In the distance, a dilapidated factory stood alone, its silhouette looming against the darkness. It stood silently as if a giant devil crouching in wait for its prey to arrive.,The wind mingled with the rain, whistling through empty spaces in a way that felt eerily haunting. It was easy to imagine oneself on a horror film set. Yu Xing felt like she was living in one, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the umbrella handle, her face as pale as a ghost.,The process is clichéd, just like a low-quality horror novel, and the talk is full of unfounded urban legends—usually made up by marketing accounts for traffic, with extremely low credibility.。