Visitor

Under the veil of night, mottled shadows flickered in his eyes as he gazed into the distance, extending to the edge of dawn. The remaining lights here felt like an abrupt, discordant hue against the boundless darkness.

“He’s not here.” Wu Zhuming circled around, finding only himself. Apart from the familiar sounds of footsteps, breathing, and the incessant ringing of the bell he had heard countless times, there was nothing else.

Time had already been spent enough. The sky remained as usual; a cold night breeze swept past, stirring memories, imprints, encounters, and the abyssal lake—all etched into his heart. The lingering shadows of the past had yet to fade.

At the deserted edges of the mountain, silence reigned supreme; nothing else existed.

Though he heard and felt nothing, Wu Zhuming inexplicably sensed something—the heartbeat, the chest—there, quietly manifesting an uncertain, strange “tangibility.”

He glanced around; no one was present.

Strangely, the streetlights, spaced not far apart, emitted white light that could not fully dispel the night’s inherent darkness, leaving shattered fragments of shadow as if subtle gaps rhythmically threaded the glow, revealing stretches of a hauntingly broad road. Gazing toward its end, he felt a hypnotic repetition, captivating yet void.

The mountain cliffs stood like barriers to the right, while city lights shimmered distantly to the left, an unreachable realm.

The cold glow carved a peculiar stillness—no path back, no way forward, destination unknown.

Under the lamp’s light, Wu Zhuming’s eyes retained an unwavering brilliance. Only he, this visitor in white, came unbidden, wandering for long. How he distinguished the places he had been within this monotonous scene remained a mystery.

He had found the right spot, yet the eerie impressions etched in his mind—the events that had transpired—seemed to have vanished without trace.

He wondered if it was his own failing. Staring at the unlit corners, he mused:

Tonight was like a still pool, serene and deathly calm.

He should set aside unrealistic thoughts, yet the blood-red reflections, the pale figure, the pain from that time—could all that be forgotten so easily? His quest was not merely for truth.

It was time to leave, for now.

A shiver ran through him; at the edge of the lamp’s shadow, a flicker caught his eye.

There.

He halted, intuition swiftly bolstering his resolve. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, confirmed it was no illusion—this time, no coincidence.

Silence reigned, only silence.

At the corner where shadow met light, a figure gradually emerged.

Silent, unassuming.

As his steps shifted, light and shadow alternated until the figure fully appeared.

A young girl, not unfamiliar to Wu Zhuming.

She seemed to have appeared from nowhere, yet as if she had been waiting all along. Standing still, despite the endless night, her presence stirred ripples. Subtly unique, set apart from the place and others alike. Observed closely, she was delicate, serene, and simple—like an ancient, unadorned book’s page—forming the perceivable part of her. Stripped of this inner manifestation, she was but a slender girl, appearing fragile as if the breeze could topple her, clad only in a few thin, gray-white garments.

Amid such darkness, even simplicity seemed incongruous.

Her short hair, illuminated by the lamp, was light gray, unstyled and casually tousled, swaying with the wind along with her clothes.

She stepped fully into the light, and from her gray-black eyes radiated a gaze devoid of passion, less cold than indifferent, yet impossible to ignore. She merely stared at Wu Zhuming, penetrating soul and bone.

It was piercing.

She approached slowly, a faint smile playing on her lips—not mocking, nor radiant, but a pure and subtle joy that brought a sense of calm and reassurance.

Wu Zhuming faced her, composed.

Now that he had met the one he sought, he found himself unsure where to begin. He recalled their first encounter—he had only glimpsed her from afar; face-to-face moments had been rare.

Before him, the girl spoke calmly: “You’re back. Why?” Her voice was soft and pale, like a gentle breeze.

“I hadn’t planned to take this path. Just tried my luck, and it led me here. Seems last time wasn’t just a coincidence,” Wu Zhuming replied with a smile, observing her. He barely remembered many details of their previous meeting; it was less forgetfulness than the surroundings then lacked the clarity and tangibility they now possessed.

