"Your performance has been slipping."
The manager's words rang in my ears. His face was stern, tired, uncaring. The office around me was silent, all eyes pretending not to watch.
"You're fired. Pack up your things."
The words landed heavy. My chest felt hollow. I stood, gathered my few belongings, and walked out without replying.
Outside, the city roared with life—traffic horns, chatter, footsteps rushing past. To me, it all sounded distant.
I returned to my rented room. The place was cramped, barely wide enough for a bed and a desk. The wallpaper was peeling. A single bulb flickered weakly from the ceiling.
I dropped my bag onto the bed and sat down.
'…So that's it. Years of working, and in the end, I'm just tossed aside like nothing.'
I stared at the ceiling.
'This city… it never cared. Maybe I should've left long ago.'
My thoughts wandered to my parents—faces blurred by time but warm. Both were gone now, but the village they left behind still stood.
'Maybe… maybe I should go back. At least once. See the place again.'
The next morning, I walked to the train station.
The hall was full of noise—announcements echoing, footsteps rushing. People lined up at the counters, buying tickets to their destinations. I joined a queue, waited, then reached the glass window.
"One ticket to Shanlin Station, please" I said.
The clerk typed quickly, printed, and slid the ticket under the glass.
I took it carefully.
'It's been years since I last saw that place.'
Boarding the train, I found my seat by the window. The carriage filled slowly with passengers—families chatting, workers resting with their eyes closed, children tugging at sleeves.
I sat in silence, watching the city blur past as the train pulled away.
Buildings thinned. Roads stretched into fields. Hours passed. The sun moved lazily across the sky.
When the train stopped at the final station, I stepped out with stiff legs. The air was fresher here, the crowd thinner.
I bought a bus ticket from the small counter outside the station, then boarded the waiting bus. The ride was quiet, with only a few passengers.
Through the window, hills rose and forests thickened. The smell of greenery filled the air each time the bus door opened at small stops.
After a long ride, the bus reached the last stop.
I stepped down, adjusting the strap of my bag.
'This is it… still the same as I remember.'
The road ended here. From this point, there were no streets for cars or buses. Only a narrow dirt path leading toward the village.
I started walking. The earth crunched under my shoes, birds called from the trees. A breeze carried the scent of soil and grass—something the city had long stolen from me.
'It feels strange… like stepping back into a memory.'
The dirt path stretched on, winding through fields and groves. My shoes kicked up little puffs of dust with every step.
The sun had begun to lower, casting the world in a warm orange glow. The mountains in the distance looked taller than I remembered, their peaks fading into mist.
After some time, rooftops appeared. Small houses scattered close together, smoke rising from chimneys, dogs barking faintly in the distance.
I slowed my steps.
Villagers noticed me as I entered.
"It's been a while," one old man called, smiling faintly.
"Back home, eh?" a woman said as she carried a basket.
I gave polite nods, returned greetings, but didn't stop for long conversations. My goal was waiting at the far edge of the village.
I walked past familiar lanes, trees I had once climbed as a boy, and the old well where I used to play. Time had touched everything—roofs replaced, walls repainted—but the feeling of home clung to the air.
Finally, I reached the edge.
There it was. My old house.
It stood alone, near the foot of the mountain, half-swallowed by weeds. The roof tiles were dark with age, the wooden gate leaning forward as if tired. Grass and vines crowded the yard. Windows were coated in dust, curtains frayed and colorless.
My chest tightened.
'So many years… and it's still here.'
I walked closer, the crunch of weeds underfoot breaking the silence. The gate creaked loudly when I pushed it open.
"I'm home…"
The words slipped out without thinking. A habit from childhood, when I would shout them every time I ran back inside.
The yard was wild, untamed. The house looked abandoned, yet it was still standing strong enough to welcome me.
I set my bag down and looked at it, the corners of my mouth twitching upward.
'It's a mess… but it's mine.'
I tightened my grip on the gate, stepped inside, and closed it behind me.
The inside of the house was dim. Dust coated every surface, cobwebs hung from the corners, and the air was heavy with the smell of wood left untouched for years.
I slid open the windows. Light poured in, revealing more of the mess—fallen leaves scattered across the floor, broken twigs that had blown in through cracks.
'It really has been abandoned all this time…'
The house was built in the old village style. Wooden beams, tiled roof, a wide central hall with doors leading to several rooms. Big enough for eight, once lively, now silent.
I took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and began to clean.
The broom scraped across the floor, sending clouds of dust into the air. I wiped down tables, carried out broken branches, pulled weeds from the yard. My body grew sore, but slowly, the house began to look less like a ruin and more like a home again.
By the time I finished, the sun was already dipping low, painting the mountains red.
'It's not perfect, but at least I can live here now.'
I unpacked my small bag. A few changes of clothes, some toiletries, instant noodles I had bought in the city.
In the kitchen, I boiled water over the old stove, cooked a packet of noodles, and ate quietly at the wooden table. The taste was simple, but here, in this house, it felt different.
After dinner, I tidied the bowls and walked into the bedroom.
The wooden bed was still there, covered in dust. I brushed it off as best as I could, laid my thin blanket down, and prepared to sleep.
But then I froze.
There were two doors in the room.
One was the ordinary door I had entered through. Old wood, same as always.
The other… I didn't remember ever being there.
It stood right beside the normal one, but it was different. Its frame was dark, almost black, carved with faint glowing patterns that pulsed like flowing veins of light. The wood looked new, alive, as though it didn't belong to this world at all.
A faint hum filled the air near it, like the vibration of strings plucked by unseen fingers.
I stepped closer, heart pounding.
'This… wasn't here before.'
My hand hovered near the handle. The closer I got, the stronger the strange energy felt.
I stared at it for a long time, caught between fear and curiosity.
Finally, the words slipped from my lips.
"…What are you?"
The glowing patterns flickered, as if answering.
I took a deep breath, braced myself, and placed my hand on the door.
[To Be Continued....]