Incendie mystérieux

Chapitre 65

"So," Wei Lan cautiously continued, "was this the reason they all left to work here as maids?" In other words, it was because they were unjustly accused that the maids were unwilling to work for this family?

As soon as the words left her mouth, she keenly noticed a fleeting look of embarrassment on Wang Ma's face. Although she didn't answer directly, her expression undoubtedly told Wei Lan the answer. This explained why Wang Ma worked so hard yet couldn't find anyone, and why Wang Ma was so happy to see her. The master's salary was quite high; in a time of severe labor surplus, where even college graduates complained of difficulty finding employment, the fact that no one wanted such an easy, high-paying job indicated a serious problem. Were the previous servants really driven away by unbearable criticism?

No, she shook her head slightly; that wasn't the real reason. What they were afraid of was that the house was haunted.

Last night's dream replayed vividly in her mind. The girl's face was so clear… If ghosts truly existed, then the girl's appearance must have some meaning. So, during her lunch break, she re-examined the bathroom. Bathed in daylight, the bathroom tiles shone with a lovely, fresh, and tidy sheen, exuding a cheerful atmosphere. Even the toilet was spotless, without a trace of age-old grime. She looked up at the mirror on the wall, carefully examining the ordinary-looking face reflected there—a face that signified "absolute safety," neither ugly enough to deter people nor beautiful enough to make them drool. At most, she was just an extremely ordinary young woman with no outstanding qualities, someone who could disappear without a trace in a crowd. Her greatest advantage was that she appeared honest and approachable, easily gaining the trust of others.

And that is precisely her greatest strength.

She put on a smile for herself in the mirror, a simple, honest smile like a dutiful woman, and then the smile froze in the mirror. Because she suddenly remembered something crucial.

Volume 4, The Soul Singer, Fourth Movement: The Puppet House of Death (Part 5)

The bathroom, including its renovation and furnishings, looked far too new—a newness that clashed with the rest of the decor. She recalled all the rooms downstairs, from the furniture to the appliances, all exuding an old-fashioned feel from the last century, the paint on the walls yellowed and dusty with age. If the living room, meant to be the centerpiece, was like this, what could be more true for this upstairs bathroom, a spare bathroom intended for the household staff, perhaps never even used in a year?

The tiles, toilet, and bathtub were all spotless white, smooth as porcelain, forming a stark contrast to the dilapidated state of the home. The snow-white porcelain surface couldn't tolerate even the slightest stain, as pure as a newborn baby. But what secrets lay hidden beneath its flawless surface?

The more she thought about it, the more chilled she felt, and she desperately wanted to break open the entire bathroom floor to find out what was inside. But she was also hesitant, afraid that if she did, she would discover something horrifying. She became increasingly convinced that something was hidden beneath this unusually clean bathroom, something that the master and Wang Ma had gone through a whole renovation to barely conceal.

She couldn't help but shudder. What could that be?

The girl's face from last night flashed through her mind again. No, the air seemed to be filled with the smell of dampness, sticky and slightly fishy. In a daze, Wei Lan's neatly combed hair uncontrollably drifted outwards, aimlessly scattering like water plants in a river, slow yet decisive. Her hair roots were pulled painfully, and tears welled up in her eyes—it hurt! She screamed. But those damned hairs still bared their fangs and claws, wanting to break free from the thin layer of scalp's control and roam freely in the air within this small space. She had once been proud of her thick, long hair, but now she was filled with regret. Her hair was long, thick, and dense, inexplicably damp, as if it had absorbed a heavy, rich moisture; strands intertwined, weaving the weak strands into thick braids; so black, so thick, so long, and moving so merrily, like dark water snakes slithering about. When it wrapped around her neck, like a well-trained hand, it tightened, making her so suffocated she could hardly breathe, her eyes rolling back, seemingly on the verge of death—

At this critical moment, a woman's loud voice came from afar:

"Wei Lan! Where have you been?! Get back here and mop the floor!"

It was Wang Ma. She was clearly in a bad mood, and her tone was unfriendly. Yet, it was this harsh voice that saved Wei Lan's life. The instant Wang Ma shouted, the illusion vanished, the braid wrapped around her neck unraveled, and returned to its original form of countless fine, delicate strands of hair. Wei Lan glanced at herself in the mirror. Although her face was flushed and her breathing rapid, she showed no sign of having just been on the verge of death. The only difference was that her carefully styled hair was now disheveled and draped over her shoulders. She repeatedly touched her neck, still shaken. Indeed, not a single red mark remained on her delicate skin. If she were to tell others what had happened, not only would no one believe her, but it would also arouse suspicion. Although she had personally experienced proof that the house was indeed haunted, she didn't have a single piece of evidence.