The first time, he glanced at the time—today, was it? Probably here he encountered the girl, and then...

Some memories slipped away. The more he tried to recall, the more blurred they became.

He needed a reminder; he couldn’t forget like this—

Ding-ling-ling—the familiar ring of his bell sounded, present all night but now louder. Though not a reminder itself, it helped him steady his thoughts. Growing anxious, Wu Zhuming reflected: “This sound doesn’t usually appear at times like this.”

The girl pointed to the keychain at his waist. “Light and conspicuous,” she said softly, smiling. Wu Zhuming smiled back, checking his keys. None were missing—they were indispensable.

Even if he lost himself, he could not lose them.

“They’re my talismans,” he said with laughter. “Lose them, and luck’s gone.” He glanced at the girl, her gray hue stirring a vague familiarity.

Stirring the fractured memories, the night concealed many things. The girl, himself—no, not just the two of them.

“At that time… there were more than just us two? I really can’t remember clearly. Maybe you do,” Wu Zhuming asked directly. The girl remained still, her smile growing slightly.

“For that? You…” She shifted her feet, glancing at Wu Zhuming now and then, pausing as if distracted, then seemingly unaware of him, speaking to no one in particular, “Wasn’t it just a chance passing?” She lowered her head, and Wu Zhuming wasn’t sure whom she addressed.

Waiting was familiar to Wu Zhuming; during this time, he could sort through his tangled thoughts.

When had the girl arrived? He had searched long, and with his sharp eyes, any clue would have been noticed. So perhaps she truly had appeared from nowhere.

The first time he saw her, he was the one hiding in the shadows.

At night’s onset, he walked steadily along the opposite side of the main road. Would anyone not notice such a visitor?

Wu Zhuming first sensed something amiss, but it was too dark and distant; only the silhouette of a plainly dressed girl was discernible, standing far away, her clothes lightly swaying, halted for some unknown reason.

“This is the place…” he heard her voice faintly amidst the distance. A subtle scent of blood rose in the air—he hoped it was an illusion.

A few steps forward, still unable to see her face, but what she was watching was not meant to exist—a phantom replay:

Blood dyed the night’s foundation; countless “human forms” without faces or voices, mere shadows fleeing, struggling, torn apart, submerged, endlessly. They tried to escape, their blurred movements revealing chaos and madness—the remnants of memories breaking the scene’s edge, replaying until the final terror caught them. Night flipped like a black river, sweeping everything away into silence. Moonlight vanished; the night bowed.

The horrific scene was confined to a stretch of road, fully within Wu Zhuming’s sight. Like a replay of someone’s memory—illusory, false, easily discerned. He saw only from afar, yet it felt partly real. The scent of blood seeped to him, the shifting scene masking the original light and shadow. It was but a fleeting illusion.

The blood gradually faded; night reclaimed its throne.

The memory ended there. The girl seemed not to answer, but Wu Zhuming wanted to confirm one thing about that replayed “scene.” He rubbed his chin, pondering, “May I ask something? Here, no trace remains—everything vanished. What I saw must have been a phantom, but not entirely, because…” His voice firm, “Afterwards, we were not at Abyssal Lake Mountain.”

Something had happened. Faint memories stirred another scene within him.

The girl smiled faintly, understanding his meaning, watching Wu Zhuming with interest. “Whether true or false, you already have your answer—no need to doubt.” She averted her gaze, shook her head, and after a long silence, she noticed Wu Zhuming again. Seeing his resolute expression, she steadied herself.

“Forgotten, huh…” she explained with a smile, “Only remnants of impressions, hard to tell truth from falsehood. But that’s all. As for the so-called ‘reality’ after that… Haha, should I tell you? You stayed there until I found you. Remember?”

The wind passed quietly; night deepened.

That scene was merely residual influence; he had long since reached a conclusion. But whether there was another “someone,” he had no answer. Whether a person or not, present or absent, his imagination or reality—none could be certain. Only by continuing to recall could he trace a source. Yes, he had seen it.

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