Chapter Two: Ghost Blows Out the Light

Eight o’clock in the evening.

The main office of Program Department Two at Donghai Broadcasting Station.

“Everyone, listen up. The station director’s order has come down: three days from now, ‘Strange Tales of the Human World’ will be terminated. The new program is called ‘Midnight Oddities,’ and this is the host in charge—Mao Dian Mi. Let’s give him a warm welcome.”

Director Jiang Heshun of Program Department Two finished speaking and took the lead in clapping. The others in the office immediately followed suit, laughing and greeting the young man standing in the center.

“Mao Dian, you’ve finally arrived! The midnight slot has hope at last.”

“Our frequency is great in every way, except the midnight slot always ranks at the bottom among all the major stations. We’ve been the butt of jokes for too long. Now that you’re here, we’re complete!”

“Yes, we can finally hold our heads high.”

“When Mr. Mi was at Baoshan Radio, he was already the king of the midnight segment. Now that he’s joined us, it’s like adding wings to a tiger. Truly something to celebrate!”

“Mao Dian’s repertoire of stories is vast, and his storytelling is unique—memorable, above all. And let’s not forget his vocal mimicry; for the midnight slot, where atmosphere is everything, he’s truly in his element!”

As his new colleagues lavished him with praise, Mao Dian Mi’s face shone with pride and ambition.

At Baoshan Radio, he had scouted the market and purchased audio rights for several online supernatural novels. His broadcasts were unexpectedly successful, drawing in scores of original fans, and he quickly gained a stellar reputation among Donghai’s radio hosts.

As the saying goes, people strive upward, water flows downward. When the provincial station offered, Mao Dian didn’t hesitate to break free from the confines of a regional station and joined Donghai Broadcasting, taking on the crucial midnight slot at Program Department Two.

Donghai Broadcasting was composed of six main departments. Apart from Management and Planning & Operations, there were four independent program departments: One, Two, Three, and the Online Department.

Program Department Two was primarily responsible for language-based programming.

Departments One and Three focused on music and entertainment.

The Online Department, as its name implied, catered to the digital world. It had no dedicated on-air frequency in the real world, but boasted a full live channel on the station’s website. In a way, it stood somewhat aloof, managing its own platform’s maintenance and operations, self-sufficient and generally exempt from the oversight of either Management or Planning & Operations, unless something truly important occurred.

It was just as Liao Yuan arrived at the company that he witnessed the fawning reception of Mao Dian Mi.

He said nothing, quietly carrying his briefcase along a familiar path to the printer in the corner, preparing to print out the speech for tonight’s broadcast.

As people caught sight of Liao Yuan, their eyes brimmed with both pity and mockery. They didn’t even bother to greet him, choosing instead to crowd noisily around the newly arrived star, peppering him with questions about his past exploits.

Liao Yuan took in the scene and shook his head.

The warmth and coldness of human relationships—one only truly understands them through experience.

He could sense the state of mind of his predecessor working in such an environment, and he sighed inwardly, “All of us are just unlucky souls.”

“Hm?”

A middle-aged man passing by was drawn to the thick sheaf of printed pages in Liao Yuan’s hand.

His features were eccentric: tiny eyes, a flattened bridge of the nose, an enormous bulbous tip, and thin, waterfall-like hair drooping down from both sides—a classic Mediterranean balding pattern. His beady eyes shot Liao Yuan a suspicious glance, then he grinned, “Liao Yuan, you’re preparing so much material for tonight?”

Liao Yuan responded with a brief hum.

“It’s pointless,” the man said, taking a sip of water, his tone laced with mockery. “Instead of wasting time on your script, you’d be better off sending out more résumés.”

A smattering of laughter drifted from the office—shrill and cutting.

Unperturbed, Liao Yuan meticulously checked his documents.

“Xiao Liao, Xiao Liao, come here a moment.”

Director Jiang Heshun had noticed Liao Yuan and beckoned him over.

