Chapter Eight: The Mysterious Delivery

I sat alone in the courtyard, gazing at the steaming cup of tea in my hands. Bathed in the gentle morning sunlight and caressed by the soft breeze, everything seemed unbearably desolate. I remained on the stone bench for half an hour, my mind tangled with the old man's words and the hopeful look he had given me.

In short, everything that had happened in recent days had completely overturned my understanding of the world—ghost kings, female spirits, shadowy figures, and now the elderly man who had transcended his mortal form. All these things were changing me, forcing me to accept that the world I thought I knew was wildly different from reality.

I didn’t linger long. After downing the rest of my tea, I hailed a taxi and went home. My visit to the old man had brought nothing but wonder; I had gained nothing else. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the sofa and stared at the empty house, unsure when my parents would return.

I decided to call them. I didn’t expect anyone to pick up, but to my surprise, a familiar voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Mom, when are you coming home?”

“Yao Yao, we won’t be back so soon… We have work to do. If you run into any trouble, go to your second grand-uncle’s house.”

“Oh, alright.”

“Take good care of yourself…”

With those final words, the call ended. I had the sense that my parents were keeping something from me, but I was too weary to think about it.

My second grand-uncle wasn’t a direct relative. He lived alone in the countryside, childless and unmarried, having spent most of his life by himself. I realized it had been years since I’d last seen him.

Left to my own devices, I tidied up the house, but my body wasn’t what it used to be. After a short while, I was so winded it felt like I might suffocate.

Suddenly, a thought struck me. If the ghost king could kill at will, why did he torment us slowly? And how exactly did he kill? The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. If it were a ghost, surely there would be some clue, yet the ghost king had left none—or perhaps, we simply couldn’t find them.

I opened my computer and searched for ways to see ghosts. Most of the results were childish tricks, but one method caught my eye: covering one’s eyes with willow leaves, dripping a drop of one’s own blood onto the forehead, and then opening the eyes to see.

Whether it worked or not, I had to try. There were willow trees all over my neighborhood; tomorrow I’d pluck a few leaves on my way to school.

As I scrolled through the browser, three knocks at the door startled me.

“Knock, knock, knock!”

“Who is it?” I shouted.

“Delivery!” A man’s voice I didn’t recognize called from outside. Looking through the peephole, I saw a man in a courier uniform, phone pressed to his ear.

I opened the door, took the package, and quickly shut it again. I was certain I hadn’t ordered anything online—who could have sent this?

Suspicious, I opened the box. Inside were two round stones, each wrapped in plastic, etched all over with strange symbols. I wanted to check the sender, but it seemed they had taken pains to remain anonymous.

I put the stones and the white stick into my backpack—perhaps these things might save my life one day.

The rest of the day passed in a daze; I did nothing at all. For a moment, it felt as though the ghost king had vanished from my world.

That night, I went to bed early and had a strange dream. I found myself before a grand, ancient gate, surrounded by a city of elegant, old-fashioned buildings. Everyone wore traditional clothing, and beautiful structures filled the landscape. I watched as several people flew past overhead.

“Have I… have I gone to heaven? Did I die in my sleep?”

Suddenly, the dream warped and I bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall—it was already past five in the morning.

Unable to fall back asleep, I washed up and headed downstairs for breakfast. The sky was just beginning to brighten, but many elderly people were already out exercising. After buying a pancake roll, I wandered to the park I knew so well.

Sitting on a bench, munching my breakfast, I was joined in silence by someone who sat down beside me. I looked over—it was the same old man I’d run into before, always smoking his pipe, always dressed the same.

After glancing at him a few times, I focused on my food, but his words shattered the rare tranquility.

“Young man, don’t you recognize me?”

I was taken aback, then replied, “I do, I do. We’ve met a few times.”

“I’m your second grand-uncle. Have you forgotten already?”

I was stunned, nearly choking on my breakfast. “Ah? I… It’s been so many years—I guess I forgot…”

I laughed awkwardly.

“Well, your parents called to say they’re away on business, and asked me to look after you. If anything happens, call me.” He fished a slip of paper from his pocket, his rough hands passing it to me—it had his number written on it.

I tucked it away and asked, “Aren’t you always out in the countryside?”

He never looked at me, just said quietly, “I’m heading back today. If you need anything, come find me in the village.”

Before I could thank him, he stood and shuffled deeper into the park. I couldn’t fathom how such a frail old man could help me with anything.

I got home just in time. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder and grabbing my keys, I set out toward the dreadful, unsettling school.

On the way down, I made sure to grab a handful of willow leaves—hoping, perhaps, I might see the ghost king today.

School was different this morning: every student was present, yet among the crowds a few walked with heads lowered, silent and withdrawn.