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Without further ado, I made up my mind and shouted into the fog, as if to say hello to the two brothers. Seeing that Dongzi had no objection, I held the cat and began to grope in the dark.
Finding the way back to the old house was not as difficult as I thought. As I had experienced myself, when the thing deliberately shrank, the liquid it secreted was stickier than a slug coated with maltose. I felt around on the ground and soon found the wet marks left by it as it chased me in one direction.
We were chasing each other and running for our lives on the way here, but the way back was quiet and smooth, which was a bit of black humor. I basically got more and more comfortable with it, and after I became proficient, I just stood up and stepped on it with my feet. Wherever my heel stepped on a piece of chewing gum and I couldn't lift my foot, that was the right direction. Soon I was back to the rusty railings of the old house.
Dongzai was very curious about my stealthy behavior. He probably thought that I, his companion, finally knew how to go out hunting. He cooperated with me very well, holding his breath and not making any sound. He even slapped me with his paw when I moved a little too much, as if he couldn't stand my clumsy foraging skills.
I rubbed the cat, thinking that this situation would be hard to explain to the kid, and then I dug out a small bundle of cold fireworks sticks from the fat cat's drooling pocket.
The bib was probably made from torn clothes. It felt like the sleeve of Zhang Tianyi's coat. Not only was there a cold firework, but it also contained a knife, a pack of unnamed pills (probably for detoxification and sedation), and a small bag of chocolate beans to replenish energy. It was so full that the little fat cat nodded and rested his chin on my arm to relax.
To be honest, my damn brother is not that unreliable. He knows that every time we are involved in a ghost story, the related electronic equipment will almost be scrapped, and mobile phones and flashlights are basically useless. We are unlucky and always have bad luck. It would be wrong if we don't get hurt.
This bag is quite practical. I swallowed two pills dry with saliva, waited for the medicine to take effect, and stuffed a handful of chocolate beans in my mouth. I seemed to come back to life instantly.
After waiting for a while and making sure that apart from the choking, my condition had recovered well and nothing serious should happen, the man and the cat walked through the weeds and came to the already open door of the old house.
There was nothing strange going on this time. We entered the room and threw out a few broken cold fireworks. The first thing we saw in the dim cold light was broken glass all over the floor. It seemed that the lighting in the living room must have exploded at the same time in a very short period of time.
I carefully poked at it with my toes and found sharp stones among the broken glass. I broke off a cold flame and shone it overhead, and saw that the small window next to the ceiling was also broken, and the evening breeze rushed in all at once.
Well, I was a little embarrassed, thinking that it was really someone who turned off the light. But somehow, by some strange coincidence, my flashlight was corroded by the thick fog, and the battery was swollen, causing an accident, and the explosion still lured that thing out.
Looking at the living room floor again, there were a lot of old splattered blood stains that had turned black. The amount of bleeding was very large and extended all the way to the whitewashed wall, making people vaguely imagine the scene when the tragedy happened.
Holding the cold flame in my hand, I turned my head and began to look for the direction of each room.
The kitchen was the first to be discovered. There was also a lot of black blood stains inside. Dust piled up thickly on the countertop. The thick-backed bone-chopping knife from the nightmare was nowhere to be seen. There was also a layer of blood stains in the sink. The kitchen waste bag was full, but there was only dust and a pile of empty wine bottles. There was no sign of regular cooking. There was nothing else that was notable.
None of these were of much help. I had no interest in commenting on Nian Huairen's attitude towards life back then, nor did I want to care about his disgusting "alcoholism" problem. I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed.
Dongzai jumped out of my arms and started sniffing around.
After a while, I reached the master bedroom by holding on to the wall. Where the bedroom door should be was a large irregular hole, as if it had been forcibly squeezed open by something. The wall was covered with radiating spider-web-like cracks. I touched it with my hand, and there was a rustling sound, and ash fell to the ground.
Probably because the relatively airtight state of the house was broken, the fog began to slowly flow in, and the indoor temperature was visibly dropping. I shuddered and told Dongzai to retreat to my feet and be careful.
They entered the house one after another, and the furniture that came into view was very simple: a double bed, a set of tables and chairs against the wall, a yellow lacquered wardrobe with rotten wood, a small dining table, and another small bed for children in the corner.
I frowned and felt uncomfortable.
It’s hard to say what the discomfort was at this moment, but I just felt that there shouldn’t be two beds in this room.
How should I put it? In a normal family, parents place their children's beds in their master bedroom to facilitate nighttime care, which is in line with their living habits. But in the father-son relationship between Nian Huairen and Sanyi, there is always a sense of absurdity that is inexplicably misplaced, but it is hard to tell what is wrong.
I couldn't think of where the problem lay, so I decided to put it aside and figure it out later, and went to check the tables, chairs, and wardrobe first.
It must be said that everything in this bedroom looked like it had been washed with strong water. Everything was in a mess and damaged, with dried mucus hanging everywhere, as if this bedroom had originally been on the bottom of the sea, covered with seaweed and shell-less scallops.
Therefore, the table and chairs were no exception, they were basically just a pile of rotten wood, and although they were locked tightly, there were already several large holes on the sides and bottom. Before I could reach out, the fat cat scratched it in confusion and hooked a thick stack of moldy papers from it, and immediately got scared and shrank behind me, shaking its claws.