Everyone fell silent, eager to see what would happen next. Even Mao Dian Mi turned his gaze.

But Liao Yuan acted as if he hadn’t heard, quietly finishing with the printer, organizing his pages, and sealing them in a folder before finally strolling over.

Jiang Heshun’s expression soured, but he quickly composed himself and turned to Mao Dian Mi with a genial smile. “This is Liao Yuan, current host of ‘Strange Tales of the Human World.’”

“Hello, Liao Yuan. I’m the new host, Mao Dian Mi. I’ll be taking over your program in three days.”

Mao Dian Mi scrutinized Liao Yuan, surprised by his good looks and feeling a twinge of envy, though he maintained a broad smile. “I hope our handover goes smoothly over the next three days.”

“Hello,” Liao Yuan replied, shaking his hand politely. “I’ve heard much about you.”

Hearing this, Mao Dian’s confidence swelled again. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Xiao Liao, I’ve listened to your program. Since I’m a few years older, may I offer you some advice?”

Liao Yuan glanced at him and nodded. “Go ahead.”

“In our era, being human, looks alone won’t get you far—you need talent, too!” Mao Dian said coolly. “Too many young people today are empty-headed. If you can settle down, study, and accumulate experience, you might achieve something in the future. If you lose your job today, don’t give up—there’s still a long road ahead.”

“You’re right. The future is indeed long,” Liao Yuan replied, sounding rather impatient. “So, is there anything else?”

“Er… no, that’s all.” Mao Dian was taken aback.

“Then I’ll go prepare for work.”

As Liao Yuan turned to leave, everyone exchanged bewildered glances.

This wasn’t the Liao Yuan they thought they knew...

Ordinarily, even if Liao Yuan felt resentful, he would keep his head down, accepting his lot, since his track record at the station was clear for all to see.

Yet now, he seemed like a different person altogether—there was a faint air of aloofness, as if he looked down on everyone.

“Something about Xiao Liao seems different today,” Jiang Heshun mused, stroking his chin. “Could it be he’s given up hope?”

“That kid only got noticed by Director Xi because of his looks,” the bald man sneered. “He’s handsome, sure, but can you really host a show on your face alone? In truth, it’s talent that matters. I remember him fumbling through stories, stumbling over words. I knew he wouldn’t make it.”

Jiang chuckled. “All interns are like that. They need polishing.”

“If not for Director Xi, he wouldn’t have even qualified as an intern,” the bald man scoffed. “I said it before: you should only do what you’re capable of. If you get fired, a black mark on your résumé, you’ll never find another job. Even Director Xi can’t cover for him now.”

Watching all this, Mao Dian Mi kept up his smile, but inside, he was annoyed.

At this point, with his dismissal looming, how did Liao Yuan still have the heart to prepare for work?

Given his abysmal ratings, with barely any listeners, who was he performing for?

Five minutes before the start of “Strange Tales of the Human World.”

“Brother Yuan, what are you doing?”

Outside Live Studio 3, Xiao Peng alternated between checking the time, shuffling his scripts, and curiously eyeing Liao Yuan, who was inside making odd “ah, ah” sounds.

“Warming up my voice,” Liao Yuan replied.

In his previous life as a singer, he’d warm up every morning—a habit that kept his voice at its peak for major performances, ensuring he never cracked under pressure.

But to Xiao Peng, this was uncharacteristic. In his memory, Liao Yuan had never bothered with such things—not even clearing his throat was common.

Every day, he’d show up on time, clutching a stack of dusty old folk horror stories, reading them aloud in a weary, emotionless monotone.

Liao Yuan had been the very image of a zombie, a frequent target of Xiao Peng’s private complaints.

And now?

Xiao Peng studied him carefully: though his handsome face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, his gaze was piercingly bright, as if exhilarated by something, his whole body buzzing with adrenaline.

He paced the studio, calling out occasionally, adjusting his voice to the most comfortable register.

He looked, truly, like a pop star about to take the stage.

