Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I took the diary back to 704.

It wasn’t because I wanted to snoop; it was because I suddenly didn’t know how to keep standing there in 703. While Granny Wu was alive, I could still pretend that the soup, the notes, and the things she said only to me were just the habits of a lonely old woman talking to herself. But that line of text had ripped away all pretense.

I sat by the window, flipping through the pages one by one.

Granny Wu’s handwriting was sometimes neat and sometimes so messy it was almost unrecognizable, as if the hand holding the pen often trembled.

“March 17th. Wanwan came back. She stood at the door, soaked to the bone. She didn’t say she was cold, nor did she say she was in pain; she only asked if the medicine was still there. She doesn’t look in mirrors, and there is no mud on the soles of her shoes. I know that’s not a living person, but I let her in anyway.”

“March 20th. I tried putting her comb in front of the mirror, but she wouldn’t even glance at it. She said she was afraid the person in the mirror would mistake her for someone else. I don’t understand, but having her back is better than being all alone.”

“April 2nd. A tall, thin young man moved in next door. He only goes out after dark. His face is pale, and he always carries the scent of rain, like he never managed to step out of that heavy downpour three years ago. He must be lost, too.”

Lost.

Granny Wu didn’t write “evil spirit” or “filthy thing”; she wrote that I was lost.

I stared at those words for a long time.

I actually don’t remember much about what I was like right after I died. I only remember that the rainstorm was massive, and the entire residential complex felt like it was submerged in a murky, dark fish tank. The elevators stopped, the underground garage flooded, and the night was filled with the sounds of sirens and people shouting. By the time I had any clear memory again, I was standing by the flowerbed in the complex, soaking wet, looking at the building where I used to live. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t leave.

Later, I realized I was dead, but I never found the way out.

I flipped to a page in the middle where a convenience store receipt was tucked. Granny Wu had added a note on the back of the receipt.

“Wanwan doesn’t dare look at Xiao Cheng’s face; she only looks at his shadow. Perhaps even between ghosts, there are things they’d rather not say out loud.”

I pulled the receipt out, feeling as if someone had gently squeezed my chest.

A faint sound came from outside the door.

Lin Wan stood at the entrance, but she didn’t come in.

She said, “My mom was right.”

“I died three years ago.”