Preface
Night gave me black eyes, but I use them to seek light.
——Gu Cheng
I've been trying to forget this story, but I find it impossible. Yes, impossible. All methods have failed. It hides deep in my soul, refusing to leave. In the dead of night, it creeps out like a cunning cockroach from some dark corner, peering at me with eerie eyes, tentatively brushing me with its long antennae. I know it's always there, flaunting itself, trying to draw me into its world. But I always resist, refusing to sink in. I fear things with strong allure—they make you unconsciously indulge, get addicted, then lose yourself completely. This world is full of such temptations: power, money, desire, alcohol, tobacco, drugs, literature, art... Any of them can easily waste a lifetime. The best way to protect yourself is to keep distance from everything, whether it lures you or not. Disguise yourself so others can't see the real you—and don't expect to see the truth in others, either. What you see is just their pretense, intentional or not.
So I once doubted the story's truth. When I told my cousin's husband about this doubt, his face flushed, veins bulging, too angry to speak. Only then did I faintly regret it. My cousin's husband is a rigid bookworm; my words had indirectly insulted him.
Sure enough, after calming down, he grew cold: "Zuitian, you can disbelieve me, but you can ask your cousin. I think you at least trust her."
I hurried to explain: "I don't mean to doubt you. It's just... you know, the story you told is really hard to believe."
His expression softened a little. He nodded: "I know. Most people wouldn't believe it. That's why it only circulates among the small circle of teachers in our medical school. No one wants to tell it outside—who'd believe them anyway? Being called a fool feels terrible."
I understood his words. Essentially, he's a straightforward man. That doesn't mean he's unintelligent—on the contrary, he's extremely smart, or he'd never have gotten a master's in anatomy. But maybe he's too absorbed in anatomy, making him naive in social matters. He knows this, so he avoids talking to strangers. If I weren't his wife's close relative, he'd never have spoken to me so much, let alone patiently told this chilling story about a girls' dormitory. Just telling it took over three hours—a rarity for someone who values time as much as he does. His point was: compared to fictional novels, real life is far more terrifying.
I'm a low-level civil servant, the kind who's swamped with trivial tasks but never knows what he's actually accomplishing—powerless, timid, ineffective. People like me are a dime a dozen in any grassroots office: obsequious, unremarkable. Luckily, I adapt quickly to new things. When the internet became popular, I learned to type and surf. By chance, I tried writing horror stories, and they were well-received. Sometimes I even publish in magazines, getting occasional royalties, which makes my poor mother proud. She bragged about it to my cousin's husband. Then naturally, he invited me to his house, saying he had a great horror idea and hoped I'd write it.
I refused. Simply put, I feared the story. I feared it would stab at some soft spot in my heart, making me bleed endlessly. I need to protect myself. At heart, I'm weak. In this dog-eat-dog world, surviving is hard enough; a little psychological anesthesia is necessary. That's why Ah Q's "spiritual victory method" will never die.
But I failed. No matter where I go, the story pops up, fills my mind, stabs my nerves, tortures my fragile soul.
After over a dozen sleepless nights of struggle, I gave in. I brought a recorder, went to my cousin's husband's house at Nanjiang Medical College again, and seriously asked him to recount the story in detail.
The story began in that cold autumn of 2003.
That autumn came unusually early, casting a grim, desolate air over Nanjiang Medical College. It was only October, but the stone paths were always thick with fallen leaves, no matter how hard the janitors swept. Yellowed leaves sighed as they broke from their branches, helplessly falling to rot in the soil. Once-vigorous trees suddenly looked decrepit, their bare trunks shivering in the soughing autumn wind. Elderly janitors muttered nervously: surely something evil was happening again. The last time such signs appeared, the college's anatomy building caught fire. The blaze burned all night. When fire trucks finally put it out, they found several charred, unrecognizable bodies—later identified as medical students. No one knew why they'd been in the anatomy building at night, and the cause of the fire remains unknown. The story spread, twisting into a ghost tale: students claimed to hear faint, ethereal cries for help in the building, especially at night. No one dared approach the gloomy, aging structure. It remained the college's most terrifying place—until the emergence of Girls' Dormitory 441, called the most horrifying spot in Nanjiang Medical College's history.
