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Chapitre 1

Paper Baby

Author: Na Duo

Na Duo talks about his latest journal entry, "Paper Baby": I call my novel a "supernatural mystery novel".

My "Na Duo's Supernatural Notes" series has published 10 books to date, with my latest work, *Paper Baby*, soon to be published by Jieli Publishing House. Many readers of the "Na Duo's Supernatural Notes" series call my novels thrillers. Indeed, many readers have felt fear while reading some of my stories, but creating fear is not my goal. This is the biggest difference between my writing and horror novels. Speaking of horror novels, my view is that horror shouldn't be created for its own sake; I think horror is better used as an element. Relatively speaking, I think the story is more important. If you only write some bloody or gloomy scenes, but the overall story is full of flaws or lacks appeal, it cannot truly become a good popular novel.

Starting with my latest work, *Paper Baby*, I've decided to call my novels "supernatural mystery novels." "Supernatural mystery" is a neologism, and neologisms are generally considered bad, but I had no choice. I've been annoyed by the labels like "suspense" and "supernatural" attached to my novels for a long time, but I couldn't find a ready-made term to accurately describe what I was writing, so I had to make one up. According to my definition, many of Mr. Ni Kuang's early works from Hong Kong should also be considered supernatural mystery novels. Mr. Ni's Wesley novels and others left a deep impression on us, but many years have passed since then.

The story of *Paper Baby* goes like this: Huang Zhi is about to give birth. Even she didn't expect that the baby she gave birth to would be as thin as paper… More bizarre things followed one after another. Her eldest daughter, Zhou Qianqian, and others vanished one after another, until Huang Zhi, the mother of the paper baby, passed away. The police immediately intervened. Although the suspect who was eventually apprehended confessed to the crime, his motive remained unexplained. On the day of the trial, the murderer disappeared under tight security… Everything was shrouded in mystery. Forensic doctor He Xi, after examining the frozen infant, discovered that the paper baby's limb muscles were abnormally developed. And the autopsy of Huang Zhi proved that the paper baby, like Huang Zhi, had a blood type that was extremely rare…

"Paper Baby" opens with a true news report published by Yonhap News Agency of South Korea, setting the stage for a fictional story. It possesses a mysterious setting and a suspenseful atmosphere, but before the reading begins, everything is merely a glimpse behind a heavy curtain, revealing more of the enigmatic and bizarre. Within this tense and exciting atmosphere, the novel creates a series of enigmatic and imaginative artistic spaces, making the reader intellectually skeptical yet emotionally engaged, deeply immersed in the story, and embarking on an adventure where reality and illusion intertwine.

In my view, within the realm of popular fiction, only science fiction has consistently demonstrated the intrinsic value of imagination. It's as if human science, starting from a single point, has progressed step by step, reaching its tenth step so far; science fiction depicts the eleventh or twelfth step. My so-called supernatural fiction, however, seeks a different starting point. In other words, science fiction is based on reasonable speculation grounded in scientific evidence; while my imagination is not bound by strict scientific theories. Yet, both share a common thread: humanity's contemplation and exploration of the world.

Therefore, interpreting "lingyi" literally, "ling" does not mean supernatural, but rather a flash of inspiration; "yi" means to question, to ask questions about the unknown with curiosity about the creation of the world, and even to question some of the answers of current science.

When we are young, we all have endless speculations about the world. Some of these speculations are quite brilliant. But as we grow older, these imaginations lose their ethereal quality and we stop thinking about them as much. This is because we have become deeply immersed in the existing system and are no longer a blank slate. The value of supernatural fiction lies in fully stimulating people's interest in the mysteries of this world and letting them know that anything is possible.

wedge

A Frenchman returning home from a vacation in South Korea was shocked to find the bodies of two frozen infants in his refrigerator.

According to Yonhap News Agency on the 24th, a French office worker living in Seoul, South Korea, was shocked to find the frozen bodies of two male infants in a large refrigerator on his balcony after returning from an overseas vacation. The South Korean police and the National Forensic Service are currently conducting a full investigation into this bizarre and tragic case.

On the 24th, the Bangbae-dong Police Station in Seoul revealed that a 40-year-old Frenchman who worked for a foreign auto parts company and lived in Seorae Village, Bangbae-dong, Seoul, a French-populated residential area in South Korea, returned to his luxury apartment in Seoul, which was rented by his company after returning from a vacation in France. He was shocked to find the frozen bodies of two baby boys in a large refrigerator on the small balcony. He reported the incident to the police through a Korean friend on the afternoon of the 23rd.

