Chapter 60

Catching her gaze, Tang Lian sighed helplessly. “What’s with that wary look of yours?”

Nan Qi averted her eyes.

She thought to herself: You’re the one whose words were ambiguous.

“Can I borrow your phone for a sec?” Tang Lian asked.

Nan Qi blinked in confusion. “What for?” Then she pulled out her phone and handed it over slowly.

Tang Lian took out her own phone too and set it aside. With a few fluid taps on both screens, she handed the phones back and showed Nan Qi the results.

“I’ve downloaded an overseas webtoon app for you. It has comics for all kinds of tastes—you can browse by category—but the quality varies a lot. It’s tough to find gems when you’re new to it. Log in with my VPN account whenever you want to check it out. I’ve bookmarked a few yuri comics that are absolute masterpieces. Start with those, and hit me up for more recs when you’re done.”

Tang Lian swiped through the app, showing it off to Nan Qi. A parade of colorful comic covers flashed by—intimidating yet intriguing. The doors to a new world were swinging open before her.

She stood just one step from the threshold.

With a gentle push from Tang Lian behind her, Nan Qi stumbled right into this dazzling realm.

“Got it,” Nan Qi said simply, pocketing her phone. “I’ll check it out later.”

“Now let’s watch a movie.” Tang Lian waved her over. After all, movie time called for cozying up together for the full vibe.

“I’m fine right here.” Nan Qi shook her head firmly, turning down the invitation.

“Alright then.”

Tang Lian pouted in disappointment. “Big Sister, you pick the movie. You mentioned all those classic favorites earlier. Since I invited you, I want to cater to your tastes.”

But to her surprise, Nan Qi’s face twisted in refusal at those words. She tossed the decision right back to Tang Lian, refusing to go anywhere near that drawer of discs.

How could she dare?

What if she pulled out another adult-rated disc? Her heart couldn’t take it.

“You really want me to pick?”

Tang Lian stood up, looking a bit reluctant.

“Wait.”

Nan Qi stopped her suddenly, her voice soft. “Don’t pick any of the ones I saw earlier.”

“Oh, gotcha. No problem.” Tang Lian stifled a laugh.

“Whatever I pick will be a total classic.”

But even with that assurance, Nan Qi felt an inexplicable chill, like some gut instinct kicking in.

She stared intently at the girl crouching by the TV, watching as she deftly pulled seven or eight discs from the drawer and waved them triumphantly. “No rom-coms tonight—the mood’s perfect for horror. Think you can handle it, Nan Qi?”

She rattled off the titles one by one. “The Conjuring? The Grudge? A Nightmare on Elm Street? Island of Terror? Or Ghosts in the Hospital? All stone-cold classics.”

The word “horror” alone made Nan Qi’s heart lurch, draining the color from her lips.

And as Tang Lian listed more—each title more spine-chilling than the last, vivid enough to terrify her just from imagination—Nan Qi barely had room to wonder if they were truly classics. Yet Tang Lian was still kindly checking if she could handle them.

What was she supposed to say?

She’d already steered Tang Lian away from the risqué ones, thinking she’d dodged a bullet. She hadn’t expected another trap.

She’d never made it through a full horror movie.

It was a genre she always avoided.

She remembered the last time: back in high school during a late study session. The homeroom teacher had tasked her and the vice class president with organizing a movie night.

Nan Qi had polled the class and tallied votes. The top pick turned out to be a classic Chinese ghost story—complete with real spooks. She couldn’t recall the title, but years later, the vengeful ghost’s name still haunted her: Chu Renmei.

It remained one of her deepest childhood traumas.

Following the class’s choice, she’d queued it up and returned to her seat.

It being a free period, no one stuck to assigned spots. Everyone clustered with friends in little groups.

She and Bo Ranying had gravitated to each other without a word. They’d just settled in when someone killed the lights. The room plunged into darkness, lit only by the TV’s gloomy glow. Flickering shadows danced on the white walls, and Nan Qi froze in terror, unable to move.

Even the opening credits had her soul fleeing her body.

When the human-ghost encounter hit, with its eerie sound effects burrowing into her mind, she squeezed her eyes shut. That wasn’t enough—she clapped her hands over them for extra cover.

The moment she did, Bo Ranying pulled her close, wrapping her in a gentle embrace. She laid her soft palms over Nan Qi’s ears, blocking out the dread.

Nan Qi had spent that whole movie nestled in Bo Ranying’s arms.

Strictly speaking, she hadn’t watched much.

Aside from glimpsing Chu Renmei’s face at the start, she’d tuned out the plot entirely. All she remembered was Bo Ranying’s unique, soothing scent. The ghostly audio faded into the rapid thump of her own heartbeat—thud-thud-thud.