Dormitory 441 had eight beds—four upper, four lower—facing each other in a cramped room under 20 square meters. One late October night in 2003, Cheng Li suddenly woke from a strange dream. She'd dreamed of a handsome boy with clear, eyes, calling her affectionately.
She sat up, threw off her fuzzy blanket, opened the window, and leaned out to breathe the fresh air. The cool autumn air refreshed her.
Cheng Li didn't turn on the light. Cold moonlight seeped in. Only two girls were in the dorm that night: her and Xu Yan. Of the eight residents, three were from Nanjiang City, two had relatives there, one was madly in love and rented a room nearby with her boyfriend. It was Saturday—on weekends, the usually lively Dorm 441 emptied, leaving only her and Xu Yan.
Xu Yan's chest rose and fell rhythmically with her steady breathing. A trickle of saliva dribbled from her 嘴角,dampening her pillow. She slept soundly, perhaps dreaming sweet dreams. Xu Yan was from a remote rural town; the bustling, colorful city life of Nanjiang dazzled her. At her age, she was prone to dreaming, and by nature, she loved to imagine the future.
Cheng Li sighed softly, bent down, and gently wiped Xu Yan's saliva. The world was far less beautiful than Xu Yan imagined. 可惜,she couldn't tell her that.
The quartz clock's second hand ticked onward: "tick, tick." Cheng Li glanced up—it was 11:50.
Ten minutes left. Cheng Li murmured, then left the bedroom. The dorm's common room desk was lined with computers, one per person. She found hers and pressed the power button gently.
The screen lit up. Minutes later, her familiar desktop appeared, with a cute penguin icon—her QQ.
She typed her account and password deftly. The penguin flickered, then lit up—she was online.
No one was in her QQ contacts, which disappointed her.
But the disappointment didn't last. Seconds later, the penguin "(di-di)'ed wildly—messages from group chats and a private message. Cheng Li clicked through them, pausing at one private message:
Time's up... I'm behind you.
Behind me? Cheng Li tensed. Who could be in Dorm 441 so late? She remembered locking the dorm securely before bed. Unless it was a ghost.
But he wasn't a ghost. He wouldn't lie to her! She trusted him, every word.
She spun around—and saw a handsome man's face—the one she'd waited for. Then she heard a strange voice: Time's up!
Yes, time was up. Cheng Li checked the clock: 11:58. Two minutes till midnight. Midnight, the end of one day, the start of another.
Cheng Li hurried to the mirror and smiled. Her dimples were bright, radiant. She hadn't worn makeup, but she'd styled her hair and used a face mask—she looked especially beautiful that night.
She asked the enigmatic, handsome man: "Am I beautiful?"
"Yes, very."
She savored the answer. What could be happier than hearing praise from your lover?
"Time's up!"
The strange voice drifted in again, making her shiver.
She took his hand, crossed the common room, and ran to the balcony.
Clothes hung on bamboo poles there—brightly colored women's garments swaying softly in the night. She felt shy: among them were her pink bra and pale yellow panties. She stole a glance at him, hoping he hadn't noticed.
Two minutes passed quickly. She closed her eyes, whispered a prayer, her face calm, then flipped over the fourth-floor balcony and jumped.
In mid-air, Cheng Li felt like a flying bird, a joy beyond words. She spread her arms, tilting her face to the sky, where a cold crescent moon and dim stars flickered.
At the moment she jumped from Dorm 441, a satisfied, joyful smile played on her lips—eerie in the vast darkness.
Xu Yan shivered, chilled, waking from her dream.
She opened bleary eyes, noticing the window was open. Cold wind poured in, piercing her thin clothes.
No wonder it's so cold! Xu Yan scrambled up, walked to the window, and leaned out to close it. Outside was endless darkness, with dim lights flickering far away, hazy as if veiled in mist—making the world feel unreal.
