The dead silence in the living room was so thick it could be cut with a knife. The kerosene lamp's flame stopped flickering, yet the coldness clinging to the man and woman showed no sign of fading—if anything, it seeped deeper into their bones, making their teeth chatter softly.
The man, Chen Daming, stared at the black footprints trailing from the doorway to the bedroom, his hands resting on the table tightly clenched into fists. The knuckles were white, and veins bulged faintly under his skin, betraying the turmoil in his heart.
Last night's scene flashed through his mind like a nightmare: the dim woods, the cold shovel in his hand, the heavy thud of soil hitting the cloth... and the "Chen Ling" lying motionless under the tree, his face pale as paper, no breath left in his body.
They had buried him with their own hands. In the corner of the west hills, under the old banyan tree that had stood for decades. He even remembered piling extra stones on the grave to keep wild animals from digging it up.
But now—
The "dead man" had walked back through the door, wearing that blood-red opera robe, drinking water like a starving beast, and even said he'd get up to clean the floor tomorrow.
"This... this can't be real," Chen Daming muttered, his voice dry and hoarse, as if he was trying to convince himself rather than the woman beside him. "We must have misseen. It's the rainy night playing tricks on our eyes..."
The woman, Li Xiuqin, shook her head slowly. Her eyes were still fixed on the closed bedroom door, and tears had started to stream down her cheeks again, mixing with the fear on her face. "No... it's not a trick. I saw his face clearly—those eyes, that mole on his left eyebrow... it's really A Ling."
As she spoke, she suddenly covered her mouth, as if afraid of making too much noise and waking the "person" in the bedroom. Her body trembled even more violently, and she leaned heavily against the back of the chair, looking as if she might collapse at any moment.
"Then... then who did we bury last night?" Chen Daming's voice rose a little, then dropped quickly, filled with confusion and terror. He raked a hand through his messy hair, his mind a jumble of questions.
Last night, when they found "Chen Ling" lying in the yard, cold and breathless, they had been terrified out of their wits. They didn't dare to call the police—who would believe that their own son had suddenly dropped dead for no reason? And with the strange things that had been happening around the house lately, they were afraid of attracting unwanted attention.
So, after a desperate discussion, they had made the crazy decision to bury him secretly. They thought that would be the end of it, that they could slowly forget this terrible incident.
But now, the truth that stared them in the face was far more terrifying than any nightmare.
A faint creak came from the bedroom door, and both Chen Daming and Li Xiuqin froze instantly, their bodies tensing up as if they were facing a ferocious beast. They held their breath, their eyes fixed on the door, afraid of what might appear next.
The door slowly opened a crack, and a strand of wet black hair fell through the gap. Then, Chen Ling's voice, still groggy with sleep, drifted out: "Mom... do we have any porridge? I'm hungry."
Li Xiuqin's body jolted. She wanted to answer, but her throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and no sound would come out. She looked at Chen Daming, her eyes filled with a plea for help.
Chen Daming took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He stood up slowly, his legs shaking slightly, and walked toward the bedroom door. "A... A Ling, wait a minute. Mom will make porridge for you right away."
As he spoke, he peeked through the crack in the door. Chen Ling was standing by the bed, still wearing that red opera robe, which was now dry in some places but still stained with mud. His eyes were half-closed, and he looked truly exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in days.
But there was something else in his eyes—something faint, something that Chen Daming couldn't quite put his finger on. It was a look that didn't belong to a 19-year-old boy, a look that held a hint of confusion and... emptiness.
Chen Daming quickly looked away, his heart pounding. He stepped back and whispered to Li Xiuqin, "Go make porridge. Don't... don't act suspicious."
Li Xiuqin nodded, wiping away her tears, and stumbled into the kitchen. The sound of her fumbling with the kitchen utensils filled the quiet house, mixing with the faint sound of Chen Ling moving around in the bedroom.
Chen Daming stood in the living room, his eyes fixed on the bedroom door. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled in his chest. Who was the person in that bedroom? If it was really his son, then what about the body they had buried?
And more importantly—what did this "son" want?
In the bedroom, Chen Ling was staring at his reflection in the small mirror on the dressing table. The face in the mirror was young—only 19 years old, with delicate features and a hint of immaturity. But the eyes... the eyes were his own, the same eyes that had looked back at him in the mirror countless times in his 28 years of life.
He reached out and touched the mirror, his fingers brushing against the cold glass. "So this is the real Chen Ling..." he murmured.
The memories of this body were still fragmentary, but he had pieced together some things. The original Chen Ling was a student at a local opera school, obsessed with Peking Opera. He had a younger brother who was seriously ill and had to stay in the clinic all year round. His parents... were ordinary workers, struggling to make ends meet.
But why had the original Chen Ling died? And why had he, a 28-year-old intern director, ended up in this body?
More importantly, what had the original Chen Ling's parents meant when they said "who did we kill last night"?
A chill ran down Chen Ling's spine. He had a feeling that this "home" he had returned to was not as warm and safe as it seemed. There was a dark secret hidden here, a secret that might cost him his life.
He heard the sound of Li Xiuqin calling him from the kitchen: "A Ling, porridge is ready. Come eat."
Chen Ling took a deep breath, forcing himself to push aside his doubts and fears. He needed to stay calm, to pretend to be the original Chen Ling. He had to find out what was going on here.
He opened the bedroom door and walked toward the kitchen. The black footprints on the floor followed him like a trail, a silent reminder of the strange night he had just experienced.
As he sat down at the dining table, Li Xiuqin placed a bowl of hot porridge in front of him. Her hands were still trembling, and she avoided looking him in the eye.
Chen Daming sat across from him, his eyes fixed on him, as if trying to find some flaw in his appearance, some sign that he was not the real Chen Ling.
Chen Ling picked up the spoon and took a sip of the porridge. It was warm, and it soothed his empty stomach a little. But he could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to choke on.
He looked up at his "parents" and smiled, trying to look as natural as possible. "Mom, your porridge is still as delicious as ever."
Li Xiuqin's body stiffened. She forced a smile back, but it looked more like a grimace. "Eat more... you must be hungry after being out all night."
Chen Daming cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. "A Ling, where did you go last night? We were so worried about you."
Chen Ling's heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this question. He put down his spoon and looked at them, his expression showing just the right amount of confusion. "I... I don't remember clearly. I went out to practice opera last night, and then it started raining heavily. I got lost... I think I fell asleep somewhere. When I woke up, I was on the street, so I walked back."
He lied smoothly, using the fragmentary memories of the original Chen Ling as an excuse. He watched their reactions closely, looking for any sign that they didn't believe him.
Chen Daming and Li Xiuqin exchanged a glance. There was doubt in their eyes, but they didn't ask any more questions. They just nodded and said, "It's good that you're back. Don't go out alone at night anymore, especially when it's raining."
Chen Ling nodded, picking up his spoon again and continuing to eat the porridge. But he knew that this was just the beginning. The real test was yet to come.
He had a feeling that the night was not over, and that the strange things that had happened to him were only the tip of the iceberg.