Director Luo's soft-spoken question cut through the quiet office, his tone disarmingly gentle for a man of his stature. "How can I help you, Xiao Chen?"
Uncle Xu jumped in, pulling Chen Ge forward. "Director, this is the brave Xiao Chen who helped the police nab the fugitive. He's here about the underground parking lot rental I mentioned. He wants to expand his Haunted House."
"I see." Luo's gaze flicked to Uncle Xu, calm but commanding. "Leave us, Xu. You've got work to do."
As Uncle Xu exited, Director Luo gestured to a sleek leather sofa, pouring two cups of tea with deliberate care. Steam curled from the cups, softening the room's sterile edges. "So, you want the underground parking lot. Mind sharing your plans?"
Chen Ge sat, the medal box still tucked under his arm, the black phone a heavy weight in his pocket. "I'm expanding the Haunted House—turning the parking lot into an underground maze. Something big, immersive."
Luo leaned back, his eyes heavy with fatigue yet sharp with scrutiny. "A maze is ambitious, but scale comes with costs. The rent's the least of it—construction, props, maintenance. Can you afford that? And if it fails, what then? Haunted House props aren't exactly resellable like hotel furniture."
Chen Ge nodded, unfazed. The black phone's missions guaranteed scenarios that drew crowds; failure wasn't a concern. But Luo's next words hit harder.
"Even if you succeed, how do you keep customers coming back? Haunted Houses burn through their appeal fast—once the scare's gone, so's the hype. Your pool of thrill-seekers is finite. Can you recoup your investment?" Luo sipped his tea, his gaze unrelenting. "And the big one: this park's on shaky ground. Visitor numbers are plummeting. If New Century closes, your Haunted House dies with it. Relocating's a nightmare—permits, costs, finding a space that fits. Have you thought this through?"
Luo's questions were kind but piercing, each one a hurdle Chen Ge hadn't fully mapped out. The first two—budget and repeat customers—felt manageable with the black phone's supernatural edge, its missions promising ever-evolving terrors. But the park closing? That was a gut punch. Relocating the Haunted House, with its spectral ties to the black phone's scenarios, would be like uprooting a cursed tree—roots too deep, too tangled. And his parents' disappearance was tied to this place; abandoning it wasn't an option.
Luo watched him, expectant. "You've got answers for those?"
Chen Ge stayed rooted to the sofa, his mind racing. The chill in his eyes—Zhang Ya's lingering mark—flared, as if urging him to push forward. He met Luo's gaze, his voice steady despite the stakes. "Is the park really closing soon?"
Luo's expression flickered, a mix of surprise and respect at Chen Ge's directness. He set his teacup down, fingers steepled. "Nothing's set in stone, but the numbers don't lie. Attendance is down, and investors are restless. I'm fighting to keep it open, but it's a battle. If you're banking on this park for your Haunted House's survival, you're gambling big."
Chen Ge's jaw tightened. The black phone vibrated faintly in his pocket, a reminder of Zhang Ya's "Yours forever" vow and the School of the Afterlife missions waiting to be unlocked. This wasn't just about profit—it was about answers, about his parents, about surviving the spectral gauntlet he'd been thrust into. "I understand the risks," he said, leaning forward. "But the Haunted House is more than a business. It's… personal. I need that parking lot, Director. Name your price."
Luo studied him, the room silent save for the distant hum of the park outside. The weight of Zhang Ya's presence, her crimson allure and deadly whims, seemed to hover in the air, a silent partner in Chen Ge's resolve. Whatever Luo's answer, Chen Ge knew the real challenge lay ahead—not just in securing the space, but in facing the horrors the black phone would unleash, with Zhang Ya's touch—both salvation and torment—binding him to a path where every victory was a dance with death.
Director Luo's eyes, heavy with exhaustion, held Chen Ge's gaze, neither confirming nor denying the park's fate. "If I told you New Century Park is closing soon, would you still push for the underground parking lot?"
"Absolutely," Chen Ge said without hesitation, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. "Director Luo, I've got answers for your first two questions—budget and repeat customers. The third? It's irrelevant. My Haunted House doesn't lean on the park's traffic. Give me time, and I'll not only pack my attraction with visitors, I'll drag this whole park back from the brink. The underground maze is just the start. I'm building the world's first horror-themed park—unique, unmatched, a magnet for thrill-seekers."
The words spilled out, bold and unfiltered, fueled by the fire in his chest. Too late, he recalled Uncle Xu's warning—say less, avoid mistakes—and a flicker of doubt crossed his face. Did I just overplay my hand? He studied Luo, expecting skepticism, but the older man set down his teacup, the weariness in his eyes replaced by a spark of intrigue.
After a long pause, Luo chuckled, a low, warm sound. "You remind me of myself at your age—brash, dreaming big." He rose, crossing to the window and pulling back the curtain. The sprawling view of New Century Park stretched below—Ferris wheel still, rides quiet, a fading kingdom. "This park's my heart. Its closure hurts me more than anyone. If I could, I'd keep it open forever."
Turning, Luo's smile was layered—resigned yet defiant, a man who'd weathered fate's cruel twists. "I know your story, Xiao Chen. After your parents vanished, you left a steady job to run their Haunted House. We're not so different, you and I. But you've got something I didn't—luck, or maybe grit."
He lifted a framed photo from his desk, the only one in the room. It showed a younger Luo, gentle and unassuming, cradling a small girl. Her face was bright, her smile radiant despite twisted hands and lifeless eyes. "My daughter," Luo said softly. "Born with severe aphasia, barely able to stand without help. God wasn't kind, but she was fearless, always smiling—for me, for the world. Yet the world didn't return her warmth. Kids shunned her in the park; she'd look to me, scared she'd done something wrong. I couldn't ease that pain, so I took her out only on rainy days, away from judging eyes. That's when I dreamed of building her a park where she'd belong."
His voice wavered, but his gaze stayed steady. "She didn't live to see it open." He set the frame down, his calm unshaken. "People ask why I'd bankrupt myself for an outdated park. I think you, of all people, understand."
"I do," Chen Ge said, standing now, his throat tight. He hadn't expected Luo to bare his soul, to reveal a wound so raw. The parallel to his own loss—his parents' disappearance, the Haunted House as their legacy—hit hard.
"Everyone's looking for an exit strategy," Luo continued, crossing to his desk. "But you're charging forward. That's rare." He pulled a document from a drawer, sliding it across to Chen Ge. "When Xu brought your request, I'd already approved it. Take it. The parking lot's yours. But know this—you've got two, maybe three months before the park's fate is sealed. If you need help, come to me."