She shut the window.
Xu Yan sighed, then realized: Cheng Li was gone.
Cheng Li's blanket was pulled back. Xu Yan touched it—it was cold. She'd been gone a while.
Dorm 441 was empty except for her, silent as death, save for the quartz clock's "tick, tick" in the common room.
Suddenly, a strange cold wind swept through, making her shiver.
Where did it come from? The window was shut.
So cold! Xu Yan heard a sigh—like a man's voice. Impossible. Could there be a man in Dorm 441 now?
That's when she noticed a faint glow flickering in the common room. She summoned courage, tiptoeing out.
The common room was empty.
On the desk, Cheng Li's computer was on. Xu Yan leaned closer: Cheng Li's QQ was still online, with a message: Time's up... I'm behind you.
The dim screen light seemed to portend something.
She froze, her legs weak, but dared not look back.
No one could be behind her! Dorm 441's door was locked.
But Cheng Li... where had she gone? She'd never go out so late.
Xu Yan found the light switch, flipping on the fluorescent lights. The bright glow filled Dorm 441, easing her nerves a little.
The nearly sealed dorm felt like a giant coffin. Since childhood, she'd feared enclosed spaces.
Luckily, the small wooden door to the balcony was open, letting in fresh air.
As she thought this, the door suddenly banged back and forth. She jumped, looking up to see two green lights glowing faintly on the balcony.
A ghost? Xu Yan remembered the man's sigh, her heart tightening, a shiver running through her.
The green lights stared at her for a long time, then a "meow" sounded, and they vanished over the balcony.
Just a stray cat.
Xu Yan relaxed a little. What was wrong with her, being so paranoid? Good thing no one else was here—they'd laugh at her.
She walked slowly to the wooden door, wanting to close it. Enclosed spaces discomforted her, but leaving it open made her more anxious, afraid something might slip in.
A breeze blew, and clothes on the balcony poles swayed. Two garments—loosely hung—fell: a pink bra, a pale yellow pair of panties.
Xu Yan knew they were Cheng Li's.
In Dorm 441, Cheng Li was her best friend—not just because they were both from out of town and shared a bunk, but because they were both bold, straightforward, and loved fiercely.
No matter what, she had to pick up the clothes. If she didn't, by morning, passing boys might find them, and rumors would embarrass Cheng Li.
With that, Xu Yan grabbed a flashlight, unlocked the dorm door, and went downstairs.
Dorm 441 was on the fourth floor. There were no motion-sensor lights. Xu Yan waved the flashlight, descending cautiously, her heart racing. The building was silent; even her soft steps echoed dully.
Finally reaching the ground, Xu Yan exhaled heavily. But then a dark shape pounced—something scratched her face, burning with pain.
It was the cat.
A black stray. For no reason, it leaped, clawing her, then crouched nearby, staring coldly as if she were a monster. Legend said black cats ward off evil—had it mistaken her for something evil? Xu Yan touched her face; her hand came away red with blood.
Damned black cat! Fear turned to anger. She picked up a stone and threw it. The cat yowled in pain, vanishing instantly.
Xu Yan glared, about to chase it, when something tripped her. She fell hard.
The medical college's paths were concrete. Xu Yan hit the ground, her body feeling shattered, every inch aching.
She forced herself up, shining the flashlight at what had tripped her—and saw a body! The clothes were Cheng Li's—her roommate!
The flashlight clattered from her hand. Her legs gave way, collapsing beneath her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. A strange wind rushed down her throat, nearly choking her.
She gasped, chest heaving like a fish out of water.
Then her hand touched something wet and soft. She held it up: a dislodged eyeball.
At last, she screamed, frantically trying to throw it away. But Cheng Li's eyeball stuck to her hand, refusing to let go, glowing with a horrifying cold light, staring at her—with a strange smile in its gaze.
Xu Yan, her nerves snapped, fainted. In her last moment of consciousness, the final thought flashing through her mind was Cheng Li's QQ message: Time's up... I'm behind you.