Chapter One: Into the Dream

It was the Ghost Festival, the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, at nine o'clock in the evening.

A girl stood before a communal burner by the side of the street. Clad in a baggy blue-and-white school uniform, her pale face flickered between light and shadow, illuminated by the tongues of fire licking from the hearth.

In her hand, she clutched a stack of joss paper. She fed them into the flames one by one, her spirits low as she watched them curl, melt, and dissolve into ash.

"Mom, Dad, Uncle came by today," she whispered. "He said... they're planning to sell this apartment, so I won't be able to rent it anymore."

"But... it's okay! I ranked first in the school on the last final exams, and I placed in the top three in the provincial math competition a while ago. The prize money adds up to a few thousand yuan. I can use it to find a new place, so please don't worry about me..."

At this, a soft sob escaped her throat. She raised her arm, wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks with her sleeve.

"Mom, Dad... I really miss you."

As her voice faded, the flames in the burner flared up. A sudden gust of wind swept through, sending sparks and charred paper scraps swirling into the night sky.

The wind grew stronger, sending a shiver down her spine. Looking across at the deserted street, a sudden wave of unease washed over her.

Steeling herself, she waited until the last of the embers died out before turning to walk slowly toward the dilapidated apartment building across the street.

The building had been constructed in the nineties. Most of its exterior plaster had peeled away, exposing the weathered red bricks beneath.

The stairwell was even worse—dirty, neglected, and falling apart. She had to stomp her foot hard on every landing just to trigger the sound-activated lights.

As she reached the second floor, Tang Wange's legs went stiff. Cold sweat pooled in the palms of her hands hanging by her sides.

Something felt off. It felt as though something was tailing her...

Swallowing hard, she steeled herself to look back, only to hear a sudden, rustling clatter from the pitch-black corner of the stairs!

The sound snapped her frayed nerves. Terror surged to her brain, freezing the scream in her throat.

Lurching forward, she cleared three steps at a time, bolting up the stairs as if running for her life.

In one fluid motion, she fumbled out her keys, unlocked the door, slammed it shut, and bolted inside. Without even taking off her shoes, she dove into bed and wrapped herself tightly in her blanket.

Ever since her parents died in an accident eight years ago, ten-year-old Tang Wange had learned to eat and sleep alone, coping with loneliness and fear by herself. But tonight, the terror she felt was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

She huddled under the covers, losing track of time. Her head throbbed with a heavy drowsiness. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she felt a burning heat. As she feared, she had run a fever.

*Just sleep,* she told herself. *Once morning comes, everything will be fine.* Closing her eyes, she quickly drifted off.

In her dream, she opened her eyes to find someone else in her bed. It was a young man, shirtless under the covers, lying with his back to her.

His thick, pitch-black hair fell all the way to his waist, and his skin was a healthy, sun-kissed wheat tone.

Propping herself up, she leaned closer, curious to see his face. But he suddenly woke, turning around to gently cover her eyes with his hand.

"Who are you? Why are you in my home?" Tang Wange heard her own voice, hollow and ethereal, echoing through the empty room.

"I am Zhaohe," she heard him reply. "You were the one who brought me back."

The dream pulled her deeper and deeper. The night drifted away with the starlight, until the faint glow of dawn filtered through the cold window pane.

The sunlight, carrying dancing specks of dust, fell upon the girl's bare, smooth arm. Its gentle warmth roused her from her deep slumber.

"Zhaohe..."

Tang Wange mumbled. The moment the name slipped past her lips, she jolted awake.

She bolted upright and stared at the empty space beside her. *Of course, it was just a strange, vivid dream.*

As the thought crossed her mind, a palm-sized slip of paper slid down from her neck, landing right in her palm with a faint tickle.

"What is this?"

Holding it by the corner, she lifted it toward the morning light.

When she saw what it was, a wave of goosebumps broke out across her skin, accompanied by a sudden chill. It was a piece of joss paper!

In color and texture, it was identical to the cheap, coarse paper money burned for the dead. Feeling it closely, she could sense its rough, uneven surface, which felt strangely like... toilet paper?

Whatever it was, it couldn't stay in her room. Reaching this conclusion, Tang Wange scrambled out of bed, threw open the window, and tossed it outside.

She failed to notice the slip of paper twirling in the breeze, dancing back and forth before drifting right back onto her windowsill.

It was mid-August. While the other grades were still enjoying the tail end of their summer break, the high school seniors had already been back in class for a week.

The walk from Tang Wange's home to school usually took twenty minutes, but taking a shortcut through a narrow alley shaved five minutes off the trip.

But today...

Staring down the dark, quiet alleyway, a chill crept up the back of her neck. Her legs felt like lead, refusing to budge.

Suddenly, light footsteps approached from behind. Before she could react, an arm draped heavily over her shoulder.

"Tang Wange, I've been waiting for you!"

The voice was all too familiar. Tang Wange instantly knew it was Song Jing.

Her heart hammering, she shoved his arm off and spun around to face him. Looking at the empty street behind him, a sense of dread pooled in her chest.

Tense, she forced a polite smile. "What a coincidence, Song Jing... are you taking this way to school too?"

Song Jing was the school basketball team's resident tyrant. Though handsome, he was notoriously cruel and couldn't care less about school. Because of his powerful family background, no one dared to cross him.

Except for Tang Wange. Every time he tried to torment her, she remained as calm and unbothered as a still, cold pond. It wasn't so much that she was putting up with him, but rather that she ignored him entirely.

"Of course not. I came here specifically to wait for you."

With one hand in his pocket, Song Jing smirked down at her, taking slow, deliberate steps forward.

A mock smile played on his lips as his right hand reached out toward her. "Why so tense? Are you scared, Tang Wange?"

She instinctively tried to back away, but he lunged forward, grabbing her arm and slamming her back against the brick wall.

"What do you think you're doing? Let go of me, Song Jing!"

"Don't be scared. I just hate the way you look down on me, acting like you're so above everyone else."

Song Jing forced her head straight and raised a white Polaroid camera, aiming the lens directly at her flushed, disheveled face.

"So what if you're the top student in school? You're still nothing to me. I'll drag you off that pedestal of yours easily. Don't worry, I'll make sure to get a nice shot, blow it up, and plaster it all over the school bulletin board!"

"You bastard!"

Tang Wange shoved desperately against his chest, but her strength was no match for his.

Dark clouds gathered rapidly overhead, blocking out the sun and casting a shadow over the alley, mirroring the despair that clouded Tang Wange's heart.

Then, a violent gust of wind whipped up out of nowhere, swirling dust and gravel into the air and forcing them both to squint.

Tang Wange's heart pounded wildly. Shielding her face, she peeked through her fingers and saw a figure slowly emerging from the swirling dust.

A clear, amused voice cut through the wind.

"Hey, ugly. Let the girl go."