That hand... The thought of the scene from earlier filled Wu Mi with an inexplicable unease. Maybe it was just a trick of the eyes—he could only comfort himself with that thought. In the darkness, he fumbled across the table, hoping to find a teacup. He was craving a steaming cup of tea, though he doubted he'd actually find one.

  Cursing the inn′s owner, proprietress, and staff in his heart, he found it hard to accept such bizarre rules.

  The watchman had just struck the gong three times when a knock sounded at the door. Wu Mi withdrew his hand, letting out a faint grunt through his nose. Rising to his feet, he opened the door, knowing it was time to eat.

  The pale candlelight flickered weakly, as if it might be snuffed out at any moment. A woman stood motionless in the doorway, holding two freshly steamed white buns and a pte of finely prepared pickled radishes.

  "Is this really it?" Wu Mi, having gone hungry all day, pointed at the food in her hands with a hint of dissatisfaction.

  The woman let out an indescribable mocking smile and walked into the room uninvited. She pced the food on the table, then pulled a long, brown-bck ruler from her sleeve. Lowering her head, she began meticulously measuring one of the buns.

  Wu Mi stood there, dumbfounded, a strange urge to ugh rising within him. He touched his growling, hollow stomach, stepped forward, and asked, "What are you doing?"

  "Measuring the bun," the woman replied earnestly, carefully moving the ruler as she measured with great precision.

  Wu Mi finally couldn′t hold back and burst out ughing. In all his life, he had never heard of measuring a bun before eating it. It was undeniably amusing and well worth ughing about.

  The woman ignored Wu Mi and continued her task. After measuring the bun from every angle, she finally nodded in satisfaction. A faint smile appeared on her face as she said, "This is the one, no mistake."

  "Are you done measuring?" Wu Mi retorted mockingly, this time turning the tables with his own sarcasm.

  The woman turned to look at him; her smile was instantly repced by an icy expression. With a cold sneer, she said, "Here, you'd better watch what you say. If you offend those things, you'll be in serious trouble."

  Wu Mi stopped ughing; his expression puzzled. "What things?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

  The woman gnced at the bun she had just measured and said, "This bun is for it to eat."

  "It? What it?" Wu Mi looked around the room. Apart from himself and the strange woman in front of him, there was nothing else.

  "Someone died here," the woman said, her gaze shifting back to Wu Mi's face. "Every day, we prepare a bun for the one who died. And each time, the bun must be identical in size and shape—no deviations. It′s been this way for years."

  After saying this, she pointed to the other bun and continued, "Remember, you can only eat this one and the pickled radish. Don′t eat the wrong one."

  "What happens if I eat the wrong one?" Wu Mi asked casually, finding the woman′s expnation amusing and hard to take seriously.

  The woman gave Wu Mi a strange look but said nothing. She turned and walked out of the room.

  Left in darkness, Wu Mi hesitated as he sat back on the stool. The woman′s words didn′t feel like a mere joke. Why exactly was he forbidden to eat that bun?

  He reached out, his hand groping in the darkness toward the bun based on memory. The warmth of the bun against his fingertips confirmed it was still fresh. Yet his hand stopped short. The woman′s warning echoed in his mind. Could someone really have died in this room? Could this bun truly be for the dead?

  For the dead... that would mean there was a ghost in this room!

  Wu Mi almost cried out. In the oppressive darkness, he could feel his heart pounding violently in his chest.

  Everything was so silent. Wu Mi wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Perhaps the woman was just trying to scare him. Instinctively, he stood up and groped his way to the edge of the bed. Sleeping now seemed like the wisest choice. With that thought, he quickly curled himself up tightly against the wall and closed his eyes, hoping that the ghost might truly just be a silly joke.

  There were no candles, but fortunately, the sunlight managed to stream into the damp room. Struggling against his drowsiness, Wu Mi forced his tired eyes open. Outside in the hallway, there seemed to be some commotion, as if something had happened.

  Wu Mi sat up, stretched zy, and reluctantly got out of bed. As he passed the table, he gnced at it absentmindedly. But that single gnce made his heart race with fear, sending a cold sweat down his back.

  The bun that the woman had measured was truly gone, leaving only Wu Mi's white bun and the pte of pickled vegetables that had already wilted a bit.

  Wu Mi was stunned. He sank down onto the floor in disbelief, rubbing his eyes desperately. No matter how he looked at it, one of the buns was missing from the table.

  Outside, a new round of noise erupted. Finally snapping out of his daze, Wu Mi barely had time to think. He quickly jumped to his feet, pushed open the door, and rushed outside.

  Room 29. Wu Mi remembered that it was the room of the man with the baima jacket, just next door to his. Now, however, four of the staff members, the woman, and the enthusiastic innkeeper were gathered there. Wu Mi tiptoed, craning his neck to peek inside the room.

  Wu Mi couldn't make a sound, but his pupils dite in an instant.

  The man with the baima jacket was still sitting at the table, wearing the same clean white jacket. However, there were now dark red bloodstains on his chest. On the floor, where the blood had pooled, y the brown-bck ruler—the very same one the woman had used to measure the bun meant for the dead.