NFM Chapter 49

“Qin Jiang is abroad on business, and I’m Lin Huai, the substitute editor here to urge you for the manuscript,” Lin Huai said.

The other person clearly hadn’t fully woken up from his groggy sleep. He sat up, staring at Lin Huai’s face for a long time. The emptiness and intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down Lin Huai’s spine. Finally, he grunted, “Oh, it’s you…”

After saying that, he stood up and went to search for the manuscript buried deep in his computer. Under the glow of the computer screen, his features became clearly visible.

Tianshu’s appearance was quite different from what Lin Huai had imagined. Contrary to the scruffy, unkempt image of a man in a white lab coat with dark circles under his eyes that Lin Huai had conjured in his mind, Tianshu was actually quite handsome—a quiet and refined man. His features had a sharp, chiseled quality, and when he squinted at the screen, the corners of his eyes lifted slightly, exuding a casual, indifferent air.

However, his striking appearance wasn’t the reason Lin Huai had been staring at him for so long… He stared because—

‘I feel like I’ve seen this person somewhere before…’ Lin Huai thought, stroking his chin. ‘Where have I seen him? Why can’t I remember?’

“Have we met before?” Lin Huai asked. “For some reason, I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“Lu Xun once said,” the other person replied without turning around, “handsome people often look alike, while ugly people come in all sorts of shapes. It’s perfectly normal for you to find me familiar. Anyway, the manuscript is here. Would you like to take a look first?”

“Did Lu Xun really say that…?” Lin Huai narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to the computer.

Inside the USB drive lay a file that had just been copied, titled “The Murderer’s Song.”

Opening the file, the first thing that appeared on the screen was a brief prologue.

‘I have decided to murder someone.’

‘Someone from the past.’

‘He died three years ago.’

Lin Huai gripped the mouse and scrolled down. What appeared before him was a first-person novel about a person who resolved to murder a ghost and speculated on the mechanisms behind the ghost’s existence.

Tianshu’s writing was concise and sharp, devoid of unnecessary adjectives, yet it exuded a chilling, pitiless aura. The protagonist’s ex-boyfriend had died three years ago. Three years later, as the protagonist was about to marry his new boyfriend, he began to notice traces of his ex’s reappearance in his life. Advertisements in the mailbox, water droplets on the dining table, hand-drawn sunflowers on the fogged-up glass… all of these pointed to one undeniable fact—the ex-boyfriend, who had died in an accident, had returned, and he intended to drag the protagonist down to hell.

The entire story was a calm, calculated exploration of the protagonist’s attempts to kill his ex-boyfriend. From the mechanisms that turned the ex into a Fierce Ghost to the constant adjustments and attempts to find the ultimate method to kill the ghost… in the end, the protagonist succeeded.

The story should have had a happy ending, but seven years after the protagonist married his current boyfriend, he saw sunflowers drawn on the fogged-up glass on a winter day… Lin Huai, goosebumps rising, finished the story and felt a slight sense of relief upon reading the ending.

While Lin Huai was reading, Tianshu handed him a bottle of coconut milk. As Lin Huai sipped, Tianshu asked for his thoughts: “What do you think of it?”

Lin Huai thought for a moment and replied honestly, “It’s terrifying. Too real. It made me uncomfortable.”

“…’Real’ is a first for me…” Tianshu said. “Was the ending that scary?”

“No,” Lin Huai took another sip of coconut milk. “Seeing someone go to such lengths to kill a poor Fierce Ghost, using so many effective methods, and watching the ghost barely escape death… that was truly terrifying.”

It was like watching a group of people gather to watch a Taoist priest battle a monster. While others laughed at the evil monster being beaten by the priest, Lin Huai would sympathize with the monster, shivering at the sight of its death.

This also highlighted a phenomenon—what was typically considered a horror-thriller movie was a horror movie for Lin Huai. What was typically considered a horror-action movie (like a Chinese Taoist priest beating up Sadako) was the real horror movie for Lin Huai.

At the same time, ordinary horror-action movies were often too outlandish for Lin Huai to take seriously, failing to scare him. For example, a muscular man yelling “The World!” to stop time when Sadako crawls out of the TV, then shouting “Muda Muda Muda” as he beats her into a pancake—such absurd plots. But the most terrifying thing about this novel was its feasibility.

People die when they are killed, and ghosts die when they are killed in the way described in the story…

“…This is the first time I’ve met someone who sympathizes with the ghost’s perspective while reading a novel,” Tianshu said, somewhat surprised.

“Because it’s genuinely terrifying. Haven’t your readers ever complained? About the blood and violence, or how it doesn’t align with socialist core values…” Lin Huai’s mood was akin to that of a BL reader who, in the second-to-last chapter, discovers without any prior hint that the protagonist had been previously assaulted and even had a child—a strong urge to grab the author by the collar and shake them.

“People complained when I wrote about humans being killed. But no one complained when I wrote about ghosts being killed.”

“…What the hell? You humans are so hypocritical. Do Fierce Ghosts not have hearts? Do they not feel pain when they’re killed…”

Lin Huai grew even more frustrated, slumping in the gaming chair and sighing deeply: “If I were the author, I’d add an extra chapter where the Fierce Ghost succeeds…”

Tianshu said coldly, “That would exceed the word count. You’d have to pay extra.”