What should we do next?

"Coming!" she shouted decisively to reassure Wang Ma. Kneeling on the floor, she repeatedly wiped the area with a damp cloth, pondering the situation. Had the former maid been bewitched, or frightened away—she remembered Wang Ma saying that most of the girls would slip away in the middle of the night—or something more serious, like her own experience today, except she had survived while the other girls had perished? If that were the case, it would explain her dream last night. The girl soaking in the bathtub—she must have been a former maid, right? She had been unjustly killed in that bathroom bathtub, and no one knew—her ghost lingered in the bathroom.

She stopped abruptly, feeling goosebumps erupt on her exposed skin. In an instant, numbness spread from her arms throughout her body. Could her body be buried beneath the bathtub?

She dared not think too much about it, yet she couldn't help but think about it. But if there were ghosts, why were Wang Ma and the master completely unaware? Although they could hear the footsteps of ghosts, the ghosts had never harmed them. They had never suspected the girls' disappearances, treating them as ordinary escapes and never pursuing the matter further.

If there are ghosts, whose restless soul is causing this trouble?

Night fell quickly, and endless darkness drove out the light, once again dominating the small forbidden area. This was Wei Lan's second night here. Although she had a fruitful first day, she still hoped for an even better result tomorrow.

After dinner, it was the perfect time for gossip. Having finished a day's chores, and finally letting her tired bones relax, Wang Ma would sink into the sofa, watching romantic soap operas while munching on snacks. At this time, she was always exceptionally bright and cheerful.

Of course, they also talked a lot.

Wei Lan chatted with her casually, from handsome Korean men on TV to the "lost generation." For Wang Ma, the latter topic was a bit too profound, but as soon as the topic of "lazy and gluttonous girls these days" came up, she would start talking non-stop, as if she had to get it all out.

"People these days!" she exclaimed in a shrill voice, her voice brimming with the pride and arrogance of an elder. "Not only are they lazy and averse to work, but they also have absolutely no sense of responsibility! Honestly! They've caused me so much trouble!"

"You mean...they ran away without a word?" That's exactly what Wei Lan wanted to know.

Wang Ma's answer was very accurate, "That's right! They don't collect their wages, they do half the work, and then they're gone in the blink of an eye! Even if they're quitting, they should at least tell me!" She looked aggrieved, "Don't you think so?"

"That's outrageous!" Wei Lan exclaimed indignantly. "Was she outside at the time? Otherwise, how could she have left so quietly?"

“Speaking of which…” Wang Ma then looked puzzled, “I’ve been wondering about it too! I was sitting here watching TV, and the master was in the study. Either of us was closer to the door than she was. Even if she wanted to leave, she would have to pass right under our noses! Besides, she couldn’t get out from anywhere else…”

"Could it be, through the window?" she asked.

Wang Ma immediately shook her head like a rattle-drum, "Impossible! No matter what, she couldn't possibly jump down from upstairs without going down the stairs!"

Wei Lan felt her heart leap into her throat. "So," she said, her voice hoarse, "that girl... was on the second floor when it happened..."

"Yes!" said Wang Ma. "She's cleaning the bathroom."

Volume 4, The Soul Singer, Fourth Movement: The Puppet House of Death (Part 6)

Wei Lan couldn't help but raise her head and cast a fearful glance at the ceiling.

"The bathroom?" she repeated unconsciously, her voice drifting faintly through the air. "The one upstairs?"

Wang Ma clearly didn't notice the change in her expression and continued speaking nonchalantly, "Of course!" She couldn't be more certain.

Wei Lan wanted to press for more details, but too much time had passed, and Wang Ma was old and didn't remember many details, such as the girl's exact appearance—Wei Lan could have compared it to her memory, but Wang Ma's description was unclear, so she was at a loss. The only thing that puzzled her now was that more than one maid had disappeared without a trace, yet Wang Ma and the master seemed so nonchalant. Wang Ma attributed it all to the girls being lazy and gluttonous, never considering how far-fetched their reasons for running away were—perhaps she simply didn't want to get herself into trouble or take responsibility.

