Chapter 8: Chapter 6 — The Phantom Woman

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“That’s not merely a kind of magic — it’s a curse. If you, while investigating the magic’s origin, also have a dream like that… You must refuse Agrippa’s gift! Never agree to him! You must say you never want to see ghosts!”

After “Xia Yongyu” repeatedly taught him to memorize that fifty-word key, his face went slack; he looked exhausted. His speech faltered and was interrupted by fits of coughing.

“You’re the only one who knows how this whole thing began, so you’re the only one who can… Can break this terrible curse… Save Zhimei, save the rest of the victims…”

Before “Xia Yongyu” could finish that last sentence the tape ran out — the cassette reached its end. Jianxiang stared at the camera’s power light, which still glowed, and felt everything he had just seen on the screen dissolve like an illusion.

From what “Xia Yongyu” had said, Jianxiang at least understood the process of the magic.

– First comes an eerie, lifelike dream in which a sorcerer asks whether you want to see ghosts. After you consent, he marks your palm and tells you to open the door that leads to the spirit world.
– You follow the sorcerer’s instructions — and that door becomes the door to your own room.
– When you wake, you find the mark on your palm and that your door really was opened. The dream turns into reality. From then on you can actually see ghosts at night — but they don’t come to show themselves; they come to take your life…

Jianxiang’s strength had returned, but his thoughts were in turmoil and he didn’t know what to do next. Just as “Xia Yongyu” had suffered splitting headaches from the hauntings, Jianxiang now felt similar symptoms after being possessed.

Is this the subtle sympathy between a soul and its medium?

Jianxiang sat up, rubbed his temple with his thumb, and confirmed that his mind was clear.

At that instant a thought burst into him — a new possibility: headaches!

Headaches!

Although “Xia Yongyu” mentioned it only rarely, Zhimei did suffer severe headaches after losing portions of her memory. More precisely, the reason “Xia Yongyu” rarely referred to it was because he had overlooked the clue’s importance. He never imagined it might be the correct lead for finding Zhimei.

The more Jianxiang thought, the more excited he became. He realized he’d hit upon a brand-new avenue.

Zhimei’s last two lovers had both died violently. Whether or not she knew they had been killed, she very likely went into hiding out of fear and stopped going out to shop — which explains why Xia, despite trailing her usual haunts, couldn’t find her.

But Zhimei had been hypnotized by Xia; she suffered headaches. And if a forced, powerful hypnosis is interrupted, those headaches would persist…

Exactly! Even if she no longer went out for leisure, she would still have to leave to buy painkillers. Jianxiang believed Zhimei could not endure the agony forever; sooner or later she’d leave her lodgings to buy medicine at a nearby pharmacy.

As long as Zhimei still lived in Kaohsiung — and she must be here; this city was her world, she had no friends elsewhere and nowhere to go in another town — Jianxiang was confident he could find her.

At that thought his spirits lifted. He quickly packed the camcorder he’d brought and left Room 401 without a backward glance, vowing silently never to return to that haunted place.

Next he would take Zhimei’s photograph and check every pharmacy in the city. If that failed, he’d widen the search to clinics and hospitals.

Over the following week Jianxiang spent his days racing around Kaohsiung searching for the missing Zhimei. The precinct was still tied up with the Zhong Sizao case and other minor matters. The day after the “séance night,” Chief Gao reassigned Jianxiang to other minor investigations — perhaps because he sensed the private conflict between Jianxiang and Shaode — and that reassignment let Jianxiang use his fieldwork time to drop into pharmacies and question their owners.

On the other hand, although Shaode had confirmed Zhong Sizao supported himself by theft and fencing, he had not managed to trace a fencing route linking Jianxiang; that eased some pressure on Jianxiang.

