He opened his other hand. In his palm lay a piece of candy wrapped in shiny red paper. The wrapper gleamed with an eerie luster, printed with a pattern Chen Wangtian had never seen before. It resembled a flower, yet also a face. The face's mouth curved upward in a faint smile, but where the eyes should have been, there were only two hollows.
Chen Wangtian snatched the candy, threw it to the ground, and crushed it underfoot. Inside was a dark brown lump that gave off a strange odor—incense ash mixed with rust, and an underlying cloying sweetness. He remembered Xiulan's words: nails must be wrapped in red paper. The candy wrapper was red too.
He grabbed Nian'an's left hand and examined each finger. Thumb, normal. Index, normal. Middle, normal. Ring, normal.
When he reached the pinky, an icy sheet of sweat erupted across his back. Beneath that nail was a black line, fine as a strand of hair. It started at the base and crept upward along the inner edge, already reaching the middle. It was not drawn on. It had grown from the flesh.
"Dad, you're hurting me," Nian'an said, trying to pull back.
Chen Wangtian crouched down, gripping his son's shoulders. "That old granny in red—where did she touch you?"
Nian'an tilted his head. "She just touched my finger. She said my nail is pretty, curved like a little moon. She said she'd borrow one now and return it in a few days. Then she left."
"Left to where?"
"Into the tree." Nian'an pointed at the trunk, his tone matter-of-fact. "Dad, that granny looks like Great-Grandma."
Chen Wangtian's heart clenched. Nian'an's great-grandmother had been dead for nearly twenty years. The boy had never seen her.