38: Qin Yan Decided To Tell Him.

“Pop!”

The bottle cap of the soda twisted off with a soft sound. That historical drama was already on its second episode. He’d missed a bit of the plot. When Zhou Langxing asked if they should rewind, he said it didn’t matter.

Zhou Langxing set down the remote, and casually remarked, “You were in there for so long. If I didn’t know you went to the kitchen, I’d have thought you fell into the toilet. I was even thinking whether I should go look for you.”

Qin Yan ignored how lame the joke was. But when he heard the last part, he instinctively rejected it: “The bathroom’s broken, you can’t go in!”

The moment he said that, he regretted it—it sounded too suspicious.

“I can’t go in…”

Zhou Langxing repeated the words, chewing on the implication. He glanced at Qin Yan’s expression, watching every little movement of his body, and quickly sensed the flustered tension of someone with a guilty conscience.

“I can’t go in, huh.” He said again, now with a subtle, ambiguous tone.

Qin Yan lowered his head, pretending to check if there was a prize under the red bottle cap.

“I don’t think that’s the right way to say it.”

“…Huh?”

Qin Yan finally looked up at Zhou Langxing, only to see a subtle smile on his handsome face—which made his unease grow even stronger.

“You should’ve said—” Zhou Langxing dragged out his tone and leaned forward again, elbows resting on his knees, his slender fingertips tapping against the glass coffee table. “The bathroom’s broken, you can’t use it. Right?”

Qin Yan looked into his eyes—brilliant on the surface, but deep and dark beneath.

“Can I really not go in?” He tilted his head slightly, looking aggrieved.

Qin Yan said nothing.

“Or are you hiding some kind of secret in there?”

Still, Qin Yan said nothing.

“Ah—” Zhou Langxing sighed flatly, slumping back into the sofa lazily. “What am I thinking? What kind of secret could a bathroom hold? Maybe the door’s just broken, that’s all.”

He didn’t look at Qin Yan anymore. His handsome face angled toward the ceiling, eyes staring upward. What was he thinking? Qin Yan couldn’t tell.

Qin Yan slowly calmed down. He fiddled with the bottle cap, the dull ridges pricking his fingers just slightly.

He kept watching Zhou Langxing.

Neither of them spoke again. Only the characters on TV continued acting out their joys and sorrows.

Qin Yan’s gaze fell from the man’s face to his hands—naturally resting at his sides. The fingers were long and well-defined. There was even a light brown mole on the index finger. Even their hands, as twins, looked a little alike. Zhou Langxing’s were rougher though, lacking that scholarly air.

Qin Yan suddenly laughed.

It was a silent laugh, but the breath from his nose drew Zhou Langxing’s attention.

“What are you laughing at?” Zhou Langxing turned his head.

Hovering in midair, Zhou Shurong frowned and gave a disapproving look.

Qin Yan stopped laughing, but the smile still lingered on his face. He looked at Zhou Langxing, voice soft as a whisper: “You guessed right. I am hiding a secret in the bathroom.”

He had thought it through for a long time, and finally decided—he was going to tell Zhou Langxing.

This time was different. This time, he had proof.

He believed Zhou Shurong without a doubt. Uncle Wei was a ghost. If he took Zhou Langxing to visit Uncle Wei’s place, they’d definitely hear about his death—when he died, whether the body was buried—there was no way neighbors wouldn’t know.

And if Uncle Wei had died and was still selling wontons… once Zhou Langxing heard that, he’d understand.

Ghosts really did exist.

And Zhou Shurong wasn’t just a figment of Qin Yan’s imagination!

But what Qin Yan didn’t know was that Zhou Shurong didn’t want him to tell. While both of them were unable to see him, he’d already gone to the bathroom and erased the markings on the mirror.

The writing was a remnant of his spiritual energy—he withdrew it easily.

Back in the living room, Zhou Langxing sat up again. He stared at Qin Yan for a long while. Qin Yan returned the gaze openly, his calm certainty stirring something uneasy in Zhou Langxing’s chest.

His gut told him: this secret… probably wasn’t good news for him.

