Chapter 5: The Shadow Token and the Ghostly Mother

Xu Dan had now regained her composure. No further strange changes appeared, and after drinking some yogurt she drifted off into a deep sleep. Dong Ye and Qi Yan, as expected, didn’t return to the hotel but kept vigil in the hospital room—after all, it was just one night in the ward. Or rather, apart from Xu Dan, whose exhaustion left her drowsy, neither Qi Yan nor Dong Ye could find rest.

They stayed awake until well past midnight. By then, Xu Dan had already been transferred from the emergency room to a general ward, and the entire building was steeped in silence.

Dong Ye, except for brief trips to the restroom, remained at the bedside, not daring to close his eyes for even a moment. The memories of what had happened earlier were vivid and fresh; he was terrified that if he so much as nodded off, Xu Dan might… well, might relapse.

In the latter half of the night, Qi Yan quietly informed Dong Ye he was stepping out, and went to the open, ventilated balcony on that floor to indulge his craving for a cigarette.

He too was weary, but not at all sleepy. Now that everything had quieted down, he replayed the day’s events in his mind, hoping to sort through them, but the more he tried, the more tangled his thoughts became. No matter how he reasoned, he couldn’t convince himself or make sense of this stream of bizarre occurrences.

Even at night, the air outside was stifling and hot. Standing on the third-floor balcony and gazing down, he watched the narrow street below, crowded with all manner of vehicles coming and going.

Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, Qi Yan reached into his pocket and pulled out the amulet he’d received earlier that day. His expression betrayed a deep unease and apprehension he could not conceal.

In truth... from the very moment Xu Dan lost control, he had begun to suspect, but he didn’t want to believe it—couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

No matter how skeptical he’d been before, now he was forced to reconsider everything from a new perspective.

Before coming here, he’d heard many people talk about Thailand—a land shrouded in devout faith, but also said to be a place of profound darkness. Both online and in local lore, countless tales of the strange and supernatural circulated.

And these Thai amulets—seemingly simple protective charms—were anything but. Their significance was subtle, mysterious, and in the world of the occult, they held a unique place of power.

Yet Qi Yan had never, in all his life, encountered anything as terrifying as what had happened today. Even setting aside the talk of haunted temples and Xu Dan’s bizarre condition, he’d never once, not even as a child, experienced anything like sleep paralysis.

He’d heard others speak of uncanny encounters—some of them highly educated, telling their stories with vivid detail, making them sound all too real. But for someone like him, who’d never experienced any of it firsthand, it was easy to dismiss them as just stories—other people’s tales, nothing more. That was a perfectly normal response.

After letting his thoughts run wild, Qi Yan pulled out his phone and started searching online for information about these amulets. It was a bit troublesome, given he was using a foreign SIM card.

Online, he quickly found a set of official explanations about Thai amulets—the basic facts matched what Xu Dan had told him: how they were made, their history and evolution, the different types.

As he finished his cigarette, he found himself drawn deeper in, lighting another as he read on.

Gradually, he began to understand more about these protective charms, and soon discovered that among online discussions, a major topic was the pros and cons of Thai amulets.

The classification system was quite thorough. Beyond style and materials, amulets fell into two main categories—“sacred” and “dark.”

Qi Yan had heard a little about this before, though his knowledge was shallow.

Sacred amulets were devoted to the great gods, their lineage tracing back to the Brahmanic faith of India. For example, Thailand’s temples and shrines often venerated Phra Phrom—the Four-Faced God—who had four faces, eight ears, eight arms, eight hands, the creator of the universe and humankind, commonly known as the Four-Faced Buddha.

With flourishing incense and countless worshippers, this deity was also called the “Wish-Granting Buddha.” Yet, in truth, the Four-Faced Buddha was not a Buddha at all, but a god.

There was also the legendary Vishnu, creator of the angelic city of Bangkok, and Shiva, god of dance and destruction. These were the three principal deities of India. Additional sacred amulets included those devoted to the elephant-headed god of wealth, and to the ancient Buddha Somdej—each belonging to the “sacred” category.

