Heart Dust

Heart Dust, by Xiaolong

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It's time for horror, Hu Jiujiu

Has anyone ever had a near-death experience? You mean that incredibly desperate feeling? A near-death experience is actually a kind of climax, similar to sexual climax. Some people with deviant tendencies put plastic bags over their heads to seek the euphoric feeling of suffocation. Medical experts analyze that this "sexual asphyxiation," due to oxygen deprivation and alkalosis, can produce symptoms of excitement and unparalleled pleasure. Therefore, many people actually suffocate to death from this, often mistaken for suicide. Those in the know understand that it's actually death from exhaustion.

Horror is a near-death experience. Good horror novels can also make people feel suffocated, but it's a "pseudo-suffocation." After the terror, you can still come back to life; you won't actually die. Stephen King's horror novels have remained bestsellers precisely because horror is a shadow over the entire human psyche. This global specter wanders everywhere, creating oxygen deprivation and alkalinity, causing widespread panic, thereby alleviating (or deepening) the inherent loneliness and isolation of humankind.

Therefore, the feeling of terror is a scarce resource; it needs to be artificially created. This makes good terror (perhaps this is grammatically incorrect; terror itself has no good or bad, only different levels) exceptionally rare. It is far more terrifying than bad terror, terror that is easily understood, or terror that evokes no terror at all. However, the problem is that good terror is always in short supply, while terror that evokes no terror at all, though highly sought after but rarely available, always floods the market.

This time, however, I was so terrified that it took me several days to recover, and I even developed a cough—I used coughing to bolster my courage. The reason was this: I studied medicine in university, which meant going to the anatomy lab, and in the anatomy lab, I would face mummies. Since starting university, I haven't eaten cured meat because its color and smell are just like a mummie. After starting university, many terrifying stories about the anatomy lab circulated, the kind that would scare you to death. In May 2005, the "Anatomy Classroom Series" of horror novels was published, a total of 12 books, released at a rate of about one every two months. The first book was called *Heart Dust*. I wasn't the author, but I'm proud to say that the book is entirely based on my medical school.

The horror in *Heart's Dust* can also be described as "born from the heart." It first introduces a terrifying scene, then reveals the terrifying emotion, and finally unveils the truth: the horror stems from unresolved worldly desires within. Interspersed throughout are Otaki-esque elements: hypnosis, the path to monastic life, chanting, and numerous convincing medical facts. All the characters are beautiful female classmates, and all the lovers are quirky boys. After a love triangle, the male protagonist dies unexpectedly, his body donated to the anatomy department. However, though he is dead, his heart is broken, and he lingers in the world, possessing another boy who enters the school three years later, thus enacting a series of terrifying campus horror dramas. Ordinary horror would be one thing, but Otaki also forces romance into the narrative, making it not only terrifying but also heartbreaking. Therefore, the book shamelessly proclaims itself "fantasy-cool." It is recommended that naive young girls not read it lightly, lest they risk double the oxygen deprivation and alkalosis.

The book, originally published online, has already garnered countless clicks and positive reviews. Compared to Stephen King's "The Shining," "Heart Dust" may be more suited to the tastes of Chinese readers. It is a rare gem among domestic horror novels, leaving readers in awe. It also breaks the monopoly of a small group on the discourse of Chinese horror novel creation. Within the broad basket of horror, it simultaneously incorporates both intellectual and emotional elements, and enhances the realism of horror with realistic depictions. This is truly an anomaly in recent years.

The up-and-coming author Kotaki has quietly arrived with his groundbreaking horror masterpiece, "Heart Dust." In the title page, he quotes a Buddhist scripture: "The past mind is unattainable, the present mind is unattainable, the future mind is unattainable." "The mind is without hindrance; because there is no hindrance, there is no fear."

The reason why Xiaolong's horror aesthetics are so unique is precisely because of his life experience and knowledge accumulation. His complex simplicity and simple complexity permeate and subvert each other to achieve a first-class level. In reality, he is also an unfathomable person. I have known him for ten years, and after reading his "Heart Dust", I can't help but feel more and more unfamiliar with him.

In his Duino Elegies, written 70 years ago, Rilke wrote: "If I cry out, who among the angels of every rank will hear me? Even if one of them suddenly embraces me in his heart, I will perish because of his stronger presence. For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terrors that we just happen to be able to endure, and we admire it only because it is too serene to deign to destroy us. Every angel is terrifying." Yes, every angel is terrifying, including Xiaolong, including each and every one of us.

The boy cried wolf

A shadow swept through the jungle, followed by a sigh.

It is fear, oh little hunter, it is fear!

—Kipling, "The Little Hunter's Song"

Chen Bing

"Heart Dust" is marketed as a "super popular online youth fantasy novel," which is as nonsensical as calling Foucault's theory "queer theory." Only after reading it did I realize that "fantasy and cool" is horror plus heartbreak—a sharp eye that almost hit my sweet spot, even for an old-timer like me.

Today I mainly want to talk about the age-old topic of fear. From a medical perspective, fear originates from tiny fiber chains between nerve cells in a small almond-shaped tissue (the amygdala). This is a product of our ancestors' evolution to guard against wolves and tigers. Modern youth are no longer concerned with this; their worries are mainly about three things: academic performance, personal relationships, and living expenses. However, the amygdala, which controls fear, has existed since the day it appeared in the primitive brain, and continues to exist as a high-level trigger for human behavioral responses. Why? Because regardless of whether the wolf is coming or not, Little Taki is here!

