“I’m Lin Feng from Yidu. See you tomorrow afternoon at the school gate of Yidu!”
Cheng Jun, who had just graduated from Caida not long ago, was about to report to a company when he inexplicably received a WeChat message like this.
Lin Feng was his childhood friend with whom he had lost contact for 15 years. Receiving a message from him after 15 years was indeed somewhat eerie. But more than that, he felt a small thrill of excitement. Over the past 15 years, he had managed to find several long-lost classmates through the internet, but Lin Feng had vanished without a trace, as if he had evaporated from the face of the earth.
Staring at the message, Cheng Jun was lost in thought for a long time, his hands trembling slightly.
But there were far too many scammers on the internet, and he quickly regained his composure. Having been deceived multiple times, netizens nowadays were highly vigilant, and Cheng Jun was no exception. He casually replied, “I don’t know you!”
“Crazy Moth, you must remember that, right? Guo Guo…”
“Hah, so it really is you…”
After moving away from Yidu, no one had ever called him by the nickname “Guo Guo.” Even Cheng Jun himself had almost forgotten it. Hearing it now suddenly felt incredibly familiar.
Back then, Lin Feng was always coming up with wild ideas and harebrained schemes, earning him the playful nickname “Moth.” Cheng Jun was his closest friend, practically inseparable, and he liked to add an extra word, calling him “Crazy Moth.”
After exchanging several “secret codes,” Cheng Jun was certain that this person was indeed Lin Feng. This filled him with excitement. He hastily reported to the company and then requested a week off.
Taking leave on the very first day of work did not sit well with his supervisor. “Asking for time off right after joining—you’re too reckless!”
But Cheng Jun couldn’t care less. After all, he could always find another job, but Lin Feng was a brother like no other. If they lost contact again, he would regret it deeply.
He hurriedly bought a ticket online, and early the next morning, Cheng Jun joyfully boarded a high-speed train bound for Wuguang City.
Traveling at over 300 kilometers per hour, the high-speed train was indeed impressive, reaching Wuguang City in just a few hours. However, Yidu was relatively remote, and after another two or three hours on a rural bus, he finally found himself not far from Yidu.
Even after 15 years, Yidu still had no public transportation. He had no choice but to get off at the last stop, Taoshan, which was still seven or eight miles away from Yidu.
When he tried to hail a taxi after getting off the bus, the driver glared at him fiercely upon hearing he wanted to go to Yidu, muttering “crazy” before driving off.
Several drivers reacted the same way, eyeing him as if he were insane and avoiding him like the plague.
With no other options, Cheng Jun kept raising his offer—from 30 to 50 to 100… Finally, he offered an exorbitant price of 300 yuan for a motorcycle ride and managed to secure a ride on a very dilapidated motorcycle.
The daring “money-over-life” rider dropped Cheng Jun off at a bridge about a mile away from Yidu and refused to go any further.
Leaving Cheng Jun behind, the rider glanced nervously ahead and shuddered.
He whispered mysteriously to Cheng Jun, “No one dares to come here. You’d better not go in!”
“Why?” Cheng Jun pressed. “Hey, buddy, wait! Don’t run away…”
The motorcycle instantly turned around. The rider, afraid Cheng Jun might grab him, didn’t look back as he revved the engine and sped away.
Cheng Jun felt only a gust of wind sweep past as the motorcycle sped away faster than a ghost, vanishing in the blink of an eye. Left alone in the chilling wind that led to Yidu, he stood disheveled like a solitary bird separated from its flock.
The ancient bluestone bricks on Yidu Street were now pitted and uneven. The dark, weathered wooden houses on either side, long neglected, leaned precariously to one side.
It was eerily quiet, with buildings empty and people gone—a dead silence so profound it could drive out ghosts. Once a bustling hub, Yidu had fallen into such desolation that Cheng Jun felt an inexplicable sense of loss. From street to alley, he hadn’t encountered a single soul.
At the central crossroads, turning right led to Yidu Chaihuo Alley. Reaching the alley entrance, he paused and, as if out of a habit formed fifteen years ago, glanced back and scanned his surroundings, wondering if Lin Feng might still be waiting for him there. This time, however, he was disappointed.
