Through the swirling fog, a dilapidated bus crawled along an endless highway.
Inside, seven people sat—three women and four men.
They gazed out the windows at the thick mist, their expressions a mix of confusion, bewilderment, and fear. Yet, beneath it all, their faces shared the same sickly pallor, as if they had endured something unspeakable on the journey.
The bus pressed on relentlessly until it finally shuddered to a halt before an ancient, decrepit villa. Swathed in the surrounding fog, the structure stood stark black, radiating an aura of mystery and dread.
The doors hissed open—a silent command to disembark.
The seven passengers stepped out slowly. They cast one last glance back at the bus, their eyes clouded with an ineffable terror. For there, in the driver's seat where someone should have been… was nothing. An empty void.
Yes, this bus… had no driver.
As the last passenger cleared the steps, the doors snapped shut of their own accord. The engine groaned back to life, and the bus vanished once more into the depths of the fog…
Left standing before the obsidian villa, the seven exchanged uneasy glances, each mirroring the others' dread-stricken faces.
"Let's go…" A thin man with deep brown, square-framed wooden glasses broke the silence. His delicate features held a calmness starkly absent in the others. "I think… we're out of options."
"R-really? Go inside?" A beautiful woman with gold earrings trembled. Her flimsy clothes offered little warmth. She hugged her arms, rubbing them frantically. "What if… it's not safe in there?"
Silence hung heavy. Initially, they'd clung to the hope of an elaborate prank, or perhaps an invitation to some bizarre show. But the discovery of the empty driver's seat had plunged them into raw, chilling fear. Though staunch materialists by nature, the events of the past hour… defied all reason.
"So, would you rather walk into the fog?" Ning Qiushui drew a deep breath, forcing an outward calm that belied his thundering heartbeat. From receiving that cryptic letter to arriving here, barely an hour had passed. Yet that single hour had shattered his entire worldview.
"Have you forgotten the fat guy?" he pressed. "The one who jumped out at the crossroads?"
At the mention of him, the woman's beautiful eyes flooded with sheer terror. Her legs buckled, nearly sending her to the ground.
There had been eight passengers originally. Each had awoken inexplicably on this bus.
One, a portly man, had ranted incessantly. He swore it was some sleazy producers pulling a hidden-camera stunt. Their phones were swapped, he insisted; the driver was piloting from below; the fog was just dry ice…
Finally, as the bus idled at a crossroads, the man flung open a window and jumped out, vanishing alone into the swirling grey…
Things seemed bizarre, perhaps, but manageable—until the next crossroads.
Emerging from the mist, something hung limply from the traffic light…
As the bus crept closer, the grisly sight resolved: draped over the signal, flayed off in one horrific piece… was the fat man's bloodied skin. His features were frozen in a final rictus of absolute terror, as if he'd glimpsed pure nightmare before the end. Rivulets of crimson gore streamed down the metal pole.
The sight paralyzed everyone on the bus.
Someone, refusing to believe, yanked down a window. Instantly, the cloying, metallic stench of blood—thick and nauseating—wafted inside, choking them all…
At the mention of the fat man, everyone's faces turned ashen. One person even started retching.
"...Since no one dares venture into that mist," Ning Qiushui drew a deep breath, "then this black villa is our only option."
He was terrified too. Yet, strangely, neither the sight of the bloodied skin hanging from the traffic light nor the stench of blood had shaken him as profoundly as it had the others. Besides, that mysterious letter intrigued him. What exactly was its sender trying to tell him?
With Ning Qiushui taking the lead, the group followed him through the villa's wrought-iron gate and into its overgrown garden.
Silence enveloped them—a silence so deep it was terrifying. They huddled close together. The beautiful woman with the gold earrings felt someone copping a feel, but she merely frowned. Better to endure a wandering hand than end up skinned alive for no reason!
They reached the villa's imposing front door. Ning Qiushui knocked.
Knock… knock… knock…
Footsteps echoed from within almost immediately. Those behind Ning Qiushui instinctively shuffled back a step, eyes fixed warily on the doorway, tension crackling in the air.
Creeeak—
The door opened. But the horrifying scene they'd braced for didn't materialize.
Standing there was an exquisitely beautiful… girl? She looked no older than fifteen or sixteen.
"You're here?" Her voice was flat. "Come in."
It was only then they realized… he was a boy. A boy with ethereal beauty. His voice, however, held no warmth, only a chilling detachment.
They watched, uncertain, as Ning Qiushui followed the boy inside. Exchanging uneasy glances, they hesitated on the threshold.
"You'd best come in… quickly."
The boy's voice drifted back to them, freezing their indecision.
"The mist… it's not safe."
The reminder of the mist—and the grisly fate of the fat man—sent a collective shudder through the group. Fear overriding caution, they scrambled inside after him.
The villa's foyer was vast, its décor steeped in antiquity. To the left stood orderly bookshelves; to the right, a wooden staircase ascended into shadow. In the center of the room, three large sofas faced a crackling fire pit.