The eerie cover of *Heart Dust* made me hesitate for a long time. I was terrified that opening the title page would reveal a disheveled female ghost slowly crawling out of the book, scaring me to death. But after finishing it, I found I wasn't scared to death; in fact, I felt a strange sense of camaraderie, like "after the ordeal, we're all brothers." Paul Newman believed that fear can cause three definable reactions: the feeling of fear and the urge to run; sudden anger or intense dissatisfaction; and a light, ethereal feeling or "boundless" pleasure. And so, Kotaki succeeded. Ah, humans!

Paul Newman also said that fear and curiosity are chemically similar. That's incredibly insightful. The scene in the book where Yan Hao, Shen Zihan, and Ren Xuefei break into the dissection room at night is strikingly similar to a scene in a horror movie where someone hears a strange noise behind the door but insists on opening it—it truly evokes both pity and anger at their lack of resolve. Afterwards, the captivating drama of wandering souls, possession, hypnosis and being hypnotized, a gentleman's pursuit, unrequited love, and ultimately, a lingering love story between a human and a ghost unfolds naturally, scene after scene.

It's impossible not to mention the author, Xiaolong. He was once a vegetarian, meditator, hypnotist, writer, and musician—a veritable master. Four years later, he's produced "Fantasy Cool," making one wonder about his motives. Regarding the dissection room, Xiaolong once wrote "The Mystery of the Dissection Room," a Baroque work with elaborate rhetoric. In his writing, the dissection room is like Foucault's prison, bathroom, and library—"sites"—possessing unique aesthetic value. Why would such a profound, even bittersweet, person now offer "light, boundless pleasure"? I think this reflects the growing pains contemporary people (or contemporary intellectuals) are experiencing: first, learning knowledge; then, observing the world; finding it unclear; then, learning culture, trying to find suitable tools for dissecting the world. Some find them, achieving a peaceful end; others don't, like Jiang Boyu, who, three years after his death, remains in the "intermediate state" (bardo) and hasn't entered reincarnation. Kotaki, with his profound understanding of Buddhism, naturally knew the difference between Hinayana and Mahayana. Hinayana advocates that there is only one Buddha in the world, and that one must renounce worldly life and practice asceticism to attain Arhatship, emphasizing personal perfection; Mahayana, on the other hand, advocates that all beings in the world are Buddhas, and that one can attain Buddhahood through lay practice, emphasizing the salvation of all sentient beings. His shift from profound theoretical and complex debates to popularization and accessibility has a strong implication of transforming Hinayana into Mahayana, though this is merely my presumptuous conjecture, which only elicits a smirk from Kotaki.

On the title page, Xiaolong boldly copied the Heart Sutra: "The mind is without hindrance; because there is no hindrance, there is no fear." He seemed to be detached from terror, yet his inner fear was still discernible. The writing in *Heart Dust* flows smoothly, the language fresh and natural, making it a satisfying read (it can be finished in half a day). However, once the story shifts to the anatomy lab setting, Xiaolong becomes serious, even reverent. A gothic, eerie atmosphere sends my adrenaline soaring, making my heart pound. This change in writing style shows that Xiaolong still experiences fear, "attachment." Actually, it's a good thing: today's good young people are like the sun at eight or nine in the morning, roaming freely in this bright world, but fear reminds us that we should still maintain reverence for certain deities in this world, such as Xiaolong's medical school anatomy lab.

Xiaolong, who is "troubled," repeatedly mentioned "the anatomy room on the left side of the first floor of the Basic Medical Sciences Building" in the article, a place where I spent five years of my youth, which made me feel like I was in a dream.

Writing book reviews seems like a good thing: how impressive, I'm reviewing other people's books! But actually, it's a trap, especially when writing for acquaintances. An old flame suddenly pulls out something incredibly impressive, creating a kind of estranged comedic effect: out of nowhere, he irresponsibly deconstructs himself right in front of you, leaving you with the arduous task of reconstruction. That's all I have to say. The wolf hasn't come, the little dragon hasn't come, but terror has.

I've heard that Xiaolong has signed a 12-book contract with the publisher, which will take more than two years to complete. A friend commented, "Wow, by the time he finishes writing, he'll be like a Qiong Yao novel!" With such a great reputation, I'm eagerly awaiting his return.

The perfect balance of terror is a matter of degree.

Text by: Li Chuchu

Real-world horror often evokes disgust and aversion, while virtual horror, on the contrary, brings us excitement and exhilaration. Around the end of my student years, in the makeshift dormitory arranged by my internship, I began my obsession with horror movies. Back then, a film like *The Ring* would often leave people trembling with fear late at night; some timid individuals even couldn't sleep, and eventually, several grown men would squeeze together to sleep on a shared bed. Extreme psychological terror, yet an unending fascination—this self-indulgent masochism was often labeled as mentally ill, but it didn't stop the "horror fans" from continuing every night.

Nowadays, seasoned "terrorism enthusiasts" are a dime a dozen. The young women in the office get all excited talking about horror novels, as if anyone not involved is seriously out of touch. One has to admire the magical allure of horror. It's said that the origins of horror novels can be traced back to the Gothic novels popular in late 18th and early 19th century England. Stephen King, in particular, made horror novels bestsellers worldwide. Actually, the Chinese have a very long history of appreciating horror novels. Leaving aside the distant past, almost everyone knows the stories from *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio*, right? When I was a child, I always hoped that movies would show more ghost stories about fox s

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