Passing through Chaihuo Alley, Yidu Primary School lay just ahead. Fifteen years ago, they would walk through this alley together on their way to school, the sounds of children’s playful banter now forever frozen in the silent alleyway.
Fifteen years later, as he returned to his former school, he stood outside the gate but did not enter. A strange illusion washed over him, as if all his classmates and teachers had vanished from the earth in an instant.
Though the school building still stood, even from outside the gate he could sense its decay. Looking up, the area resembled ruins—the small shop near the school entrance, the old houses along the street—all seemed like forgotten corners, fallen into dust and neglect.
From Chaihuo Alley to the school gate and back again, Cheng Jun wandered silently, retracing his steps, gazing back in quiet reflection. He waited nearly the entire afternoon but did not see Lin Feng.
Walking along the desolate streets, he drifted like a wandering spirit until dusk, yet still found no one—neither stranger nor familiar face.
“Where have they all gone?” Cheng Jun wondered. He glanced toward the roadside, where their favorite breakfast spot, a beef rice noodle shop, now stood in ruins. A cold wind swept through, scattering broken tiles, withered branches, and fallen leaves, stirring up clouds of dust.
Dust and grit blew into his eyes. Rubbing them, his vision blurred slightly. Through the half-open, darkened wooden door, he suddenly noticed a dim oil lamp glowing inside the dilapidated noodle shop. The tattered remnants of an old sunshade cloth hung in strips, swaying in the gloomy light like spirit banners fluttering in the wind.
Though dusk had just fallen, darkness descended quickly here. Uneasy but curious, he slowly approached. “Could someone still be living here? In this day and age, who still uses an oil lamp?”
“Is anyone there?” he called out, but no one answered.
The surrounding area was completely empty, yet here, an oil lamp burned eerily. Cheng Jun felt a chill run down his spine.
In the midst of the silence, a sudden, swift gust of wind arose, and a dark shadow flashed past. Cheng Jun tensed, every hair on his body standing on end, as a strange, intangible presence seemed to spread through the air.
Thump, thump—Cheng Jun could feel his own heartbeat. Just then, a violent fit of coughing startled him so badly he nearly stumbled.
But he didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits. Steeling himself, he hesitated briefly before gently pushing the half-open wooden door. The creak of the door echoed loudly in the stillness.
“You’re here again, cough cough, no need to rush, I’ve prepared yours too. That pile is for the three of them, and this heap is yours. Take it and go, cough cough…” a very aged voice.
Cheng Jun suddenly broke out in goosebumps, because when he pushed open the door, he only heard these strange words but didn’t see anyone.
A chilly gust swept through, causing the dim, flickering flame of an oil lamp on a worn wooden table to waver, as if it might go out at any moment.
His face paled with fright, and he hurried over, raising a hand to shield the lamp’s flame, worried that if it blew out, he wouldn’t be able to see anything.
“Why haven’t you left yet, Feng’er?” the aged voice came again. “Those three shouldn’t have come here. Let them take what’s theirs and each go their own way. Don’t make things difficult for them, cough cough…”
“Feng’er? Could that be Lin Feng?” Cheng Jun had been searching around but hadn’t seen Lin Feng anywhere. He thought for a moment, then turned his head toward the direction of the voice. “Damn it, how could I forget there’s a hidden loft in this beef rice noodle shop? I’m just scaring myself!”
Cheng Jun slapped himself on the cheek to snap out of it. By the dim light, he found a very narrow staircase on one side of the room—sure enough, the hidden loft was still there.
As soon as he went up, he suddenly saw a long shadow stretching out in the dim lamplight, startling him so much that he stumbled and fell. “Ah—”
“Who’s there?” The figure didn’t move.
Hearing an old man’s voice, Cheng Jun scrambled to his feet in a panic, squinting his eyes before he could make out the strange, hunched back of an elderly man.
The old man wore a faded, ancient blue robe with a blue cloth wrapped around his head. He was burning several piles of spirit money, mumbling incoherently under his breath, the words unclear.
On the table beside him, another dim oil lamp flickered. A cold, eerie breeze blew through, causing the lamp’s flame to flicker and dim, casting an even more chilling and sinister atmosphere over the hidden loft.