It is reported that the Frenchman had returned to France for vacation a few days earlier with his wife and two sons. He had to return to Seoul for a meeting and thus traveled alone back to South Korea. On the 23rd, while preparing to put groceries into his large refrigerator, he was shocked to find two frozen baby boys, each wrapped in a plastic bag, on the upper and lower shelves of the freezer. He immediately reported the incident to the police through a Korean friend surnamed Lee.

South Korean police revealed that although the bodies of the two male infants were too stiff to be identified by their gestational age and ethnicity due to their contorted positions, the presence of umbilical cords and meconium indicated they were recent births. Autopsies are currently being performed by the National Forensic Service to determine their age, ethnicity, and cause of death.

Meanwhile, South Korean police who went to the scene to collect evidence revealed that, according to preliminary assessments, there were no signs of unauthorized intrusion at the high-end luxury apartment, which had been secured by a security company using electronic surveillance. The Frenchman who reported the incident to the police stated that the electronic key to open the door was possessed by him, a middle-aged Filipino maid he employed, and a French friend in his forties whom he met in South Korea; however, both of them were currently not in South Korea.

Northeast News Network, July 24, 2006, 17:52

A person's life will encounter all sorts of major changes, which undoubtedly affect the trajectory of our lives. However, many times, when a change is just beginning, we are completely unaware of it, and only panic when it is right in front of us.

Last night on Humin Road in Shanghai, a man was run over by a ferocious container truck. When I arrived at the police station for an interview, the driver was still drunk. If the deceased could know from beyond the grave, he would understand that his fate was sealed the moment that middle-aged man, who hadn't shaved for two weeks, took his first sip of beer two hours before the accident. Perhaps we can trace it back further to the fight the driver had with his wife, Dachao, on the phone yesterday afternoon.

The poor man died on the spot in the car accident. From the perspective of mainstream Chinese materialism, she certainly never had the chance to understand the cause and effect of all this. Fortunately, I survived a major case and, when reviewing the entire incident from beginning to end and sorting it out again, I certainly wouldn't miss this bizarre news about the dead baby in the refrigerator.

This isn't the root of everything, but it's like a rolling mill, a breeding ground for profit. If anything in the world can be called bizarre, then these two dead infants found in refrigerators are the most apt example. In fact, this news report from Yonhap News Agency only slightly lifted a heavy curtain; in the shadows, even more bizarre and outlandish things are slowly emerging.

I've carved this opening in the middle of the story so that everyone can engage in all sorts of speculation and association as I recount the events from the beginning. The sheer size of the gap between these imaginings and the final facts proves just how absurd it is.

Chapter One: The Cursed Infant (Part 1)

The air conditioning in the subway was quite strong, and with few people, it was very comfortable. It's almost noon now, and being able to go to work at this time is one of the great advantages of being a reporter. Otherwise, at 8 am and 6 pm, the Shanghai subway is like a long sack of sardines. Even with the air conditioning blasting, what good would it do to the poor sardines? Of course not.

A young couple sitting diagonally across from me were whispering sweet nothings to each other. The middle-aged man next to them had taken off his shoes, crossed one foot on his knee, and was touching and fiddling with it, thoroughly enjoying himself. Even I could feel the shockwave from their actions, but the young couple didn't react at all. While it's true that you can be involved in anything, there's no need to go to this extent.

The reason I haven't run away yet is because I'm worried that doing so would hurt the other person's self-esteem. As a journalist, I'm a very conscientious media professional, hahaha.

Another minor issue is that the bench opposite me was practically empty, except for that young couple and a guy picking his toes, while my bench was completely full. Perhaps there are seats in the next carriage… but that would be too noisy, wouldn't it?

So I turned my attention away from the uncle's nimble fingers and matching toes and focused on reading.

The book I'm reading is called *A Brief History of Time*. It was very popular many years ago, but now it seems outdated. I've read it before and didn't understand it very well, which is a bit pathetic. But of all the people who read this book at any given time, only a small percentage truly understand it. That's how I console myself.

