Chapter Six: The Bewildered Child

After taking the fever medicine, I forced myself out of bed to brush my teeth and wash my face, then went to the living room to eat something. I had no appetite at all, but I knew I had to eat.

Wenzai’s grandmother asked about my condition and sighed, “What a Mid-Autumn Festival—illness and even a murder…”

After breakfast, Wenzai and I went to the clinic to see what was happening. The area had been cordoned off, and a crowd had gathered to gawk. Several police officers kept people from approaching. The body had already been taken away, but there was still a large pool of blood visible near the door inside the clinic.

Why did this scene feel so familiar? My head was spinning, my thoughts tangled and chaotic, but I didn’t have the energy to dwell on it.

The high fever wouldn’t break. Wenzai’s eldest uncle got a call from his aunt and rushed to the hospital to see Xiaochao, asking if I wanted to go too.

If the local clinic had been an option, I wouldn’t have wanted the trouble of making the long trip to the hospital. For more than a decade, I’d been used to dealing with minor illnesses in this way, so I insisted that I’d just rest and recover.

During this time, the police came to question Wenzai and me. We answered honestly, and once they were done, they left.

By evening, my symptoms still hadn’t improved; I’d taken antipyretics three or four times already.

Wenzai couldn’t stand to watch any longer and urged me to go to the hospital, saying he couldn’t bear the responsibility if something happened to me here.

I’d often had fevers lasting three or four days before, so I wasn’t too worried, just miserable. “It’s already late,” I said. “If it doesn’t get better by tomorrow, I’ll go to the hospital.”

Wenzai’s uncle and aunt still hadn’t returned. His aunt called home, her voice trembling as she cried that Xiaochao’s fever wouldn’t go down. The hospital had given him injections, run blood tests, but couldn’t find the cause; he’d have to be hospitalized for observation. Several other families from the neighborhood were also at the hospital—all children who had played with Xiaochao last night had come down with a mysterious high fever too, though none were as delirious as Xiaochao.

Every child at the kindergarten last night had fallen ill, except for Wenzai. Clearly, this was no coincidence.

Wenzai’s second uncle demanded to know what Wenzai had done the previous night, how such a thing could have happened.

Wenzai protested his innocence and had no choice but to recount everything that had happened at the kindergarten.

“How exactly did they play?” Wenzai’s grandmother asked suddenly.

“One stood in the middle, with toy weapons laid out on the ground. The others circled him holding dragonflies, chanting something about ‘Lost Child’ and ‘Soul Maze,’ claiming to be inviting some great spirit,” Wenzai replied.

“Isn’t that the ‘Lost Child’ game? I haven’t seen anyone play that in years. How did they come to play it now?” his grandmother wondered.

“Mom, I’ve told you before, don’t let the children mess with those superstitious things! See, now something’s happened! What exactly is this ‘Lost Child’ game?” Wenzai’s second uncle complained.

“I never told them about it. That’s a boys’ game—women aren’t even supposed to look when they play. I only know of it in passing, not the details. Anyway, the spirit they invite is a master; once he’s sent away, nothing should happen,” Wenzai’s grandmother insisted.

Realizing he’d misunderstood his mother, Wenzai’s second uncle turned to Wenzai instead. “How would these kids know about such superstitious games? Did you teach them?”

“We arrived and they were already playing! How could I have taught them?” Wenzai said defensively.

And that was the end of the matter.

That night, my head was heavy and clouded—clearly, the fever wasn’t going to break. Tomorrow, I’d really have to go to the hospital.

With my head pounding and fever burning, I couldn’t sleep. I drifted in and out of consciousness.

“Diligent woman, no coffin, no one to bear her body;
A single plank, half a mat, sisters help cast her into the sea…”

A faint, indistinct singing reached my ears.

I opened my eyes to find myself standing on the street in the slum district, shrouded in white mist. Every house was dark, every door closed—nothing but blackness.

Wasn’t I lying in bed? How had I gotten here? Why did I have no memory of coming?

“Diligent woman, no coffin, no one to bear her body; a single plank, half a mat…”

A woman’s voice sang out. A slender figure appeared in the mist, her back to me so I couldn’t see her face.

“Who are you? Are you the one singing?” I called.

She slowly turned her head, but just as her face was about to come into view, her figure vanished abruptly into the fog.

I froze. Where had she gone? I hurried forward, standing where she had just been, peering around. The white fog pressed all around; the buildings on either side were dark, and not a soul was in sight.

“Diligent woman, no coffin, no one to bear her body;
A single plank, half a mat, sisters help cast her into the sea…”

The singing floated from ahead. I turned and saw the slender figure reappear, still in the act of turning her head, her face just on the verge of being revealed.

She turned back and walked slowly forward.

“Wait! Who are you?” I called, quickening my pace to catch up.

Though she seemed to move slowly, she remained always out of reach. No matter how fast I tried to go, the distance between us never lessened—nor did it grow.

Her figure remained always ahead, as if leading me somewhere.

That ethereal song lingered in my ears, sometimes near, sometimes far, its echoes endlessly repeating.

A sudden, piercing light appeared ahead. Had I arrived? I walked toward it—it was Dr. Huang’s clinic. But hadn’t the police already sealed it off? Why was it still open? The police tape was gone.

I reached the clinic’s door and saw that everything inside was neat and orderly. Dr. Huang, in his white coat, stood straight at the entrance.

My confusion only deepened. Hadn’t Dr. Huang been beaten to death? Unless the dead Dr. Huang wasn’t this Dr. Huang—“Huang” was a common surname, after all.

“Not off work yet?” I asked.

“I’m waiting for you,” Dr. Huang replied with a kindly smile.

“Waiting for me?” I was puzzled. What was he waiting for me for? Did I owe him money? Or had he found my wallet and wanted to return it?

“Don’t go any farther,” he said. “If you do, you won’t be able to come back.”

I didn’t understand. “Not come back? Why not? What’s beyond here?”

“That’s not a place for you. Go back.”

Suddenly, darkness fell all around me; the clinic’s lights, the street’s white mist—everything vanished at once.

Shocked, I looked around. Why had it gone dark so suddenly?

“Dr. Huang! Dr. Huang!” I called, but there was no answer. Where had he gone? What was happening?

Bang!—a tremendous crash.

I jolted awake to dazzling sunlight.

It was a dream!

I tried to move, but still couldn’t summon any strength. My head was spinning, nausea rising, my breath burning hot, my eyes feverish.

If anything, I felt worse than before.

An angry voice rang out: “This is a case of evil spirits!”