That study hall, Bo Ranying had shielded her perfectly.

Time had passed, and now fate paired her with horror once more.

Only this time, the person beside her was Tang Lian.

Snapping back, Nan Qi saw Tang Lian watching her patiently. She knew one word from her, and Tang Lian would swap discs in a heartbeat.

This time, Nan Qi wanted to try. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“I can handle it,” she said, her voice resolute, like a soldier burning her bridges and marching to her doom.

“Put on… Ghosts in the Hospital, I guess.” She’d even picked one from the list—the least scary-sounding.

She thought she looked brave.

Little did she know, Tang Lian had her all figured out. In her mind, she squealed: Help, Nan Qi’s tough-girl act is too adorable!

Shaking visibly, lashes fluttering, body trembling—yet pretending nonchalance, her words the bravest part of her.

Nan Qi putting on a front never got old.

Tang Lian didn’t play the nice guy. She popped in Ghosts in the Hospital, slotted the disc into the DVD player, and hit play.

“Alright, here we go.”

She scampered back to the couch, sliding naturally to the middle beside Nan Qi. This time, Nan Qi didn’t pull away. Their clothes brushed as the gap between them shrank to nothing.

Tang Lian grabbed colas and popcorn from the coffee table, passing some to Nan Qi.

Ritual was key for movie nights.

Nan Qi sat ramrod straight, on high alert since the disc went in. The slightest sound set her off.

So when Tang Lian just nudged her shoulder with the popcorn bucket, urging her to grab some—

Nan Qi swung her arm on reflex, knocking it flying.

Tang Lian hadn’t expected such a fierce reaction. She fumbled the bucket, and popcorn rained down—on their clothes, the couch, the floor.

Well, so much for the movie. Cleanup first.

She and Nan Qi exchanged helpless glances. Someone cracked first, and laughter filled the room, easing Nan Qi’s solo tension.

Nan Qi bent her legs to stand and tidy up.

But Tang Lian stopped her. “Hold on. The floor ones are a no-go, but the ones on our clothes are still good. If you move, they’ll drop.”

“That’d be such a waste,” Tang Lian added softly.

Nan Qi nodded—it made perfect sense—and stayed put.

Tang Lian first cleared the kernels from her own dress. Then she turned to Nan Qi’s. Nan Qi figured she’d just pick them off and dump them back in the bucket.

Instead, Tang Lian leaned down, slinking across the couch like a sinuous serpent. She followed the trail of popcorn on Nan Qi’s clothes, plucking each piece with her mouth and chewing slowly.

Deliberate motions, savoring each bite—like a slow-motion film scene designed to captivate.

Watching this, Nan Qi felt her blood rush hot. Tang Lian might be eating popcorn, but the affection in her eyes wrapped Nan Qi like mist, turning her into captive prey. Once the kernels were gone, the next course would be…

A full minute in, Nan Qi couldn’t take it. She swept the mess away like autumn gusts clearing leaves, shoved Tang Lian upright with all her might, and ordered her to sit properly.

With the mishap sorted, they both turned back to the TV.

The screen shifted to a nighttime hospital corridor. The night was utterly silent, and the hallway stood empty save for a single on-duty nurse dressed in her uniform. She moved through the corridor with a flashlight in hand, apparently conducting a routine rounds check.

Yet there were no rooms along the corridor at all. The camera steadily zoomed in, magnifying the sign at the far end.

The beam of the flashlight fell directly on the three-character placard above the door, illuminating every detail with stark clarity.

The bold letters gleamed in a twisted, glaring deep green under the dim white incandescent lights and the enveloping darkness.

Then that deep green slowly morphed into a vivid crimson, like fresh blood. The characters oozed downward like liquid, trailing thick, vibrant streaks in their wake.

【Morgue】.

The appearance of those three words in a horror flick was enough to conjure all sorts of sinister implications.

In an instant—

“Ah!!!”

Nan Qi unleashed a scream that matched the nurse’s pitch perfectly.

She could no longer maintain the fragile composure she’d forced upon herself. Her entire body shrank into a trembling ball.

Even on the second try, she was still terrified of these eerie, supernatural horror movies.

Wuwuwu.

In her panic, she slumped against the sofa, flailing blindly for a throw pillow to hug for comfort. She came up empty-handed and instead tumbled right into the soft embrace of the girl beside her.

Nan Qi rolled into it unconsciously, but Tang Lian pulled her in with effortless grace.