I bit the cold firework, grabbed the cat with a mixture of anger and amusement and "untied" it.
When he took it down and took a look at it, he was surprised to find that what was recorded on it was not some strange anecdotes about ghost stories, nor was it a letter exchanged with the group of wanderers, but a seemingly ordinary investigation record.
The reason why it is called ordinary is that what is recorded in it are some very trivial and ordinary daily life, about how a woman usually studies and works, and there are also scattered notes on some of her hobbies and leisure places she often goes to.
It looks like some perverted voyeur's "secret crush" diary.
With this thing, if Nian Huairen is still alive and kicking, I can directly send him to the police station to prevent him from harassing and annoying anyone again.
However, as I read on, a chill gradually rose in my bones, and I realized that the target in the record seemed familiar. It seemed to be my mother, Ms. Zhang Can.
This record contained some very strange and detailed comments on her preferences, appearance, behavior patterns and general living area, with many scribbles and crosses at the end.
I was stunned for a moment before I realized what that weirdness was. It was definitely not twisted attention or so-called admiration, nor was it the damp emotions of some perverted scumbag, but rather a kind of precise comparison.
It was as if… it was as if Nian Huairen had been looking for something specific, and thus by chance he had set his sights on the young Zhang Can. But because the target did not quite match, he was reluctant, and so he showed repetition and irritability in the records.
So, he was like a psychopath to my distinguished Ms. Zhang Can, sneering at her for no reason, and almost saying "you stupid mortal"? Was he here to get close to her on purpose?
It's hard to describe how strange my mood is as a child. Anyway, I was a little angry and couldn't help but sneer, secretly saying where did this scum come from. If young Zhang Can had the opportunity to get closer to the brokers and the world of ghost stories, with her decisiveness, patience and calmness in dealing with things, Nian Huairen would have been buried in the dust long ago.
I flipped through a few more pages and found something was indeed wrong. Nian Huairen kept muttering something like "maybe". There were some old photos mixed in. Judging from the time, the two had been married and Sanyi was about to be born.
But what Nian Huairen showed in the records was not surprise, nor rejection and contempt for "mortals", but a kind of fear, vigilance and greed that was simply incomprehensible.
It was as if he thought that the embryo of some evil god was about to be born.
This is in stark contrast to his later condescending indifference when he used the Three Changes as a tool to "get promoted."
I frowned greatly. The painkillers I had taken started to take effect. My body began to feel slightly hot and itchy, and I felt a little restless. After a pause, I simply sat on the cold floor and held Dongzai in my arms.
Listening to the vibration of the little fat cat's snoring, I felt a little relieved. I calmed down and continued reading.
Nian Huairen was furious about Sanyi's birth. His disappointment and anger were clearly written on the paper. He cursed Zhang Can's photo and drew a dozen crosses on it. The handwriting on the edge almost tore through the back of the paper. It read:
"Why is it him? Did you find the wrong person?"
What does it mean... why is it "he"? I repeated it silently several times, and it was a bit unbelievable. The direction of this sentence was too strange. Did Nian Huairen ask God to customize a specific child, and he wanted to cancel the order if there was a slight difference? Did he use young Zhang Can as a container for making a directional wish?
Or, to be more precise, Nian Huairen felt that he could get a "reincarnated spirit boy" with a specific identity through Zhang Can? Is that what he meant?
I took a deep breath and wanted to curse. This guy must be mentally ill.
However, from this moment on, I roughly understand why Nian Huairen pretended to be a decent person before marriage, but soon revealed his true colors in front of his new wife after marriage, and even agreed to divorce so readily.
Apparently, in the five years since then, Nian Huairen has realized what went wrong in his pursuit of his goal, and he has gradually lost patience with the young Zhang Can. It might be a good thing for him that Zhang Can is leaving.
I held my breath and read to this point, but the record suddenly stopped.
The pile at the bottom was much older, and looked like it had been taken out from some old, sealed archive. The paper was already very fragile, with a dark yellow hue, and it felt crisp in the hand, as if it could be crushed with a little force.
I exclaimed, carefully opened one of the pages, and read it by the light of the cold flame. I was immediately shocked. The name in the record was very familiar, so familiar that it shouldn't be here.
It was also a female file. Looking up, there was an old photo showing seven or eight strangers surrounding a white-haired old man.
In the photo, the old man's face is very blurry, as if it was deliberately processed to keep it confidential.
But you can still see that her eyes are extremely sharp. Through the old photos and the long time, the calmness and composure that are not bound by age and are ambitious are not concealed at all, which makes people immediately imagine how ambitious the real person is.
I couldn't help but feel an inexplicable sense of closeness and respect, and stroked the old photo.
This lady's surname is Nian.
The file records:
She was the leader of the Nian family, the one who led the tribe to build the boat ferry of the foghorn in the heavy snow and volcano of Yishu, and the one who personally covered the banyan tree with bronze clothes. At that time, the arrogance of the Nian family had not been distorted by Yishu, and people used the banyan tree only as a tool to stop the mountain fire, and did not make wishes or worship it, so the wanderers had to cut off contact with the banyan tree they created for a long time.
She is the first "young person" in the world.
I suddenly realized something and went back to look for Nian Huairen's annotations. I got goose bumps all over my body.
"Why is it him?" Why is it "him"? This is what Nian Huairen meant! What a joke, he is looking for the original Nian Ziqing!
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