Lein moved his feet.
He couldn’t resist the invisible force, so he could only sigh inwardly as he watched his body walk toward the main door of the ancient mansion.
The door looked ordinary—a dark wooden plank with some rusted iron sheeting at the edges.
The whole door was set into a thick brick archway, with a rusty iron lamp bracket on each side wall.
He stopped in front of the door and extended his right hand to push it, but the door didn’t budge.
He tried again, gripping the handle and twisting hard, but the door panel made no sound.
Lein stepped back, then slammed his right shoulder into the door with a dull thud, yet the door remained unchanged.
After three consecutive impacts, he felt a dull ache in his shoulder, but the seemingly old door didn’t show so much as a crack.
‘If I keep ramming it, my own body will fall apart before the door does,’ Lein thought.
Fortunately, the entity controlling him seemed to realize that too, so he raised his foot and kicked, his boot sole landing solidly on the wooden panel.
The door shook but stayed shut.
That was baffling.
Just yesterday, he could open a copper lock with his bare hands, but now he couldn’t even open an ordinary-looking door.
Based on the hair-raising situation from yesterday, Lein was very willing to believe this was a haunted house cursed by an evil curse.
Seeming to realize it was useless, Lein stopped all action and waited in place.
‘Is it thinking?’ he wondered.
After standing there for a few dozen seconds, Lein stepped back a few paces and looked up at the second floor of the ancient mansion.
Then he suddenly moved.
His hands hooked onto the protruding brick gaps above the first-floor window frame, his left foot stepped into an inconspicuous dent on the wall, and his whole body clung to the wall like a gecko.
His fingers continuously felt along the rough brick surface, searching for every sufficiently deep crack and bump.
Every time he found one, he used it as a pivot to climb upward.
In less than a few breaths, he had reached the edge of the second-floor windowsill.
The window was narrow and tall, set in a thick stone frame.
The glass was covered with a layer of murky grime, making it impossible to see inside.
He pulled the dagger he had taken from the Sharp Hook Gang from his waist and inserted the tip into the gap between the window frame and the sill.
He tested left and right once each, found the spot where it could move, then steadied his wrist and gave a gentle flick.
The window popped open with a gap.
He moved as skillfully as a seasoned criminal—even though this was the first time he’d ever done such a thing.
Lein thought about these things to distract himself from his nervousness as he watched his body slide through the window into the room.
After landing, he brushed the dust off his clothes, the motion as casual as if he were returning to his own home.
This was a bedroom.
The room was very dark.
Based on the light from outside, he could barely make out the outlines of a few large pieces of furniture.
Against the wall stood a bed with a dark wooden frame carved with long-outdated patterns.
A sheet lay on the bed, one that hadn’t been changed in who knows how long.
A thick layer of dust covered its surface, and the edges had several moth-eaten holes.
Across from the bed was a wardrobe with its door half-open, empty inside.
Other than that, there was nothing.
Even so, Lein’s heartbeat quickened a few beats.
Unease began to well up inside him.
He didn’t know what he might encounter here or what was waiting for him, but he believed it wouldn’t be anything good.
He pulled out the old revolver from his waist.
Without checking it, he fished a few spare bullets from his pocket and loaded them one by one.
Only then did he push open the bedroom door.
Outside the bedroom was a hallway.
The floor was covered in a dark carpet thick with dust.
Stepping on it felt soft and made almost no sound.
On each side of the hallway were several closed doors, and at the end was a staircase leading down to the first floor.
His body moved slowly along the corridor.
Every time he passed a door, he reached out and pushed it open, poked his head in for a look, then withdrew his gaze and continued forward.
Most of those rooms were empty, or held some broken furniture, or had nothing at all—just piles of miscellaneous junk on the floor, their original shapes unrecognizable.
Nothing strange happened.
No terrifying monster was waiting for him.
Lein’s heart rate gradually calmed from its initial urgency.
‘Maybe what I saw yesterday was just an illusion.
I was already very tired at the time, and maybe I saw things in a daze.
Or maybe it was just a nightmare, and I foolishly mistook a dream for reality.’
Lein walked down the stairs.
The stairs were wooden, creaking underfoot.
A thick layer of dust covered the handrail, leaving clear finger marks where he had grabbed it.
The first floor was a spacious hall.
The ceiling was high, with a huge iron chandelier hanging from it.
Half-burnt candles were still inserted into the chandelier’s arms.
Directly across from the staircase was a large door.
The door was nailed shut from the inside with crossed wooden planks.
The rusty iron nails on the planks were as thick as little fingers.
The door was nailed shut, so it couldn’t be opened.
Not because of some mysterious power—just nailed shut.
He walked to the other side of the hall.
This should be the kitchen.
The stove had collapsed on one side, and the remaining bricks were covered with dark mold.
Several broken clay pots were piled in the corner, their mouths thick with cobwebs.
The cutting board next to the stove had decayed beyond recognition; a light touch made a piece crumble off.
From these traces, no one had lived in this house for a very, very long time.
His body passed through the kitchen and entered the storage room behind it.
The shelves in the storage room were empty.
Only a few rats, startled by his footsteps, squeaked and darted into a hole in the corner.
‘Great, even the rats are living well.
How dangerous could this place be?’
After that, Lein walked through the living room, the master bedroom, a cramped servant’s room, a closet stuffed with clutter…
The entity controlling him searched the entire first floor thoroughly, even trying the small door behind the closet that led to the backyard.
That door was also nailed shut.
Nothing.
Lein’s tension had completely disappeared.
His body went back upstairs and along the hallway, pushing open each guest room he hadn’t carefully checked earlier.
The rooms were the same as the ones on the first floor—empty, with only dusty furniture and moldy walls.
Finally, he came to a door at the end of the hallway.
This door was wider than the others.
A brass nameplate was embedded in the door panel, with a line of text engraved on it.
Lein’s gaze fell on the nameplate.
The inscription had become difficult to read due to age; he could barely make out the outline of a few letters.
His hand gripped the handle.
The door opened.
This was a study.
The room was small.
Bookshelves lined three walls, holding a scattering of books and scrolls, most of them yellowed and brittle.
Some book spines were covered in mold.
On top of the bookshelves were stacked several piles of old newspapers and loose manuscript pages, their edges curled and cracked, their paper brown.
By the window was a desk with a kerosene lamp and a pen holder.
The holder held several dip pens that had long since rusted solid, their nibs coated with ink crust as hard as fossilized shells.