Fang Yuan secretly laughed. It was just a new student enrollment, yet the whole family showed up, making it even more grand than a wedding. The girl had a delicate air, like a carefully baked loaf of bread that would crumble at the slightest touch.
The girl's grandmother was busy making her bed; her grandfather was busy greeting the three girls, urging them to look after their granddaughter; her mother kept telling her to take care of herself, eat well, sleep well, and call home often. As for her father, he sat there panting, exhausted from carrying his handbag all the way.
Through the girl's grandfather, Fang Yuan learned that her name was Qin Yanping, an only child who had started school at the age of six, making her a year younger than the other medical school freshmen. She was usually treated like a little princess at home, but now that she had been admitted to Nanjiang Medical College and would be boarding there for five years, her family was deeply worried, fearing she wouldn't be able to adapt to the social life. If her parents weren't both employed, they would definitely have stayed in Nanjiang City, renting a house, to accompany her while she studied. Her grandparents wanted to accompany her to school, but her parents persuaded them to stop. After all, the elderly were old and in poor health. Although they had no serious illnesses, they were constantly suffering from minor ailments. It was unclear who would take care of whom when the time came.
The family chatted in dormitory 441 for over an hour before heading to the department store for shopping. Fang Yuan took advantage of their free time to stroll around the medical school with Xu Zhaodi. She had wanted to ask Su Ya to join them, but she clearly preferred to go it alone. After making her bed, she disappeared.
Nanjiang Medical College is also a nationally renowned medical school, covering over 2,000 acres and housing tens of thousands of students. Its numerous facilities make it a challenge to navigate the area without familiarity. The cafeteria, library, computer lab, laboratory building, teaching building, Moon Lake, the grove, the mushroom pavilion, the stone bridge, the lawn, and so on—the two of them had a great time exploring.
The only thing that bothered them was the constant pointing and talking behind them, and the faint mention of "dormitory 441." It seemed that the story of Dormitory 441 was well-known at Nanjiang Medical College. This puzzled them. It was just one girl committing suicide and another going insane—nothing so terrifying. Why were they so frightened? Could it be just some groundless legend?
Fang Yuan didn't believe in ghosts. Many bizarre and absurd legends circulated in the countryside, such as stories of foxes worshipping the moon, ghosts painting their skin, resurrected corpses, and zombies resurrecting. These ancient stories, passed down among the elderly, were deeply ingrained. She never believed in these horror stories, nor was she afraid. She had always been a courageous person. However, there was one bizarre experience in her childhood that still scares her to this day.
She remembered that when she was only seven years old, just starting school, an elder in her family passed away. This elder, a contemporary of her grandfather, was called Eighth Master. He lived next door to her and loved children, often giving snacks like peanuts, corn, and sesame candy to the neighborhood kids. After the Eighth Master's death, according to local custom, his sons would hold a seven-day vigil at home, inviting relatives and friends to pay their respects. On the seventh night, a lavish banquet would be held, with a riotous atmosphere throughout the night. Only at dawn would the "Eight Immortals" be invited to carry the coffin to the mountain for burial.
Seven-year-old Fang Yuan, still naive about the world, didn't harbor a deep fear of death. She remembered vividly that night at the Eighth Master's house. Over a dozen tables were set for dinner alone, and nearly everyone in the village, young and old, was present. After dinner, many people stayed behind to play mahjong, poker, and Pai Gow all night long. Fang Yuan's family was close to the Eighth Master, and their entire family remained. Bored and unwilling to go back to sleep alone, she went out to play in the living room.
The living room was empty. The sons who had been guarding it had gone out to gamble. With the man dead, the rituals were merely empty pretense. At the front of the hall stood a glossy black coffin. It was the coffin of Eighth Master, who lay alone inside. Above the coffin hung a large black-and-white photograph of Eighth Master's remains, a portrait that had been prepared long ago. In the portrait, Eighth Master's face was dull, wrinkled, like a dried walnut. Fang Yuan had always loved Eighth Master; he was always kind to her, giving her extra snacks and often praising her for being a good child. At that time, Fang Yuan had no clear understanding of what death meant. She only knew that Eighth Master would lie in the glossy black coffin for a long, long time, buried in the earth, never to be seen again.
Fang Yuan felt a little sad then. Yes, sad. For the first time, she realized that the world wasn't as perfect as she had imagined. Outside the mourning hall, there was a lot of noise. Gamblers always loved to shout and show off their prowess. Inside, however, it was completely silent. The red candles flickered, shedding tears, and there was no other sound. A strange curve curved the corners of Eighth Master's face, as if he were sneering at something. His eyes, dark and deep, seemed to see through the ways of the world, cold and resolute.
Suddenly, a strange gust of wind ripped the white strips of the wreath apart, scattering them across the mourning hall like drifting spirits. Fang Yuan's eyes lit up in a fantastical world, the flying fragments of white paper all representing Eighth Master—his eyes, his ears, his face, his nose, his mouth...
At this moment, Fang Yuan began to experience that strange feeling, as if everything had stopped, she was alone in the world, all the noise and chaos had vanished, leaving only her.
Fang Yuan finally felt frightened—this was the first time she had experienced such an illusion. She ran as fast as she could, stumbling and bumping into the coffin.
The illusion vanished.
Then, she heard that familiar, old voice: "Ouch! Who bumped into me?"
The voice came from within the coffin.
It was Eighth Master, Eighth Master's voice.
Fang Yuan had actually forgotten that Eighth Master was dead, or perhaps she hadn't realized the significance of death at the time. As if she had done something wrong, she timidly replied, "I'm sorry, Eighth Master. It's me, Xiao Yuanyuan."
"It's Xiao Yuanyuan. Why haven't you gone home yet?"
"I don't want to go home. There's no one home."
"Yes, there's no one home." A deep sigh lingered in Eighth Master's voice.
"Eighth Master, are you bored in there?"
"Yes, so, can you talk to me?" A hint of laughter finally crept into Eighth Master's words.
"Okay, but I'm scared here."
"There's nothing to be afraid of, child. You'll understand when you grow up. It's just returning to another home."
"Another home? I don't understand. Doesn't everyone have only one home?"
No one answered. Eighth Master didn't say anything else because someone came in. It was his eldest son.
"Little Yuanyuan, what are you doing here alone?"
"I'm talking to Eighth Master," Fang Yuan replied in a baby voice.
Eighth Master's eldest son was stunned, his face turning pale. He almost cried out, "Don't talk nonsense! Eighth Master is dead, how could you talk to him?"
"I was talking to Eighth Master!" Fang Yuan said firmly.
"Nonsense!" A slap in the face smacked Fang Yuan's face, burning with pain, and she burst into tears.
Hearing Fang Yuan's cries, her parents hurried in and asked, "Uncle, why are you hitting the child?"
Eighth Master's eldest son's face turned pale, his eyes bulging: "The child is lying and talking nonsense."
"I'm not! I was talking to Eighth Master!" Her father had taught her to tell the truth since she was a child, and she insisted that she was not wrong.