Chapter 8

Tap... tap... tap...

What was that?

Who was knocking on something?

Half asleep, I dimly heard a rhythmic tapping.

I couldn't tell whether it was real or part of a dream. While I was still debating whether to wake up and find out, the tapping abruptly stopped.

The world was quiet again.

I rolled over, settled into a more comfortable position, and went back to sleep.

“Tap tap tap... tap tap tap...”

There it was again.

Much faster this time.

Now I knew it was real.

I opened my eyes and sat bolt upright.

Night filled the room. It was pitch-black, and I couldn't make anything out. The only light was a faint glow coming through the window.

Clutching the blanket, I huddled against the wall in the far corner of the bed and looked nervously around.

“Tap tap tap... tap tap tap...”

Again.

This time, I heard where it came from.

The window.

I blinked and stared.

“Tap... tap... tap...”

As the tapping began again, I saw it.

A hand, gently tapping the lower right corner of the window as though knocking at a door.

Only a hand.

No arm.

No person.

I held the blanket tighter.

“Who... who's out there?”

At the sound of my voice, the hand darted down beneath the frame.

Then I heard footsteps moving away.

Soon, those too were gone.

Judging by their direction, whoever it was had gone toward the room opposite.

But that was strange.

That room was directly across from my window.

To get there, they would have had to pass in front of it.

Yet I hadn't seen anyone go by.

I gathered my courage, climbed out of bed, and slowly approached the window.

With my back against the wall beside it, I took a few deep breaths.

Then I suddenly turned, crouched, and peered outside.

It was dark out there too.

But the courtyard was open to the sky, so there was enough faint light to see.

The huge water jar looked peculiarly sinister in the darkness.

A thick stone slab covered its mouth, as though holding down something inside.

Then I noticed the door of the room opposite was open.

I shot upright and pressed my back to the wall, gasping.

That door had been closed all day.

Why was it open so late at night?

Had Mr. Zhang opened it?

Once I'd calmed a little, I drew a deep breath and bent to look again.

There was no light in the opposite room.

Beyond the open doorway was solid black.

My gaze moved from the door to the black-covered window, then toward Mr. Zhang's room.

Wait.

Something was wrong with that window.

I'd only glanced past it on my way to looking at his room, but something had caught my attention.

I stared back at it.

The black cloth that had covered the window during the day had been lifted slightly at its lower right corner.

And there was a pair of eyes.

Looking at me through the gap.

“Aah!”

I screamed and stumbled backward.

My heart pounded as though it would burst out of my chest.

“What are you shrieking about in the middle of the night, girl?”

Mr. Zhang's voice came from outside.

Footsteps approached my room.

“What's wrong?”

He stayed outside the door.

“Mr... Mr. Zhang... is there someone else living here?”

I went to turn on the light and called through the door.

“Oh, you mean the room opposite?”

“The person in there saved your life too.”

“No, that's not right... I should call him the ghost who saved your life.”

He laughed heartily.

“It's fine. Stop making a fuss and go to sleep. I'm too old for this.”

Then he went away.

The ghost who... saved my life?

After he left, I didn't dare linger near the door.

I went back to the bed, stripped off both pillowcases, and hung them on nails on either side of the window.

They didn't cover it completely, but they made me feel a little safer.

I lay down again, thinking about what he'd said.

After that, I didn't dare turn off the light and let the darkness surround me again.

Looking at the old tiled roof overhead, I began piecing together everything strange that had happened.

I'd come home from school and noticed something wrong with Mom.

Then I'd gradually realized I was in danger.

I'd tried to run away several times and been caught every time.

The eerie doll in Mom's room.

Mom talking to it.

Being tricked on New Year's Eve and falling into a dream.

My birthday coming so quickly in that dream.

Mom seeming to have something planned for me that day.

Grandma reaching me through the dream.

And finally, killing Mom with my own hands inside it.

Watching her disappear.

Waking somewhere completely unfamiliar.

The peculiar Mr. Zhang.

The doll holding my real mother's soul.

One scene after another replayed in my head like a film.

By the time I'd finished thinking, my head was splitting.

All these strange things had happened to me.

