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Chapter 19
Did senior spray perfume in the dorm?
Tang Yu reached for the light switch. The dorm lit up, and when he lowered his head, he saw a pair of shoes neatly placed at the door. The design was ordinary — except that one was black, and the other was white.
The toes of both shoes were pointed directly at him.
As if someone were standing right there at the doorway — toe to toe with Tang Yu.
He shook off the strange image forming in his mind and stepped around the shoes. But after walking two steps, something made him pause. Slowly, he turned to look back.
The shoes were still there by the door.
Was it his imagination, or… had they moved?
Tang Yu couldn’t shake the feeling that the shoes were a little farther from the door now — as if, in the few seconds when his back was turned, they had taken half a step toward him.
And the weirdest part — they were still neatly pointed toward the door, as though they had walked backward into that new position.
A shiver ran down Tang Yu’s back. He stared hard at the shoes. They didn’t move.
…Was it just an illusion?
After hesitating for a moment, he crouched down and picked them up, placing the mismatched pair on the empty shoe rack.
Then he turned toward his bed.
The bunk opposite his was still covered by long black-and-white curtains, making it impossible to see inside. Fearing that his senior might already be asleep, Tang Yu kept his movements quiet. He tiptoed to grab his toiletries and headed for the bathroom.
The bathroom was spotless — freshly cleaned — but somehow the dark, damp chill in the air felt even heavier, and there was a faint, cold fragrance lingering in it.
Tang Yu removed his mask. His pale face was fully exposed under the stark white bathroom light.
Without the mask’s filter, he could clearly smell that faint scent spreading through the air, wrapping around him like an invisible mist.
He wanted to shower, but there was no hot water. His health wasn’t great — he caught colds easily — so he decided to simply wipe himself down with a towel.
The towel soaked up the cold water.
Long, slender, fair fingers lifted his clothes. His bare skin prickled in the chilly air, goosebumps rising.
He lowered his head — and in the mirror, his narrow, pale waistline was reflected back at him. Beads of water slid down his skin… until a large, pale hand suddenly pressed against his waist. The colorless fingertips twitched slightly.
Hoo…
A freezing shiver spread up his spine. Instinctively, Tang Yu turned toward the mirror. The reflection showed only him — and the cramped bathroom behind. No one else.
Cold drops seeped into his clothes. The chill seemed to crawl beneath his skin. He shuddered violently and tugged his shirt back down.
After hurriedly wiping himself clean, he gathered his things and opened the bathroom door.
Then froze.
The shoes that should have been on the rack were now back on the floor — toes once again pointed toward the bathroom door.
As if someone had been standing there. Waiting.
A chill gripped his heart.
What… what just happened?
Could it be that his senior had needed to use the bathroom, but saw him inside and left the shoes there again?
But why position them like that?
Maybe… his senior didn’t like people touching his belongings — so he put them back, as a quiet reminder?
Tang Yu forced himself not to overthink. Holding his breath, he carefully stepped around the shoes. After walking a few paces, he couldn’t help glancing back.
The shoes were still perfectly aligned, black and white, their toes pointing precisely at the bathroom door.
Judging by the neatness, his senior must have a bit of an obsessive streak.
But then — why wear mismatched shoes? Was it a mistake? Or were they designed that way?
Tang Yu looked away, put down his toiletries, and prepared to sleep.
He passed the bathroom again, glanced at the shoes still sitting there, and reached to turn off the nearby light switch.
Click.
Darkness fell over the dorm. Not pitch black, though — faint white light glimmered from the left side of the room.
That’s strange… where was the light coming from?
He walked closer, turning his head toward the left.
Inside his senior’s curtained bunk — the white curtain — two candles burned faintly. The shadows of the candles flickered through the fabric. That same cold fragrance wafted out from behind the curtain, thicker than before.
Maybe the school had cut the power for the night, and senior lit candles to study?
That wouldn’t be strange. But…
Tang Yu’s neck stiffened. He stared at the tall, unmoving shadow inside the curtain illuminated by the candlelight.
“Senior?” he called softly.
A calm voice came from behind the curtain — Li Sheng’s. “What is it?”
Tang Yu turned stiffly, looking toward the other curtain — the one with the second pair of candle flames.
His voice came out hoarse. “Senior… there are only the two of us in this dorm, right?”
Why… were there two human silhouettes behind that curtain?
“You mean the ones underneath?”
A pale hand slipped through the gap above the curtain. The nails were faintly bluish. The hand hooked a finger around the edge of the white drape covering the desk — and lifted it.
Behind it wasn’t a person, but a paper effigy — a small paper doll, dressed in red with a tiny braid.