After so many years as a reporter, and experiencing a series of bizarre events, I've come to accept my fate. Some people are born with a knack for gossip, encountering gossip wherever they go—these people make excellent paparazzi. Others are born with a knack for romance, attracting attention wherever they go—these people become notorious lechers, both despised and coveted by the masses. As for someone like me, constantly encountering strange situations, I'd be an adventurer, or perhaps a short-lived one. Adventure can't support a family, so for now, I'll stick with being a reporter.

I'm now certain that the world isn't as simple as it seems. The problem is how to explain what I'm encountering scientifically. Science is meant to explain the world, and it's never been perfect in this regard. Unfortunately, I get confused by formulas—a problem I picked up in middle school over a decade ago that hasn't healed.

I flipped through the pages, and it seems that the generalized theory of relativity uses a geometric concept of space to replace Newton's theory of gravity. Can I understand it? I have serious doubts.

On my way from the subway station to the newspaper office, I kept thinking about profound physics problems. Later, I realized that I should save those thoughts for the evening, as they would help me sleep.

At least half the people in the Morning Star newspaper's newsroom hadn't arrived yet. I had just sat down in my seat and hadn't even turned on my computer when Liu Tang tossed me an email.

"Hey, your letter." Tang the devil said in a slightly sarcastic tone.

I was stunned for a moment when I received it; the letter had already been opened. I looked at the envelope; there was no recipient's name on it, only "Morning Star Newspaper Mobile Department."

Then I saw the sender's signature in the lower right corner, and I couldn't help but smile wryly as I pulled out the letter.

It was indeed written to me. I receive a letter like this about every month. Sometimes the writer forgets to write my name on the envelope, like this time.

It's perfectly normal for reporters to receive letters from readers. Sometimes they're full of insults, sometimes they're full of praise, and there are even letters from people offering news material or simply expressing their admiration. A veteran reporter will experience all of these, and it's not surprising that there are occasional exceptions. For example, Yang Hua, who covers the public security and judicial departments next door, often receives letters from a habitual robber reporting on his recent robbery successes. He's been on the police's radar for a long time, but they still haven't caught him.

As for me, it was a different story. The letter writer was a mental patient, and each letter was basically structured in three parts: discussing current events, affirming my news reporting work, and finally rambling about her own life. She wrote the letters with considerable seriousness, but the effect was quite entertaining. So each letter would circulate for a long time both inside and outside the department.

While the computer was booting up, I skimmed through the messages, and the first sentence made me smile. She earnestly thanked me for my concern about her condition, telling me not to worry anymore, that she was much better and could live like a normal person again.

I... am very concerned about her condition?

You'll understand once you keep reading. She told me not to always subtly show concern for her in news reports, lest it have a negative impact on others...

Every time she wrote to me, she would tell me with relief that her mental illness had improved significantly, but no sane person who read the letter would agree with her assessment. In the remainder of this letter, she discussed with me whether it was possible to place a missing person ad in the Morning Star, because her daughter was missing.

I remember she mentioned her daughter was missing in her last letter. But seeing this in a letter from a mentally ill patient makes me doubt its veracity; perhaps her daughter simply played outside a little longer. Now that she's mentioned it again, is her daughter still missing from the last time, or has she disappeared again?

After putting down the letter, I felt a little uneasy for some reason.

Don't take it too seriously. Besides, even if your daughter really is missing, the police should be responsible.

She's just a mental patient; judging from the incoherent and illogical nature of this letter, she's far from being cured.

...

"Hey, you've finished reading the letter? It's hilarious! Why does she keep sending you letters?"

"Ah." I was startled and smiled at Liu Tang.

For a few seconds just now, I was in a daze. I laid the letter out on the table and stared at it blankly for a long time. I still remember his daughter, with big eyes, pupils so dark and deep that they seemed to sink right into you. She was standing alone in the corner then, so quiet it was as if she didn't exist. How old was she then… four? If that's the case, she'd be seven this year, of school age.

What's her name? I can't remember right now.

"What's wrong? You didn't actually take what she wrote in her letter seriously, did you?" Liu Tang asked, noticing my strange expression.

I shook my head, suppressing my thoughts; those weren't pleasant memories.

“It’s nothing.” I shrugged, stuffed the letter into an envelope, and tossed it onto a pile of newspapers.

"Want to come and see the Qixi Festival gift I bought? It's super creative," said the devilish Tang, his dark red hair beaming with pride.