Lin Huai: “…You’re quite professional for a horror novelist…”

Seeing Lin Huai’s sulking expression, Tianshu smiled faintly, then adopted a serious look.

“Wrong,” Tianshu said gravely. “Novelist is just my side job. And I’m not a horror novelist. Actually… I’m a science fiction writer. Or rather, a writer of popular science books.”

“Everything I write is based on reality. Although these realities, after being observed through my extraordinary eyes and processed by my mind, may have some slight deviations from actual reality—I can assure you that they are almost indistinguishable from reality.”

Lin Huai glanced at the novel, then at Tianshu, narrowing his eyes. “I think a novel with ghosts in it has no right to call itself a popular science book.”

“First, novels are just a medium I use to better convey my knowledge. In fact, they’re quite popular, though not as popular as games. That’s why I’ve been trying to contact some game studios recently to develop scripts, embarking on a new chapter of my popular science career… but I won’t go into that. Second, why can’t a novel with ghosts be a popular science novel? Ghosts, like aliens, are just a form of life we don’t yet understand. Over the past five thousand years, the world has accumulated a lot of data on ghosts, but few are willing to study it. But knowledge knows no bounds. In the near future, this new field will undoubtedly leave its mark on the world,” Tianshu said in an unusually serious tone, sounding almost like a madman. “Third, my real profession is that of a researcher, a scientist. Writing novels, scripts, designing haunted house scenarios… these are just hobbies I pursue alongside my research career, second only to coding. Of course, you could also take all this as excuses I’ve come up with to avoid going out to work and just stay at home as a shut-in.”

Lin Huai narrowed his eyes. “So all these books… and the DVDs outside, are they your research materials?”

“Yes,” Tianshu said without a hint of shame. “I’m trying to create a new methodology for understanding the supernatural world… though, unfortunately, I haven’t found a real Fierce Ghost in reality to study yet…”

‘This guy seems like a bit of a fool… but his eyes are strangely convincing. In a way, what he’s saying isn’t the ramblings of a madman—it’s grounded in some scientific basis.’ Under Tianshu’s intense gaze, Lin Huai began to sweat a little. ‘And the feeling of familiarity is getting stronger. I’ve definitely seen this person somewhere before…’

Faces from the real world flashed through his mind, and soon, a cluster of blurry faces entered his thoughts.

They were the faces he had seen in the Infinite Game. Due to the game’s protective mechanism, after leaving an Instance, he would lose most of his memories of the people he had encountered in the game (at least to the point where their impressions became completely blurry), only to remember them fully the next time he entered an Instance.

Moreover, outside of the Instance world, players were not allowed to mention anything related to the game. He had once brought up the game to Lu Jin in the dormitory, but the words that came out of his mouth turned into something else when they reached Lu Jin’s ears.

…And it was the kind of thing that would make people feel a bit embarrassed…

Could he have met this person in the game? Such a peculiar person, encountered in an Instance…

His temples began to throb. Lin Huai asked him, “So why are you researching this?”

Hearing his question, the other person chuckled softly. “It’s not clear what use it has now. But in the future, when certain situations worsen, my work might serve a purpose. Even now… the more people who read my work, the more hope they’ll have when they encounter certain things in the future. And also…”

“I want to find an answer,” he said. “I want to find the answer behind life.”

In Lin Huai’s mind, a vague figure began to surface. But in the next moment, that person returned to his lazy expression, yawning and saying, “For example, when you want to murder an ex-boyfriend who borrowed money and never paid it back, or a stalker who won’t leave you alone, reading my novel might give you some inspiration…”

His tone was so casual that it made one doubt whether the earlier serious words had been an illusion.

Lin Huai narrowed his eyes. “I feel like that’s not what you meant earlier… but, fine.”

With that, he pulled out the USB drive and said, “Anyway, thank you for your cooperation. I’ll send the work to my senior when I get back tonight…”

“Editor Lin, would you like to stay for dinner?” the other person offered as Lin Huai was about to leave. “I feel like we’ve been getting along quite well…”

“It’s been you talking the whole time…”

Lin Huai muttered as he opened the door. As he pulled the door inward, a lump of orange fur tumbled down in front of him.

The orange cat’s golden eyes stared at him, and upon seeing him, it arched its back again and let out a low growl.

Lin Huai: …

He took two steps back, trying to intimidate the cat with his gaze. But this time, the cat seemed to have learned from its previous encounter and stayed put at the doorway.

He forced his voice to remain steady, trembling slightly, and said, “…Your cat…”

“How did you get here?” Tianshu walked over and picked up the cat. “This cat is being fostered by the neighbor across the hall. They went on a trip this month and left it here… Are you afraid of cats?”

Lin Huai narrowed his eyes. “I’m not afraid. Not at all.”

Despite his words, he stayed far from the door, sitting back on the couch while waiting for Tianshu to take the cat back to the living area on the third floor. On the couch, besides him, sat a life-sized Pikachu, and the ghost and Pikachu stared at each other.

Speaking of Pikachu, it was also golden, fluffy, and had two pointy ears…

As he thought this, a loud thunderclap echoed in his ears, followed by an even louder rumble. In the overwhelming roar of thunder that made one want to shout, “Which fellow cultivator is ascending to immortality here?” Lin Huai remembered a piece of news he had forgotten, a piece of news that filled him with despair.

Today, there was a heavy rainstorm.

He had forgotten his umbrella.

And the nearest subway station was three kilometers away.