During a commercial break on the TV, Wei Lan took the opportunity to use the restroom. There were three bathrooms in the villa: one upstairs and two downstairs. One, located next to the living room, was the largest and most frequently used bathroom; the other, a small, private bathroom, was located in the master's bedroom. She naturally used the large downstairs bathroom next to the living room. Perhaps due to its frequent use, it looked somewhat old. Aside from several cracked tiles in the corners, even the once pristine white enamel on the toilet and bathtub seemed to have been covered in a layer of dusty patina, turning an ivory yellow. This was the color of life; cracks and stains—only by seeing these could one feel the presence of human life here. But what about that haunted room upstairs? Everything was too new! Everything was too white! It was as if a ghostly hand had wiped away all traces of life! Completely erased!

After the two elderly people went to bed, she put on her cotton coat and quietly went downstairs. She sat on the stairs, raised her wrist, and the face of her luminous watch emitted a faint green glow in the darkness, telling her it was only 10:30. She couldn't help but recall the scene from last night. When Wang Ma stormed upstairs, it must have been just past midnight, right? If that mysterious footstep sound would occur again tonight, it would probably be around that time as well. She leaned her head weakly against the stair railing, anticipating the agonizing and dreary time that lay ahead. It was strange, she thought, why is it that almost all ghosts, throughout history and across cultures, seem to prefer appearing at midnight?

She relived every memorable moment in her mind, feeling her gradually cooling blood warm up again and begin to boil. Being alone in the dark was especially unbearable, particularly when she had nothing to do. It felt like half a century had passed, when in reality, less than forty-five minutes had elapsed. Her eyelids twitched involuntarily, yearning for a good, restful sleep—she was almost yawning.

Just then, she suddenly heard a faint sound. It was a rustling sound, almost inaudible, like the gentle friction of branches against branches in the night breeze. But the source of the sound was completely wrong; it wasn't coming from outside, but from somewhere inside the house. Wei Lan stood up and walked towards the direction of the sound.

Soft moonlight filtered through the layers of clouds, draping everything in the room in a thin, transparent veil. Wei Lan hadn't been unprepared for her nighttime adventure; a large, battery-powered flashlight was tucked into her trouser pocket. But she didn't intend to use it yet. She strained her ears, and, guided by the gentle moonlight, moved forward step by step. The sound grew closer—

No longer a rustling sound, but a series of rhythmic "squeaks!" It began with a horrifying start, gradually rising in pitch, and finally ending with an unpleasant high note. The "squeak!" sounded like a witch's long, sharp, dagger-like fingernails scraping against glass, a sound that had haunted countless nightmares in the darkness, keeping them tossing and turning. Wei Lan instinctively covered her ears, not out of fear, but out of disgust. The sound was so close, as if it were right beside her, as if a woman with long fingernails was scratching incessantly on the wooden door of a room separated from her by only a wall. "Squeak!" It was coming from Wang Ma's bedroom. "Squeak!" Wei Lan felt a sharp pain in her heart, as if the marks being slashed on the wooden door were not on the door, but on her own heart. She had no strength left to move forward, and could only lean weakly against the wall, letting the "squeaks!" tear at her eardrums, stun her brain, and churn her internal organs into a tangled mess. She wished she could lose consciousness and never have to suffer from the scratching at the door again.

She didn't know when she woke up, still leaning against the wall, shivering from the cold. All around was deathly silent, as still as a graveyard, devoid of any sign of life. She struggled to lift her aching arm; for some reason, even her luminous watch had stopped working, and she couldn't see the words on it. She shakily stood up and, supporting herself against the wall, slowly made her way upstairs. The faint moonlight had vanished, and the flashlight in her pocket was nowhere to be found. In this brief but absolute darkness, her eyes were useless; only her hands and feet could guide her. By the time she finally reached the second floor, she was utterly exhausted.

The first thing she did was turn on all the lights upstairs. The abundant light made her breathe a sigh of relief, giving her a blissful feeling of being in paradise. She really wanted to collapse into bed and sleep immediately, of course, with the bedside lamp on. Tonight, she didn't want to fall asleep alone again without the company of light.

Before going to sleep, there was only one thing worth doing. She walked excitedly towards the bathroom. The fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling cast a soft, bluish-white glow, making the already exceptionally tidy little room appear even whiter, almost impervious to dirt. Without much thought, she closed the door and plopped down on the toilet. The artificial, electrically powered light was so soft yet so bright that she could look directly at the light above her without fear. The light was so pure white that it almost gave her a false sense of protection. She felt extremely at ease; in fact, once her tense nerves relaxed, only a deep exhaustion followed. Her head slumped softly onto her shoulders; she was about to fall asleep.

