Chapter 16
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Chapter 16: Title
The screen overflowed with densely packed Chinese characters, their barrage pulling viewers’ attention astray. Even Jiang Fei, under his supervisor’s watchful gaze, chuckled while typing a comment.
"Quit fooling around."
Cui Ming swatted Jiang Fei’s nape with a stern expression, patting his pockets fruitlessly before recalling he’d surrendered his phone to Zhan Yuan.
Retrieving the device from Zhan Yuan’s side, he dialed urgently. Whether others knew the situation remained unclear – protocol demanded immediate bureau notification.
Zhan Yuan studied the screen intently, his brow furrowed at the amorphous shadow trailing Augustus. The wavering silhouette clung like spectral static, never resolving into defined contours.
"Can’t explain it, but this… feels authentic."
"Domestic ghosts versus foreign specters?" Jiang Fei interjected. "Makes cultural sense. Though that thing’s unlike any spirit I’ve heard of."
"Since when did reality care about making sense?" Zhan Yuan’s gaze darkened, contemplating his own improbable existence. "At least we’re still breathing."
"Or this is the opening act…"
*
Augustus strode forward only to freeze mid-step, icy fingers tracing his spine.
He spun around to empty air.
"Odd," he muttered, thumb brushing his lower lip. "Well then – let’s humor this charade."
His earlier enthusiasm for "Exploring the Unknown" had curdled since discovering the production crew’s fabrications. The back-and-forth revelations had sapped his enthusiasm, though professional courtesy kept him from abandoning the farce.
The so-called supernatural sets reeked of cheap theatrics – more period drama than paranormal investigation. Not that he blamed them; "Exploring the Unknown" had always been reality TV masquerading as occult documentation. The crew’s airtight nondisclosure agreements simply proved more supernatural than their content.
Until now.
On Beers Castle’s manicured lawns, the production team monitored live feeds through gritted teeth.
"Which imbecile designed this?!" The producer jabbed at monitors showing suspiciously pristine corridors. "We paid for weathered authenticity, not museum-grade preservation!"
Their meticulous preparations lay in ruins – hidden mechanisms dormant, distressed props gleaming like new acquisitions. Even the restricted zone they’d personally aged now sparkled with anachronistic freshness.
"Is this your idea of aging props? These look transported through time!"
"And our planned scares? The moving portraits? The whispering walls? You’ve rendered months of preparation useless!"
Director Hawk’s finger trembled toward the screen where Merlinka examined an unfamiliar ancient coin. "Explain that! And the falling statue? That CGI reject shadow? You’ve turned us into laughingstocks!"
Online forums already boiled with accusations of fraud. Crew members exchanged uneasy glances – they’d all witnessed the castle’s authentic decay during setup. The current broadcast showed a different reality entirely.
As Hawk’s tirade subsided into ominous calm, the question hung heavy:
"Solutions. Now."
“Why don’t we halt the program? The guests must have realized something’s wrong. Apologizing now might salvage our reputation.”
“Halt? If we stop now, viewers will storm the station’s gates by dawn! This show goes on no matter what,” Hawk scoffed, though his shoulders relaxed slightly as he watched the guests continue exploring onscreen.
Thankfully none of the invited participants had abandoned their roles yet – the entire production hinged on their cooperation.
“Director Hawk… could this be a ghost’s doing?” A technician stammered, eyes darting nervously. “The castle wasn’t like this during setup.”
“Are you suggesting my crew neglected their duties? Those props cost a fortune! We’d never deliver such shoddy work.”
“But doesn’t this look exactly like a preserved 14th-century estate? Even the crystal chandeliers gleam as if polished yesterday.”
“Who the hell are you?” Hawk squinted at the unfamiliar young man.
“Intern Lanny, sir.” The brunette smiled nervously, fingers fiddling with his security badge.
“So we’re blaming ghosts now?” Hawk’s derisive laugh died as his gaze drifted to the brooding castle silhouette. The ancient legends whispered in taverns for six centuries… could there be truth in them after all?
“I’m just saying whatever’s happening isn’t our doing.” Lanny swallowed hard, pointing at Augustus’ monitor.
Behind the unsuspecting guest, a shadow contorted unnaturally – no trick of lighting could explain how its clawed tendrils seemed to breathe.
Goosebumps prickled Hawk’s neck despite the control room’s stuffy heat. Canceling now would mean financial ruin, but that writhing darkness… He steeled himself. “Audiences smell blood. We change nothing.”
Before he could finish, Lanny recoiled violently, chair clattering as he gaped at something behind Hawk. “S-sir! Your back–”
“Enough dramatics!” Hawk barked, though the ashen faces surrounding him froze the words in his throat. He turned slowly.
The color drained from his face.
*
Merlinka traced her fingers across the parchment’s wax seal before exploring the chamber. The adjoining dressing room held courtly gowns frozen in time, their silks whispering secrets as she passed. An ornate vanity mirror caught her reflection, its gilded frame blooming with metallic vines that matched patterns throughout the castle.
The bottom drawer’s contents made her breath hitch – jeweled hairpins, silver-chased gloves, and at its heart, a black gem necklace resting on velvet. The golden chain bore suspicious stains where thorn-shaped clasps gripped an onyx pendant.
“This craftsmanship…” She clasped it around her neck instinctively, the stone chilling her collarbone. Through the mirror’s warped glass, the antique jewelry looked disturbingly at home against her modern blouse.
A flicker of movement behind her reflection.
She whirled around, empty room greeting her. Yet the shadow persisted – no, intensified – coalescing into a translucent figure with piercing emerald eyes. The aristocratic woman floated inches above the floor, her haunting beauty undimmed by centuries.
Merlinka’s retreat jarred the vanity, pain cutting through her shock. “You’re… you’re supposed to be dead!”
The specter’s laughter tinkled like shattered crystal. “How charmingly direct. I am Waylin Beers Mandala, once heir to the Duke of Beers.” Her lips moved out of sync with the archaic words somehow comprehensible.
Merlinka’s mind raced. That name matched the letter’s contents exactly. “But you died six hundred years ago! This… this has to be augmented reality trickery.”
Above them, the camera drone buzzed like an excited hornet, broadcasting every detail to a million stunned viewers. Waylin’s gaze followed it curiously before returning with amused patience.
“Shall I prove my reality, child?” Her ghostly hand passed through the vanity, making cosmetics clatter. “Or will you hear why I’ve waited centuries for this moment?”
