Damn it.

The group known as netizens encompasses people from all walks of life. No matter their profession, when these individuals are online, it is their most leisurely time. When people are at ease, aside from various forms of entertainment, their favorite pastime is to probe into strange and unusual affairs.

American netizens have always had a particular fascination with mysteries. For example, the United States’ famed Area 51, arguably the most well-known secret place in the world, is in reality not particularly mysterious. Yet, American netizens have managed to embellish it into a site where the government conducts research on aliens, persuading netizens around the globe to believe this wholeheartedly. Of course, some credit for this phenomenon must also go to the sensationalist media, ever eager to attract an audience.

Douglas and Reese, in the world of Hollywood, are hardly considered stars. There are hundreds of actors at their third-tier level. Yet Hollywood caters to the global film market, so even though their combined salary for half a month’s work is a mere $150,000, they still have fans. Among them, aside from American fans, there are people from other countries as well.

If these two tried to rally their fans for any cause, it would be nearly impossible, as their fans’ loyalty is insufficient. People follow them simply out of mild interest, not out of genuine affection or obsession. Thus, when second- and third-tier celebrities attend commercial events and crowds shout their supposed adoration, those audiences are often hired by agencies.

But what Li Dan Niu arranged for them to do did not require fan mobilization; it merely involved concocting a few bizarre stories and posting them on their EyeBook feeds. The human mind is strange: if you tell someone something, they may not believe it. But if they stumble upon it themselves, no matter how implausible it is, they will deceive themselves into believing it, and then spread it of their own accord.

At first, when Douglas and Reese posted these written updates, their followers assumed they had gone mad. Screenshots of their EyeBook posts were circulated as jokes. Regardless of their fame, the fact that they were Hollywood actors made this spectacle irresistible, and many flocked to their EyeBook pages to see if it was true.

Li Dan Niu’s request brought them no direct benefit. But as he was both the director and investor, they reluctantly complied. Unexpectedly, those few posts drew so many to their EyeBook homepage that, almost absentmindedly, people began following them.

Douglas and Reese both knew that although their EyeBook followers appeared to number over a million, a large portion were purchased for appearances, not genuine, active users.

Who would have thought that posting a handful of strange updates would cause their EyeBook followers to surge by tens of thousands at a time? Within a few days, their follower count exceeded two million. Do not underestimate the addition of less than a million followers—these were true, active users, each one real, not the paid-for bots.

Their joy was short-lived, for soon they realized they might have gone too far.

Li Dan Niu clipped a brief video from the finished film footage, very short—about a minute long. But this minute was a fast-forward montage, played at eight times normal speed. The content was filmed at night using a night-vision camera, which lent the whole video a peculiar air.

The camera’s focus was mainly on a bed, but it was clear this was a hotel-style apartment room; all the furnishings and items bore the hotel’s stamp. The bedroom door was open, offering a clear view of the living room’s sofa and the television mounted on the wall.

At first, those drawn to the video were fixated on the beautiful woman lying on the bed—Reese. Though her posture was less than elegant, sprawled across the bed with the covers kicked aside, she was still clad in pajamas. And, given the night vision mode, compared to the scantily clad models so common nowadays, Reese’s appearance was positively modest.

Yet curiosity beckoned, compelling viewers to click and discover the true purpose of the video.

The first person to finish watching reacted with a curse, thinking, “I even took off my pants for this, and this is what you show me?” The minute-long video, with the timestamp in the lower right corner, indicated the actual footage should be about eight minutes. During those eight minutes, Reese lay on the bed, unmoving, not a single change.

The viewer was about to comment below, ready to chastise Reese’s selfish prudishness, when a sense of unease crept in. He absentmindedly replayed the video, but this time his attention shifted, no longer on the motionless Reese, but on the door—the bedroom door.

Sixty seconds of video. At the thirty-second mark, the wide-eyed audience widened his eyes further, for he saw the door begin to move on its own.

A curse escaped him.

He saw, with utter clarity, the bedroom door slowly closing. Instinctively, he paused the video, rewound ten seconds, and watched again.

After viewing this section three times, he realized the door’s closing lasted three seconds of video time—twenty-four seconds in real time.

Could it be the wind?

Doors moved by drafts are common enough; everyone has experienced it. But as his gaze swept over a coat rack beside the door, with clothes hanging and even a scarf-like item, the viewer felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

The playback continued. When the door was nearly shut, a narrow gap remained, and suddenly that sliver flashed with light.

The gap was so thin and the night vision so dim, the flash lasted less than a second in the video, so the viewer hadn’t noticed it before. This time, however, he was watching the door intently.

A flash, and the door began slowly reopening. At the instant it opened, the viewer suddenly hit pause.

Goosebumps prickled his skin as he stared, wide-eyed, at the computer screen. The paused frame showed, thanks to the partially open door, a glimpse of the television in the living room—it was lit.

Due to the distance and the limited view, it was impossible to discern what was playing on the screen.

After a moment, he resumed playback. The bedroom door opened at a steady pace, and as the living room television came into view—about a third of it—the screen abruptly went dark.

Three seconds later, everything returned to the original state: Reese lying motionless on the bed, the bedroom door wide open, no light in the living room, and a blackened television.

The video ended, but the viewer lacked the courage to watch it again. He exhaled deeply and shouted.

A curse, raw and startled, escaped his lips.