The cause of the fat man's death remained unknown. The doctors couldn't provide a reliable explanation. Some said he died suddenly after staying up all night online, while others claimed he must have had some disease—how else could he have lost weight so rapidly?
But the doctors insisted he wasn't sick at all. It wasn't sudden death either—he had been perfectly healthy, which made it all the more bizarre.
With the death, Orwell's internet cafe naturally came under investigation, but no major issues were found. The cafe reopened within a few days.
Orwell thought the incident with the fat man was over, but he couldn't forget that old woman.
Whenever she appeared in the cafe, he paid close attention. He tried driving her away multiple times, but she haunted the place like a ghost—utterly impossible to get rid of. Even when Orwell stood guard at the door, she would somehow reappear inside the cafe in the blink of an eye.
Later, Orwell noticed something chilling: every night at 3:00 AM, the old woman would talk to several people. And without exception, all of them gradually became thinner, until one by one, they collapsed and died in the internet cafe!
This was disastrous for business. Rumors spread that Orwell's cafe was haunted—that evil spirits came in the early hours to claim lives. His customers dwindled until the cafe was nearly forced to close. After all, deaths weren't a trivial matter.
The strangest part? When authorities reviewed the surveillance footage, the old woman was nowhere to be seen—completely contradicting what Orwell had witnessed. But without proof, who would believe him?
As the saying goes, "Hearing is doubtful, seeing is believing." Orwell himself was investigated but eventually released when no evidence was found.
Unwilling to accept this, Orwell decided to take matters into his own hands. One night, after spotting the old woman, he secretly followed her as she left the cafe.
After about an hour of trailing her, Orwell found himself outside a dilapidated house—an abandoned building that looked decades old. The yard was overgrown with weeds taller than a person, and the house itself was crumbling, its roof full of holes.
The old woman pushed open the rusted iron gate and disappeared into the overgrowth. Orwell approached cautiously, realizing the gate's chains had rusted away—it was barely hanging on.
The abandoned house looked eerie, especially in the dead of night. But Orwell's curiosity overpowered his fear. Having come this far, he had to find out what that old woman really was.
Orwell climbed over the iron gate and plunged into the grass. The weeds were so tall that he couldn't see anything once inside, but he heard strange rustling sounds followed by an eerie laugh.
He gulped, feeling frightened, but having come this far, he had no choice but to continue. He should have known better than to venture in alone.
Strangely, Orwell walked for what felt like ages yet remained trapped in the grass. The yard couldn't possibly be this big - it was impossible to walk for ten minutes without reaching the other side.
Fear began gripping Orwell. In desperation, he started running wildly, but to no avail - he remained trapped in the endless grass. He tried pulling at the weeds, but the more he pulled, the more seemed to grow. Jumping up, he hoped to see his surroundings, but the night was unnaturally dark. Even his phone's flashlight couldn't penetrate the darkness, as if the night itself was swallowing all light.
Finally breaking down, Orwell shouted: "You old hag! Come out! Stop playing tricks on me!"
No sooner had he spoken than a withered, wrinkled face appeared suddenly before him - deathly pale and leathery with age.
"Looking for me? Hehehe..."
Terrified, Orwell fell backward. Scrambling up, he ran like a madman but still couldn't escape.
Then Orwell remembered something old villagers used to say - this must be a ghost's maze!
In such situations, running is futile - victims typically exhaust themselves to death. But there was one method he could try: running with his eyes closed.
Shutting his eyes tight, Orwell screamed to bolster his courage and charged forward blindly. After about a minute, he crashed headfirst into the iron gate with a loud bang.
His heart leaped with joy. Opening his eyes, he found himself outside at last.
Now concerned only with escaping, Orwell fled without looking back, eventually returning to his internet cafe, panting heavily.
The next day, Orwell brought some people to investigate the area. Strangely, there was no abandoned house - just a dilapidated temple stood where the yard had been.
Horrified, Orwell decided to wash his hands of the matter. He hired several monks and Daoist priests, but the moment they saw the old woman, they turned and fled in terror before even entering, claiming their spiritual powers were insufficient to handle this. They hastily returned Orwell's money, refusing to be persuaded otherwise.
This was too sinister. Orwell had considered closing the internet cafe - business was already poor anyway. But yesterday, he'd heard about some ancient tattoo art in a group chat that could supposedly exorcise evil spirits and repel ghosts, with a "no results, no charge" policy. Out of curiosity and as a last resort, Orwell decided to try it, thinking "a drowning man will clutch at a straw." He found the address and came - if this didn't work, he'd just shut down the cafe for good!
Orwell's story was truly terrifying and filled with mysteries. What was that old woman's origin? Why did people who talked to her gradually waste away until they died? Why did she appear in the internet cafe? And what was that abandoned house really?
These questions left my mind blank - I couldn't think of what tattoo would suit Orwell's situation. There was another problem too: even if Orwell got tattooed, that wouldn't protect the internet cafe itself. The old woman might still appear and harm others when Orwell wasn't around.
Perhaps we should investigate first to understand what's really happening? Orwell's account was so bizarre it made me want to visit the internet cafe myself.
Stein suggested caution. He asked Orwell, "You said when you returned the next day, the yard and ruined house were gone, replaced by a broken temple. May I ask - what kind of temple was it?"
Orwell frowned in thought for several minutes before answering, "Now that I think about it, it seemed to be a Huang Daxian temple."
Huang Daxian? That's the Siberian weasel spirit!
Siberian weasels (also called Huang Daxian) are one of the "Five Great Immortals" in folk religion. Huang Daxian temples aren't uncommon in northern regions.
Orwell looked puzzled. "Why does that matter? A temple is just a temple - surely it can't be evil?"
Stein shook his head. "You're mistaken. Ordinary temples might be harmless, but a Siberian weasel's temple is extremely sinister. Perhaps that entire yard and ruined house were illusions created by the weasel spirit."
"A weasel spirit haunting the place? So that old woman... was actually a weasel?"