Yet I couldn't understand a single one.

“Can someone please tell me... what is going on?”

I asked the empty room the question that had weighed on me for so long.

Tomorrow, when Grandma came, I would have to get the whole story.

I still couldn't sleep.

Maybe it was because my mind kept wandering, full of things that made no sense.

And then there was Mr. Zhang's remark about the ghost who'd saved me.

Didn't that mean there was a ghost living in the room opposite?

I shivered and wrapped the blanket tighter around myself.

I didn't sleep a wink all night.

I needed to pee so badly my toes curled against the sheets, but I still didn't dare go outside to the toilet.

All I could do was silently recite the Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection, passing the time and distracting myself from my bladder.

At last, dawn came.

Through the gap between the pillowcases, I saw the sky beginning to pale.

I breathed out in relief.

“Finally... I can deal with life's most urgent problem.”

With another relieved breath, I jumped out of bed and rushed to the door.

I peeked outside.

The room opposite was shut again, its window covered as before.

Only then did I feel safe enough to go out.

As soon as I left my room, I saw Mr. Zhang standing with his back to me beside the jar in the middle of the courtyard.

He didn't move when my door opened.

“Good morning, Mr. Zhang!”

I walked around in front of him to say hello.

He didn't answer.

He only stared at the jar.

I followed his gaze.

It was about the size of a top-loading washing machine, sealed with a thick stone slab.

I looked and looked without seeing anything special.

Just as I was wondering what secret it held, a sharp pressure gripped my lower belly.

Oh no!

I'd forgotten the most important thing!

I abandoned Mr. Zhang and raced to the little building on the right.

Yes.

Nobody needed to tell me where the toilet was.

Its distinctive smell had activated my own personal smell-based navigation system.

By the time I'd finished and returned to the yard, Mr. Zhang was no longer beside the jar.

I looked toward the innermost room.

That had to be his.

A bright red character for “fortune” was pasted on the door.

I went over and tried it.

Locked.

The curtains were closed too. I couldn't see inside.

I knocked.

“Mr. Zhang, are you in there?”

I waited a long time.

No answer.

Out so early?

I pouted and turned back toward my room.

Passing the jar, I stopped.

Curious, I approached it slowly.

My mind began working.

The jar stood right in the middle of the courtyard.

You could see it from the window of every room.

There was no roof over it.

It caught the sun every day, especially at noon, when the light fell straight down.

Why put it there?

Out in the harsh sunlight like that...

Very possibly, something terrifying was sealed inside.

But then again, the ghost pretending to be my mother had been fine in daylight.

She'd even hung laundry on the balcony in the sun.

Ah!

I knew!

It had to contain a hopping corpse.

Or the remains binding some vengeful ghost who'd died unjustly.

When I looked carefully at the layout, the whole courtyard really did feel like a ritual formation.

And there was an actual ghost living in the room opposite at Mr. Zhang's.

So why would it be strange to have something dreadful trapped in the jar?

I circled it once.

Using every horror movie I'd ever watched and everything strange that had happened recently, I reasoned it through.

My conclusion:

The jar was probably suppressing a vicious hopping corpse or an exceptionally dangerous vengeful spirit.

Having reached that conclusion, I both admired my own deductive powers and frightened myself.

Mr. Zhang's house didn't seem much safer than mine.

I ran straight back to my room and locked the door.

When he returned, I'd have to ask when Grandma was coming.

I didn't want to spend another second here.

Soon, I heard the courtyard gate open and close.

Then someone knocked on my door.

“Kid, breakfast.”

My stomach chose that moment to rumble in response to Mr. Zhang's voice.

It was true.

I was hungry.

I swallowed, considered for a moment, and went to open the door.

For now, all I could do was trust Grandma's old friend.

He stood outside with a clear plastic bag.

There seemed to be steamed buns and eggs inside.

So he'd gone out to buy breakfast.

He handed me the bag.

“Make do with this.”

“When your grandmother comes at noon, I'll cook something nice for the two of you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zhang.”

Taking the food, I remembered last night.

“Mr. Zhang, what did you mean about the ghost who saved my life?”

“Oh, that.”

