Chapter 1

On Lunar New Year’s Eve in 2005, I watched my parents being brutally murdered.

Firecrackers drowned their cries for help. The splashes of blood were brighter than the red couplets beside our door.

While the killer was distracted, Mom hid me in the wardrobe. That was how I survived.

For twenty years, I dreamed of that scene more times than I could count.

Tonight, I returned to the crime scene.

But this time, it wasn’t a dream.

Nor had I been reborn.

1

Deafening firecrackers penetrated the wardrobe door and woke me.

I pushed it open, crawled out, and saw my parents’ bodies again.

The killer was gone. Terrifying smears of blood were everywhere.

I had relived this nightmare for twenty years.

Then I happened to glance at the full-length mirror in the corner.

My eyes widened.

Why was the woman in the mirror my twenty-five-year-old self?

Wasn’t I supposed to be five in this nightmare?

2

The firecrackers outside gradually subsided. I decided to examine my parents’ bodies.

A shrill ringing suddenly broke the silence.

Our old landline sat on the living-room coffee table. Carefully skirting a pool of blood, I pressed the speakerphone button.

“Hello?”

“Oh, is that little Na? Happy New Year!”

I knew that voice.

It was my father’s younger brother, Gu Erhai.

But Uncle Erhai had been dead for ten years.

3

“It’s me. Happy New Year, Uncle.”

I deliberately pitched my voice, trying my best to sound five.

He noticed nothing wrong.

“Little Na, I’ve borrowed a car. After the holiday, I’ll drive your parents to the provincial capital to claim their lottery prize!”

A lottery prize?

Had my parents been killed because they won the lottery?

I agreed and hung up without telling him they were dead.

If the murders really stemmed from a winning ticket, perhaps he had accidentally let the news slip while borrowing a car.

Or…

Was he the one behind the massacre?

The more I thought, the more frightened I became. I pressed the speakerphone button again and dialed 110.

“Emergency services. Please tell us what happened.”

I lowered my voice.

“Help! My name is Gu Na. My parents have just been murdered! Please send someone immediately!”

The operator took down the address, told me to stay safe, and said officers were on their way.

Glass shattered behind me.

A brick had smashed the rear window.

A black-clad figure climbed through, swinging a woodcutting axe. Its cold blade came straight for my head.

4

I screamed and stumbled backward. The axe skimmed my nose and struck the coffee table.

“Gu Na, what happened?” the operator asked urgently.

“Help! The killer’s back! He wants to kill me! Hurry—”

Before I finished, the man ripped out the telephone cord.

The operator’s voice vanished.

Raising the axe, he advanced step by step.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the entrance hall. Two figures rushed inside.

“Freeze! Police! Put down your weapon!”

The man glanced at them, leaped onto the windowsill, and disappeared into the night.

One officer pursued him, calling for backup over his radio.

The other approached and showed me his identification.

“Hello. I’m Zhou Li, from Tailuowan Police Station. Are you hurt?”

I nodded, but for some reason blurted out, “Officer Zhou, what year is it? What’s today’s date?”

He looked at me strangely.

“February 8, 2005. Lunar New Year’s Eve.”

5

As the adrenaline ebbed, exhaustion swept over me.

Officer Zhou supported my buckling legs, helped me out of the little courtyard, and settled me in his patrol car.

It was an old Santana, painted in the familiar police colors I had seen in television dramas.

It seemed I really had traveled back to 2005.

Through the window, I watched New Year streets both familiar and strange.

Red couplets decorated every home. Now and then, children ran outside to set off firecrackers.

This was my hometown, a small seaside town called Tailuowan.

The car drove straight to the station. I followed Officer Zhou out.

Suddenly, I felt a peculiar discomfort, as though someone were staring at me.

But when I looked around, no one was there.

He took me to an interview room and poured me hot water.

“The city bureau has sent people. They’re examining the scene now. Let’s take your statement first. Don’t worry—we won’t let the killer escape!”

I managed a perfunctory smile.

The case had remained unsolved from 2005 all the way to 2025.

In 2005, Gu Na was only five. I was in my twenty-five-year-old body.

So I borrowed my cousin Gu Ying’s identity and gave my statement.

Officer Zhou suspected nothing. That eased my mind a little.

Passing the duty room, I saw two officers watching the Spring Festival Gala.

On the television, Huang Dachui swung a huge hammer at a wall, chanting, “Eighty! Eighty!” in time with the blows.

The officers laughed as they ate dumplings.

I grew ever more certain I had traveled to 2005.

6

Leaving the station, I felt deeply conflicted.

I wandered aimlessly, wondering where I could sleep.

Home was a murder scene. I certainly couldn’t spend the night there.

A nearby guesthouse was open, but I had no money for a room.

After thinking it over, I decided to go home once more.

Surely it would be all right to explain to the officers examining the scene and take a little cash for a room?

After a long walk, I reached our familiar courtyard.

To my astonishment, it was deserted.

Where were the police?

Again came that unpleasant feeling of being watched.

I pressed my back to the wall and looked around carefully for a long time. Still no one.

Was I imagining it?

I took several deep breaths and stepped across the police tape.

A lone mortuary van stood before me.

There was no driver. Its rear doors were open, revealing the corner of a body bag.

Beside it stood a flat trolley with another body bag on top.

At the thought of my parents inside those bags, my nose stung and tears spilled down my face.

Skirting the numbered evidence markers, I made my way into the kitchen, opened the rice jar, and found the mooncake tin where Dad kept cash.

Inside lay twenty or thirty hundred-yuan notes.

