One hundred ten. Drive out

Lu Li, having nothing else to do, stopped playing the piano.

He sat sideways on the stool, facing the door, quietly waiting for the footsteps' owner to approach.

The kitchen knife was tightly held in his right hand, which he kept hidden behind his back.

The footsteps had grown very near, and just as they reached the door, the sound suddenly disappeared, plunging the dim corridor into dead silence.

At that moment, a dry, blackened hand appeared outside the door, grabbing the edge of the door frame. Soon after, a dark head peeked around the corner, its face bearing a sinister, almost smiling expression, peering inside.

In the dim room lit only by a flashlight, a figure quietly peeking in from the doorway was undeniably frightening—Lu Li, expressionless, stared quietly at it.

Fear is predicated on a sense of crisis, but this ghost had not brought any danger to Lu Li.