Another pale hand reached out, lifting the left curtain. A second paper figure appeared — this one in green clothes and a little hat.
They stood stiffly on either side of the desk. Behind them, white wax candles burned quietly. The dim light reflected off their black painted eyes and bright red cheeks. The thick, cold scent filled the air as the paper figures seemed to stare straight at Tang Yu.
“They’re not human,” Li Sheng said flatly.
“I help out with the family business. We run a paper effigy shop — it gets busy sometimes.”
The pale hand withdrew behind the curtain. The drapes fell back into place. The candlelight cast long shadows — two figures side by side.
Tang Yu stood between them. From above, the three shadows would form a triangle. His blue eyes were wide with fear, his pale face stark under the light. He didn’t dare look at the curtains — his gaze lifted upward instead, toward Li Sheng’s bunk.
The candlelight reflected in his eyes, making him look like a lost lamb seeking refuge in the dark.
The black-and-white curtains shut out the world. His mind was blank, slowly processing Li Sheng’s earlier words.
Suddenly, Yàn Lǎng’s warning echoed in his head: “There are paper effigies by his bed. They’re not good things.”
Only now did Tang Yu understand — and a dazed “Mm…” slipped from his throat.
It sounded soft, almost like a muffled sob — the sound of someone too frightened to resist.
“You’re afraid of me,” Li Sheng said coolly. His voice carried no emotion, leaving Tang Yu unsure how to respond.
“…Huh?” Tang Yu’s dark brows knit together. Like a student suddenly called on by the teacher, he stammered, “I’m sorry.”
Silence.
When Tang Yu finally managed to suppress the instinctive chill creeping over his skin, Li Sheng’s icy tone broke the air again:
“Is that all you can say? ‘Sorry’?”
“You didn’t even do anything wrong.”
“If you’re unhappy, why not just say so?”
“This isn’t only my room. It’s yours too.”
His words came like hail — fast, sharp, relentless — leaving Tang Yu stunned, struggling for what to say.
“Or…” Li Sheng’s voice suddenly slowed, quieter now, almost soft. “Maybe you just don’t want to live here. In that case, you can just leave.”
Tang Yu froze.
If this had been Shen Junxing speaking, he would have suspected that his every move had been tracked again — since he had spent the afternoon looking for apartments.
But the way Li Sheng said that last sentence — slower, gentler — it felt oddly different. Like a freezing wind that suddenly turned into a faint breeze, carrying a hint of thawing ice.
Almost as if Li Sheng was… hurt.
Tang Yu blinked in confusion. That must be his imagination. Why would senior sound upset?
Still, that feeling pushed aside his fear. Now, he was just worried about how to respond.
To be fair, Li Sheng was actually the kind of roommate Tang Yu didn’t mind.
What he appreciated most was his coldness.
They lived together, yet barely interacted. No unnecessary words — as long as they stayed polite and distant, things were fine.
His reason for wanting to move wasn’t Li Sheng — it was the players.
With stats that high, Li Sheng was probably an important NPC in the game, bound to draw players’ attention and interaction.
If Tang Yu kept living with him, he risked drawing unwanted attention from the player community.
But he couldn’t tell Li Sheng that — he couldn’t mention anything about games or players.
“I… I’m not unhappy with senior,” Tang Yu said softly, searching for the right words. His long lashes trembled; his clear blue eyes seemed sincere as water. “Senior is good at everything — studying, cleaning, even making paper figures.”
“I was only scared of the paper dolls. Not of you.”
A long silence followed.
Just when Tang Yu began to worry he’d said something wrong again, Li Sheng’s cold voice floated down:
“What’s there to be afraid of?”
“Red and white — weddings and funerals. Paper figures serve the dead, and bring comfort to the living.”
Tang Yu tilted his head slightly, listening, his expression soft with curiosity.
That look — open and intent — could make even the most reticent person speak more.
“Someone died yesterday,” Li Sheng continued. “They ordered a full set — clothes, food, furniture, animals, everything. Even a white horse.”
“A white horse?” Tang Yu echoed.
“For a man’s funeral, yes. Men ride white horses to ascend to heaven.”
Tang Yu’s curiosity deepened. “Then what about women?”
“For women, it’s an ox,” Li Sheng replied calmly. “Because the ox drinks away the dirty water from their housework, so they can leave this world clean.”
Tang Yu’s dark lashes flickered once, his upturned face solemn. “Do the dead… really need all that?”
The candlelight cast the paper dolls’ shadows against the curtain — and Tang Yu’s own shadow faintly on the floor, small and fragile.
From above, he looked even thinner — almost transparent.
