Debt

I collapsed onto the balcony floor, Ruoli's frightened voice still ringing around me: "You… were you going to jump?" The sunlight was bright, but it couldn't reach the cold spreading through my chest. "You have three days left to live" — the words had cut themselves into my mind. I rubbed my face, trying to shake off the fear that wouldn't lift, and felt a dull pain swelling in my stomach, as though I'd swallowed a stone.

Ruoli sat down beside me. She seemed more frightened than I was, but she knows me well enough to know I would never abandon her and our child. It took her a long time to calm herself enough to speak, her voice still unsteady: "Have you been experiencing strange things recently too?"

That word "too" brought my pulse back up: "You have? What happened?"

Ruoli's voice trembled harder: "Last night I had a dream. I was alone in the desert, desperately thirsty. A beggar came along with half a bottle of water and handed it to me. I drank it all — and he started laughing. He said: 'You owe me half a bottle of water. That debt will cost your whole family's lives.'"

She paused, steadying her lips. Then she drew a breath and continued, so quietly I could barely hear: "Just now, when I was walking home with Xiaobao, a pickup covered in sand dust came from nowhere and barrelled toward us. I grabbed Xiaobao and jumped aside — the truck skimmed past us and stopped ahead. The driver stuck his head out. It was the beggar from my dream. He shook a half-full bottle of water at me. And then—"

Ruoli's body shook again. Her gaze drifted to Xiaobao's room, her voice dropping lower still. "The worst part — Xiaobao said he dreamed about the beggar uncle last night too. He was holding a green box."

I felt the shock hit my chest like a fist. My blood seemed to go cold and still. Xiaobao. Our son had been reached by this thing.

I rose sharply and went to Xiaobao's room. I pushed the door open. He was crouching on the floor, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around his chest, face buried inside the green cardboard box — completely motionless, as though something were holding him there. The sight made the sweat break out on me. I crossed the room and lifted him upright. "Xiaobao! What are you doing? Are you all right?"

He raised his head slowly. His eyes were vacant, fixed on the box. He didn't answer my question. He said only: "Give me some water."

Those were not Xiaobao's words. When he was thirsty, he always said: I'm thirsty.

A cold so total it felt like drowning moved through me. The thing had come for me — and now for Ruoli and Xiaobao as well. It was real. Every strange thing that had happened these past days was real. I couldn't keep running from it. I had to face it head-on and stop it. I had to protect my family.

I turned and walked toward the front door. I would go to the underground tunnel and find the beggar who wore Wu Wei's face.

I had my hand on the lock when Ruoli wrapped her arms around me from behind. "Where are you going?"

Her hold was tight — tight enough to make movement difficult. I tried to sound calm: "Don't be scared. You and Xiaobao will be fine. I know where to find the beggar. I'm going to him."

She held on tighter. "Don't leave us here. I'm scared alone."

She had just lived through something terrifying. I couldn't walk out on her now. I turned around and put my arms gently around her trembling body. "All right. I won't go tonight. I'm here — no one's coming near you."

Only when she heard I wouldn't leave did she sag against me with relief.

That evening Ruoli went about her routines — bathing Xiaobao, doing laundry, reading to him at bedtime. Every time I tried to raise what was happening or what we should do, she redirected the conversation. She didn't want to discuss it. The thing had frightened her badly.

When night came I lay in bed, every muscle tense. My limbs ached with exhaustion, but no part of me could relax. In that state of bone-deep fatigue, tonight's dreams found me.

Tonight's dream was strange and unlike the others — there was no continuation of any previous plot, barely any plot at all. Just a series of scenes: first, I was alone in the office, perfectly still, staring at a darkened computer monitor. Then I was in Dr. Xu's clinic, sitting alone, counting the drops from the dripping device. One, two, three — three hundred and five, three hundred and six — until a face materialized in front of me: the old man. The skeleton-in-skin. Then I was in the graveyard, a few tombstones standing at random angles, the wooden shack at the edge. I was at the shack's door, the broken door leaning against its frame. The door opened slowly and I walked in. Inside, a person sat with Wu Wei's face — and the shock jolted me awake.

Morning had come, light blazing through the room. The wall clock showed nine AM. I had slept impossibly late. Ruoli and Xiaobao were already out; the apartment was empty.

Wu Wei again. What was his connection to everything happening to my family these past days? I couldn't wait any longer. I dressed quickly, grabbed an unfinished water bottle from the table, and went straight to the underground tunnel.

The beggar was still there, crouched against the wall as before, ragged clothes giving off a smell of mould. I breathed in, walked up, and stood before him.

He didn't raise his head. He slowly extended a hand, and his rasping voice came low: "Give me some water."

I held out the bottle. He took it, lifted his head, and through the matted hair those eyes looked at me — Wu Wei's eyes. "What do you want?"

I looked back at him steadily. "Who are you?"

He raised his voice suddenly: "I am Wu Wei!"

He is actually Wu Wei? A character I invented for my fiction, appearing in the real world? I pressed him: "How can you be Wu Wei? How can Wu Wei be a living person?"

He answered: "I am not a living person. I died five years ago."

I took an involuntary step back. A dead man, sitting before me, talking. But another question pushed past the fear: "How did you die?"

His voice rose further: "You killed me."