Reino Fantasma

Capítulo 18

I cradled her head in my hands, my fingers tracing the remnants of her neck—that soft neck, that delicate skin, I could feel it with the touch of my fingers. I brought her close to my eyes, I gazed intently at her, at her face, at her closed eyes, at her mouth. I must admit, she possessed a power, a visual power that had claimed so many lives. Only then did I understand the fantasies, the astonishment, even the fear that had gripped those people towards her.

If I were to compile the history of the Qing Dynasty, I would write these words: "Empress Alute, a magical Mongolian beauty."

Below her neck was a flat wound with jagged cuts, clearly made with a saw. I could see the pink trachea and blood vessels in the exposed cut surface of her neck, as if it had just been chopped off.

Then, I placed her on the table and continued to observe her. If I only looked at her face, I would never believe that she had already died. She looked like she was asleep, without any pain. In fact, she was enduring the greatest pain in the world, the pain that we, the living, imposed on her.

I no longer cared. I knew most of those who had touched her were dead, but I disregarded everything. I stroked her hair, her face, her soft, supple skin. Then I touched my own face; aside from her skin being more delicate, I couldn't tell the difference between mine and hers. Only then did I fully believe that the forgotten files and the words of those people were true.

I finally found what she needed.

That was part of her, the most important part—her head.

I turned on my computer, logged into Tomb Raider, and re-entered the final maze game. I walked a few steps in the maze, and then typed in the dialog box below: I found what you needed.

A few seconds later, a reply popped up in the dialog box—

Ghost of the Ancient Tomb: Did you really find it?

Me: I've found it. I know everything now. You're not my Xiangxiang. You're the Empress.

Ghost of the Ancient Tomb: You have courage and intelligence. Remember that park with the Pushkin statue? Half an hour later, you arrive there and return what I need to you under the Pushkin statue.

Me: Okay.

Ghost of the Ancient Tomb: Go quickly.

Then, I logged off. I shut down the computer, held the Queen's head in my arms, put it back in the tin box, and went outside.

It was already three in the morning. I walked along the deserted street, deciding to continue walking; half an hour would be enough. I clutched the tin box tightly to my chest, as if holding the queen's head inside. In the cold night wind and moonlight, I suddenly remembered a novel I had once written called "The Lover's Head." It tells the story of a man in ancient times who was beheaded. His lover, a beautiful woman, took his severed head away at night, carrying it to a bamboo forest. There, she performed a magical preservation procedure on his head and lived with it. The head remained unchanged, forever resembling a young man, while the woman aged. Decades later, the woman became an old woman and lay down in her grave, still holding the head of a young man.

I feel like that woman now, holding that eternally unchanging head, walking towards death.

The night was hazy, and my footsteps echoed through the city. The box on my chest felt warm against my skin, and I knew her head was facing the pounding of my heart. Perhaps she could sense everything I was thinking.

Finally, we arrived at the park in the middle of the street. Pushkin's statue stood there alone. I remembered what she, as Rose, had said to me when she passed by the statue: "Stone has life, everything has life. A statue can think, it has the same feelings and thoughts as a person. From this perspective, it is alive, it is immortal. Because—life can last forever."

Perhaps that's why she chose this place.

I walked into the park. The shadows of the trees swayed, and in the moonlight, Pushkin seemed to be watching me, watching what I was holding. I walked to the base of the Pushkin statue, cradling her head in the box, and quietly waited for her to appear.

Suddenly, a cold wind swept by, and a shadow appeared in the bushes.

She's here.

Dressed in white, with her still-fragrant face, that natural scent wafting in the night breeze, a smile playing on her lips. She approached me, and I involuntarily took a step back. In the moonlight, she said softly, "Are you afraid of me?"

"No, I—" I couldn't speak as I faced her.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m just an ordinary woman.” She reached out her hand to me, her white fingers gleaming in the moonlight. She continued, “I won’t hurt you. After all, you are the second man to truly possess my body.”

Suddenly, I felt as if I had been struck by something, and my heart was filled with immense pain. The second man... then the first must have been the Tongzhi Emperor. Was I also his substitute? I couldn't bear to think any further, so I interrupted her, "I'm sorry, please stop talking."