—List of pharmacies searched (examples): Nanxing Pharmacy, Liang’an Pharmacy on Zhongshan 1st; Gaohesynth Pharmacy on Hebei 2nd; Cian Pharmacy, Xinde Pharmacy, Wenqin Pharmacy on Jianguo 2nd; Mingsheng Pharmacy, Zhongzheng Pharmacy on Zili 1st; Renren Pharmacist on Jiu-ru; Jiuru Pharmacist, Dazheng Pharmacy, Zhendong Pharmacy on 2nd; Honglong, Dasheng on Nenjiang; Hanliang on Hankou; Zhengren, Kunsheng, Qisheng on Harbin; Zhongsheng on Jilin; Jingtian on Liaoning 2nd; Qiyuan, Xinji, Chongliang, Zhenyuan, Jiayi on Rehe 1st; Songyuan on 2nd; Yoshida, Xin’an, Jianchang on Shiquan 1st; Ancheng on Chahaer 2nd; Zhongwei on Beiping 2nd…

Jianxiang carried Zhimei’s photograph and canvassed street by street. He centered his search on Sanmin District and extended it into neighboring Xinxing and Qianjin. On his Kaohsiung map he marked areas with red and blue pens, noting pharmacies to revisit, witness statements to confirm, and places/times where women who resembled Zhimei had been spotted.

It wasn’t a difficult task, but the tedium and detail far exceeded what Jianxiang first imagined. Although the area covered only three administrative districts, he was searching alone; what used to mobilize an entire task force now moved at a frustratingly slow pace.

On April 6th, he gave up searching Sanmin, Xinxing, and Qianjin. His investigations showed Zhimei didn’t live in those places — meaning she’d hidden herself far away after the two men died.

All Jianxiang still had were a DV tape and a single photograph.

But he wasn’t disheartened. He knew this line of inquiry would eventually reach its end even if it took longer; his filters had gradually narrowed the search area.

The image of Zhimei on that tape had become his stimulant. After a long day he’d return to his silent room, take out his little brother’s camcorder, and play that DV over and over. In the glowing but unreachable image, he painted for himself a perfect Zhimei.

“Jianxiang, please love me forever.”

For some reason, those words — Zhimei’s declaration to Zhong Sizao — felt as if they were being spoken to him.

On the afternoon of April 10th Jianxiang rode into Yancheng District’s main avenue. He’d just finished interviewing a witness to a hardware-store burglary and briefly reorganized his notes, then seized the gap to search for Zhimei. That week he widened the search area to Yancheng.

But the farther he ranged from the precinct, the less time he had. Even minor cases slowed when his attention wandered; his colleagues’ puzzlement and suspicion grew.

If he continued like this… His steady life and future prospects could be ruined.

At 3:20 p. M., when the sun still beat hot, Jianxiang had visited three newly opened convenience-store pharmacies in Yancheng with no results. Near the intersection of Jianguo 4th Road he stopped outside a chemist.

“Where are you, Xiao Wu?”
came a voice on his mobile. It was Liwei.

“—In Yancheng,”
Jianxiang answered.

“Hey? Hey?”
Liwei said. “What are you doing in Yancheng? The chief’s furious! He says your report on that robbery is nonsense. And you still haven’t filed the hardware-store case…”

There was no time to explain. Jianxiang silently turned off his phone.

“Sir, could you repeat what you just said?”
Jianxiang asked the pharmacy owner gently. “Sorry, my colleague called and I didn’t catch it.”

“That young woman came in yesterday,”
the young owner answered. “She left an impression — she walked a bit unsteady, looked weak. She bumped her head on the door when she left.”

Jianxiang fought down his rising joy. “What did she buy?”

“Panadol.”

“She only came once?”

“Mm…”
The owner looked again at the photo. “Only once, yesterday morning, I think.”

“Did you see which direction she went?”

“Probably toward Qixian Road, I think.”

They both turned their faces in the direction indicated.

“There she is,”
the owner said. “What a coincidence.”

—Zhimei had appeared.

She was really there.

Jianxiang watched, stunned, as Zhimei walked closer. Her arrival felt like she’d stepped straight out of the LCD screen and into his life. She was no longer an icy, distant image.

This was not a dream — the owner beside him, the sporadic roar of engines, all told him he was in familiar reality.

Zhimei wore a pale-blue fine net camisole and a pink chiffon skirt to the knees, looking fresh and delicate; yet a furrowed brow and exhaustion gave her a pitiable air.

She noticed Jianxiang staring.

“You—”
Her voice was weak; then she went silent.

Jianxiang lowered his head and gazed at her upturned face, bewildered and questioning. A small dark bruise marked her right temple — the one she’d sustained here yesterday. Suddenly Jianxiang pulled her into an embrace, pressing his chin to her shoulder. She flinched at the suddenness but didn’t pull away.