Liu Tang, the Red-Haired Devil, has been obsessed with red hair ever since we gave him that nickname. He's never dyed his hair back to black, only changing it from light to dark shades.

"A Qixi Festival gift?" I remembered that the Qixi Festival (Chinese Valentine's Day) was just a few days away. "Has Valentine's Day become localized again?"

"It makes money, but it also gives me more opportunities to date beautiful women. It's a win-win situation, isn't it?"

"What kind of creative ideas could you possibly have?"

"Inflatable doll, never seen one before, have you?"

"An inflatable doll?" My eyes immediately bulged three times. "You're planning to give an inflatable doll as a Qixi Festival gift to a woman?"

"Hey, what kind of expression is that? It's not what you think!" Liu Tang scolded me angrily. "You're lewd by nature. Look at what's going on in your head."

"Didn't you say it was an inflatable doll?" I said sheepishly.

Liu Tang threw something over, and I grabbed it.

"Gently, gently, don't squeeze it too hard!" the Japanese soldier Tang shouted.

It is indeed an inflatable doll, half the size of my palm, shaped like a mischievous rabbit, made of a material more sturdy than a balloon, and not ordinary soft plastic. It feels nice to hold and squeeze it in my hand.

"That's interesting. Young girls would probably like it," I said.

“There’s more than just this one.” Liu Tang beckoned me over and said, “I have a whole box here. Seeing one is just a little interesting, but this whole box is a killer move if you give it to the right person.”

On Liu Tang's table sat a finely crafted wooden box. Opening the lid revealed dozens of neatly stacked, uninflated doll skins.

Liu Tang peeled them off one by one for me to see: "This is Garfield, this is Snoopy, this is Ultraman..."

Folding it like this to make an exquisite inflatable doll would make it a collector's item, and I believe it would be irresistibly attractive to many young girls. Liu Tang was showing off his treasure, unaware that my expression had already changed.

These cartoon dolls awakened a memory in me. I was able to suppress it just now, but now it's surging and churning deep in my mind, and images are flashing before my eyes.

Some things, though they happened a long time ago, feel as if they were happening right now when you remember them.

It was an afternoon three years ago when I handed Huang Zhi my business card. She didn't have any mental health issues back then. I never imagined that she would continue to send me letters to the address on that business card.

I believe that her mental illness stemmed from what happened that afternoon three years ago.

Around 3 p.m., I rushed to the First Maternity and Infant Hospital in Shanghai, commonly known as the First Maternity and Infant Hospital, one of the most famous maternity and infant hospitals in Shanghai, because of a tip.

The person who gave me the information was a correspondent in my hospital office. He wasn't good at discerning what kind of news was good material and what could only serve as gossip, but he kept enthusiastically giving me all sorts of leads because if his information was used by me and made it into the newspaper, I could get a small sum of money.

This time, his tip was just a short text message: "There's a strange case in the obstetrics and gynecology department. Do you want to come and interview?" I happened to be not far from the hospital at the time, so less than twenty minutes after receiving the text message, I appeared at his office door.

Chapter One: The Cursed Infant (Part Two)

The informant made arrangements for me and led me to the location.

"I won't say any more, go do the interview yourself." He said and left, his expression rather unnatural. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I felt he seemed somewhat afraid.

"You can feel it every day?" The doctor's expression turned strange. "That must be your imagination. The baby didn't develop healthily in the womb and has been dead for a long time."

"No matter what, I want to see my baby first. Even if he is dead, he is still my child, my flesh and blood!" Huang Zhi tried to straighten her upper body and stared at the doctor in front of her with endless resentment in her eyes, as if he were her mortal enemy.

The doctor turned his face away, avoiding her gaze. He shook his head slightly and said to the nurse beside him, "Um... is she still in the delivery room?"

The nurse nodded.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “Then I’ll take you to see him. But you should be prepared. You’d better calm down and take a few deep breaths. It’s a… deformed child.”

“No matter what my baby looks like, he is my baby,” Huang Zhi said without hesitation.

She finally lay down again, and the nurse pushed the cart towards the delivery room.

I glanced at the door frame; there were clear fingerprints on it—the sweaty hands of Huang Zhi.

The stroller drove away down the aisle, and I quickened my pace, intending to follow.

Huang Zhi suddenly straightened up and turned his head.