Chapter 52: An Urgent Call

On the other side, after returning home, Qi Yan didn’t immediately wash up and go to bed as he had originally planned. Instead, he powered on the old desktop computer he’d used since college and began searching the internet with a few keywords.

Naturally, his search revolved around that ghost story. Had Dong Ye not reminded him earlier, he might not have given it much thought. But as he made his way home, the memory of the little girl in the red dress he’d just seen—and the realization that there was a disturbingly real-sounding story connected to her—wouldn’t let him rest easy. After all, he’d seen it with his own eyes.

He typed in “Xinzhou City” and “Red Thread” as search terms. The results poured in—tens of thousands of related entries filled the page.

He clicked on a pinned post at the top, which turned out to be a forum thread filled with a lengthy retelling of the story itself.

After skimming through, he found it was more or less the same as the version he’d heard back in college. And since it was pinned, it was clearly the most popular version circulating online.

Many replies followed, most treating the story as if it were true, though a few were skeptical and openly dismissive.

In any case, just as Dong Ye had said, this ghost story hadn’t been invented by his former college roommate. The roommate had likely found it online and retold it.

Ordinarily, a mere ghost story wouldn’t be a big deal. Many magazines published one or two such tales each issue, purely as horror fiction.

The main reason the “Red Thread” story had been so popular at the time was that it explicitly named the city. Perhaps because such stories were later suppressed online, the version Qi Yan now found didn’t use “Xinzhou City” directly, but instead replaced it with the initials “XZ.” Still, it was obvious the story had only been lightly edited; even the protagonist’s name had some traceable origins. The main plot remained virtually unchanged, especially the description of the apparition—a little girl in a red dress.

By now, it was impossible to trace the story’s true origins or original author through a simple web search.

However, its surge in popularity dated back to about three years prior.

“Hm?” Qi Yan stubbed out his cigarette, then suddenly remembered something. If this story had once been such a hit among urban ghost tales, Li Ruoke must have heard of it as well.

After all, she’d posted countless supernatural anecdotes on her Weibo, all collected and recommended by her followers. Truth or fabrication was irrelevant; as long as the stories caught people’s attention, they served their purpose.

Qi Yan himself occasionally browsed Li Ruoke’s Weibo for entertainment. There were similar ghost stories, along with other short supernatural pieces. With the rise of new media, there were now even paranormal photos, images, and short videos.

Most of these were obviously fake, but supernatural enthusiasts loved them. Thanks to this eclectic content, Li Ruoke had amassed over a hundred thousand followers on Weibo. While not quite an influencer’s numbers, it was impressive within the province’s young community, and she used the platform to promote her own business with great effect.

With this in mind, Qi Yan picked up his phone and began scrolling through her Weibo. With such a vast archive, it wasn’t easy to find what he was looking for.

After quite some time searching, he came up empty-handed.

He then tried her personal website, scrolling back to the earliest pages, and finally found it—

No pictures or videos accompanied the post; it was a plain article.

But just as Qi Yan clicked in, before he could compare it with the forum threads, his phone rang. The caller ID read “Xu Dan.”

Qi Yan bit his lower lip, suspicion in his voice. “Hey! Did these two coordinate this or what? Every time, they both come to me at once…”

His reaction was understandable—every time Dong Ye and Xu Dan quarreled or threatened to break up, both would take turns coming to Qi Yan to vent.

Though he was closer to Dong Ye these days, since guys tended to have more to talk about, he’d actually known Xu Dan a little longer.

Xu Dan had been a close friend of Qi Yan’s first girlfriend. In fact, it was thanks to Qi Yan that the two eventually got together, though not through any deliberate matchmaking. It happened by chance at a group gathering, and their ensuing relationship was simply a matter of mutual attraction.

Even after Qi Yan and his first love broke up, the two remained together—on and off—up to the present day.

Of course, this created a headache for Qi Yan: both were his good friends, and he’d indirectly brought them together. Whenever their relationship hit a rough patch, he inevitably became the “middleman” they both turned to.

It was an awkward position; each had their own side of the story, and he couldn’t take sides without alienating someone.

Besides, before long, they’d reconcile as if nothing had happened, but Qi Yan would be left in an awkward spot.

If, during their quarrel, Qi Yan had carelessly criticized one of them, what would happen once they made up?

He’d be caught in the middle, pleasing no one.

So Qi Yan had gotten smart: whenever they argued, he refused to take sides. No matter who came to him to complain, he’d offer no opinions or judgments—only played the peacemaker, saying, “Ah, what’s wrong now? You two are usually so loving, what happened this time? Really…what happened?”

He’d repeat the same phrase—“What happened?”—and nothing more.

This time, it seemed to be the same situation. Dong Ye had drunkenly summoned him to listen to his woes, and now Xu Dan was calling in the middle of the night for a “chat.”

Qi Yan glanced at the time—good heavens, it was already past three in the morning… Did they think he was the neighborhood committee?

He answered the call, cutting straight to the point: “Sis, do you know what time it is? The rooster’s about to crow. You two really are a perfect match! I only just got back from Thailand and haven’t slept a wink. Can’t this wait until—”

Xu Dan’s voice on the other end was different—frantic, deeply anxious, and so terrified that it radiated through the phone, cutting Qi Yan’s complaints short.

“No, no… take your time. Uh-huh, he was with me earlier. Wait… what did you say? Are you serious? Is it bad? … Oh, just two stitches on the face? … And has he calmed down now? … Uh, you woke him up with a slap? … Alright, alright, don’t panic. I’ll come right over… Listen, listen, don’t shout. For now, while he’s still lucid, find a rope and tie him up—tight. Better stuff a towel in his mouth, too.

Call the police? What for? It’s just two little holes on his face, not a serious injury, and now he’s back to his senses. What would you tell the police…?

Just keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t run off. Wait for me to get there… Okay, that’s settled.”

Well, so much for changing clothes. He grabbed his backpack, phone, and keys—and rushed out the door again.