“I’ve been looking for you… For so long… So long…”
he murmured.

After so much searching, his legs felt as if they’d lost strength; he needed to hold her shoulders to stay upright. All the words in his heart — words that might have poured out — failed him. He only murmured the same, half-moan, half-murmured phrases into her ear. Their cheeks touched; he felt the warm flush of her body against him.

He whispered near her neck; his voice dwindled to breath.

“I know, I know,”
Zhimei said softly. “I’ve been waiting for you too…”

Tears slid down Jianxiang’s cheek and fell on his collar — but he realized he hadn’t been the one crying. Zhimei’s tears revealed her fragility and helplessness. She had been waiting — waiting for a man who could protect her.

—Zhong Sizao had been killed, Xia Yongyu had been killed… They couldn’t protect her, so she kept running, hunting for the next refuge. Zhimei was so timid, so terrified, that she bartered her heart’s treasure — love — in exchange for the safety another man could provide.

Jianxiang knew he had already fallen for her; she, naturally, would come to love him. Love was her only bargaining chip in this deadly game. If another man came before him, she would fall for that man too — whether that turned out to be fortune or misfortune.

But unlike the two victims before her, Jianxiang would not become the third casualty. He had slowly begun to discern the truth behind the ghost-murder cases. Now that the woman he’d been searching for was finally before him, if Xia’s powerful hypnosis worked, the curse could be broken.

He swore inwardly to rid Zhimei of this long shadow.

They spoke little at first, but their desires matched; they understood each other without many words. The pharmacy owner watched their flurry of intimacy and assumed they had known each other a long time — perhaps more than policeman and witness. He shrugged, picked up the TV remote, and raised the volume, deciding not to interfere.

Jianxiang stroked Zhimei’s warm cheek and felt his racing thoughts calm. Her breathing evened; she’d stopped sobbing and seemed readier to face whatever came.

“Let’s go.”

He took her wrist and they stepped out under the arcade toward the main road and the Qixian Road intersection. Across the street, about twenty meters away, stood the Qixian precinct. The red light kept them halted at the crosswalk’s end.

“Where do you live?”

“Nearby.”

“Will you take me there?”

“Yes.”
Zhimei nodded, then suddenly stopped. “Sorry… My head hurts…”

Jianxiang caught her before she faltered. Her face was pale and blank. She forced a bitter smile and buried her head in his chest.

He stood there stunned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m so tired…”

“I nearly forgot — you didn’t buy any medicine—”

“Hold me,”
Zhimei whispered. “It’ll be fine in a minute.”

Her sudden request stunned him; a flame of heat lit his chest. At that instant he felt a faint shiver and understood — this was a test.

Indeed, whether intentionally or not, it was instinctive: Zhimei was testing whether the other would fall for her. She had surely used this same measure with Zhong and Xia. Only a man who gave the “right” response would be brought back to her place.

Zhimei hadn’t feigned the headache; she’d used it to judge whether Jianxiang would fall for her at first sight. It was her defense. Jianxiang had a detective’s sixth sense; he knew Zhimei’s intuition was equally sharp. Her looks could attract many men, but the two men she chose — Zhong and Xia — though unremarkable in appearance, had been willing to die for her.

She must have turned down many insincere suitors; such men would flee when danger came. Jianxiang knew he would not be such a man — but he still had to respond in the way Zhimei expected, or she would slip away.

He had to act in a way that proved he would keep his word.

Even though his instincts told him there was something strange about the relationship, he could not restrain his madness for Zhimei. Even Eve had been tempted by the serpent — that did not invalidate her devotion — and in the same way Jianxiang was overcome.

Without hesitation he wrapped both arms around her waist and held her silently, letting her feel the warmth that symbolized safety in the indifferent, clamorous city.

Then, with his eyes closed, he drew a deep breath, took the Smith & Wesson M6904 he carried, and placed it quietly into Zhimei’s slender hand.

Zhimei’s room was a tiny three-ping chamber: no bed, no desk, only two wardrobes and a dressing table. The dressing table was crowded with bottles and pots — primer, sunscreen, moisturizer, cleansing masks, toners, scrubs — and an array of colourful lipsticks, eyeshadows, blushes, nail polishes, eyeliners, mascaras, and perfumes. The mirror doubled the clutter.

