Rain always arrived without warning.
Outside the car window, the world was shrouded in a gray, watery curtain. The windshield wipers swung back and forth monotonously, carving out a sliver of blurred visibility. Chen Hui gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension. On the navigation map, the words "Huaiyin Town" loomed like an ink blot, expanding until they swallowed all other paths.
It had been a long time since he last returned—so long that his memories of this town had faded and blurred, much like the rain-drenched scenery outside. Only fragmented images remained: the enormous locust tree in the old backyard, the scorching heat of summer afternoons filled with cicada cries, and… a shadowy, indescribable gloom buried deep in his memory.
His father's sudden death was the only reason he had returned. That silent, reserved man, who had never left Huaiyin Town in his entire life, had collapsed without warning on the cold floor of the old house. Over the phone, Mayor Chen's voice had sounded aged and weary. Aside from informing him of the death, he had repeatedly urged Chen Hui to return as soon as possible to handle the arrangements, his tone carrying a sense of urgency that seemed to hide something unspoken.
The car turned off the highway and onto a bumpy county road. The surroundings grew increasingly familiar yet strange. Fields lay barren, overgrown with weeds, and a few abandoned farmhouses stood like silent tombstones in the rain. A sense of desolate isolation washed over him, as though time had deliberately slowed here—or come to a complete standstill.
The closer he got to the town, the more old locust trees lined the roadside. Their gnarled branches and dense canopies blotted out the sky, casting vast, shifting shadows even in the rain. Chen Hui felt an inexplicable sense of oppression. Those swaying shadows resembled countless twisted hands, waving silently.
Finally, the weathered wooden sign bearing the words "Huaiyin Town" came into view. The town entrance seemed even more dilapidated and deserted than he remembered. Several shops were shuttered, their windows coated in dust. Rainwater washed over the bluestone-paved streets, converging into streams that flowed downward. The entire town was eerily quiet, with almost no one in sight. Only a few dim streetlights glowed weakly in the rain, barely piercing the darkness.
Following Mayor Chen's vague directions, he parked in front of the old house at the west end of town. The house where he had grown up now resembled an elderly person hunched under the shadow of a massive locust tree. Moss clung to the damp green-brick walls, and the wooden doors and windows were peeling, revealing the rotten wood beneath. The old locust tree appeared even larger and more menacing than he remembered, its claw-like branches stretching toward the roof as if embracing the entire house. The dense leaves rustled incessantly in the wind and rain, like a continuous, whispering murmur.
The air was thick with moisture, carrying the scent of decaying plants and an indescribable, musty odor.
Chen Hui took a deep breath, grabbed his simple luggage, and pushed open the creaking iron gate. The yard was overgrown with knee-high weeds, a desolate sight that tightened his chest. He quickened his steps to the eaves, took out the key Mayor Chen had sent him, and inserted it into the lock. The mechanism was stiff, and he had to struggle to turn it.
With a soft click, the door opened.
A wave of cold air, heavy with dust and the scent of death, rushed out, making Chen Hui shiver. The interior was dim, with only faint light filtering through the grimy windows, barely outlining the shapes of furniture. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, frozen in silence.
He fumbled for the light switch and pressed it several times, but the lights didn't turn on. It seemed the power was out, or the wiring had long since deteriorated.
By the faint light from the doorway, he scanned the living room. The furniture remained as it had been when he left home, only more worn. There was no portrait of his father yet, and the makeshift memorial altar seemed hastily arranged. A mix of sorrow and guilt welled up inside him.
He set down his luggage and decided to look around. The floorboards groaned under his feet, the sound piercing the dead silence of the house. He first entered his father's bedroom. The bed was disheveled, as if preserving the traces of the old man's final struggles. The air carried a faint medicinal scent and… another subtle odor, like old books and dust.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Chen Hui stepped out and headed toward his old room. As he passed through the hallway, he glanced absentmindedly at the old photos hanging on the wall. Most were black-and-white pictures of his father in his youth, posing stiffly with other townspeople, often with the large locust tree in the background.
His eyes swept over the photos, but then his steps faltered.
His heart skipped a beat.
At the edge of one group photo, nestled within the shadows of a locust tree's branches, stood a faint, blurred figure. It didn't belong to any of the people in the photo. The shadow was barely visible, almost merging with the tree's shade. Its features were indistinguishable, but he could make out an extremely gaunt, almost ethereal outline—like a wisp of smoke accidentally captured on film.
Was it a flaw in the film? Or a printing error?
Chen Hui frowned and leaned closer for a better look. Just then—
Thud!
A dull thump echoed from deep within the house!
Chen Hui jolted, his muscles tensing and his heart pounding. The sound seemed to have come from the direction of the backyard.
Had the wind knocked something over? Or…?
Was someone else in the house? Chen Hui held his breath and listened intently. Aside from the steady patter of rain outside and the rustling of tree branches in the wind, everything had returned to silence after that sound.
But the silence felt more unsettling than any noise.
After a moment's hesitation, he suppressed the chill in his heart and walked step by step toward the kitchen leading to the backyard. The kitchen was even darker and damper. Unwashed dishes sat in the sink, emitting a sour odor. The back door was slightly ajar, swaying gently.
Had the sound been the wind blowing the door against its frame?
Chen Hui gripped the doorknob, its coldness seeping into his palm. He slowly pulled the door open.
The sight in the backyard made him gasp.
The yard was almost entirely shrouded by the canopy of the enormous locust tree, making it even gloomier than the house. The ground was covered in wet locust leaves and small twigs. Near the tree's thick, twisted roots lay a mess of shattered pieces—a broken, weathered clay flowerpot that had likely fallen from a height, its soil scattered everywhere.
It did seem like the wind had knocked it down.
Chen Hui's eyes swept over the debris, and he was about to breathe a sigh of relief when his gaze suddenly froze.
Amid the damp, dark brown soil and broken clay pieces, something peeked out.
It wasn't a piece of pottery or a branch. It was pale in color, and its shape…
As if guided by an unseen force, Chen Hui stepped cautiously over the slippery leaves and moved closer. He knelt down and carefully brushed away the soil and fragments covering it.
His fingertips touched something cold and hard.
It seemed to be a small piece of… bone? Its shape was peculiar—slender and slightly curved, its pale surface gleaming ominously in the faint light. It didn't resemble the bone of any common animal.
What was this?
Why had it been buried in a flowerpot?
Had his father hidden it?
Countless questions flooded his mind. Just as he was about to examine it more closely, a strong gust of wind swept through. The locust tree's branches swayed violently overhead, rustling loudly as countless droplets of water shook loose, dampening his hair and shoulders.
The swaying branches cast frenzied, dancing shadows on the ground, like a riot of demons.
In that chaotic interplay of light and shadow, Chen Hui's peripheral vision caught something—
A faint, pale figure flashed past the window of his old room on the second floor!
He snapped his head up to look!
The window was empty, revealing only a deep darkness. The grimy glass reflected the swaying tree shadows, as though what he had seen was merely a trick of the light.
An icy fear, like creeping vines, wrapped around his spine and tightened slowly.
Clutching the cold, unidentified bone fragment in his hand, he stood under the enormous, whispering locust tree and suddenly realized:
This old house, this town, his father's death… nothing was as simple as it seemed.
Something long dormant seemed to be stirring awake now that he had returned.
The tree shadows swayed, their whispers growing clearer and closer, echoing in his ears.