Her fingertips trailed contentedly through Nan Qi’s silky black hair, smooth as satin. She played with it addictively, her fingers weaving through the strands until they snagged on the hair tie. She paused, then gently slipped it off and tied it around her own wrist.

The gestures felt like soothing caresses—and an excuse to get even closer.

Nan Qi’s fear eased amid the odd intimacy. The moment a flicker of warmth bloomed in her chest, she deliberately overlooked Tang Lian’s little theft of the hair tie.

After toying with her hair for a bit, Tang Lian returned the favor with a gentle scalp massage. Her fingertips applied just the right pressure, and Nan Qi’s eyes gradually fluttered half-shut. She felt so blissfully comfortable that she nearly purred aloud.

Then a woman’s voice drifted ethereally into her ear. “Do you know the taboos in a hospital morgue or a funeral parlor? Some things you absolutely cannot do.”

Nan Qi snapped awake, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She didn’t dare glance back at Tang Lian’s face, her mind swirling with nightmarish visions.

In a voice chilled by shivers, she forced out the words, “I don’t want to know…” She hoped to shut down Tang Lian’s sudden urge to spill.

Nan Qi huddled closer still, and Tang Lian—abandoning her usual cool detachment—curled her lips in secret delight.

She wasn’t about to let the moment pass.

Perhaps there really was a little bad egg lurking in her bones.

Drawing from her own hazy recollections, Tang Lian leaned into a fabricated storyteller’s tone as she fed Nan Qi a stream of ominous lore. “First off, the biggest no-no: never reveal your name. If something unseen overhears it, your soul could get dragged right out of you.

One careless slip, and the morgue gains another occupant.”

“If you’re in a funeral parlor and spot some bizarre apparition—like a hedgehog popping up out of nowhere, a miniature mountain, or paper effigies shambling about on their own—act like you see nothing. Don’t breathe a word to anyone. The key is to stay perfectly normal.”

“And after midnight strikes twelve, never use a camera in the morgue. Mirrors are off-limits too.”

Fabrication laced every warning, yet Tang Lian delivered them with utter conviction. Her voice wove a hypnotic cadence, rising and falling with perfect rhythm. Each syllable landed just right, pulling the listener into the scene as if they were truly alone in that forsaken place.

Tang Lian savored Nan Qi’s willing closeness, basking in the perfect mood—until an urgent call shattered it.

She glanced at the caller ID: her workplace. No time for delay.

She answered, exchanged a few terse words, and hung up. Then she was already shrugging into her clothes to leave.

Nan Qi caught the frantic edge in the voice on the other end of the line. The call hadn’t lasted two full sentences.

“What’s going on?”

“Work called. Emergency task—I have to head over for overtime right now.” Tang Lian circled to the other side of the sofa and retrieved the hand-carried case that always struck Nan Qi as oddly distinctive.

She gave a wry smile. “That’s the downside of our line of work. Schedules are never our own. When a job comes in, you’re on call around the clock.”

Her gaze lingered on Nan Qi’s face with deep reluctance. She hated for this enchanting evening to cut short so abruptly. After a moment’s thought, she made up her mind.

She paused the movie, ejected the disc from the DVD player, and swapped in one of Nan Qi’s old favorites before hitting play.

Leaning down to murmur in her ear, Tang Lian adopted the coaxing lilt of someone soothing a child. “Stay here at my place and watch something else for now, okay? I’ll wrap up work as fast as I can and hurry back. Then we can finish this one together.”

Her earnest coaxing carried an irresistible allure.

Nan Qi lost herself in it for all of two seconds, teetering on the edge of saying yes under that expectant gaze.

But at the last second, she clenched her jaw and held firm. “No.”

No amount of wheedling from Tang Lian could sway her.

Time was short, and Tang Lian finally conceded defeat. With visible disappointment, she headed out to deal with work.

A few minutes later, Nan Qi’s WeChat pinged with two emojis.

They were from Tang Lian.

Puzzled, Nan Qi tapped into the chat and burst out laughing.

It was a hand-drawn sticker of a girl with twin space buns, hands planted on her hips and mouth agape in outrage.

Captioned with:

【Woman, you’ve done all kinds of bad things!】

【Woman, how can you be so heartless!】

Tang Lian must have stewed on the way out, fuming over Nan Qi’s refusal, and fired these off as playful accusations.

Nan Qi long-pressed both stickers to add them to her collection, a thought crossing her mind.

If anyone deserved to send emojis, it was her. She ought to be grilling Tang Lian for unloading all those morgue taboos on her at bedtime. Her memory—curse it—had latched onto every unwanted detail.

Little black-hearted Tang Lian.

The gripe bubbled up in her thoughts as naturally as breathing.