She replied softly, "Believe me, you are not a substitute. In fact, in your heart, I am the substitute for Xiangxiang."

I was surprised and impressed by her; she was right, she understood my thoughts perfectly. Then I thought of something else: "One last question, what's your name?" History books haven't recorded her name as a woman.

"Twig, branch of a tree."

Arutet Twig, I finally know her name.

"Take what you want." I handed her the box I was carrying.

She took the box, but didn't open it. Instead, she gently stroked the metal of the box and softly said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I just hope that no more people will die. All the living are innocent."

She didn't answer, but nodded to me, and then gave me a faint smile with her fragrant face: "Perhaps, we will meet again."

Then, as she turned around, I suddenly said to her, "Aren't you going to open the box and see what's inside?"

"No need, I know what's inside." With that, she walked out of the park and disappeared from my sight into the darkness.

Only that fragrance remained in the air.

I touched my chest and found myself much calmer; the fear was gone. I looked back at Pushkin; the poet was deep in thought. I thought quietly for a while, then walked out of the park. I didn't go home, but wandered aimlessly through the streets of Shanghai.

I don't know how long I walked, but then I saw the eastern sky glowing white against a deep blue backdrop. I quickened my pace and headed east. When I reached the Bund, the distant sky was ablaze with color, the deep blue night sky was gradually fading, and the white light of dawn was bursting forth from the other side of the Huangpu River. Finally, this magical night passed, and dawn broke. Many white seagulls, flying in from the Yangtze River estuary, soared over the Huangpu River, and a huge ship was cutting through the water towards the sea. I saw the red sun; it slowly rose through the gaps between the skyscrapers of Lujiazui, as if climbing a tall building, while the moon continued to hang in the sky on the other side.

The clock on the Bund Customs House suddenly struck six times, its distant sound echoing in my ears.

I love this city.

March 1st

I'm alive.

I searched online all day, but I can no longer find Tomb Raider online. The URL has disappeared, and the viruses that plagued major websites have been automatically removed, and their homepage links have returned to normal.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and a person stood in front of me. He handed me a cardboard box and said hurriedly, "I'm from the courier company. This is a package for you. Please sign for it."

"My package?" I looked at the cardboard box; it was well-packaged and had some weight to it. I asked, "Who sent this package?"

He shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, I don't know."

I signed the list, and then the deliveryman left. I closed the door, placed the cardboard box on the table, stared at it for a moment, puzzled, and then unpacked it.

A familiar face.

It smells so good!

The box contained a fragrant human head.

I cradled her head in my hands, just as I had cradled the Queen's head a few nights before. Her eyes were closed, and I gazed at her intently. I smelled that familiar fragrance. I placed her head in my arms, holding her tightly. I could no longer control myself; tears streamed down my face.

Smells good, smells good, my Smells good.

I thought I had won you over, but in reality, you've already left me forever.

The Queen returned Xiangxiang's head to me. Yes, she has already gotten her own head back; she no longer needs Xiangxiang's head. She should indeed return Xiangxiang's head to me; she did the right thing.

Xiangxiang, I will always miss you.

Qingming

It was still dark, a few stars hung in the sky, and the cemetery was deserted. I climbed over the wall and stealthily approached the rows of somber tombstones. Finally, I came to a tombstone with Xiangxiang's photo embedded in it; she was smiling at me in the picture. I opened the box I had brought, and inside, Xiangxiang's head lay peacefully asleep.

Perhaps due to the Queen's power, Xiangxiang's head seemed to have received some kind of miraculous support. More than a month has passed, and it remains completely unchanged and intact. I've decided to bury her, to let her return to the earth. I don't want to see anything that goes against the laws of nature anymore. Death is death; death is the complete disappearance of both soul and body without a trace.

Life does not need to last forever.

I have made my decision.

After what's happened these past few days, my fear of graves has completely disappeared. I seem to have become quite adept at digging them up. With skillful tools, I pried open the marble cover under Xiangxiang's tombstone. In a cramped space of less than a few dozen square centimeters, this was Xiangxiang's "underground palace." Her urn was placed in the center of the "underground palace." I gently lifted Xiangxiang's head out of the box and placed it next to her urn, letting her head return to her body.