His vocal warm-ups were so practiced, so professional, that Xiao Peng was left dazzled and speechless.

When had this guy picked up such flashy skills?

Honestly, theirs was a third-rate midnight show with a near-zero audience. Even though their coverage spanned the entire Yangtze-Delta region, at midnight, listeners were so scarce it was almost comical.

If even one listener called in after a broadcast, it was cause for celebration.

Watching Liao Yuan, who seemed ready to go all out, Xiao Peng wanted to say something, but in the end, held his tongue.

To be honest, he pitied Liao Yuan.

As the phone editor for Studio 3, Xiao Peng’s job was to field calls and organize scripts, but he also doubled as director for “Strange Tales of the Human World.”

Given that the midnight slot was about to be replaced, the station was already being generous by assigning Liao Yuan an assistant for his final three days.

Xiao Peng had, of course, heard the news of the show’s cancellation.

So, seeing Liao Yuan suddenly become proactive in his preparations, Xiao Peng could only feel sympathy, nothing more.

If only he’d cared this much before.

Society has little patience for failures.

The law of survival has always been: the capable thrive.

If you’re not up to scratch, someone else will take your place. Luck alone, without real ability, won’t sustain you for long.

In today’s world, with a sound legal system, power and money are less likely to be exploited by opportunists.

In such a developed environment, society tends to view those who are laid off or fired with suspicion.

Being laid off is one thing—every company faces pressure to downsize—but being fired carries a stigma, almost as bad as having a criminal record.

As a radio host with no show, Liao Yuan’s fate was all but sealed.

As a behind-the-scenes worker, Xiao Peng’s job was less visible, not subject to the same scrutiny that hosts faced.

Thus, he survived.

Liao Yuan was well aware of what he was up against.

He and his sister relied entirely on his barely-above-average salary.

With high rent, he was left with next to nothing each month—and now, facing termination…

He could now understand why his predecessor had “summoned” him here.

Survival…

In this era, it was truly a daunting challenge.

At this thought, Liao Yuan felt his blood begin to boil.

The pressure to survive—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced it.

It was both familiar and strange, yet deeply nostalgic.

“Good evening, listeners. Welcome to FM107.7’s midnight program, ‘Strange Tales of the Human World.’ I’m your host, A-Yuan.”

At midnight sharp, the show began.

Liao Yuan donned his headphones, adjusted the volume on the control panel, and spoke calmly into the microphone: “Tonight, I want to tell a different story. It’s called ‘Ghost Blows Out the Light.’ This is a tale of tomb raiders…”

“Tomb raiding isn’t sightseeing, or composing poetry, or painting embroidery. It can’t be done so elegantly, so leisurely, with such poetic grace. Tomb raiding is a craft—a craft of destruction…”

Outside the studio, Xiao Peng was startled by Liao Yuan’s words.

Wasn’t he supposed to tell ‘The Midnight Bride’? Why was it suddenly ‘Ghost Blows Out the Light’?

Changing the script at the last minute—this had never happened before. Xiao Peng grew anxious.

But then, remembering their pitifully low ratings, he relaxed again. After all, Liao Yuan was just unwilling to give up, hoping to turn things around in his final three days.

“To hell with it,” Xiao Peng thought, picking up his phone again. But for some reason, as Liao Yuan began narrating the prologue in a deep, resonant voice, Xiao Peng found his attention inexorably drawn in.

“All these events begin with a tattered book left by my grandfather, ‘The Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Feng Shui Manual.’ The lower half of the book was torn away for some unknown reason, leaving only the first part—Feng Shui secrets. Its contents were mostly unique methods for interpreting tomb feng shui…”

Inside the studio, Liao Yuan’s pace quickened. He modulated his tone, using a slightly deeper voice: “Chapter One: The Paper Man.”

“My grandfather’s name was Hu Guohua. The Hu family was a wealthy clan, owning over forty houses connected by three alleys at their peak. Some were officials, some merchants, others contributed to the imperial grain supply and river transport…”

And so, the story began.