025 A Fright Under the Moon

A strange fragrance drifted through the air. Chen Yage stopped in her tracks. The scent was familiar, carrying a chilling freshness, but she couldn’t recall where she had encountered it before.

Li Bai hadn’t returned to look for her, and this left Chen Yage unusually irritable, unable to focus on where the scent came from or when she had smelled it previously. She wandered aimlessly, yet the fragrance did not dissipate; instead, it grew stronger, demanding her full attention.

She sniffed around, the aroma saturating the air. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her restless heart, knowing that serenity was essential for her. Stretching her neck like a giraffe, she sniffed east and west. Eventually, the scent ahead lured her forward, and with her eyes still closed, she stepped ahead—only to plunge with a splash into the lake.

Though not a national-level swimmer, Chen Yage was certainly competent, but once in the water, her limbs refused to obey, betraying her completely.

In the lake floated a woman clad in red, or more precisely, a corpse in red robes. Face down, back up, her waist-length hair spread out in the water.

The solitary moonlight poured over the floating body, casting an eerie and terrifying atmosphere. The world was so silent that it seemed to be asleep; Chen Yage could only hear her own rapid breathing, quickened by fear.

A scream tore from her lips—more shrill and desperate than any before, shattering the stillness. She had seen corpses before, but only on television!

Desperately, she paddled for the shore, but her body was limp and powerless, leaving her to struggle in the deep water. She had the uncanny sensation that hands were reaching for her. She tried to dodge, to evade, but escape was impossible. It brought to mind scenes from television—the relentless grasp of a ghostly hand, causing her heart to race, not from embarrassment or guilt, but from pure terror.

Perhaps, long ago, there had been no place for fear in Chen Yage’s personal dictionary, but now fear, dread, and the will to survive flooded her every thought. She wanted to live. She wasn’t ready to die. She wished to raise a cup of wine with Li Bai under the moon, to lose herself in the stars and spring breeze. She longed to wander the world with him, to savor every corner of the earth. There was so much left undone—she could not die yet. Call it greed, if you will, but the desire to survive is human nature.

After all, as Napoleon once said: A soldier who doesn’t wish to become a general is not a good soldier.

With unwavering resolve, Chen Yage finally crawled onto the shore. She fled, heart pounding, constantly glancing back for fear the corpse might reanimate. She didn’t know how far she ran before she stumbled and fell, her knee immediately bleeding. Yet terror numbed the pain, and she staggered upright, limping under the moonlight.

When she returned to Dujuan’s home, she hesitated at the door. The wooden door stood wide open, golden light pouring from within. By rights, Dujuan and the others shouldn’t have been asleep, but the house was utterly silent.

Perhaps it was the glow of the lamps, or perhaps the thought that Li Bai was inside, but a sense of calm finally returned to her. She couldn’t help but smile wryly: Since meeting Li Bai, she wasn’t as wild, her temper wasn’t as stubborn, and even her courage had shrunk! She remembered how, that night by the river, she had been rescued from the water, and now, tonight, she had been frightened into this sorry state! Li Bai, oh Li Bai, you have conquered me, changed my life forever. Meeting you has been my serendipity, yet also my calamity.

Not wanting to disturb anyone, Chen Yage slipped quietly to her room. She found a blue silk pleated skirt in the wardrobe and changed. Vanity is a woman’s nature; no matter how disheveled she had become, Chen Yage couldn’t help but sit before the bronze mirror. She pursed her lips; the reflection mimicked her. She rolled her eyes; the mirror-woman did the same.

“You’re so ugly,” she sighed, setting aside her peach-wood comb and slumping over the dressing table, lost in thought. Li Bai’s smile replayed endlessly in her mind like a tape loop. With a forceful shake of her head, she sprang up and rushed into Li Bai’s room.

The moment she burst through the door, regret washed over her. Impulse is a devil, but she was an impulsive devil!

“Brother Bai,” she called softly. No answer. She tiptoed inside. The room was small, yet Li Bai was nowhere to be found.

Carefully, she called again, “Brother Bai, are you here?” Still, no answer. Doubt seized her. The lamp was still burning, but the man was gone.

Remembering the strangeness she’d sensed upon entering, Chen Yage hurried to Dujuan’s room. The lamp was still lit there, too, but Dujuan was nowhere in sight.

Unwilling to give up, Chen Yage searched every room, but each was empty.

“Where did everyone go? Brother Bai, where are you? Dujuan, Shuiniu, where are you? Why is even Yueji missing? Where have you all gone?” Chen Yage slumped weakly against the vermilion carved door, gazing at the lone moon on the eaves, an ominous premonition flickering through her heart.