A dark-blue mattress lay folded by the pale-green floor; a Snoopy pink quilt was folded aside and a big “lazy bone” cushion leaned in the corner.

“Sorry, I only have slippers…”
she said.

“That’s okay.”

Zhimei slipped off her white strappy heels and hooked them with her big toe into a pair of Kitty plush slippers by the door.

Jianxiang crouched behind her and removed his shoes; the cold eased into his feet through his sports socks.

Zhimei positioned the cushion behind her back and sat at the dressing table. She looked up as Jianxiang sat opposite.

“….”
Jianxiang shrugged awkwardly — the room held only them, and she had not left his reach.

“I haven’t introduced myself,”
Jianxiang croaked. “My name is Wu Jianxiang. I’m a detective at the Sanmin Precinct.”

“I’m Zhang Zhimei,”
she replied with a tentative curtsey.

After their roadside embrace, Jianxiang had trouble adjusting to the change in their relationship. “Eh, Miss Zhang —”

“Why are you so stiff? Heh,”
Zhimei teased. “Call me Meimei, okay? Don’t be so formal, big brother.”

“This…”

“I thought you liked me!”

“I do like you…”
Jianxiang finally blurted out the desire he’d been holding back. “That’s why I don’t know how to explain your connection to the cases.”

“Cases?”
Zhimei looked puzzled.

Clearly she didn’t know why a detective had gone to so much trouble to find her. She hadn’t even noticed the locked-room murder that had appeared on the social pages and its tie to her.

Jianxiang took out two photos. “Meimei, do you know these two men?”

Her eyes flicked between photos of Zhong Sizao and Xia Yongyu. “… No.”

—As expected, she’d forgotten everything. “Do you know these two men were killed?” Jianxiang pushed a third photo forward. “And the girl in this picture is the primary suspect.”

Zhimei’s eyes widened. “What? That’s me? But I never had photos like that taken…”

“Do you know this picture of you was found in that bespectacled man’s home — Xia Yongyu?”

“Xia… Ugh!”
Zhimei convulsed and buried her face in her hands.

Jianxiang reached out to steady her. “Does your head hurt?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know why… I’m so scared…”

“Tell me — what are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know…”

“Meimei — is someone following you?”

“No…”

“Do you have nightmares often?”

“No…”

“Then…?”

“No… No… It’s not any of that. I really don’t know what I’m afraid of. I’m simply terrified of something I don’t know. Please, stop asking me…”

Her answers matched what Xia had asked. Jianxiang held her as she sobbed.

—Was that dangerous, powerful hypnosis the only remaining way? Seeing her suffering, he could hardly force it on her.

“I thought… You came to tell me…,”
she began.

“Tell you what?”

“My past.”

At last Jianxiang understood — yes, Zhimei had been waiting for a protector. She needed protection because she wanted to recover a lost past; her intuition warned that seeking it could bring unpredictable danger.

“Who am I? I know my name, my birthday, my height and weight. But I don’t know whether I have family, whether I have friends, how many times I’ve loved, whether I did anything crazy or stupid… I want to know! I feel like I’m walking through a dark tunnel with no light and no memory of the way I’ve come. I only know where I am, not why I’m in the tunnel… Please tell me… Tell me…”

“All right. I’ll tell you your past.”
Jianxiang inhaled deeply, Zhimei’s perfume filling his nostrils.

“On the 25th of last month, the body of a young man was found dead in an old building on Nantai Road. Investigation showed the man had had a girlfriend — that girl was you.”
Jianxiang didn’t comment on Zhimei’s startled eyes; he pushed Zhong Sizao’s photo toward her and continued, “Two days later, another bespectacled man came to me and claimed he had clues. He was later murdered too…”

He skipped recounting the séance night. “After that man’s death I found his registered address on his ID and visited his home. I found your photo there and a diary recording his relationship with you — which means he’d been your boyfriend. You’ve had at least two relationships.”

“I… Those two men look so unfamiliar…”

“That’s because you lost your memory. I don’t know whether it’s connected to your headaches. I went to great lengths to find you because I want to restore your memory and find the truth behind the two murders.”

“…!”
Zhimei’s face went pale with sudden fright.

“Meimei, don’t be afraid — you didn’t kill those two men,”
Jianxiang said gently. “But important clues about the murders are buried in your memories. I have to try to dig them out.”

