Chapter 7: A Clichéd Horror Plot

"What are you staring at me for?"
After closing the door and switching on the living room light, Chu Ning glanced curiously at the puzzled Tan Ya. There was still a gulf of trust between them, but what was with that strange look in her eyes?
Chu Ning was already starting to regret agreeing to let the girl stay. The suspicious young woman’s gaze kept darting between the tightly shut door and himself, as if plotting something unsavory.
"This doesn't make sense! In horror movies, haunted house doors always close by themselves, don’t they? And no matter how the heroine beats at the door, it never opens."
Hearing such infuriating words, Chu Ning wanted nothing more than to knock some sense into the curious girl’s head. Comparing his home to a haunted house! And the way Tan Ya looked around, as wide-eyed as a rustic lost in a grand estate, made him silently reassure himself not to take offense at someone so inexperienced.
"Sorry! I apologize the door isn’t automatic," Chu Ning replied sarcastically, unable to hide his disdain for her complaint. Who was the naïve one just a moment ago?
Tan Ya waved her hand awkwardly, indicating it didn’t matter, even if reality diverged from her expectations. Using popular tropes to interpret things, she figured closing a door with supernatural power must drain a lot of mana.
Since they were both in the same line of work, there was no need for such trickery. Ever since she’d seen Chu Ning clearly in the light, much of her fear had dissipated. Seeing his sickly, frail appearance, a sudden illusion sprang to mind:
If she poked him lightly with a finger, Chu Ning would topple over, and she could do as she pleased with him, without resistance.
Tan Ya couldn’t help but giggle foolishly, immersed in her own world. It wasn’t until the ominous air around her thickened that she abruptly snapped back to reality. Clearly, one shouldn’t judge strength by physique alone—maybe ghosts allocated their stat points differently.
"Heh, why don't you try opening the door?"
Chu Ning suggested eerily. Watching the woman’s foolish antics, a mischievous delight welled up inside.
If she liked supernatural tropes so much, he’d gladly play along.
With no choice but to comply, Tan Ya approached the door, studying the handle intently to understand its mechanism.

In Chu Ning’s eyes, Tan Ya clumsily tugged at the door—trying to pull open an entrance that could only be pushed outward.
Seeing her defeated, his mood lifted. He reminded her lightly, "Alright, don’t pull so hard. The door opens outwards."
"You young folks need to believe in science; superstition is unreliable! In movies, the door closes by itself because of the wind. If you can’t open it, it’s just because you’ve got the wrong direction. Add in a scary atmosphere and some psychological suggestion, and of course people panic."
"Do you understand now?"
Chu Ning’s lecture sounded wholly unconvincing to Tan Ya. Did he really think she was some ignorant girl, easily fooled with such nonsense?
She rolled her eyes at him behind his back, willing her thundering heart to calm. She’d already tried pushing the door outward—she wouldn’t have made the mistake of not turning the handle. Just moments ago, the door had truly been sealed shut.
The most terrifying part was that she’d lost control of her own body; before she could even figure out the door’s mechanism, she’d found herself compulsively reenacting a horror movie scene, desperately trying to force the door open.
Just a few seconds of that loss of control had seared the feeling of being ruled by fear into her memory!
In Chu Ning’s eyes, Tan Ya seemed to listen humbly and respond politely to his guidance—believing in science, no less—filling him with a sense of satisfaction. There were no ghosts in this world, only rumors born from shadows and hearsay.
He noticed Tan Ya was still a bit shaken and couldn’t help but sigh at the poor psychological resilience of today’s youth—so easily frightened by something as simple as a stuck door.
"Senior, could we proceed with my check-in?"
"Of course! By the way, what’s my name?"
The moment Chu Ning asked this seemingly casual but loaded question, Tan Ya’s pupils contracted sharply and her mind raced. Never had she reacted so quickly, frantically recalling the agent’s introduction—unfortunately, she couldn’t recall Chu Ning’s name at all.
It was a deadly question, a scene straight from a horror game: answer wrong, and you’d die without a trace. It was like if someone asked about the black glove on her left hand—she’d bristle like a cat. Ghosts, after all, had their dark secrets.

Single, living alone, parents deceased, owns a car and a home—he was the perfect bachelor! Tan Ya recalled the agent’s sycophantic grin and the vague hints he’d dropped at that point.
But the agent had never mentioned his name. Clearly, there was more to this than met the eye. Tan Ya began to panic, desperately searching for a way out.
Feigning nonchalance, Chu Ning asked a question vital to himself, his grip unconsciously tightening on the knife handle, brows furrowed, gaze fixed unwaveringly on the nervous Tan Ya.
Yet in Tan Ya’s eyes, it was all too clear: Chu Ning was sizing her up, searching for the best spot to strike. He was just waiting for her to answer wrong—then he’d chop her up, just like the poor soul who’d died upstairs.
"Chu Ning. Senior, your name is Chu Ning!"
The muffled reply reached his ears, solving at least one mystery for Chu Ning: his name was Chu Ning. Oddly, Tan Ya’s voice seemed to echo in his head, but he was too preoccupied to care about such details.
"Oh, right. Don’t call me ‘Senior’ anymore. My name is Chu Ning."
His tone was unexpectedly solemn, as if declaring a sacred oath.
"Alright, Senior Chu Ning!"
Tan Ya quickly nodded, relieved to have bluffed her way through. Having survived the ordeal, she committed Chu Ning’s name to memory—the name she’d just heard from his own lips.
Exhausted, Tan Ya was grateful that her ability had come in handy: making others say the answer she needed to hear. It was a power she’d awakened when she was reborn.
The only catch was the price—it drained her completely, leaving her utterly spent!