C120 — Violent Possession

Chu Chen’an rubbed the tip of his nose and glanced around the room. The dim lighting on the walls reflected the rippling waves of the sea, casting eerie shadows.

His gaze landed on Liu Fanzhi’s camera, which was placed on the edge of the table. The red indicator light was still flashing, aimed directly at the door.

The blinking red light flickered in the interplay of darkness and light, adding a sense of eerie stillness and coldness to the empty table.

The shifting light occasionally illuminated the doorway, only to be swallowed by darkness again in the next instant.

In the unsettling interplay of brightness and shadow, Chu Chen’an faintly heard the soft sound of water droplets falling from the ceiling.

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.

The curtains by the window fluttered as the sea breeze howled mournfully. The reflected waves on the glass looked like distorted, eerie human figures—grinning with bloodied mouths, ghastly and strange.

He was dazed for a few seconds and was about to turn over and go back to sleep when suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the door.

He jerked his head up, just in time to hear a series of sharp screams coming from outside.

Startled, Liu Fanzhi dropped his phone on his face with a thud. He didn’t even care about the pain—he just sat up and exchanged glances with Chu Chen’an.

“What was that?”

Chu Chen’an shook his head. “I think I heard someone shouting for help.”

“I heard it too.”

Liu Fanzhi quickly put on his clothes, tilting his head up and widening his eyes warily as he listened intently to the sounds outside. “…It sounds really creepy.”

Chu Chen’an also put on his shoes; he hesitated before suggesting, “Should we go out and check?”

Liu Fanzhi focused, listening for a while before speaking again. “Now it sounds like it stopped. Maybe they were just playing around. I think there’s a couple staying in the room next door—it wouldn’t be unusual at this hour.”

Chu Chen’an nodded in agreement and lay back down on the bed.

But that night, his sleep was restless. In his dreams, he kept hearing faint rustling sounds near him, and he had an unsettling feeling that a shadow was lurking in the darkness by his bedside, watching him.

…

The Next Morning.

Chu Chen’an walked over to the window and saw that the cruise ship had already left the inland sea. Now, there was nothing in sight except the vast, endless stretch of blue ocean and a few barren, oddly shaped islands.

The ship had entered a signal-blocking zone—several days earlier than expected.

“Damn! We lost signal this fast?” Liu Fanzhi fiddled with his phone for a long time before finally giving up with a sigh. Disappointed, he set it down and picked up his camera instead.

He took a few shots of the polluted sea. Over the past few days, he had captured a lot of disturbing images:

A penguin, its head soaked in gasoline, missing a limb.

A rotting seal floating lifelessly on the surface.

A whale with its mouth stitched shut by fishhooks.

Large chunks of decaying flesh in the water.

Blood-red seawater.

The images were gruesome—enough to make one sick—but Liu Fanzhi was oddly drawn to them, almost obsessed.

He didn’t seem like a traveler.

Rather, he seemed more like a documentarian—one who recorded the wounds of the ocean, the grotesque scars of living creatures, and then forced those responsible to witness the damage they had inflicted.

Chu Chen’an sat on the metal steps by the window, watching him take pictures.

After a while, he asked, “Is this your job?”

Liu Fanzhi shook his head. “No, but I send some of my photos to news agencies now and then.”

Chu Chen’an asked again, “Then what do you usually photograph?”

“Me?”

Liu Fanzhi scratched his head and chuckled. “Mostly private shoots. Like portraits, but with more… intimate angles.”

He paused for a moment before adding, “I actually always wanted to be a journalist. But I never found a job in the field, so I had to switch to photography instead.”

When he spoke about journalism, his eyes gleamed with a faint yearning, but his tone carried a sense of regret and disappointment.

Liu Fanzhi had always dreamed of becoming a journalist.

Recording the Truth, Exposing Evil—Becoming a Hero of the Era.

Unfortunately, he had missed his interview score by just one point, and his dream was shattered by the trivial burdens of life.

Chu Chen’an was about to say something to comfort him when a sudden scream cut him off.

Startled, he and Liu Fanzhi rushed to the door. As they opened it, they saw a female service staff member outside another room, her face drained of color. She was bent over, retching violently.

Tears streamed down her face as she locked eyes with them. Her pupils were dilated with shock and terror. Trembling, she raised a shaking finger and pointed toward the room behind her…

As they stepped forward and peered inside, they were instantly stunned.

Inside the room, two bloated, ghastly pale corpses lay sprawled on the floor. Their bodies were mangled, their stomachs ripped open in gaping wounds—completely hollowed out. Severed limbs and internal organs mixed with crimson seawater, staining the putrid-smelling floor.

The window in the room was wide open, and dark red blood dripped from the windowsill. It seemed as if the perpetrator had climbed in through the window.

The service staff member shivered violently, standing behind the gathering crowd. In a trembling voice, she murmured, “Could it be… could it be a ghost…?”