“He's a child's spirit I found by the river.”

“Probably drowned while playing in the water.”

“His body was never found, so he couldn't be reincarnated.”

“I took him in as my grandson.”

“I live alone, after all. It gets lonely.”

“Poor little thing.”

He spoke as casually as if he were describing a pet cat or dog.

He had no idea how shocking his words were.

...

My understanding of the world had been smashed to pieces again.

Perhaps I was drifting farther and farther from materialism.

The calm way he talked about raising a ghost made me even more certain about the jar.

I sneaked a glance at it and asked, “Then why did you say he saved my life?”

“Because he did.”

“Living people can't enter a dream a ghost creates.”

“He went inside, found you, and helped get your grandmother's voice through.”

“But I distinctly heard Grandma.”

“Is he powerful enough to imitate her voice?”

“Of course not.”

“He's only a wandering spirit. He's not that strong.”

“Your grandmother was calling your mother's soul through her actual body.”

“He went inside and opened the barrier. That was how you heard her.”

“That's still amazing...”

“How does it work? How did he do it?”

His explanation opened a whole new world before me.

The idea of a ghost entering my dream was frightening.

But it made me even more curious.

“Who knows?”

“Tell me why some people turn into ghosts after they die.”

“There aren't any principles that explain this stuff.”

...

Huh?

That wasn't what I'd imagined.

Didn't Taoist priests and exorcists in movies know everything?

Fighting demons, chanting spells, making hand signs...

“Mr. Zhang, there are still so many things I want to ask—”

I was just trying to organize my questions when he waved me off.

“Enough, enough!”

“I know what you're going to ask.”

“There are plenty of things I don't know either.”

“And I can't be bothered explaining.”

“Gives me a headache.”

“I'm going to get lunch ready.”

He turned away before I could speak.

But he didn't go to the kitchen.

He went straight to the jar.

And stood there, staring without moving.

Exactly as he had that morning when I'd gone to the toilet.

I watched him in confusion.

Was he working some sort of magic on it?

I didn't know how much time passed.

Then I heard a faint sigh.

He put a hand on the stone slab.

What was he going to do?

Instinctively, I stepped back, one hand gripping my doorknob.

He seemed about to lift the slab.

Nervously, I called, “Mr. Zhang... what are you doing?”

He paused and turned, looking puzzled.

“Getting the ingredients for your lunch. What else?”

Ingredients... for lunch?

Remembering my deductions, I broke into a cold sweat.

My lips trembled.

“Mr... Mr. Zhang... I... I don't like meat...”

“Or strange things...”

“Some vegetables will be fine...”

“You might not like it, but your grandmother does.”

He turned back and kept lifting.

“Grandma...?”

Before I could understand, there was a thud.

He'd set the stone slab on the ground.

Then he reached inside the jar.

“No, Mr. Zhang, please!”

“I don't want to eat it!”

I burst into frightened tears.

Dropping the bag of breakfast, I scrambled toward the gate to escape.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Crying because I asked you to eat a little smoked pork.”

His voice reached me just as I was about to open the gate.

“Smoked... pork?”

I froze.

Slowly, I turned.

Mr. Zhang stood beside the jar, holding a piece of string.

A slab of meat hung from its end.

Judging by its color, it really was smoked pork.

He looked at me as though I were an idiot.

“Is there something wrong with this girl's head?”

Too many strange things had happened lately.

My nerves were constantly stretched taut.

Whatever I saw, my mind invented something to go with it.

“Mr. Zhang, you're so strange.”

“Why would you keep smoked pork in a water jar? In the middle of the yard?”

I went back and peered inside.

Along with the pork, there were several smoked chickens and ducks hanging in it.

“I'll keep my meat wherever I like.”

He ignored me and carried the pork to the kitchen.

I trailed after him.

“Then why were you just standing there staring at it this morning? And again just now?”

He stopped, turned, and looked at me seriously.

“I was deciding whether to serve smoked pork to you and your grandmother for lunch.”

“It's my favorite.”

“Every meal means one less piece.”

“Oh... ha ha... I see.”

I gave two awkward little laughs.

What a miser...