Volume 4, The Soul Singer, Fourth Movement: The Puppet House of Death (Part 7)

A soft, almost imperceptible sound gently tugged at her sensitive eardrums. The sound, so faint yet so clear, rose slowly, as if it were right next to her, whispering in her ear. She finally managed to open her heavy eyelids, and a blinding white light flooded her vision.

She remained seated on the toilet, enveloped by the pale light and loneliness. The bathroom was brightly lit; under its dazzling light, it seemed all demons and monsters had nowhere to hide. But what about the hallway beyond the door? That thin cedar door, as if protected by some divine power, kept all darkness outside. Here, I am safe! Having sat on the toilet for so long, goosebumps rose on her bare thighs; she felt terribly cold. She instinctively hugged her shoulders, her heart pounding as if it would burst from her chest.

Splash, splash. Even if she didn't pay attention, the sound became clearer and clearer, and once she regained consciousness, she had to concentrate even more. The splash ended with a distinct sound of water.

The sound of water splashing.

She felt a chilling wind sweep across her spine, and before she knew it, it felt as if a pair of large, wet hands had caressed her, soaking her entire back. Cold sweat trickled down her spine, dripping silently into the toilet. In that instant, many things came to mind. If she remembered correctly, that deadly bathtub was right behind her; she recalled the last time she saw a dead body in a bathtub, the girl's face vividly clear in her mind; she remembered that the bathtub was completely filled with water that time.

The water is dripping.

She tried her best to stop herself from turning around, but she couldn't resist. A mysterious force was tempting her, compelling her to slowly turn her head and see what was there, even with immense fear in her heart. She imagined the girl from last time still lying in the bathtub, her body flushed red from the blood gushing from her own body; her hands and feet like four fish, freed from their body's constraints, swimming nimbly in the crimson blood… Perhaps, there were even more terrifying scenes. Wei Lan had to admit that sometimes, imagination was more terrifying than reality; those chilling imaginings alone were enough to drive a person mad.

Okay, her gaze finally shifted behind her. One, two, three! She silently counted in her mind, abruptly urging herself to open her eyes. Just then, her hand touched something icy cold. Without thinking, she opened her mouth and let out a low, hysterical scream.

There was nothing in front of her.

There was no ghost like before, and no dripping water. The bathtub was completely dry, not a single drop of water. She was confused, but when she saw her hand resting on the cold, glazed edge of the tub, that feeling quickly turned into annoyance. She was so angry she wanted to curse. Since moving into this villa, she had become more timid and neurotic than ever before.

She jumped up in a huff, forcefully pulling her long johns up to her waist. Her legs had been sitting on the toilet for too long, so numb they were almost gone. "I've had enough tonight!" she thought, "I should just go to sleep!" But as she stood up, "thud," that persistent sound rang out again in the quiet night, jarringly loud. Her movements froze in mid-air, as if she were suspended in time, unable to move. Cold sweat streamed down her forehead.

She clearly heard the voice coming from behind her.

It was the sound of water being lapped, gently creating waves and splashing fine droplets, making a "plop, plop" sound. She initially thought the sound was coming from outside, which explained its faintness, almost inaudible. But when Wei Lan stood up, she suddenly realized that it wasn't the distance that made the sound so faint, but rather because it was being blocked.

She was covered by her own body.

Because the sound was coming from beneath her, from the toilet she had been sitting upright in. Could she possibly forget? In the bathroom, there's water not only in the bathtub and sink—

Her chest heaved with tension, her breathing heavy and labored, more rapid than a dog's panting on a hot summer day. Though her mind told her it was just her urine in the toilet, the strange sound forced her to disregard common sense. A ghost in the toilet—! She bit her lower lip hard to stifle a scream. A ghost was playing with the water—! She wanted to turn around, but was terrified; she didn't dare, yet some mysterious force kept tempting her, causing her neck to slowly, inch by inch, twist backward. That twisting of her neck felt incredibly long, like centuries, during which her nerves were like taut piano strings, ready to snap at any moment. Her hands, behind her back, groped in the air, unsure whether to grab the flush valve or the edge of the toilet seat. Subconsciously, she felt that whichever way, if her hands successfully landed, she could expel the ghost from the toilet.