Then, I quickly ran to the nearby flower bed, dug up a lot of soil, and returned to Xiangxiang's grave, pouring the soil into the small "underground palace." The black mountain soil, like fine sand, slid down my fingers, covering Xiangxiang's face—first her hair, then her ears, then her mouth, and finally her eyes and nose. I took one last look at Xiangxiang's face; she was so peaceful, and the fragrance still lingered. As the last handful of soil left my fingers, Xiangxiang's head was completely covered.

May you rest in peace, my Xiangxiang.

I know I will never see her again.

I stood up and cleaned Xiangxiang's grave again, making sure no one could tell I'd disturbed it. Then, I kissed the photo of Xiangxiang embedded in the tombstone.

The birdsong in the surrounding woods began, signaling that dawn was approaching. I glanced one last time at Xiangxiang's tombstone. Farewell, Xiangxiang.

I left the cemetery.

I walked through the muddy fields outside the cemetery. The rapeseed flowers were in bloom, a golden expanse, and I seemed to smell that fragrant scent again. I lingered there. After eight o'clock, the cemetery became very lively. There is only one Qingming Festival a year, and many people come to the cemetery to pay their respects to their deceased relatives. I saw the white smoke from burning paper money slowly rising from the graves.

I stand here amidst the rapeseed flowers, reflecting on everything that has happened since the winter solstice. It's now Qingming Festival, and it all feels like a nightmare. It should all be over. Ye Xiao has told me that in the past month, neither in this city nor across the country have there been any more unexplained suicides like the frequent occurrences of the previous two months. The horrifying "virus" has disappeared; no one will die anymore, because she has gotten what she wanted.

Yes, I think the nightmare is over.

At 10 a.m., I followed a bus full of people returning home after tomb sweeping back to the city.

I smelled the city's familiar scent again. I still had a few subway stops to go. I got off at the station and waited on the platform. A moment later, a train sped in. Looking out the window, I could see it was packed with people. The train stopped, and I walked to the nearest door. The door opened, and many people poured out. Suddenly, among these men and women coming towards me, I saw a face.

An absolutely stunning face.

—The Empress

The head I dug out of the ground, this perfect head, was firmly attached to the body of a perfect woman, without a single mark on her fair neck. Yes, it had been returned to its rightful owner; her full name was Arute Xiaozhi.

She saw me and smiled at me.

I stood still, and then the train doors closed and it quickly pulled away. The platform was empty; there was no one around, only the two of us.

"Hello," she greeted me first. She was wearing a white dress, the kind of fashionable color you see in shop windows on Huaihai Road, just like many girls in their early twenties on the street.

I was so embarrassed that I couldn't speak. I didn't know how to address her—should I call her Empress or Little Branch? I could only say faintly, "What a small world."

Yes, are you alright?

"fine and you?"

“I told you, I work for an internet company now,” she replied with a smile.

"Oh, everything will be alright," I said, uttering something completely unexpected.

Just then, another subway train pulled into the station. I thought I should go, so I said to her, "Goodbye."

"We'll meet again if fate allows."

I boarded the train. It was crowded, and I squeezed near the door. Through the window, I looked at her still standing on the platform. She was perfect. She was still looking at me, waving, and I waved back. The train slowly started moving, faster and faster, taking me into the dark tunnel.

I looked out the car window, my eyes wide open in the darkness.

I'm no longer afraid of the dark.

end

Life is like a glass of plain water; I am living quietly and simply once again.

I had an idea: to write down these amazing experiences and turn them into a novel to commemorate those who have left me. I turned on my computer and typed in the title—"Virus."

I stared at the blank space beneath the title, unsure how to begin, when suddenly my doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a stranger, a man around fifty years old, standing before me.

"Who are you?" I asked him.

"My name is Huang Donghai."

Huang Donghai? How could it be him? I had searched for him desperately before. I was so surprised that I couldn't speak. I took a few steps back and welcomed him in. He was tall and thin, with a gaunt face, bright eyes, and a slightly melancholic expression. Yes, it couldn't be an imposter. He must be the Huang Donghai I had seen in the photos, only with more white hair and a darker complexion than in the pictures.

“Hello, young man, I just returned from Tibet. I know everything that has happened these past few months.” His voice was deep and resonant as he slowly uttered these words.

"Hello." I didn't know how to reply.