“But I don’t remember anything.”

“That’s okay. If you trust me, I’ll help you recover them.”

Their eyes met as if seeking mutual confirmation.

“If… If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t have come with you. I want to know my past — tell me how I should proceed.”

Jianxiang was silent for a few seconds, then resolved, “Let me hypnotize you.”

“No! I won’t!”
Zhimei’s reaction was stronger than he’d expected. “I won’t be hypnotized!”

“Why?”
Jianxiang panicked. “It’s the only way to restore your memories…”

“Because… Because… I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to close my eyes!”
Zhimei lapsed into hysteria. “I’ve never dreamed after falling asleep, but I told you I hate that tunnel feeling — the blackness, not knowing where I am. Sleep brings that feeling, so I won’t!”

Jianxiang gently stroked her face; up close he saw how sleeplessness had hollowed her features beneath her bright makeup. “Have you not slept properly in a long time?”

“I… I’m so afraid…”

“Trust me, will you?”
he asked.

Her hands clutched his rumpled collar; after a long, trembling pause she nodded.

“All right. We’ll start right now.”
He ought to have reported to the station — he’d even ended Liwei’s call to hurry to Zhimei — so he had to move swiftly.

Recalling the DV instructions Xia’s spirit had given, Jianxiang helped Zhimei unfold a mattress on the floor. She lay down, and he told her to relax and close her eyes.

“Meimei, don’t think about anything. I’ll stay with you,”
he whispered in her ear. “Just close your eyes and listen to every word I say. I’m going to begin now.”

Zhimei’s delicate right hand gripped his wrist hard; she was extremely tense.

Then, in a steady monotone and simple syllables as Xia had taught, Jianxiang began to recite the key that would unlock Zhimei’s subconscious. Zhimei listened and made muffled noises; sweat quickly beaded on her pale neck.

When Jianxiang reached the tenth word, Zhimei screamed and shot upright. “It hurts!”

“Meimei, I’m sorry… But you must endure.”
Jianxiang’s voice was firm.

“I know… But it’s so hard…”

“We’ll try again.”
Zhimei nodded.

The second attempt made little progress. He reached the twelfth word and she abruptly stopped him. She’d suffered far worse pain than before; her eyes were full of tears and she was emotionally unhinged.

“You’re tormenting me! You’re tormenting me!”

Even though Zhimei resisted, Jianxiang refused to give up. He insisted on a third attempt. In a grotesque echo of themes from sexual sadism cinema, Zhimei finally complied in her weakness — and seeing her cry after he had pushed her, Jianxiang felt a complex, disturbing surge of pleasure.

“This time will work, Meimei. I believe you can endure it.”

The third attempt failed completely. Zhimei retreated like a wounded fawn to a corner and clutched her knees, sobbing. The transparent barrettes that had been fixed at her ear fell loose and dropped to the floor.

Jianxiang had no way to force her back onto the mattress. Still, in the dark of his heart he was obsessed with knowing what would happen if he recited the key to the twentieth word — or even further.

“Meimei — once more! Just once more!”

No matter how insistent he was, she only continued to cry and refused to respond.

Should he give up? Jianxiang held her curled-up body tightly, torn inside. Her arms wrapped about her chest and her fingers clutched his shirt; a thread came loose at the top button.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”
he murmured, patting her back and apologizing again and again.

Perhaps there were other ways to reveal Zhimei’s past without such cruel measures. He began to consider alternatives. But a lost girl living on the run across Kaohsiung — to discover her origins with the precinct’s workload and under his own precarious circumstances — was an almost impossible task.

—Although both of them desperately hoped hypnosis would restore her memories, the attempts had produced no useful result and had only increased their suffering.

Jianxiang’s thoughts were a mess. He felt the damp heat of Zhimei’s tears against his chest; he had no words to comfort her and sat silently until she was drained. Then he made a decision: he would not rely on Xia Yongyu’s violent hypnosis any longer for the case.

“Jianxiang, please…”
Zhimei suddenly spoke — the first time she’d addressed him so intimately by name.

“Hm?”

“Keep trying that hypnosis.”

Jianxiang was startled — he had already decided to stop. “But—”

“Please don’t give up, okay?”
Zhimei said. “I’ll endure it properly. I won’t cry again, truly. I absolutely won’t give up — I must know who I am.”

