Chapter 22

Taoist priest Wen Yuan never stayed long whenever he visited; he always arrived in a flurry and left in a rush. This time was no exception; shortly after finishing their conversation about Qing Yao, he stood up to depart.

"I have matters to attend to. We shall meet again next month."

The two demons did not actually dislike him as much as they used to, but their tongues remained sharp. "You’d best not come next month; you aren't welcome here."

"Hahaha, as long as Qing Yao welcomes me, that’s all that matters. Isn't that right, Qing Yao? You like your uncle, don't you?" Taoist Wen Yuan picked up Qing Yao and kissed her.

Qing Yao reached out to block his face, her whole body resisting as she tried to get down to continue playing.

Hu Yuanfei tutted. "See? Even Qing Yao doesn't welcome you. Besides, you're already quite old by human standards—how can you have the nerve to let Qing Yao call you 'uncle'? I think calling you 'grandfather' would be more appropriate."

Taoist Wen Yuan, only forty and in his prime, immediately darkened. He took great care of his appearance and was often complimented on his youthful looks; no child had ever dared call him grandfather.

The two demons, as if knowing exactly where to strike, immediately picked up Qing Yao and urged her to call him grandfather.

Taoist Wen Yuan left, stomping his feet in frustration. "I am never coming back here again!"

"Hahahaha!" The two demons laughed with immense delight.

By evening, the rain had turned completely into snow, and the damp ground was finally blanketed in white. The entire residential complex was quiet, as people had long since retreated into their blankets in such weather.

In another complex far from Happy Heights, a domestic drama was unfolding.

The Li family, having retrieved their dog, decided to move out that very day. They rented a new place with lightning speed and, despite the rain, were busily packing their belongings. They had reached the point where they could barely look at their neighbors without wanting to spit on them, but upon hearing they were leaving, the neighbor’s sullen expression instantly lifted, feeling victorious in this war.

Wang Hongying, feeling she had won the battle, returned home, but her excitement vanished the moment she saw her son. Ever since he returned yesterday, Wu Zijie had been sullen and irritable. When she nagged him, he had roared at her to shut up, frightening her into silence for a long time. She could be fierce to the world, but she was intimidated by her angry son.

She had hoped he would be better after a night’s sleep, but he seemed even worse today. He was pale and unsteady on his feet, as if he were suffering from nightmares or illness. He sleepwalked into the bathroom to splash his face with water, but the moment he saw the water, he recoiled as if burned, letting out a scream.

"Ah!"

Wang Hongying, in the living room, rushed in, startled. "What is it? Why do you look so terrible today? Are you sick?" She reached out to touch his forehead.

Before her hand could make contact, he violently shoved her away. Pale-faced, Wu Zijie charged past her and ran outside, yelling at her to get lost. Wang Hongying’s back slammed into the wall, and the pain left her unable to straighten up for a long time.

She rubbed her back and limped out to look at the front door. "That wretched child, what is wrong with him now?"

It had been raining since mid-morning, and Wu Zijie hadn't returned by noon. Since he usually ate out without a word and had money in his pocket, Wang Hongying didn't pay it much mind. But by afternoon, when the ground was white with snow and he still hadn't returned, she began to feel uneasy. She searched the neighborhood and the places he frequented, but found no sign of him. Her heart sank as the sky grew darker.

Could something have happened?

When her husband returned from work and heard their son had been gone all day, his first reaction was anger, but he soon grew anxious. They split up to search. Few people were out, and since everyone despised their family, those they asked simply shook their heads and walked away.

Wang Hongying took out her phone to call the police, but before she could dial, Wu Zijie appeared behind them, eerily silent. His hair was covered in snow, and his face was as pale and lifeless as the flakes.

Wang Hongying, a mix of anger and worry, grabbed him to ask where he had been, but Wu Zijie ignored her and walked straight ahead. He locked himself in his room, giving Wang Hongying no chance to ask questions. Even when his father returned and hammered on the door, it remained deathly silent.

"What do you think is going on?" Wang Hongying asked.

Her husband replied impatiently, "Who knows what madness he's up to? A waste of my time. Let him do whatever he wants." With that, he went to the bathroom to shower. Wang Hongying grumbled, but receiving no response, she retreated to the kitchen. As long as he was back, it was fine.