I stared at the four great leaders printed on them. Then I remembered: it was 2005. The red “Grandpa Mao” notes had not yet been issued.

Afraid the returning police might interpret missing cash as evidence of robbery, I took only five notes.

I put the money away and replaced the tin in the rice jar.

At that instant, the sensation of being watched returned.

Clenching my fists, ready to strike whoever was following me, I spun around.

My eyes flew wide.

The scream I had suppressed all night finally tore from my throat.

The body bag from the courtyard was standing directly behind me.

I fell to the floor in terror and scrambled backward on hands and feet.

But the bag did not move. It simply stood there. Nothing else in the kitchen seemed wrong.

I fought the urge to leap out of the window and flee, breathing deeply to force myself calm.

Holding the stove for support, I struggled upright. Then I summoned my courage, approached, and unzipped the bag.

The body inside was indeed Dad’s.

Perhaps because he had lost so much blood, his face was unnaturally pale. A chill seemed to come from him that did not belong to the living.

His thick brows, long lashes, high nose—everything was exactly as I remembered.

I touched his face. His body had begun to stiffen.

Yet bewilderment outweighed even my grief.

Why was his body standing here?

Corpses couldn’t walk. Someone must have moved this bag.

My scalp prickled.

I edged around it and hurried into the courtyard.

A chance glance toward the van nearly made me scream again.

The other body bag was slowly sitting up.

Fear consumed all reason.

Run.

By the time I recovered my senses, I was already hurtling down the road.

Only near the police station did I feel a little safer.

The guesthouse was called Tianshun. Red couplets framed its door, and lights shone brightly inside.

After checking repeatedly that no one had followed, I pushed inside, panting.

“Happy New Year, young lady. Looking for a room?”

An old but kindly voice came from behind the counter.

7

Tianshun’s proprietor was a woman in her seventies.

Yawning, she led me upstairs to a room.

“Twenty yuan for the room. Ten for the deposit.”

It was reasonably clean, with tidy bedding and a private bathroom. A red landline stood on the bedside cabinet.

I handed her a hundred-yuan note.

“I’ll stay two days for now. You can give me the change when I check out.”

She accepted it with a smile and left.

I washed quickly and lay down fully clothed.

At last, a night of terror had ended.

Exhaustion filled every limb, yet I couldn’t sleep.

After tossing and turning for a long time, I sat up, switched on the television in the corner, and began watching the gala too.

My gaze fell on the bedside phone.

An idea occurred to me.

Childhood trauma had haunted me all my life. I regularly visited a counseling center for treatment.

My therapist was Tian Mu, an experienced psychologist.

He had helped me emerge from the shadow of losing both parents and had changed my life completely.

So many happy memories belonged to that rose-scented consulting room.

The last time I went for hypnotherapy, the center was celebrating its thirtieth anniversary.

Which meant it had already been operating for ten years in 2005.

I muted the television, picked up the receiver, and dialed.

“Happy New Year! Tianmu Counseling Center. How can we help?”

The duty clinician’s gentle voice immediately soothed me.

“Hello. Do you have a therapist surnamed Tian?”

“Yes. Would you like an appointment with Mr. Tian?”

I certainly would, but the center was in the provincial capital, hundreds of kilometers from Tailuowan.

“I’m sorry, I’m out of town. Could you give me his contact details? I’ll call him after daybreak.”

He readily dictated a number, then asked, “If you don’t mind, could you give me your name? We need it for our consultation register.”

Without much thought, I gave my real name.

“Of course. I’m Gu Na, twenty-five.”

His voice suddenly brightened with surprise.

“Miss Gu! It’s you!”

I froze.

“Sorry, do you know me?”

He chuckled.

“Of course. You attended our thirtieth-anniversary celebration. Mr. Tian introduced you. I remember.”

His words struck like lightning.

Thirty years?

A longtime client?

Hadn’t I traveled back to 2005?

Could it be…

My thoughts shifted in an instant, converging on a terrifying possibility.

“I…”

The line abruptly went dead.

Almost simultaneously, heavy knocking hammered against my eardrums.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

8

I quickly replaced the receiver, steadied myself, and asked as though I had just woken, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, dear.”

The guesthouse owner.

Relieved, I opened the door. She stood outside, regarding me strangely.

“Hello. Is something wrong?”

She forced a smile.

“I’m sorry, dear. The guest next door complained that you keep muttering to yourself. It’s rather loud, and they can’t sleep.

“The soundproofing isn’t very good here. Please bear with us. I’ll halve tonight’s room charge.”

Strange.

I distinctly remembered speaking quietly. Even wooden partitions couldn’t be that poor at blocking sound.

And if the neighbor had heard, why not knock and ask me directly? Why make the old lady come up?

Remembering my earlier suspicion, I felt more frightened still.

“I’m sorry. I was making a phone call. Perhaps I spoke a little loudly.”

I pointed to the landline.

Her eyes widened. Pushing past me, she lifted it in both hands and pointed to its empty cord socket.

“Don’t frighten an old woman, dear. It isn’t even connected. How could you make a call?”

I stood stunned.

Not connected?

Then how had I called anyone?

Was I really hallucinating?

After a few vague words, I saw her out and immediately snatched up the receiver.

No matter what I tried, I could not dial out.

At last daylight came. With dark circles beneath my eyes, I hurried downstairs to borrow a phone.

The old lady must have gone to bed. An elderly man in reading glasses sat behind the counter, listening to Huangmei opera on the radio.

“Hello. I’d like to make a call.”

Without looking up, he pointed to the public telephone on the wall.

“Help yourself. Half a yuan a minute.”