Chapter Six: The Announcer's Voice

Xu Jingkai stealthily approached the door of Live Room No. 3. When he tried to push it open, he found it locked tight, and he couldn’t help but snort in frustration, his beard bristling with anger. He paused for a moment, glanced up and down the corridor to make sure no one was around, then hurriedly pressed his ear to the door, trying to catch any sounds from inside.

But this posture was uncomfortable, especially for a man nearing forty whose body was no longer robust. After less than a minute of eavesdropping—without gleaning anything of substance—his waist began to ache, and he couldn’t straighten up. He was tempted to knock, but recalling his usual strained relationship with Liao Yuan, he spat in annoyance and walked away.

It was close to ten at night, and most colleagues in the office had already gone home. Xu Jingkai gathered his papers, grabbed a quick bowl of wontons at a roadside stall, and returned home humming a tune. His wife and child were away visiting family, leaving him alone as usual. When he switched on the lights and gazed at the silent living room, he was struck by a sudden sense of loneliness.

After washing up, he lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. His mind wandered back to the discussions among his colleagues about "Ghost Blowing the Lantern."

“Is it really that good?”

His heart itched with curiosity, as if thousands of ants were crawling inside him. Glancing at the clock, he realized midnight had come. He immediately fished out his phone, opened the FM radio app, tuned in to his station, and began to listen quietly.

“…The lakebed was dim, but the firelight above cast enough illumination to barely see the environment a dozen meters underwater. In the depths, countless large fish moved slowly. These were unlike any I’d seen before—their whiskers were extremely long, resembling salmon. Living in darkness, their eyes had degenerated, leaving only two white dots…”

Xu Jingkai listened for a while, but lacking context, he was a bit confused; yet this didn’t stop him from seeing Liao Yuan in a new light. The voice was indeed Liao Yuan’s, but it sounded completely different—like he’d become someone else. His broadcasting skill was now comparable to the station’s most popular hosts, even surpassing them in creating atmosphere.

“Is this really Liao Yuan?” Xu Jingkai wondered, his skepticism growing. The contrast was stark; Liao Yuan’s broadcasting abilities had skyrocketed as if riding a rocket.

Now wide awake, Xu Jingkai kept listening. The bewildering passages gave way to new tales, gradually drawing him into mysterious scenes.

“In 1969, due to international circumstances, my unit was dispatched deep into the Kunlun Mountains for construction. The harsh environment slowed progress far beyond expectations. Over three years, dozens of comrades lost their lives on site, and the military facility we were building was only two-thirds complete…”

Xu Jingkai was stunned. 1969?

Liao Yuan is only twenty-five this year, isn’t he? How could he know about things from fifty years ago?

He held his breath and listened on. When Hu Bayi and Wang Kaixuan, urged by Da Jin Ya, prepared to go tomb raiding in the remote valley where educated youth were sent during the countryside movement, Xu Jingkai was completely immersed in the story.

Time slipped by unnoticed.

“…The hunting dogs clustered around the pony, barking furiously, as if they’d seen something terrifying. Their cries were full of restless anxiety. Ordinarily, horses and dogs are friends—the pony certainly wasn’t bitten by the dogs. What kind of wild beast could have done this? Three giant mastiffs and five hunting dogs surrounded it, yet none had caught the culprit. Looking around, there were no tracks of any beast, only the deserted mountains, the wind rustling the leaves in the forest. Our palms, gripping the shotguns, were slick with cold sweat…”

Liao Yuan’s tempo, alternating between slow and rapid, made Xu Jingkai’s nerves taut. His back chilled, his mouth dry; he turned on the bedside lamp, picked up his phone, and got out of bed to pour a drink.

After finishing his water, he swiftly climbed back into bed.

His mind was now blank; the gripping, suspenseful plot had seized all his attention. This middle-aged man, nearly forty, sat on his bed clutching his pillow, staring dazedly, listening to the voice from his phone.

“…We crawled into one of the huts and found many animal skins inside. In the corner, there were indeed three corpses. Overly decomposed, their flesh had turned black, muscles almost gone, skin shriveled, and maggots and ants crawled in and out of their eye sockets and nostrils…”

The voice in his ear conjured vivid images in his mind, like a movie playing out, completely enchanting him—his mood rising and falling with the story.

“That’s all for tonight. To find out what happens next, tune in tomorrow at the same time. This is FM107.7 bringing you the midnight program ‘Strange Tales of the World: Ghost Blowing the Lantern.’ I am your host, A Yuan.”

What?

It’s over?

Xu Jingkai came back to himself and looked at the clock—it was already two in the morning…

He let out a long sigh, stared at the phone screen, and drifted off in thought.

Almost at the same moment, in an apartment in Donghai City, Mi Maodian also exhaled deeply.

“Tomb raiding! It’s a tomb raiding theme!”

Mi Maodian’s gaze was complicated as he closed the FM app on his phone.

When he heard the new company’s midnight slot had suddenly surged in listenership, he’d sensed something was amiss. He knew his own abilities; even though he was recognized as the king of midnight radio in Donghai City, it was impossible for mere rumors to prompt listeners to flock from Baoshan Radio to Donghai Radio before he even started his new job.

After all, it was a fourfold increase!

Mi Maodian believed that if he could achieve such results on his first day, it would be cause for celebration. Midnight slots, after all, cannot compare to prime time noon or morning shows; the gap is enormous. No matter how skilled he was, his new show, “Late Night Strange Talk,” could never rival prime time programs.

So, beating all non-prime time shows was his biggest goal upon joining the new company.

And Liao Yuan had achieved that ahead of him…

Mi Maodian suddenly felt anxious.

He had listened to “Strange Tales of the World” before; he remembered Liao Yuan’s broadcasting accent was heavy—he often forced his throat and exaggerated his lips, making his tongue stiff and his voice overly thick.

But tonight’s performance completely overturned Mi Maodian’s impression of Liao Yuan.

In the radio world, hosts with a broadcasting accent are often mocked. Broadcasting accent is taboo—though it sounds grand, like the national news, radio and news are different fields. Using a news-style accent to narrate radio stories is considered foolish by professionals.

Once, Liao Yuan was the epitome of this style.

But now…

Everything had changed!

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These days have been busy with contract signing and moving; here’s one update for now. Apologies, apologies—no backlog of drafts, sigh…