Zhou Langxing’s mind spun, but his expression stayed casual, voice still relaxed: “What kind of secret could you possibly be hiding in the bathroom?”

Then, he chuckled. “Don’t tell me someone’s got hemorrhoids or something?”

Qin Yan couldn’t help it—he rolled his eyes.

The joke, while dumb, lightened the tension between them.

On screen, the drama reached its first big climax. The female lead got into her wedding sedan. Gongs and trumpets blared in celebration. The festive atmosphere spilled out of the TV. Qin Yan frowned slightly. Too noisy—not the right mood for a serious conversation. He grabbed the remote and turned it off.

The living room fell silent, still and heavy, like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Zhou Langxing almost shifted positions but held back.

Qin Yan, on the other hand, got more comfortable. He pulled a throw pillow into his arms, as if hugging some courage, and spoke with more resolve.

He said, “I know you don’t believe in ghosts…”

He’d only just gotten the sentence out when Zhou Langxing exhaled sharply, rubbing his brow as if tired.

This old topic again! Circling it over and over—it all came down to the fact that deep down, Qin Yan just desperately wanted Zhou Shurong to come back. But the dead don’t return. It was nothing more than a wishful fantasy.

Zhou Langxing thought, maybe Qin Yan was stuck like this because something was wrong in his heart.

Should he find him a therapist?

Qin Yan kept talking, watching Zhou Langxing closely. He knew he didn’t believe—but that was fine. He would keep talking, then prove it. Show him something undeniable.

But inside, he was a bit angry too. Are my words really so untrustworthy?

Zhou Langxing was already zoning out!

“Ahem!”

Zhou Langxing focused again, smiled at him, and gestured for him to continue. He’d already decided—whatever Qin Yan said next, he’d just nod along and pretend to believe. Play along like a game.

Qin Yan poured two glasses of cola, pushed one over, and took a few sips of the other himself.

“Your brother—he really came back!”

He tried to deliver it with firm, unshakable conviction, forcing Zhou Langxing to believe. And as he wished, the man on the opposite couch nodded very seriously.

But… why did it feel so off?

Suppressing the irritation rising in his chest, Qin Yan didn’t want to see Zhou Langxing’s “you silly fool” face anymore. He stared at the soda in his hands and said, “He told me… Uncle Wei has already become a ghost!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he looked up sharply.

The man across from him still looked the same—nodding just as seriously as before. No, he even added a bit of fake horror, fake realization, fake disbelief.

Qin Yan’s fists clenched.

He suddenly understood why Father Zhou had asked during dinner if Zhou Langxing wanted to go into acting.

He was a good actor, sure—but Qin Yan could tell, this guy didn’t trust him at all.

As expected, he saw right through him.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Qin Yan stood up forcefully, “but I have proof!”

Zhou Langxing glanced at him and stood up as well.

“Come with me. Your brother wrote something on the mirror—you’ll understand once you see it!”

He didn’t yet know that Zhou Shurong had secretly erased the writing behind his back.

Standing in front of the mirror, Qin Yan stared blankly at the smooth, spotless surface. The mirror clearly reflected the shock on his face.

Zhou Langxing crossed his arms. “So, where’s the writing?”

“It’s gone?” Qin Yan murmured. “It was there… it was definitely there… It wasn’t supposed to disappear…”

His beautiful eyes welled up with a frightened shimmer.

Could it be… all of it was just his imagination?

Zhou Langxing looked at the man in the mirror, and his heart softened almost to the point of melting. Just then, Qin Yan’s phone rang. He wiped his eyes and pulled it out.

It was a text from a blank number. Just one line of cold words:

Don’t tell him.

Was that message from Zhou Shurong?

Qin Yan slowly lifted his head, his gaze sweeping across the room inch by inch until it landed on Zhou Langxing. He stared at him for a long time before quietly saying:

“Langxing, I want to be alone for a while.”

Zhou Langxing nodded understandingly, but his gaze lingered meaningfully on the phone before he decisively turned and left. Still, the thought of having Qin Yan see a psychiatrist grew even stronger.

After the door closed, Qin Yan slumped down with his back against it, clutching the phone like it was the last straw he had to cling to.