Her fingertips touched something slippery; judging from its rounded edge, it must be the toilet seat. Without thinking, she gripped it tightly, like a drowning person clutching their last straw. The sound of water from the toilet grew louder; she could almost feel something splashing and thrashing about inside. Without hesitation, she slammed the toilet seat down.

The sound of water stopped. All her strength instantly vanished, and only then did she dare turn around and look directly at the eerie toilet. She waited for a long, long time, until she was certain there was nothing strange inside, before cautiously bending down. The bathroom was completely silent, still a pristine and untouched scene, making it hard to believe what had just happened. She couldn't help but shake her head, thinking perhaps it was just a misunderstanding, maybe the toilet was just leaking, and there was nothing strange at all. Curiosity ultimately overcame her fear, and she tremblingly reached out, preparing to lift the lid to investigate. Her nose was very, very close.

Just then, the toilet seat suddenly began to vibrate, as if a pair of hands were about to push it open from the inside.

Volume 4, The Soul Singer, Fourth Movement: The Puppet House of Death (Part 8)

Just as the toilet seat was about to be pushed open, Wei Lan didn't have time to think and slammed it down. Not only that, but with a surge of strength from who knows where, she plopped down on it, trying to suppress the monster within with her full weight. She felt a series of thumping sounds beneath her, as if a pair of helpless hands were struggling against her, trying to break free of this cage and return to the vast, free world. It's no use! Her hands gripped the edge of the bathtub, desperately applying downward pressure. "I won't let you succeed!" she screamed inwardly, "Get back here!"

She didn't know how long the stalemate lasted; her strength was almost exhausted, and at the same time, she felt a sense of relief as the power emanating from beneath her waned. The knocking grew slower and weaker, until finally, it dissolved into an empty silence. She waited for a long, long time in the pale light, unsure if she was truly safe. To her, the series of events that had unfolded that night were utterly unbelievable and terrifying.

The next morning, she was woken up by Wang Ma's loud voice. "Get up!" Wang Ma stood in front of her, hands on her hips, and snapped, "The sun's already high in the sky!" She yanked open the curtains, and bright, lively sunlight poured in. Wei Lan instinctively shielded her eyes, unable to believe it was so late. When had she gone back to bed last night? Her mind was a jumbled mess; she had no recollection whatsoever. She couldn't even believe she had survived the night safely.

Perhaps due to the shock of last night, she was in very poor spirits all day, even yawning frequently while eating, which angered Wang Ma. While washing the dishes, Wang Ma kindly inquired about her condition.

"Didn't sleep well?" Wang Ma brought her plump face close to hers, as if trying to sniff out some suspicious scent from her. "Did you have a nightmare?"

She bit her lip, weighing how much to confess. "Maybe, I'm not really sure," she finally answered. "I kept hearing strange noises. But I was half-asleep," she said, twisting the rag forcefully. "I don't really know what it was!"

"Strange noise?" Wang Ma's crescent-shaped eyes suddenly lit up, gleaming like a mouse in the dark. "You must have misheard, right? Master and I have been asleep for a long time, there couldn't have been any noise."

Despite her words, her unusually attentive expression suggested that she didn't believe Wei Lan had "misheard." Perhaps Wang Ma knew something? Wei Lan thought. After all, having lived in this strange villa for so many years, even without asking questions, she should know a great deal. Besides—she glanced at Wang Ma unconsciously—Wang Ma wasn't as stupid as she appeared.

“I think I must have misheard,” she replied calmly. “After all, this area is very open and spacious, unlike the noisy big cities. You can hear the slightest rustling sound here.”

“That makes sense,” Aunt Wang quickly chimed in, her reaction as sharp as if she had been prepared. “Girls like you from the city really aren’t used to living in a rural place like this. Don’t worry,” she laughed again, her eyes narrowing into slits, “you’ll get used to it after a while.”

Wei Lan suddenly felt a jolt. Judging from Wang Ma's tone, it seemed that the girls in the past had also complained about this? So she asked her with suspicion.

"How did you know?" Wang Ma's mouth dropped open, as if she were very surprised. "They did complain to me about not being able to sleep at night, but these things..." She gave Wei Lan a suspicious glance, "...all of them happened before you came!"

...Speechless. "You were the one who reminded me in your words just now!" Wei Lan thought to herself.

"And then what happened?" she pressed. "Did they get used to it?"

