Thud, thud, thud.
A series of hurried footsteps echoed through the dim, oppressive corridor. It was easy to tell from the sound that several people were rushing down from upstairs, frantic and desperate. And behind those footsteps, another sound relentlessly pursued them, as if something were chasing after them.
Strictly speaking, getting from the third floor to the first only required crossing two flights of stairs. The distance was very short; even including the corridor, an ordinary person could probably cover it in around thirty seconds.
Yet over such a short distance, the three of them had remained on the verge of death the entire time.
Yang Jian was somewhat different. He was not as fragile as an ordinary person, but he had not forgotten that danger did not come solely from behind.
The ghost on the stairs catching up was within his expectations. As long as they moved fast enough, they could avoid the stair ghost's next attack. But the ghost from the ghost painting coming up from the first floor was unavoidable. There was only one way out, and there was no way to leave through the windows.
At that moment, Yang Jian had reached the second floor. After swiftly passing through the corridor, he arrived at the stairs leading down to the first floor.
But then his pupils contracted slightly.
The situation he feared most had occurred.
Another ghost appeared before him. It wore red clothing, its facial features blurred beyond recognition. Only from its other traits could he vaguely tell that it had the form of a woman. Most eye-catching were the pair of hands in front of it—fair, lifelike, yet icy and strange.
That discordant appearance was even more terrifying.
The ghost from the ghost painting?
Though Yang Jian had been prepared, he could not