His fingers flew over the screen, trying to send a message to the blank number to confirm his doubts—but before he could, another message arrived.

This one resolved all of Qin Yan’s uncertainty and completely put his heart at ease. So everything this morning wasn’t a hallucination! His tense nerves relaxed, his shoulders sagged, and he sat on the floor.

The message on the screen read:

Uncle Wei is dangerous. You two must not get involved! —Shurong

The hair on Qin Yan’s forehead was soaked with cold sweat. He slumped against the door, a weak smile spreading across his face.

“You’re here… you’re really here… Thank goodness… this wasn’t just in my head… you’re here…”

Zhou Shurong pressed his lips together tightly. He had just reached out his hands—but halfway there, he stopped himself.

After a long while, Qin Yan found his strength again and sent Zhou Langxing a text, saying he wouldn’t go eat wontons anymore, and that he should drop the idea too. Knowing Zhou Langxing didn’t believe in ghosts, Qin Yan even added another excuse—the smell of the wontons was strangely tempting, and they might have something bad in them.

But the matter wasn’t over yet. Zhou Langxing was far too curious. Now that Qin Yan had revealed Uncle Wei might be a ghost and had even shown visible distress about it, whether true or not, Zhou Langxing had to investigate.

Fortunately, he had a habit of sending others to look into things. That person was Xiao Hei.

But for Xiao Hei… that was unfortunate.

***

Jiang Ling had to work overtime again tonight.

She had just finished a night shift, helping her colleagues take care of a corpse ghost at a hospital, and hadn’t even had time to catch her breath when another strange series of cases emerged in the city.

All the victims had died in a gruesome way—their intestines had somehow been removed from their bodies. Tracing the source, they’d all eaten a bowl of wontons late at night.

This bizarre case was taken over by the Observation Society.

The police were only assisting in tracking down the killer’s whereabouts. Finally, at 3 PM, they confirmed the target’s location—an old residential unit in Alley 3, Yongxing Road.

A ghost capable of causing mass casualties among humans would be, at the very least, a vengeful spirit.

Vengeful spirits didn’t fear walking under sunlight—but it did weaken them significantly. So by instinct, they rarely showed themselves during the day.

That made this the perfect time to strike.

Brother Wu was once again leading rookies. Jiang Ling counted as half a rookie. There was also a short-haired woman who was completely new. The mood in the car wasn’t heavy; they were chatting casually on the way.

The short-haired woman asked, “Brother Wu, you can definitely take care of this ghost, right?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s just a low-level vengeful spirit.”

The woman blinked in confusion. “How can you tell without even seeing it?”

Brother Wu explained while driving, “Its kill method is tied to its wontons. That’s a built-in limitation. And there are plenty of survivors from this case.”

“Wait, those people whose intestines were out—they survived?”

“No, not them,” Brother Wu said, “I mean the people who queued up but didn’t get to buy any wontons.”

“Wow, they were lucky! I get it—so the ghost only had a limited number of wontons. That’s another restriction, right?”

“Exactly.” He nodded in approval. “There’s one more limitation. Try to guess.”

He glanced at the rearview mirror and said to the pale-faced woman reflected there, “Ah Ling, you give it a shot too.”

Jiang Ling nodded, pretending to think.

After a while, the two gave various answers, none of which Brother Wu agreed with.

“What’s the third restriction, Brother Wu?” the short-haired woman asked in a coy tone.

He chuckled. “Survivors said the wontons smelled incredibly good and tempting, but they still didn’t lose their minds. If even ordinary people could resist that, we absolutely can.”

“Ohh—so the ghost’s skill doesn’t even work on us!”

“Right. But don’t let your guard down. Aside from its main kill skill, its raw physical strength might still be dangerous.”

“Hah, what’s there to fear? Brother Wu’s a close-combat pro!”

Jiang Ling glanced at the two of them. Earlier, she’d only made a token attempt to guess the answer, then went silent. She felt a creeping unease.

The last time she’d felt like this was during a car ride while fleeing from the baby ghost—right before she got arrested.

She took a deep breath.

“Ah Ling,” Brother Wu looked at her again in the mirror. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

Jiang Ling forced a pale smile.