All Novel

A buddy of mine who drove long-haul trucks took a job delivering a Buddha Head.

The Buddha Head had clearly arrived safely, yet he came down with a fever that wouldn’t break and was plagued by nightmares.

By the time I heard the news and rushed to the hospital, he was already delirious from the fever.

His scalding-hot hand clamped tightly around mine.

“Brother Long, I… my Buddha Head was stolen. The Buddha Head is gone!”

“Dashun, the Buddha Head was delivered. It wasn’t lost.”

His wife and mother stood around him crying, but no matter what anyone said, he insisted that his Buddha Head had been lost.

A perfectly healthy man was down to his last breath.

I turned to Dashun’s boss and said, “Where is the Buddha Body? I’ll deliver it.”

After sacrificing a kidney for the family that never loved her, Song Zhiwei wakes up at seventeen on the day Zhou Jiashu offers her a cruelly false confession.

Newly able to hear other people’s thoughts, she rejects the boy who betrayed her and refuses to become medicine for her ailing half sister again.

As Zhiwei fights to reclaim her future, she discovers that Cheng Chi–the notorious silver-haired school tyrant–is the one person whose fierce devotion has always been real.

Five hundred years after my death.

The people who had once benefited from my kindness had long since forgotten me.

Only my sworn enemy crouched at my grave, huffing and puffing as he dug for three whole days.

And dug me out.

As twelve bolts of tribulation lightning crashed down,

I saw Ye Yu’s face-unchanged from five hundred years ago.

The moment he saw me, his face lit up with excitement. “Shen Xi, come fight me!”

My gaze drifted past his shoulder

to the nervous members of the Righteous Path hurrying over behind him.

Those people had once been my master and fellow disciples.

They were also the ones who had killed me back then.

At the sight of them, I suddenly clutched my chest and collapsed into Ye Yu’s arms while he was watching the show.

In a soft, delicate voice, I said, “Big brother, this freshly reconstructed body is still so weak. Be a dear and take care of those small fry for me, will you?”

In an instant, I felt the body I was leaning against go completely rigid.

When I lifted my head again, the arrogant, untouchable Demon Lord was blushing so hard he looked ready to burst into flames.

The summer I turned ten, my younger sister went missing.

She vanished on her way to deliver lunch to our parents.

There were no security cameras, and no one had seen her.

Because I was the one who was supposed to have gone, my mother never spoke another word to me again.

Fifteen years later, I became a police officer. I retraced the path my sister took that day, over and over again.

The past began to resurface in my mind, piece by piece.

Slowly, I pieced together a heartbreaking truth.

On the day my stepsister was murdered.

I told my dad and the police that I had gone to school to do homework, that I hadn’t been home, and that I really didn’t know what had happened.

But the truth was, I lied.

A serial killer targeting young women had appeared in our small town.

He even had a following of brainless sycophants who helped spread his message: “Women are better off staying in their place.”

As I was about to head out, my neighbor cautioned me, “Are you wearing a skirt? It’s not safe lately.”

I smiled. “You’re right. He isn’t safe.”

It is a little-known fact that criminals are even more vulnerable than women or children.

After all, whether they end up dead or maimed, they can never step into the light.

Why couldn’t he just stay in his place?

He just had to go and catch the eye of a lunatic like me.

In 2016, I was working as a security guard in a residential complex.

A homeowner’s ten-year-old daughter vanished from her bedroom under bizarre circumstances.

On the rumpled bedsheets, all that remained was a pair of bloodstained underwear.

The police and all of us searched for her with everything we had, but we found no leads at all.

Then I remembered a fairy tale the girl had once told us about when she was playing in the complex.

It was called the “Tooth Fairy.” Years later, I got married and had a child of my own.

When my kid reached the age of losing baby teeth, my wife told her a bedtime story.

And once again, I heard the words “Tooth Fairy.” Startled, I asked, “Is that how the story goes?”

“Yeah.”

That night, after lying awake until dawn, I contacted the officer who had been in charge of the case back then.

“We were wrong all those years ago.”

One month after I died.

My childhood friend, the top celebrity I had long since cut ties with, did something completely out of character.

He canceled every job and shut himself away to write music.

In the end, he bid farewell to the music industry with a song called I Miss Her.

Everyone said he must have gone insane to give up such a dazzling future.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on New Year’s Eve, at the height of my fame.

The host prompted me as part of the program, asking me to call someone and wish them a Happy New Year.

Without the slightest hesitation, I dialed his number.

His voice trembled on the other end.

“Happy New Year to you too.”

This time, I want to live toward hope.

I met a girl at a bar while I was away on business and ended up sleeping with her.

I thought it was just a one-night stand.

Little did I know, it was the beginning of a nightmare.

I was in a rush to get home that night, so I hailed a taxi.

The driver asked me, “What do you do for a living, young lady?”

“I’m a fortune teller,” I replied. “Scary accurate, too.”

The driver gave a short laugh. “Well then, can you tell mine?”

“Sure.” I turned my head and stared intently at his face.

He had the features of a truly wicked man.