“No. I can’t bear to make you suffer more.”

“I’m not afraid of pain!”

“I can’t do it.”

“Now that there’s finally a way to recover my memory, even if it’s painful, I won’t give up. Please help me…”
Zhimei lifted her tear-streaked face. “You can hold me down! Then I can’t run away! Or tie me up — bind my hands so I won’t hurt you… And if you’re afraid I’ll scream, gag me with a cloth… That’ll do, right?”

Zhimei’s stubbornness astonished him. She pushed out of his arms, crawled to the wardrobe in the corner, opened a drawer, and drew out a coil of red plastic cord, handing it to him resolutely.

“You really want me to do this?”

“Yes.”

Jianxiang stared at her, searching the courage in her eyes. He took the cord and asked, “Where should I bind you?”

“My hands and my feet,”
she said, turning her back and crossing her fists behind her.

He nodded, took his Swiss Army knife from his pocket, cut two lengths of cord, and began to bind her wrists.

“Tighten it more,”
she instructed.

He checked the tightness as he worked. When the hands were done, she lay back and extended her legs, ready for her ankles.

He raised her left foot slightly and wrapped the cord around it slowly. Her legs — visible below the knee skirt — were slim and shapely; he forced his breath into even rhythm so his mind wouldn’t wander.

“All done.”

“And my mouth. My handkerchief is in the coat pocket — it’s hanging there.”

He brought the handkerchief, wad it, and gently pressed it into her mouth. At that moment Zhimei had lost the ability to resist. The room grew silent save for their quick breaths.

Zhimei nodded, then closed her eyes decisively.

The next day Jianxiang endured a morning of stern reproach from the precinct chief. The chief wasn’t hot-tempered, but he corrected underperforming officers calmly — a cool objectivity that felt colder than an angry outburst. For Jianxiang, that dispassionate correction was deeply painful.

The hypnosis had worked, Zhimei said — she’d told him so herself. But she would not speak of what her recovered memory revealed. Jianxiang couldn’t understand her hesitation; he only knew Zhimei was stubborn.

“Jianxiang, I remember Sizao and Yongyu — those two men who loved me — and things that happened long before them,”
Zhimei said in a calm voice that contrasted sharply with the trance she’d been in. The terror on her face had gone. “But let me think about it, please. I need time to decide whether to tell you.”

“I want you to tell me now.”

“No,”
she replied. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous? What do you mean?”

“I simply can’t tell you right away. Jianxiang… Do you know? I… I’ve fallen in love with you. I want you never to leave me. But I’m afraid…”

“Meimei, your memories came back — tell me what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid that if I tell you my past, you’ll leave me!”

Unable to persuade her, Jianxiang left his phone number: “Any time — whenever you decide, call me, okay?”

“Mm.”
Zhimei smiled on the mattress. “I’m so tired. Let me sleep, okay?”

“You finally agreed to sleep.”

“Heh.”

“I won’t disturb you. I have to go back to the station.”

“Good luck…”
Zhimei closed her eyes. “I love you.”

Jianxiang walked away in a daze. He had dated before, but never had he found this irresistible pull in any woman. The others had all been gentle and compliant — traits that triggered his protective instincts — but they lacked Zhimei’s streak of stubbornness and will, that blend of boldness he found so compelling.

He watched her sleep and then left. Returning near dusk, he barely registered coworkers’ glances or the chief’s rebukes; one thought overwhelmed him: this is the love I truly want. Yet that night his phone remained silent. Zhimei had decided to hold back; even if he’d gone to her after work, she wouldn’t have told him what he wanted. He could only wait for her call — but she never rang.

Tossed by emotion, he waited sleepless until dawn. It was as if her insomnia had infected him.

After the noon briefing he dashed from the precinct like a fugitive. He couldn’t wait for Zhimei’s call any longer — he had to see her and get answers.

He rode back to the drugstore with the glass window and TV glow, turned into the alley, and parked under the old rental house where Zhimei lived.

The building was shabby and let rooms to low-paid workers. Zhimei lived on the second floor. He hurried up the stairs and pressed her buzzer.

—No answer.

Had she gone out? Run away? A chill sense of premonition tightened. When the speaker gave no reply, he rang every unit in the building.

