Chapter 1
Edward Quan ·
I'd been missing for six months. Everyone thought I was dead.
Everyone except my mother.
She searched the road where I'd vanished, from morning until night, from summer deep into winter.
I couldn't move. I could only watch her pass me, again and again.
On Lunar New Year's Eve, snow filled the sky beneath dazzling fireworks. My mother sat under the eaves of a crumbling tile-roofed house, chewing cold dumplings mixed with chips of ice.
Then the door opened. A long-haired, middle-aged man stepped out with a welcoming smile.
“Come inside and warm yourself for a while.”
Hidden in his sleeve was a sharp knife.
1
My mother followed him inside.
There was no fire. It could hardly be called warm, but at least she was out of the wind that chilled her to the bone.
Rubbing her chilblained hands, she thanked him again and again.
He brought her a chair so rickety it looked ready to collapse, brushed away dust that wasn't there, and spoke warmly.
“Sit down and rest. No one usually comes here. It's a little dirty, a little untidy. Don't mind it.
“But it's New Year's Eve. A time for family reunions. Why aren't you at home celebrating?”
My mother sighed.
“My daughter disappeared on this road six months ago.
“My parents died long ago. My husband fell ill and passed away young. I only have one daughter. Now she's missing too.
“If I can't find her, what home do I have to return to?”
The long-haired man sighed sympathetically.
At the corner of his mouth, a secret, satisfied smile appeared.
2
Six months earlier, I'd been cycling alone along this road.
It was far from the city, with few people about. Apart from the occasional passing truck, there was almost no one.
As I reached this crumbling house, I saw a long-haired man lying on the ground. I couldn't tell whether he was alive.
I stopped at once and crouched beside him. With one hand I checked his breathing; with the other I took out my phone to call an ambulance.
Before I could dial, he seized my wrist and clamped a damp handkerchief over my mouth and nose.
I lost consciousness immediately.
Now my mother, searching for me, had unwittingly entered this devil's territory.
Knowing nothing of it, she took out my photograph and offered it to him.
“This is my daughter. Have you seen her?”
He accepted it, pretended to study it several times, then shook his head.
“Never. Such a young, pretty girl. How could she just disappear?
“My name's Wang Xiude. You can call me Xiao Wang. What's your name?”
She put away the photograph.
“Feng He. My daughter's name is Feng Ruoxue.”
He smacked his lips, as though repeating the names to himself.
Suddenly, she asked, “Xiude, you don't usually live here, do you?”
He answered without much thought.
“No. I usually live in the city.”
“Then…”
She hesitated before asking the very question he'd asked her.
“It's New Year's Eve. Why aren't you home celebrating?”
His expression visibly tightened.
From a distance, I saw his left hand silently close around the knife concealed in his sleeve.
3
Suddenly, he released the knife handle and laughed.
“To tell you the truth, Mrs. Feng, this area is being cleared for redevelopment after the holiday.
“I thought I'd come and tidy up. The compensation is very different for an occupied house and an empty one.”
His explanation only made her more suspicious.
“Redevelopment? I haven't heard anything.”
“Inside information, that's all.”
He gave an awkward smile.
“Don't spread it around. I'll be held responsible.”
She was about to ask something else when he abruptly said, “Surely you don't suspect… that I had something to do with your daughter's disappearance?”
4
The atmosphere tightened at once.
My mother seemed not to notice. She spoke plainly.
“Honestly, Xiude, I've searched this road for six months. Everyone looks suspicious to me.
“But I think you're a good man.
“Over ten kilometers of road, hundreds of households, and you're the first person who's invited me in to rest.”
He relaxed completely.
“Let me prove I have nothing to hide.”
He reached into his coat, took out a wallet, and offered her his identity card.
“Look. My name really is Wang Xiude.
“I'm a conceptual artist. I have something of a reputation in the field.
“Put simply, conceptual art incorporates ideas, thoughts, and inspiration into objects or settings to create unique works of art.”
Understanding only part of it, my mother nodded and handed the card back.
He opened his wallet and put it into a hidden compartment.
Another identity card lay quietly beside it.
The name on it was Feng Ruoxue.
“Oh!”
My mother's sudden cry made him jump.
“Xiude, is that empty oil drum beneath the tree one of your works too?”
He looked blank. “Which drum?”
“The blue metal one under the tree. I opened it earlier to look inside. It's empty.”
He followed her pointing hand through the window and shook his head.
“No.”
“Thank goodness. I thought I'd carelessly damaged your work.”
She exhaled in relief.
“Don't laugh at me. These days, whenever I see anything big enough to hold a person, my mind goes to terrible places.”
His expression grew strained.
“I understand. I do.
“Rest here. I'll bring some wood from the shed. We can light the stove.”
She was on her feet first.
“Let me fetch it. I've troubled you enough. I can't make you do all the work too.”
She looked around, trying to locate the woodshed.
Alarmed, he stopped her.
“No, no. Better let me. I know my way around, and I'm stronger. I can carry more.”
She didn't argue. She merely watched his retreating back, silently memorizing the direction.
He piled logs in the stove, crouched beside it, and tried to light them with a cigarette lighter.
The flame only blackened a corner. The logs showed no sign of catching.
My mother smiled, crouched, and took the lighter from him.
“That's not how you light wood, Xiude.”
She took a packet of tissues from her pocket, tore off its plastic wrapper, tucked the packet between two logs, and lit one corner.
“At home, we burn straw first, then use it to light the wood.
“If there's no straw, paper will do.”
She put the lighter away, picked up the poker, and shifted the logs.
Behind her, Wang Xiude silently raised his axe.
The keen edge caught a cold gleam from the fire.
My mother seemed unaware, but her grip on the poker tightened a little.
His eyes moved between the back of her neck and the poker.
After a long time, his arm slowly relaxed. He hid the axe behind him.
“There!”
She turned happily.
“Now we just need to add wood regularly. There doesn't seem to be enough. I'll fetch some more.”
“No need.”
He came to himself and stopped her again.
“I don't know how to tend a stove. You watch it, Mrs. Feng. I'll fetch the wood.”
“All right.”
She sat beside the stove and rubbed her hands for warmth.
Whatever she did, the poker never left her reach.
Watching, I was both surprised and relieved.
At last she was on her guard. Hurting her wouldn't be so easy now.
But he could see that too.
He would find another way.
Sure enough, he suddenly said, “Didn't you bring some dumplings? There's a stove and a large pot in the kitchen. If you're hungry, warm them up.”
She paused, then hurriedly answered, “Oh, I'd forgotten. You must be hungry too?”
He pretended to rub his stomach.
“I wasn't before. Now you've mentioned it, I am a little.”
“Why don't you stay by the fire? I'll go to the supermarket next door and get us something to eat and drink.”
“No, let me,” he said. “The owner knows me. I'll see whether I can get vegetables and meat for filling. It's New Year's Eve. We may be strangers, but meeting like this must mean something. Let's make dumplings and have a reunion dinner.”
Afraid she would insist, he added, “I'm not much of a cook. I'll have to trouble you with that.”
She nodded.
“Don't worry. No one makes better dumplings than I do.”
He smiled, put on his coat, and left.
Watching everything, I suddenly felt my heart sink.
This was bad.
I knew exactly what he was doing.
It was a test.
Pinhole cameras were hidden in the doorframes, beams, cupboards, even the cracks in the walls of this decrepit house.
Right now, he would be hiding nearby, watching the feeds on his phone.