve already used a minor technique to check. No ghosts here—so it’s definitely a spell. We need to find any trace of it. Would you two help me look?"
Dad and I agreed. By now, most people in Snowridge Springs were outside—the place was a mess.
I still remembered how Snowridge Springs looked in my second Prophetic Dream—cold and deserted. The boss looked grateful when he saw us, as if it had been ages since he’d had any guests.