“Hello?”
A stranger’s voice, wary.

“A police officer.”

“What for?”

“I want to search a tenant’s room. Please open the door.”

“Which unit?”

“Not yours.”

“Get lost!”
The intercom clicked; the lock released.

He entered. Two dust-covered scooters sat in the vestibule; a row of green postboxes flaked with rust lined the wall — nothing changed. He climbed to the second floor and pounded on Zhimei’s door. No voice, no answer. Unexpectedly, his eyes filled with tears.

“Open up! Open up!”
His voice cracked. On impulse he kicked the flimsy wooden door; it burst inward and the frame splintered with a crash.

He heard a faint surprised sound inside.

“Meimei? Are you in there?”
he called, rushing into the room.

The apartment’s furnishings were undisturbed; only the woman was missing. A few cosmetic bottles lay on the floor and the telephone receiver was off the hook.

“Answer me — I’m Jianxiang. Where are you?”
He felt as if he spoke to empty air. He looked at the two wooden wardrobes in the corner. “Meimei? Are you hiding in the closet?”

No reply. He opened the first wardrobe — full of seasonal clothing. She wasn’t there.

He tried the second.

“Meimei! Why are you holding the door shut?”
he called when the handle met fierce resistance. There was indeed someone inside.

“Mmm… Ugh…”
muffled sounds.

“Meimei, open the door!”

After a few seconds’ struggle, Jianxiang forced the door open. What he did not expect was his own Smith & Wesson suddenly pointed at his forehead.

Worlds tilted.

Zhimei knelt in the closet, hair dishevelled and eyes wild with fear. She recognized the man only recently trusted and cried, “Jianxiang — it’s really you! I didn’t mean to…”

Jianxiang froze, feeling shocked and hurt with the gun’s muzzle at his temple. He scooped the sobbing Zhimei out of the wardrobe and placed her gently on the cushion.

“What on earth happened?”

At that moment a strange, uncanny memory thundered into his mind.

—When Xia Yongyu summoned Zhong Sizao’s spirit, a similar scene had occurred: once the spirit attached, Xia curled up and wept, refusing to answer any call. Zhong had then struck him and fled into the wardrobe at the end of the room, gripping the door and refusing to let go. His last expression had looked as if he’d been scared to death.

Recalling this and what Xia had told him about the ghostly killings, and seeing Zhimei’s behaviour, Jianxiang confirmed — Zhimei had seen a ghost.

Whether it was Zhong’s returning spirit or the living Zhimei, both had the experience of encountering a ghost and mistook Jianxiang for one.

That’s why they wouldn’t speak or open doors. As Xia recorded in the “strange incidents” notes, the evil spirits continually searched hiding places and would seize victims when the chance came. Zhong was dismembered, Xia’s throat was opened by a spade — both suffered the spirits’ final violence.

But how had Zhimei been entangled in this horrific curse?

“Meimei!”
Jianxiang asked urgently. “What happened last night?”

“Mmm…”
she sobbed.

“Did you — did you have a strange dream?”

At that question Zhimei’s crying stopped. “Jianxiang — how did you know?”

“Because Zhong and Xia both had odd dreams before they were killed.”

“What?”

“If you agree to the sorcerer and consent to learn the magic to see ghosts, the ghosts will appear in the real world… Meimei, why did you agree?”

“I… I don’t even know…”
Zhimei began to wail again.

Jianxiang could not scold her. He opened her right hand and saw faint scabbed cuts in the shape of a pentagram.

“Tell me what happened when you met the ghost last night.”

Terror filled her face.

“Yesterday I woke at eleven — scared awake by that nightmare. The room was dark and I felt so afraid. I heard a baby crying outside the door.”

“I don’t remember any tenant here with a baby, but the crying seemed to be calling me as if it knew I was inside. I felt very uneasy because of the door dream, but I opened the door a tiny crack to look at the corridor. There was nothing.”

“But after I closed the door the crying started again. I got more frightened but finally forced myself to open the door fully to check.”

“And then… Then… When I looked out, a malformed baby covered in slime suddenly grabbed my ankle! Its head was like a gourd with whites where the eyes should be at the top. It had no nose — its nostrils were torn into its mouth — and it kept crying ‘Mama! Mama!’ Its umbilical cord trailed and it sprayed blood.”