“Dark” amulets, however, were entirely different. They were dedicated not to gods, but to spirits and ghosts—malevolent entities. Monks would capture the souls of those who had died unnatural deaths, imprisoning them in the amulet. After a period of ritual cleansing and passage in the temple, most of the malice would be purged, and the amulet would be crafted using a small part of the deceased’s body, grave soil, coffin nails, and other “yin” materials.

The best-known among these were the “child spirit” amulets—Kuman Thong, his father General Khun Paen, the love-charming Yantong, the loyal spirit warriors, or even the nine-tailed fox. There was an endless variety.

It was precisely because of this divide—sacred versus dark—that Thai amulets had such a mixed reputation.

At the very least, judging by the comments left by countless netizens, one thing was widely accepted: dark amulets were far more potent than sacred ones. That was why so many people chose to worship dark amulets.

But regardless of the deeper reasoning, the notion of raising a “ghost” was still rejected by most traditionalists back home.

It was said—only said—that while dark amulets could bring swift and dramatic changes in fortune, in the end, things usually ended badly for their keepers. Families were ruined, fortunes lost, some even met untimely deaths.

Thus, though temples did sell genuine dark amulets, it was generally discouraged for novices to attempt their worship. Should someone with impure intentions seek to raise a “ghost,” their own malice would taint the amulet, making it even more dangerous.

Reading all this, Qi Yan felt a chill crawl across his scalp. He forced his thoughts into order, chain-smoking to calm his nerves.

Could it be that the amulet he’d been given for free—a charm for which he hadn’t paid a single cent—was actually a dark amulet?

Was it really that dangerous? Considering all that had happened today, these weren’t just indirect accidents anymore. The events were so vivid, so grave, could they really be traced back to the unremarkable little pendant he now held in his hand?

“Waaah—waaah—”

Qi Yan, phone in one hand and amulet in the other, was lost in terrified thought when suddenly, sharp cries of an infant shrieked in his ears.

Normally, hearing a child cry in a hospital would be nothing unusual. But in such circumstances, the sudden sound nearly made him drop his phone.

He turned instinctively—and saw a “woman” standing just a meter behind him, though he had no idea when she had appeared.

She had materialized without warning, utterly silent—there had been no hint of footsteps beforehand.

The “woman” standing before him was eerily strange. Her skin, like Xu Dan’s earlier, was ashen-gray, her body swathed in filthy, tattered strips of cloth densely painted with black, bizarre script. Her long hair hung loose and wild, obscuring her face. In her arms she cradled a bundle of pale flesh which, upon closer inspection, was a naked infant, eyes tightly shut, its tiny head crisscrossed with deep cracks, but not a drop of blood seeped from them…

Qi Yan’s pupils contracted; in that instant, it felt as though his heart had stopped, his throat blocked by some invisible force. He longed to scream, but not a sound escaped.

It was exactly like before—his body, frozen as if by ice, utterly immobile save for his eyes, which were stretched wide in terror, every muscle locked in place.

Whenever Qi Yan encountered such a situation, all other sounds would vanish—the distant hum of traffic below, everything, gone. It was as if time and space themselves had ground to a halt.

If he heard anything at all, it was the chorus of infant wails rising from every direction.

The “woman” herself remained motionless. The temperature plunged from over twenty degrees to icy cold, no wind, yet the chill pierced to the bone.

Qi Yan couldn’t even turn his head; his gaze was locked, eye to eye, with the apparition.

Peering through the tangle of wild hair, he saw a pair of eyes, blood-red as fresh wounds.

Just a single glance—no words, no gesture—yet, amid the cacophony of infant cries, a single word burned itself into Qi Yan’s mind. He had no idea why that word should surface now, but it was as if the “woman” herself was silently introducing her identity to him.

And this word was hardly obscure—one so familiar that anyone would recognize it: “Mother.”