Soon, the commotion drew the attention of other passengers on the ship. Many rushed over, forming a growing crowd. Some whispered among themselves, some screamed in terror, and some even fainted on the spot.

Chu Chen’an felt a creeping fear crawl up his spine. His eyes were fixed on the gruesome wounds on the corpses’ abdomens. Something about it seemed familiar, but in his panic, he couldn’t quite recall what it was.

Liu Fanzhi, on the other hand, crouched beside the bodies, showing no fear at all. If anything, his expression was alight with fascination and a burning curiosity.

He took out his camera and began taking a series of shots, moving closer to the wounds for a detailed examination. He seemed so immersed in his work that he might have licked the congealed blood if he could. Turning to Chu Chen’an, he remarked, “This doesn’t look like a human attack.”

Chu Chen’an had already suspected as much the moment he stepped into the room.

This was yet another non-human incident.

The edges of the wounds, the pattern of the mutilations—none of it matched injuries caused by ordinary weapons. Rather, it looked like something had bitten them.

The two victims were both men and seemed to have been good friends.

Scanning the room, Chu Chen’an’s gaze landed on the blood-splattered bed railing.

Hanging from it was a dark, metallic hook.

It was as thick as a human wrist, its tip sharpened to a deadly point. Chunks of flesh still clung to its surface.

As he stared at the swaying hook, his mind reeled.

At that very moment, Liu Fanzhi rolled over one of the corpses, revealing the head that had been tucked away in a dark corner.

A chill ran down Chu Chen’an’s spine.

The face was barely recognizable, its features grotesquely mangled. The lips had been sewn shut with fine, taut fishing lines. As the blood dried, a deep brown liquid had begun oozing from the seams.

Liu Fanzhi eagerly documented every disturbing detail, his focus sharp, his excitement barely contained.

“What do you think did this?” he asked.

A passenger gasped. “If it wasn’t a person, then it has to be a ghost!”

Liu Fanzhi scoffed. “It’s the 21st century—are we really still clinging to superstitions?”

“It’s real!” a woman burst into tears, her voice trembling with fear. “I’ve seen people talking about it on forums before—this sea is haunted! There are ocean ghosts…”

“Didn’t we hear strange noises last night? Maybe that was when it happened…”

The more they discussed it, the more panicked the crowd became. Fear spread like wildfire.

Before things spiraled out of control, a ship official arrived. “Alright, alright! Everyone, please step outside. Do not disturb the crime scene.”

Security personnel quickly followed, setting up yellow tape to seal off the area. Many passengers were escorted away.

To calm the passengers, the official made an announcement:

“This voyage will now be completely free of charge. All passengers will receive full refunds today, and in addition, we will be providing a complimentary half-year stay at a luxury hotel, valued at over six figures.”

The murmurs and discussions quickly died down.

—

Recalling the eerie shadows from the night before, Chu Chen’an felt a chill spread across his chest. That dark silhouette he had seen… could it have been—?

He dared not think further.

The authorities handled the situation swiftly, sealing off the entire floor and upgrading all passengers on that level to higher-class cabins for free.

Now on the second floor, Chu Chen’an tidied up his bedding when a notification popped up on his system control panel—it was a message from Jiang Lin, along with an encrypted list.

The list had two colors: blue and red.

The blue names, over fifty in total, represented the “butchers.” Meanwhile, the red names… were the ones marked for slaughter tonight. More than a hundred people.

Even though Chu Chen’an had already been exposed to many dark truths, he was still momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of this organization. A large-scale massacre carried out so openly—worse still, this happened every year.

Yet, it had never come to light.

Jiang Lin: [Chen’an, meet me tonight near the banquet hall beside S103 on the third floor.]

Jiang Lin: [Do not act rashly before we regroup.]

Jiang Lin: [Start by keeping an eye on Zhou Qiangshan.]

Jiang Lin: [I heard there was a ghost incident last night. Stay sharp.]

Chu Chen’an: [Got it.]

Scanning the list, he quickly located Zhou Qiangshan’s name and confirmed his role—one of the organizers of this twisted game. He memorized Zhou Qiangshan’s room number and contact details before cross-referencing his usual haunts. That led him to the ship’s entertainment lounge, where he soon spotted his target.

Taking a seat in the shadows, Chu Chen’an observed Zhou Qiangshan carefully.

The man’s complexion was deathly pale, his lips drained of color to a sickly blue. His heavy eye bags hinted at extreme indulgence and exhaustion. Even just looking at him made Chu Chen’an feel nauseated.

Last night, he shed a few tears for Cheng Hao. But today, he probably didn’t even remember his name.

And in a few hours, he would become a butcher again—slaughtering the next batch of innocent people.

After drinking himself nearly unconscious, Zhou Qiangshan staggered toward the restroom, supporting his waist. The sound of running water lasted an unusually long time before he finally emerged, clutching his stomach in visible pain.

Standing idly in the corridor, Chu Chen’an watched as Zhou Qiangshan passed by, feigning indifference. His face had been altered, and Zhou Qiangshan was far too drunk to recognize him.

