Chapter 49: Strange Tale—"Red Silk" (2)

To recall that story they’d first heard in college, Qi Yan had truly forgotten most of it, but Dong Ye still seemed able to recount it with remarkable clarity.

Back then, their dormmate Tian Hao was an extremely outgoing person, and he claimed that the ghost story had actually taken place right in Xinzhou City—and that it was quite real. Of course, such claims were always taken with a grain of salt; people telling ghost stories loved to insist, “This is a true story…” as if afraid no one would believe in the supernatural otherwise.

Perhaps it was because Tian Hao was so gifted at storytelling, but at the time, the other five in their dorm had found themselves genuinely chilled.

The tale was about a girl named Lu Qian. After dropping out of high school, she’d found work at a rather disreputable internet café. Everyone knew working as a cashier in a small internet café wasn’t demanding, but the hours were irregular—swapping between day and night shifts, with all-nighters being common.

Though Lu Qian hadn’t received much education and had left school early, after a few months of such drifting jobs, she’d come to understand the hardships of life. She was ambitious enough to plan on working at the café for a while, living frugally, and saving up. Once she’d set aside enough, she’d learn a trade—makeup, beauty treatments, baking—something practical, since even without a degree, one good skill was better than nothing.

It was late autumn, already cold outside. At night, dry leaves skittered across the road in the wind, whispering as they went. As usual, Lu Qian wouldn’t get off work until after nine, which counted as an early shift—not one of the dreaded overnight ones.

She was plain-looking and not much for fashion, so she’d never had a boyfriend. Each evening she returned home alone. If she’d pulled an all-nighter, at least she could catch the morning bus, but after her nine o’clock shift, she could only walk.

Her home wasn’t far, and to save money, she rarely took a cab. In the southern district of Xinzhou was a large produce market; during the day, it bustled with vendors selling vegetables, but at night, it was deserted, littered with vegetable scraps and haunted by the smell of poultry droppings.

The market lay between Lu Qian’s workplace and her rented room; she had to pass it every day. Even at night, the street ran parallel to a major road, so though there were few pedestrians, cars still passed by, and the streetlights were bright enough that she felt no unease.

Lu Qian wore a woolen coat she’d found online, clutching the collar tight to block out the autumn wind as she walked. As always, she held her breath and covered her nose when passing the market’s entrance—the smell of droppings was overwhelming, and the wind made it worse.

The sidewalk hadn’t been repaired in years and was full of potholes, so walking in high-heeled leather boots took care to avoid a stumble. Once she’d hurried past the market, Lu Qian exhaled in relief, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and picked up her pace, eager to get home for a hot shower and rest.

As she walked, she felt something catch at her foot. Glancing down in the dim light, she couldn’t see clearly, so she reached down and discovered a thin strand of red thread—the kind used for sewing, not strong, but tangled in a knot and stuck between her boots. That explained the faint sensation she’d felt.

“Tch…” she muttered impatiently, quickly untangling the red thread and flicking it away to drift off in the wind. Stepping on little bits of trash was nothing unusual, so she didn’t think twice.

But after she’d walked another hundred meters or so, a faint, childish girl’s voice reached her ears. At first it was indistinct, but it grew clearer, approaching from a distance. Eventually, Lu Qian realized she wasn’t imagining things—a little girl’s voice was nearby, singing a nursery rhyme.

She could almost make out the words, though the passing cars on the main road made it hard to hear. It sounded something like, “Xuan Lili~ Xuan Lili~~ a red thread makes a swing, going home crying, sobbing…” That was the impression she got.

Lu Qian turned to look behind her, but the empty sidewalk revealed no one else. Where was the voice coming from? Perhaps one of the nearby residential buildings?

She didn’t have the energy to investigate. A sense of oppression pressed on her chest—unease and confusion drove her to walk even faster.

The child’s singing didn’t last long; it came in fits and starts, then ceased altogether.

Lu Qian’s wages were meager, so she shared a shabby, old apartment in the city’s decaying district with another girl. It was the kind of place where even taking out the trash meant a trek of several hundred meters.

That night, her roommate was on the late shift, set to spend all night at the internet café. Though they shared the apartment, their opposite work schedules meant Lu Qian was usually alone.

When she reached her building, the streetlights were dimmer than before—old orange bulbs casting just enough glow for passersby to see their feet. Lu Qian took out her flip phone, pressing buttons as she walked. She meant to text her roommate to say she’d gotten home safely—after all, they worked and lived together, and were naturally close.

Her rented room was at the very end of the row of old buildings. Just as she turned the corner, head bent over her phone, a little girl in a red dress suddenly darted out from behind her, skipping and hopping past with gleeful steps.

“Ah!” Lu Qian was startled out of her wits, dropping her phone to the ground. Where had this little girl come from, springing out so suddenly behind her?

Before she could react, the girl had already skipped far ahead, her feet tapping merrily, arms swinging. Her glossy black hair fell over her back, matching the shiny little shoes she wore. She bounced along the path as if heading for an amusement park, never once looking back, so Lu Qian never saw her face.

The girl not only skipped ahead but sang, in that trembling, childish voice, the same rhyme Lu Qian had heard before, only now the words were clear:

“Blood-dripping—blood-dripping—a red thread makes a flower dress, can’t go home, crying and crying, crying and crying…”

“Hee hee hee, ha ha ha…” The little girl’s laughter sounded as lovely as wind chimes—innocent and full of joy.

But to Lu Qian, it was like the tolling of a death knell. Her whole body went rigid, her lips trembled, and she forgot all about her phone, staring wide-eyed as the girl’s skipping figure faded into the distant shadows of the old buildings, until at last she disappeared from sight…