Supernatural

Have you ever heard of Crossing the Yin?

They say that when a woman undergoes Crossing the Yin, half her body has already stepped into the Yin Realm.

She has to stay in the same room as a dozen burly men, all night long, until dawn.

Only then can she snatch her life back from the hands of the Yin beings.

I had always scoffed at rumors like that.

Until one day, my beloved little niece underwent Crossing the Yin too.

But she was only six years old!

Dad brought home a golden retriever especially to keep Mom from getting lonely.

I turned around and sold it to a dog dealer to be bred for twelve litters in a row, until giving birth left it paralyzed.

Because in my last life, Mom had given that dog everything.

She took it everywhere and even held it while she slept.

In just two months, she seemed to age fifty years.

Then she died right in front of me.

The doctor called it sudden-onset premature aging.

Less than a month after we buried Mom, Dad moved her best friend into our house.

The woman who should have been lying in intensive care waiting to die had suddenly recovered.

Wearing Mom’s necklace and sleeping in Mom’s bed, she stroked my head and said, “Niannian, I’m your mommy now.”

Only later did I learn the truth.

Her soul was living inside the golden retriever Dad had brought home.

She was bound to a Life-Swapping System.

All she had to do was stay close to Mom in that dog’s body for forty-nine days straight, and she could steal Mom’s health and lifespan little by little.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the golden retriever arrived.

I looked down at it and smiled sweetly.

Send them to prison?

I didn’t have enough evidence.

But it was only a female dog in heat.

Sending it off to have eight or ten litters was perfectly reasonable, wasn’t it?

I livestream my mom dancing the Soul Summoning Dance.

Netizens rush to like and comment.

Only one bullet comment says: [Your mom is dancing the Soul Summoning Dance. If she dances for seven days straight, she can exchange a life.]

My hand holding the phone trembles.

Today is the seventh day.

My roommate Chen Ling was always coming up with strange rules. For example, after the dorm power went out, we weren’t allowed to turn on any lights, and once a bag of snacks was opened, it had to be finished within five minutes.

If we didn’t follow them, she would nag us about it all day long.

Just now, at three in the morning, she woke all of us from a dead sleep and said:

“You have to survive. The drill is officially over now.”

With that, she gave us an eerie smile, then turned and walked out the door.

A scream came from downstairs soon after.

She had jumped from the dorm room below ours.

At 11:30 PM, I was home alone and ordered some takeout.

When the map showed the delivery driver was zero meters away, my phone rang.

I picked up, but there was nothing but silence on the other end-an eerie, unsettling quiet.

Impatient, I hung up. Just then, the driver sent me a private message: [I’m so sorry. I’m deaf and mute. I called you just to make sure you’d know your food had arrived immediately, but I couldn’t explain the situation over the phone. Please forgive me.]

[You must be waiting. I’ve already left the food at your door. Please pick it up as soon as possible.]

I was just about to open the door when several lines of bullet comments suddenly drifted across my vision.

[Don’t open the door! That person outside isn’t a delivery driver at all-he’s a murderer!]

[He called you so he could hear your voice and confirm whether you’re a woman living alone!]

[I’m so over this. The protagonists in these horror stories are always so brainless. This delivery guy is obviously suspicious, yet she’s still going to open the door.]

By sheer chance, I stumbled across a diary from a hundred years ago.

Its owner seemed to have been the young master of some wealthy household. Inside were little records of his daily life: “May 7, Year 14 of the Republic of China. Clear skies. I skipped class to play cards with my classmates, and my teacher chased me all the way home and scolded me. So annoying!”

I found it amusing, so I added a line beneath it: “May 2024. Been working for too long. Exhausted.”

The very next second, a sentence surfaced on the diary page: “Who are you?”

Back when I drove heavy-duty trucks, I was often the one to lead the way down new, untested routes. In the industry, we call this “Chong Sha.”

Only after I had successfully passed through would other drivers dare to follow.

Afterward, I’d receive a fair share of red envelopes as a token of gratitude.

People always ask me, “Didn’t you ever see anything strange while you were doing a Chong Sha?” I thought about it for a moment. “Nothing much.

Just people constantly trying to flag down the truck in the middle of the night, scammers frequently collapsing in the center of the road to stage accidents, and the occasional cluster of identical villages appearing one after another along the highway…”

I was a bridesmaid at my friend’s wedding, but the bridesmaid’s red envelope I received was stuffed with spirit money.

My friend got into a fight with the groom’s side.

The groom stormed in with a group of people, trapped us in the room, and even threatened that when they came to “tease the bridesmaids” that night, he’d make sure I paid for it.

What he didn’t know was this: seal paper money inside a red envelope, and a hundred ghosts will come to feast.

That night, every ghost for miles around came to offer their congratulations.

And I was the sole Earth Master successor.

Bootleg Black Wukong was all the rage among my classmates.

One of its scenic areas was called the Land of Mahayana.

Everyone who played it became obsessed and went there to check in.

But not a single one of them came back.

I received that pirated disc too.

What they didn’t know was that I was the only Earth Master successor.

My dad was a “Yin Guest”-or, in plain terms, a grave tester.

When rich people picked out a burial plot, they would hire someone to spend a night there and see whether the gravesite was clean.

My dad had been in that line of work for years.

Until his last job. When he came home, his body was covered in livor mortis.