For just a second, Chu Chen’an’s gaze flickered to the left side of Zhou Qiangshan’s abdomen—where a deep red stain had begun to seep through his clothes.

The man barely made it a few steps before slumping against the wall. Slowly, he slid down to the floor, his head hanging low as he let out muffled sobs.

What was happening to Zhou Qiangshan?

Chu Chen’an only spared him a couple of glances before withdrawing his gaze and heading into the restroom to wash his hands. He didn’t linger.

—

“Ugh, what’s the big deal? Just find a scapegoat when we get back. Say it was an accidental killing. Worst case, throw some hush money at it—no big deal, I’ve got cash!”

Zheng Yuxi leaned back in his seat across from Qin Jue, sounding impatient as he talked on the phone.

“You idiot, why are you even bothering me with this?”

Qin Jue gazed silently out the window at the ocean.

After ending the call, Zheng Yuxi glanced at Qin Jue’s expression cautiously before offering reassurance. “It’s a minor issue. Everything will be settled once we return.”

“I don’t care about your problems.” Qin Jue lazily leaned back into the couch. “Handle it yourself.”

Zheng Yuxi, now at ease, personally poured him a glass of red wine. “You don’t seem in a great mood, Qin. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Qin Jue took a slow sip of wine, his sharp eyes fixed on the vast ocean.

At the horizon, blood-red light spread across the sky, its eerie glow casting unsettling reflections on the rolling waves.

He watched in silence for a long time before pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek and letting out a quiet chuckle.

“I’m just thinking about preparing for pregnancy.”

Zheng Yuxi thought he had misheard. “W-what?”

Qin Jue didn’t answer, only taking another slow sip of wine.

Zheng Yuxi was stunned. “You’re planning for a baby this soon?! With who? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

Qin Jue merely smiled, lips curved as he swirled the red wine in his glass, saying nothing.

Sensing that Qin Jue wasn’t going to elaborate, Zheng Yuxi didn’t dare press further. Instead, he said, “Last night was really just an accident. This ship runs the same trip every year, and everything has always gone smoothly. Who would’ve thought something would go wrong this time?”

“This is your ship,” Qin Jue said flatly. “Whatever you do has nothing to do with me.”

Zheng Yuxi chuckled awkwardly. “Come on, we’ve known each other for over ten years. Sure, the ship is under my name, but you’re the largest shareholder. But don’t worry—everything that happens in this circle is under my control. If something ever happens to me, it won’t affect you in the slightest. Anyway, there’s a gathering tonight. You should come take a look.”

Qin Jue raised an eyebrow. “What gathering?”

“The annual one.” Zheng Yuxi’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he rubbed his hands together. “It’s gonna be wild. Since you’re already here, why not join in?”

 

Qin Jue gave him a sharp look and stated plainly, “You’re not going this time.”

Zheng Yuxi blinked. “Huh?”

Qin Jue set down his wine glass. “This time, I will be going.”

He wanted control over tonight’s events.

—

Night fell quickly.

The gathering was scheduled for 1:00 AM.

Clutching his entry pass tightly, Chu Chen’an stepped out of his room and headed toward his meeting point with Jiang Lin.

Jiang Lin was still in his wheelchair. When he saw Chu Chen’an approach, he struggled to push the wheels forward to meet him. “You’re here, Chen’an.”

Chu Chen’an got straight to the point. “Moving around in a wheelchair will be inconvenient for the mission. Why not use some gold coins to exchange for special medicine? Even a temporary cure would help.”

Jiang Lin was silent for a moment before replying, “Half an hour ago, the system reminded me—my paralysis is permanent. It’s the price I paid for reincarnation.”

His eyes dimmed with sorrow, as if he no longer had the energy to care about anything else.

Chu Chen’an said nothing.

He almost wanted to say ‘serves you right’ but managed to hold back.

This also meant that Jiang Lin couldn’t accompany him to the gathering—at best, he could provide support from the outside.

But Chu Chen’an felt like he didn’t need any backup anyway.

So he was going in alone?

The sudden change of plans didn’t affect him much. Perhaps it was because he had long been used to handling things by himself.

With that, Chu Chen’an took his entry pass and stepped into the heart of danger.

—

The Death Banquet was held in the basement.

The ship’s underground level was massive—about the size of half a football field. Loud, pulsating music filled the air as people stripped off their clothes and danced wildly in the pit.

Deeper inside was a giant bathing pool. Beneath the transparent glass floor of the pool, two enormous sharks swam lazily. A thick, metallic scent permeated the air—blood.

Chu Chen’an settled into a corner, tapping the hidden micro-camera tucked in his shirt pocket. His current disguise was extremely plain—even downright unattractive.

No one paid him any attention.

Carefully, he recorded everything.

As he adjusted his position, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure walking into the club.

His breath hitched.

He immediately shrank back, sinking deeper into the crowd, his heartbeat pounding in his chest.

Why was Qin Jue here?!

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