Wang Ma turned her head and thought about it seriously. "Thinking about it this way..." After a long while, she stammered, "Maybe it's just that it's unbearable?"

Wei Lan perked up her ears, and her breathing became heavy. She sensed that what Wang Ma was about to say was crucial, perhaps even concerning the lives of many.

She said, "That's why they left without saying goodbye. Not long after, they were gone."

Wei Lan swallowed hard. "All of them?" she asked.

A look of sadness crossed Wang Ma's face. "Every single one," she replied.

Wei Lan knelt on the stairs, her hand gripping the rag, mechanically wiping the same steps over and over again. Her mind was completely consumed by Wang Ma's words. She was in turmoil. If what she said was true, then a ghost really was haunting the second floor, attacking the maid who lived upstairs. Based on the experience of the previous two nights, although the ghost hadn't succeeded, its power would only grow stronger until it devoured its victim—Wei Lan. Thinking of this, cold sweat dripped onto the staircase floor.

Is the girl soaking in the bathtub the real ghost, or one of the maids who died at the ghost's hands? She's starting to get confused too.

To survive, there were only two paths. One was to move out of this house immediately, right now; the other was to find out the source of the ghost, find a way to help it reincarnate, or at least let it rest in peace, so it could no longer harm people. The first path was undoubtedly the way to survival, because she had tried going out; the way to the market was unobstructed, and even if she ran away halfway, the ghost couldn't fly over to stop her. The ghost was only dissatisfied with the maids in the house; it wouldn't stop them from leaving, but it showed no mercy to those who stayed. In this sense, the ghost was practically like a guardian deity of the house, only allowing the master and the old woman to stay, while eliminating any so-called "foreign objects" that had invaded its body!

The second path? It's 99% likely a dead end, with only a 1% chance of survival. How can she possibly squeeze onto that narrow bridge to survival?

After finally finishing wiping the stairs, she remembered Wang Ma's instructions to clean all the rooms on the first floor. Carrying a bucket and a rag, she headed towards her destination. Because of her diligent wiping, the rooms weren't actually dirty at all, making cleaning exceptionally easy. In no time, the master's room was cleaned, and she went into Wang Ma's room. The floor, the corners, the wardrobe—Wang Ma truly lived up to her reputation as a diligent person; everything was neatly arranged, and every place was spotless. Wei Lan only gave it a perfunctory wipe, and she could quickly finish cleaning that room.

She suddenly exclaimed "Eh!" and her body trembled involuntarily. In her vision, the back of the door to the room was covered with long and short fingernail scratches, each one etched into the heart of the wood, as if filled with countless deep-seated hatred, each one pouring out an irreconcilable grievance.

Volume 4, The Soul Singer, Fourth Movement: The Puppet House of Death (Part 9)

That was the source of the strange noises she'd heard last night—not just her imagination, but a real, terrifying pair of fingernails, relentlessly scratching at the wooden door from behind the wall. What horrifying hands they were, separated from Wei Lan by only a wall, yet seemingly yearning to break through the barrier and appear before her immediately. If it weren't for that door… Wei Lan trembled all over; she dared not think any further.

She desperately wanted to drop everything and run out of the house without looking back.

But deep within her heart, something stubbornly held her thoughts back. She couldn't go, she couldn't go! She'd come this far; how could she give up halfway? That inner voice screamed desperately, its voice hoarse with rage. So she steadied herself and gradually calmed down.

Strange... If the one scratching the door is indeed that "ghost," why does she seem imprisoned, only appearing in Wang Ma's room? Based on her past behavior, she should be omnipotent and omnipresent! How could a mere thin wooden door possibly stop her? The evidence is that when Wei Lan later went upstairs, didn't she almost appear again from the toilet bowl?

What exactly was her purpose? Wei Lan pondered. Did she want to kill her? No, that wasn't right. Something felt contradictory, something wasn't quite right. But Wei Lan's mind was a jumbled mess, unable to make sense of it. So she knelt down behind Wang Ma's door again, scrutinizing her closely.

The scratches were deep and fresh, sending up fine wood shavings as they were touched. Wei Lan gently touched the wood shavings; the texture was rough and prickly. She tried to reach out and scratch the wooden door with her fingernail—the first time, perhaps she used too much force, creating a deep scratch. At the same time, the freshly scraped wood shavings pierced her fingernails, causing her pain and bringing tears to her eyes.