Four people sat around the fire, staring blankly into the flames. None spoke.
The silence grew heavier, colder, wrapping around the newcomers like the mist outside.
"Excuse me…" someone finally ventured, the words brittle in the quiet. "…Where are we?"
"Why are we here?"
"What's with the fog and the bus outside?"
"…"
Finally, after a moment's thought, Ning Qiushui voiced the questions hanging in the air.
Still, no one answered. Not even the four warming themselves by the fire pit spared him a glance.
Behind Ning Qiushui, the bearded man, Liu Chengfeng, snapped.
"Hey! We're talkin' to you!" His voice boomed, echoing painfully loud in the confined space. "Cat got your tongues?"
At last, the man in the suit sitting directly across from Ning Qiushui, warming his hands, spoke without looking up.
"I know you have questions…"
"…If you survive your first Bloody Door, I'll answer them."
A chill of foreboding settled over the newcomers.
"Bloody Door?" Ning Qiushui's pulse quickened, recalling the mysterious woman's call. "What is that?"
The suited man still didn't lift his head. He merely pointed towards the third floor.
"Your time's almost up. Less than five minutes before the Bloody Door opens. When it does, you'll be pulled into its world to complete the task written upon it."
"Succeed, and the bus will come for you."
A short, slight woman with twin ponytails, Yan Youping, spoke up timidly. "Wh-what… what happens if… if we don't finish the task?"
The suited man slowly raised his head, his cold, flat gaze locking onto Yan Youping's. It made her heart stutter.
"You die." His voice was utterly devoid of emotion. "Horribly."
The words hit like a physical blow. Their legs turned to water. Desperately, they wanted this to be a sick joke.
But the absolute seriousness in the suited man's eyes shattered that last, fragile hope.
"C-can… can we not go?" asked a young man with bleached blond hair, swallowing hard.
The suited man flicked a glance his way.
"Sure."
"…Just be sure you never sleep again."
The blond man froze. "Wh-why?"
The man's lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because if you refuse the Door's task… then the things beyond it… they come looking for you."
"No matter where you run."
"They'll find you."
"And then…"
He didn't need to finish. The unspoken ending hung heavy in the suffocating silence.
Ning Qiushui glanced towards the third floor, then back at the suited man. "Any advice… before we go in?"
The suited man paused, a flicker of something akin to surprise – or perhaps approval – crossing his features as he took in Ning Qiushui's unnerving calm. "Advice?" He considered. "Yes."
"No matter how terrifying the story behind the Bloody Door… there's always more than one way out. Find that path… and survival becomes possible."
Ning Qiushui gave a curt nod. "Thanks."
Without hesitation, he turned and headed for the stairs. He was the first to move.
Liu Chengfeng watched Ning Qiushui's decisive stride. A fierce internal struggle played out across his face before resolve hardened his features. "Damn, kid…" he muttered, gritting his teeth as he hurried after him. "You got some serious guts!"
Catching up to Ning Qiushui on the stairs, Liu Chengfeng lowered his voice. "Kid… you got some serious guts!"
He'd noticed Ning Qiushui back on the bus—hard not to. The guy hadn't even flinched at the sight of the flayed skin or the overwhelming stench of blood.
"Guts?" Ning Qiushui let out a self-deprecating snort. "You think we have a choice?"
Liu Chengfeng was tall and broad-shouldered; even one step below Ning Qiushui, he was nearly eye-level. "Back there, seein' that fat guy's skin… you didn't even blink, man. Used to be… y'know… in that line of work?"
"What line?"
"Hitman?"
"Read too many thrillers. Not that many real hitmen out there."
"Uh… then…?"
"Doctor."
"Oh~!" Liu Chengfeng's eyes widened slightly. "Coroner?"
"Close enough. Vet."
Liu Chengfeng's jaw went slack. "…"
Their conversation died as they reached the third floor.
The stench hit them immediately—a thick, coppery tang of blood mixed with the deep rot of decaying wood.
The entire floor was empty. Utterly bare. Except for one thing: a wooden door… soaked crimson with blood.
Scrawled across the door's surface in the same viscous red were the words:
[Care for the bedridden elder for five days.]"Care for an old man… That's our task this time." Ning Qiushui's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
The others filed onto the landing, their murmurs dying as they read the bloody directive. Confusion rippled through them.
"Just… just that?" Wang Yuning, the woman with the gold earrings, sounded incredulous. "It's… simple?"
A low buzz of whispered speculation started, then abruptly ceased. As one, they froze, sensing it—a collective pull drawing their gazes back to the blood-soaked door.
Scraaape…
Something was pushing against the wood from the other side.
A pair of unnaturally pale hands slid into view, pressing against the door's inner surface.
Slowly, inexorably, the blood-red door began to swing open…
…and darkness rushed in, swallowing them whole. Consciousness winked out.