Thud, thud, thud.
Hearing the knocking from outside the door, Shen Ji, frozen in the bathroom, suddenly snapped back to consciousness.
Three knocks against the door panel, neither heavy nor light. Yet the steady rhythm exploded like thunder out of nowhere, making Shen Ji’s hair stand on end.
His gaze, which had fallen into the bathtub, flicked away instantly, his eyes dropping sharply, unfocused. In his pupils, the sight of his wet palms ignited a burning pain, as if gnawed by countless insects, fear spreading densely until it threatened to consume his entire arm.
He quickly twisted the faucet open, thrusting his hands under the stream. Water carrying dirt gathered at the bottom of the sink, filling it again and again before rushing endlessly into the drain.
He scrubbed his palms and forearms hard, then lifted his head to the mirror. Beneath his disheveled fringe, a pair of pitch-black eyes stared back. His own reflection returns a gloomy stare back.
Thud, thud, thud.
The knocking sounded again, repeating the same rhythm and the same intensity.
Shen Ji’s heart trembled violently; each knock struck against his chest, splitting his courage apart.
There is someone outside!
The oppressive weight of reality made him almost unable to believe it.
Forcing down the churn in his stomach, he bit his lip, refusing to think of the nightmare of blood-fed flowers. His face turned deathly pale, as though the mere thought of it would bring misfortune.
Thud, thud, thud.
The knocking continued, its unhurried tempo pressing against his taut nerves, splitting into a dull sawing pain that forced Shen Ji back into composure.
He stepped out of the bathroom barefooted, shut the door, opened the tightly closed front door. His expression was governed by gloom and coldness, so rigid it reminded him of that nightmare.
The uninvited guest looked slightly surprised, then quickly replaced it with a practiced smile. “Hello, I’m Jiang Chen. I just moved in next door. From now on, we’re neighbors. Please take care of me.”
Shen Ji’s eyes nearly tore apart, staring at this intruder’s face with more terror than if he had seen a corpse. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. His body retreated back uncontrollably.
The guest entered without invitation, walking in rudely. Turning back to the frozen Shen Ji at the doorway, his expression seemed entirely harmless and innocent. “Ah, I didn’t disturb you, did I? I’m really sorry.”
He lifted the round box in his hands, smiling. “I wasn’t sure what to prepare for our first greeting. This is a small gift. I hope you’ll accept it.”
Shen Ji didn’t even glance at the gift. His eyes dropped to the shadow on the floor, his body pressed against the doorframe, as though intent on guarding against the possibility that it might suddenly leaping up. Yet the guest was standing there, calm as can be.
A thought popped into his head. Resurrection. If this wasn’t a dream, then what was it? A wandering ghost?
Shen Ji’s vision spun, shifting between the nightmare’s blurry features and ghostly faces. He clutched the doorframe, his other hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into flesh without realizing.
Pain finally pulled him back to reason, only to see that face magnified before him, vivid and alive: “Are you unwell? You don’t look good. Do you need help?”
Instinctively, Shen Ji pushed him away, breath faltering. “…No need.”
He used all his strength, though to others it was merely a weak lift of his arm, a refusal so feeble it seemed meaningless.
The guest noticed the blood marks in his palm, surprised. “You’re bleeding!” He grabbed Shen Ji’s hand, heading toward the bathroom.
Shen Ji reflexively shook him off, as if burned, pain prickling across his palm.
“I’m sorry if I scared you, I—”
His apologetic voice was cut off by Shen Ji’s cold dismissal: “Leave.”
The guest froze, deeply frustrated, unable to understand what he had done wrong to anger him. His mood sank. “Sorry.”
Shen Ji dared not look at him again, forcing himself to stand despite the fear.
Suddenly, a pair of men’s shoes appeared beside his toes, blocking him on both sides. From above came a piercing sense of oppression, like a beast descending, bringing unspeakable menace.
Shen Ji’s heartbeat pounded, his mind blank, leaving only one thought: He’s angry!
Yet the expected punishment never came. Instead, the voice which sounded eerie from his nightmares clung to him: “Teacher is a novelist, right? If your hand is injured, that won’t be good.”
Shen Ji snapped his head up, but he was no longer in the nightmare, and there was only the familiar bathroom door.
Two hands pierced through the fog of darkness, landing firmly on his shoulders. Behind him, the haunting voice whispered again: “Go wash up. I’ll leave the rest to teacher.”
The soft closing of the door echoed in the small room, as though a taboo was lifted. Time, once frozen, staggered forward.
In his mind, the guest’s last words lingered.
“The rest”? The rest of what?
He rushed into the bathroom, vomiting painfully. Having eaten nothing all day, the sour taste tore at his throat, nearly hollowing out his stomach.
Shen Ji’s dazed gaze suddenly froze, his eyes widening.
Something was gone!
He dashed to the bathtub, plunging his hands into the water, searching desperately. But the small tub had no place to hide anything.
He scoured the entire bathroom, found nothing. Unwilling to give up, he searched the whole house: closet, under the bed, behind the curtains. Nothing. Even the kitchen pots held nothing. Even worse was that a knife was also missing.
Thick curtains blocked all sight and light. Shen Ji stood helpless in the center of the room, his gaze habitually lowered, black eyes darting in terror, racing through solutions at an unimaginable speed.
His subconscious screamed he had to hurry, or something terrifying would happen. But his mind seemed broken. No matter how hard it ran, no answers came.
How could this be? Shen Ji yanked at his hair, thoughts clashing chaotically, countless fragments surging from the sea of memory. His ears roared, as though hearing chains snap.
His body stayed still, but his eyes shifted quietly, sneaking a glance at something.
In the corner, a refrigerator stood silently.
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