“I was terrified. I tried to kick it off but it was so strong and kept crawling on me. Finally I managed to kick it back and slammed the door. The baby started battering the door and its crying grew more piercing…”

Zhimei spoke faster and faster as if speed could cast out the horror.

“I panicked; the only person I could think to call was you. So I dialled your number…”

Jianxiang was startled — she’d called him?

“The line connected immediately, but then there was a cold laugh. The voice wasn’t yours. The man on the line said, ‘You think calling will bring someone to save you? You can’t escape. You’ll never escape, never, never!’ I couldn’t believe it… There was a ghost on the phone too… I cried so hard…”

She clung to him and sobbed helplessly.

“I was so afraid the malformed baby would burst in. I hid in the wardrobe and clutched the gun you gave me…”

“You knew how to use a pistol?”

“Yes,”
she choked. “I released the safety and chambered a round.”

Cold sweat broke out on Jianxiang. He’d lent her his gun to gain trust; he hadn’t taught her how to use it. If she’d panicked she could have shot him.

He was left with a burning question: why had Zhimei had the same nightmare?

From Zhong and Xia’s experiences, they and Zhimei had dated and, for reasons unknown, had the same sort of dream. Yet Zhimei hadn’t been a frequent dreamer. But after recovering her memory she had dreamed that night.

—Could this be related to Xia’s hypnosis? Jianxiang could not make sense of it. The only clue was Zhimei’s memory, but now was not the time to press; she needed to calm.

“Where did you learn it?”
he asked.

“Warsaw,”
she answered.

They fell silent. The intimacy eased the gloom and Zhimei stopped crying, wiping her tears on Jianxiang’s shirt.

“Feeling better?”
he asked softly. “Want me to tell you a joke?”

Zhimei made a playful face. “You’re so dull!”

“No, I’m clever.”

He kissed her lips. They were warm and yielding. Zhimei did not resist but her responses were stubborn and reluctant, hard to read.

“Not clever enough…”
After the long kiss she said sharply, “I hate weak men!”

Jianxiang didn’t argue. He let his fingers answer: they wandered under her skirt, finding the zipper and slowly easing it down. The camisole straps slipped and revealed a pale-blue strapless bra of delicate lace. Her voice, half tease and half moan, said, “You big dummy…”

When Jianxiang came back to himself he found himself standing in a dark thicket.

—How had he gotten there?

His thoughts were clear, but he didn’t know how he’d arrived. The forest was pitch black; only the wind through the branches and distant insect sounds filled the air. After walking a bit he suddenly realized why — this place matched Xia’s dream exactly. He had come to meet the sorcerer Agrippa and agreed to learn how to see ghosts.

—So he, too, would meet Agrippa here?

Even though he knew it was a dream, Jianxiang couldn’t wake. The dream felt like another reality. He pinched his cheek; nothing changed.

There was only a single path, hemmed in by leaves. He felt the dream operate like a prewritten program — once running it could not be interrupted.

—The only choice would be Agrippa’s question. If the dream were a game, that question was the branching point. But the branch for saying yes was cruel.

He resolved and strode forward down the single lane.

The trail twisted, the woods darkened, and pale moonlight barely lit the three steps ahead. Birds’ wings flapped in the branches; the grasses rustled underfoot as if some crawling thing followed. Jianxiang wasn’t afraid — the scene had been designed by someone who wanted to frighten him.

—What a vicious bastard!

Soon a ruined cemetery rose up; moonlight slanted across toppled stones and the air reeked of rot and endless lament. A tall ornate tombstone cracked and a dried hand clawed out. Agrippa at last appeared.

Jianxiang didn’t know the sorcerer’s origin, but his image was plainly malign. Agrippa’s dress was almost deathlike; his gait shaky, his face a hideous, almost reptilian mask. His eyes seemed to pierce human fear.

His voice was like rusty gears, high and shrill, something that chilled the spine. Beneath that rasp was a compulsion — hearing it made denial hard.

“Now I tell you,”
the old man said, “there is a highest magic that lets you see ghosts. Do you wish to learn it?” Jianxiang had rehearsed his reply dozens of times in his head.

Yet when Agrippa asked, he heard himself answer clearly: “Of course I do.”

Only then did Jianxiang realize the game had never offered a real choice — everything had been set from the start.