Ten minutes later.

In the dim corridor, the door opened.

Qin Nuo walked out with a calm expression, glancing at the mountain-cleaving knife in his hand, its tip dripping with fresh blood.

He touched the blood with his fingers, rubbed it, and raised an eyebrow: "When I stabbed that doll, it was full of cotton, yet it bled. Is it a doll possessed by a soul, or is it a ghost itself?"