Inside his room, Wu Zijie curled up in his blankets, shivering. He covered his ears, but a voice kept drilling into his head. "Save me, I'm so uncomfortable, save me."

The voice was familiar—so familiar that Wu Zijie often found himself haunted by it.

He sat up abruptly and swung his pillow wildly. "Go away! Get out! I'll kill you, I'll kill you!"

But the voice persisted, and a cold, chilling sensation coiled around his neck, making him miserable. He scrambled back under the covers.

"I was wrong, I was wrong, don't come after me."

"Brother, aren't you happy I came to play with you? Let's go to the river. Why did you leave? Why did you leave? Speak to me!" The voice was cold and sticky. An invisible force covered his nose and mouth, making it hard to breathe.

Wu Zijie gasped, clawing at his face to tear the invisible thing away, but it was useless. The air in his lungs grew thin, his face flushed red, and his brain swam with dizziness and suffocation. Suddenly, the pressure vanished, and he collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air.

***

In an apartment on the other side of the hallway, Tang Qianran clutched her stomach in discomfort. The baby had been kicking violently these past few days, and every movement felt as if her skin might tear. Her pregnancy was becoming increasingly difficult, and her anxiety grew with it, especially with the lingering pain from the bump she had sustained the day before.

Tang Qianran clutched her stomach, tears welling in her eyes. Her husband, Han Ming, knelt beside her, gently stroking her belly. "Be good, little one, don't fuss at Mommy."

Tang Qianran wiped her tears. "If only Da Bao were still here. I wonder how he is? I wonder if he’s been born into a good family?"

Han Ming was silent for a moment. "He will be. He was so sweet and cute; surely, many people love him."

"But I love him so much, too." Tang Qianran’s tears fell uncontrollably.

Their eldest son had drowned accidentally at the age of seven. He had been a clever, sweet child—the pride of their lives. After he was gone, Tang Qianran had spent two years trapped in grief, unable to work or live normally. It was only after she became pregnant again that her mental state began to improve, though she still fell into bouts of sorrow over the previous child.

Han Ming held her in his arms. Tang Qianran stroked her belly and suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of peace, as if her eldest son were leaning against her. It was a marvelous feeling; she could almost sense tiny hands touching her stomach.

"Do you feel that?" she asked Han Ming, surprised. "It’s like Tongtong is touching my belly. Is he here with me?"

Han Ming’s brow furrowed slightly, but he smoothed it out and smiled. "Maybe he thinks you’re working too hard and came to check on you."

After coaxing his wife to sleep, Han Ming sighed and walked to the balcony to make a call.

"...I think her condition is getting worse. She keeps saying Tongtong is back, that he sleeps with her at night and whispers in her ear, calling her 'Mommy.' This started about a month ago. I took her for a check-up, but there was nothing unusual. When we were leaving, she mentioned we used to take Tongtong to the pediatrics department at that hospital, so we walked through it and went home. Nothing special happened. She was calm then, no crying, and she even ate more that day. But since then, she’s insisted he’s around. I don't feel anything, though."

"...No, no other erratic behavior. Okay, I’ll keep an eye on her and spend more time with her. Thank you, Dr. Lin."

Han Ming stood on the balcony for a while. The cold night wind made him shiver, and suddenly, a thought struck him: Could it be that his wife wasn't having a mental breakdown, but that she had truly encountered a ghost?

He shook the thought away—there were no ghosts in this world. Though he longed to see his son again, it was impossible. One shouldn't harbor such delusions.

Han Ming patted his face and went inside. In the living room, a small, invisible figure sat on the sofa, looking at his father. Unlike before, his form was faintly tinged with red.

As Han Ming entered, he felt a chill in the room. He checked the heater—it was still on. Perhaps there was a problem with it; he would need to report it tomorrow.

The dark shadow walked over to him, placing a small hand into his, and nuzzled his hand with its head, seemingly filled with longing. Then, it let go, passed through the wall, and vanished into the neighboring apartment.

Deep in the night, some dreamt beautiful dreams, while others were lost in nightmares.