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Especially over the past two months, strange and terrifying incidents have been happening around him incessantly, each one more frequent than the last.

BOOM——

A thunderous roar echoed across the earth, causing the young boy to hasten his steps home.

As he passed through an alleyway, the boy suddenly slowed his pace. He spotted two men from the Funeral Home carrying a body wrapped in straw matting out of the dark alley. The chilling gust of wind unveiled the rotten face swarming with maggots from under the mat, dispersing an indescribable foul smell around.

“That’s…the crippled beggar…”

Seeing that face that wouldn’t close in death, the boy felt an intense unease and dread surge within him. He recognized him.

“How did he die? I saw him begging on the street just yesterday. He’s been dead for less than a day, and yet he’s already so decayed?”

The two body collectors tossed the body wrapped in straw onto their cart, left expressionless, or perhaps better described as numb.

The boy stood there watching for a moment, his face becoming more grave, his brows furrowed even deeper. Now, not only did he have no family, but survival was also becoming arduous.

There was no money at his home, it was empty and poor. The only thing of value remaining was the drafty house, but in this era of chaos and rampant Ghost Creatures, who would want his ramshackle house?

Just as the boy was lost in sorrow, a small ball decorated with ribbons and silk suddenly rolled to his feet. It was a red thread ball, even tied into a beautiful knot of two interlinked hearts.

This was a ball filled with joyous implications. If thrown from a balcony on a sunny, clear day by a wealthy, young lady in her boudoir, it would send hundreds of men into a fervor, competing to catch it.

But now, this thread ball rolled out from a dim alleyway on the eve of a thunderstorm, lying quietly on the filthy ground smeared with mud and unidentified bloodstains right near his feet.

The moment he saw this red thread ball, the boy felt a bone-chilling cold beginning from his spine and rushing to the top of his head, his body stiffening and his thoughts freezing.

The boy’s head seemed beyond his control and gradually turned towards the direction from where the red thread ball rolled out. That was the alley where the two body collectors had carried out the crippled beggar’s body.

“Sir, would you pick up the ball for me?”

In the dark alley, a pretty young lady in her late teens, dressed in dazzling red wedding attire with a faint smile adorning her refined face, asked gently.

No, I can’t pick it up!

The boy widened his eyes in horror. The lavishly adorned girl could appear anywhere posh, but certainly not this dark, cold and filthy alley.

Her pretty face was void of any color, so pale that the boy was reminded of the superior rice paper he had seen in bookshops. A chill, eerie sensation was sweeping toward him.

“Alright!”

However, wanting to resist, the boy felt his body losing control. A deep, hoarse voice, not sounding like his own at all, escaped from his mouth.

The boy watched in horror as he saw himself pick up the red thread ball, effortlessly, that was lying near his feet and held it in his palm.

Seeing the pauper in patched clothes, holding the red thread ball, the pretty lady dressed in a bright red wedding gown stood in the dense shadow, giving him a light smile.

“My lord, aren’t you going to give it back to me?”

Upon hearing her words, the boy, stiff as a board, walked into the alley and stood in front of the young bride. The high walls on either side blocked out the already dim light outside the alley, and a bone-chilling coldness seeped in from all directions.

“Here you go!”

The boy passed the red thread ball to the wedding dressed girl.

But this girl didn’t even glance at the red thread ball; her clear and contrasting eyes fixated solely on the common-dressed boy,

“No thank you…”

The girl’s lips, red as if stained with blood, parted slightly, her eyes sparkling with amusement,

“My lord, since you’ve picked up the thread ball, it’s yours now; and so am I!”

Suddenly, the girl in the wedding dress reached out her hand, touching it on the boy’s face. Her hand was colder than winter ice, instantly numbing half of the boy’s face.

The fear that the boy had accumulated from this moment suddenly exploded into anger. His entire body bristling, a rumor—though he was unsure of its validity—flashed into his mind.

Under the intense threat to his life, his fear transformed into anger, causing him to bite his tongue. A warm sensation filled his body, accompanied by a fiery heat spreading from his chest.

The sourness that had made him stiff and immobile vanished instantly. He regained control over his body at this moment, and the beautiful smile on the girl’s face faded away.

In just a fleeting moment, the dimly lit alley was empty when the boy looked again. The girl in the wedding dress had vanished.

“Was it…an illusion?”

The boy struggled to accept this reality. But when he looked down at what he was holding, the nascent joy could not make its way onto his face… The beautifully adorned red silk ball was still in his hand!

A chill rose from within. He felt as if he had plunged into an ice cave. He hastily threw the silk ball away and hurried out of the alley. As he sprinted onto the street, the cold and eerie aura around him seemed to dissipate somewhat.

Once the surge of adrenaline subsided, fear was all that was left in his heart. Glancing back at the dark alley, he quickened his pace to flee from it but accidentally bumped into a hurried passerby.

“Where did this brat come from? Doesn’t he know how to walk properly?”

The staggered passerby cursed angrily.

Panicked and frightened, the boy just wanted to rush home:

“I’m sorry, I…”

Before the boy could finish his words, he saw the irate passerby’s face transformed into a terrified expression, as if he saw a ghost. He pointed at the boy’s face and screamed:

“Ghost… ghost… ghost handprint!”

The boy couldn’t see his face and couldn’t understand what the passerby was talking about.

“He…he bumped into an evil spirit!”

The passerby screamed in fear, crawling and rushing away from the boy as if fleeing from a disaster.

“He saw a ghost!”

The boy stood rooted to the spot. The few hurried passersby on the street were attracted by the shout, and glanced at the boy. Then, their faces turned white as they rushed away as if they had seen a plague.

“That child… he has a ghost handprint on his face! He…he won’t live for much longer!”

“Don’t talk, stay away from him! Be careful not to catch his bad luck!”

“Such a young child—what a pity…Not sure which family’s son he is. Dying so young, ah… what a world we live in.”

“Don’t you want to live? Keep your mouth shut.”

Watching the passersby scatter away as if avoiding a plague, the boy’s heart sank. He remembered the bizarre girl touching his face. Did she leave something on his face?

Unable to bear the contemptuous glances of the passersby, the boy covered his face and ran all the way, rushing into a shabby tiled house.

Upon returning home, the first thing the boy did was to fetch half a pot of water with a chipped clay pot. Looking into the slightly rippling water, he saw a clear, eye-catching palm print on his right cheek.

The boy’s face turned ashen. He knew that some unlucky ones would encounter ghost creatures at inappropriate times. The ghosts, out of necessity rather than choice, would leave their mark, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The best time for a ghost to strike is undoubtedly at midnight. Maybe just like the passerby said, he had only a few days left to live. He might not even survive tonight, and never get to see tomorrow’s sun.

The boy felt bone-chillingly cold. He hastily scooped up water from the clay pot and slapped it on his cheek, desperately trying to wash it off. But even though his cheek turned raw and even bled, the dark palm print remained deep-seated on his skin, showing no signs of fading.

“What on earth did I do…why did this happen to me!”

In recent years, the boy, who had been repeatedly devastated, felt as if all his strength was drained. He collapsed onto the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, seemingly venting out all the repression and pain accumulated over the years.