Chapter Fourteen: Sensing a Hint of Danger

The suspended light rail train roared by, sending tremors through the carriage.

Since it was not yet rush hour, there weren’t many people on board. Chen Zi’ang and Suzuna Tsukimi sat side by side, watching the scenery speed past the window.

Suzuna was engrossed in her phone. Chen Zi’ang glanced over; she seemed to be scrolling through her social feed.

This world had its own version of social media, much like those popular platforms. Chen Zi’ang wasn’t an avid user, but he’d heard it was especially favored among young people, particularly high school students.

“Senpai,” Suzuna suddenly said, “shall we add each other as friends?”

“I’m in the work group,” Chen Zi’ang replied. “You can just add me there.”

“Senpai, don’t you know what a sense of ceremony is?” Suzuna held her phone up and tapped it against his, chirping, “Ta-da! Bluetooth detection magic!”

A pop-up appeared on his screen:

[User ‘Unyielding Jade Rabbit’ requests to add you as a friend.]

“Is this you?” Chen Zi’ang asked, confirming.

“Of course,” Suzuna replied. “When you hear ‘Tsukimi’ and ‘Suzuna,’ isn’t the first thing that comes to mind the Jade Rabbit pounding medicine?”

Chen Zi’ang was tempted to ask, “What does ‘Unyielding’ mean?” but thought it might be too abrupt, so he refrained.

“Senpai, your nickname is so long.” Suzuna tapped open his profile and giggled, “Look, look. Why did you pick this name?”

On her phone, the user nickname field clearly read:

[Are there any urban legends?]

“It’s like this,” Chen Zi’ang explained. “Some citizens who happen upon anomalies may find what they saw too bizarre to report to the Public Security Bureau, but they’re more comfortable sharing it in the circle of supernatural enthusiasts.”

“I see,” Suzuna nodded. “Have you ever found any stories in those circles that turned out to be genuine anomalies?”

“Twice,” Chen Zi’ang replied. “Most of them are clichéd horror stories passed around, like the slit-mouthed woman, Hanako in the bathroom, or the nonexistent Kisaragi Station.”

“If the description is too detailed and the atmosphere overly frightening, it’s almost always a fabricated tale. The ones truly worth paying attention to are those vague, hard-to-explain letters.”

“True,” Suzuna watched as he scrolled through his phone; indeed, most of the messages had a literary flair, such as opening with ‘It was a summer night...’ Clearly, anyone narrating in such a style couldn’t possibly be a victim of some psychic contamination!

Hmm?

Suddenly, a new message popped up at the top of the screen:

“Urban Legend Guy, we received an interesting submission today. If you have time, could you take a look?”

He tapped into the message, and Suzuna saw clearly the sender’s nickname: “Han Xin, Editor-in-Chief of ‘Urban Chronicles.’”

“Go ahead,” Chen Zi’ang quickly typed.

“Here’s the situation,” Han Xin replied just as swiftly, as if the message had been prepared in advance. “A submission from Akita District. The author claims she moved into her late grandfather’s ancestral home two days ago, and that very night she had a nightmare.”

“In the dream, she found herself lying in a coffin, paralyzed and unable to move. The coffin was wide open, and she could see three figures standing around it. They wore robes, their hoods casting shadows so deep that their faces were impossible to discern.”

“At first, she thought it was just a dream, but after three consecutive nights of the same nightmare, she began seeking a psychologist—and also sent us her question, asking about the meaning of the nightmare. Apparently, she’s a loyal reader of our magazine’s dream interpretation column.”

“What do you think of this story?”

Chen Zi’ang considered for a moment and replied:

“I think it’s worth investigating.”

“Great,” came the response. “I’ll send you her phone number. You can contact her on behalf of our editorial department. Any good material, just report back to us.”

“That’s it,” Chen Zi’ang turned to Suzuna. “‘Urban Chronicles’ is a magazine focused on supernatural stories. They have long-term contracts with many authors specializing in supernatural fiction. Since good inspiration is rare, they solicit submissions from all walks of life, and then hand them to their writers for further development.”

“Often, submissions are just fragmented information. If the editors see potential, they arrange interviews with the contributors to flesh out the details. Of course, editors alone aren’t enough, so they also enlist enthusiasts from the supernatural community—like me—to conduct interviews.”

“Wow, that’s nice,” Suzuna commented offhandedly, watching Chen Zi’ang draft a message to the submitter. “Senpai, do you think this could be an anomaly?”

“It sounds like psychic contamination, doesn’t it?” Chen Zi’ang mused. “Although we can’t rule out fabrication, real storytellers tend to overdo it, adding unnecessary atmospheric details—like ‘a black figure holding a knife’ or ‘uttering ominous threats.’ You can tell it’s fake immediately.”

“On the contrary, the simpler and more straightforward the description, the more likely it hides a terrifying reality beneath.”

He glanced at the screen again. The submitter replied immediately:

“If possible, could you visit tonight? I happen to have some questions for your magazine as well.”

“Certainly,” Chen Zi’ang typed back. Suzuna suddenly exclaimed:

“Senpai, going over tonight? Isn’t that too rushed?”

“It’s fine. I have nothing planned tonight anyway,” Chen Zi’ang smiled. “If this really is an anomaly, it’s better to confirm as soon as possible.”

The powers at the Chaotic Altar required a full fifty fire seeds to exchange. If he didn’t take side gigs, when would he ever save up enough?

“Is that so?” Suzuna tilted her head cutely, pondering for a moment. “I think you’re right, Senpai.”

She looked down and dialed her father’s number:

“Father, I won’t be home tonight. I have overtime at work.”

“Overtime?” Her father’s commanding voice was unmistakable, even without the speaker on. “Didn’t you have the day off?”

“Suzuna! Isn’t this a bit much?” Chen Zi’ang exclaimed in surprise. “Your family…”

“Who is that?” Her father’s hearing was sharp. “Suzuna, who are you with right now?”

“It’s the Senpai I mentioned before,” Suzuna replied cheerfully. “I’ll be working with him tonight. Busy! Hanging up!”

“Suzuna! Is that the one you…” Her father’s voice was abruptly cut off. Chen Zi’ang was left dumbfounded beside her.

“Um, Suzuna…” he asked cautiously, “What does your father do again?”

“He’s a senior official at the Foreign Affairs Bureau,” Suzuna replied.

Though her tone was casual, everyone knew a ‘senior official at the Foreign Affairs Bureau’ meant real power. Chen Zi’ang began contemplating seriously:

If her father discovered his identity, would he be fired for setting foot in the Public Security Bureau the next day?