Flowers of the Departed Souls - Chapter 2

Chi Ziming’s gaze, however, lingered on the stack of manuscript paper. He set down the bottle of pills in his hand and picked up the manuscript. He no longer had the strength to continue; perhaps it would accompany him to the other world.

He pulled out his lighter and lit it. The flame licked his fingers like the smiling face of a devil, the kind of triumphant smile after a successful scheme. It mocked his despair and cowardice, his greed and fear of death. It mocked him for having nothing, mocked him for even being abandoned by his woman in the end. He put the photo into the flame too, but he couldn’t bear it and snatched it back. The photo was half-burned, having burned away his own image, leaving Cai Yilian’s smile looking dim and fractured.

He sighed and poured the entire bottle of pills into his palm. Just as he was about to put all the pills into his mouth, he vaguely heard the chime of a bell, followed by a piercing scream that ripped through the quiet Luoyang Village like lightning. Chi Ziming froze. He quickly poured the pills back into the bottle and rushed out.

Several people, including Luo Xiaofeng, simultaneously rushed downstairs. Everyone was asking what had happened, but no one knew. Only one guest lived on the third floor, Xia Yimin, in Room 308. But the door to Room 308 was tightly shut. Everyone shouted, “Mr. Xia, Mr. Xia, please open the door!” But there was no response from inside. The light in the room was on. Luo Xiaofeng thought she had seen him come back inside herself, so how could no one be there? Had something really happened? She took out her key and unlocked the door. The moment she pushed it open, everyone was stunned by the scene inside.

The entire room was in chaos. Xia Yimin lay on the floor, a dagger plunged into his chest, his face up. His eyes were two large, empty sockets, and on the floor lay two bloody eyeballs. His fingers were curled, as if clawing, covered in fresh red blood, as if he had gouged out his own eyes while still alive.

A female guest in her forties turned away and immediately vomited. Luo Xiaofeng also turned her face, her complexion a bit pale. “I’ll go call the police.”

Now, only Chi Ziming and the female guest’s husband, Ge Jianliang, remained in the room. Ge Jianliang and his wife had originally come here for a vacation, never expecting such a horrific incident to occur. This was also unexpected for Chi Ziming, just as he had originally come here to embrace death, but never imagined someone nearby would be taken by death in such a tragic way.

Ge Jianliang bravely walked closer, checked for a pulse with his hand, and shook his head as he walked out, saying, “He’s dead. Let’s go out and close the door. Wait for the police.”

Chi Ziming nodded, preparing to gently close the door. When it was halfway closed, he vaguely felt a dark shadow on the glass window of the room, its facial lines very rigid, as if something was covering it, cast onto the window by the moonlight. He suddenly yanked the door open, but the shadow was gone. Only Xia Yimin lay on the floor, looking particularly eerie in the dim light.

He immediately dismissed his thought. This was the third floor, and there wasn’t even a balcony over there. How could anyone be standing outside the window, unless they were planning something here? He couldn’t help but shiver.

Ge Jianliang turned back, “What’s wrong?” Chi Ziming shook his head. Ge Jianliang then walked over, patted Chi Ziming’s shoulder, and helped his wife, Zhong Dan, back to their room. Chi Ziming thought for a moment and decided to go find Luo Xiaofeng. He wanted to know what exactly was going on. He had already sensed that this seemingly peaceful seaside village was not as tranquil as it appeared.

He found Luo Xiaofeng on the inn’s rooftop. She was sitting sideways on the railing, silently smoking. He called out with some concern, “Hey, be careful! Sitting like that, you could easily fall.”

Xiaofeng glanced at him but didn’t respond.

Chi Ziming always felt she wasn’t like an ordinary village girl. She didn’t talk much, and at twenty-three or twenty-four, she had a pair of eyes that had matured too early, as if she had experienced a great deal in the world.

Chi Ziming sat down beside her, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and offered one to Luo Xiaofeng, but she didn’t take it. He took it back a bit awkwardly, lighting one for himself. “Has something like this happened here before?”

Xiaofeng then slowly said, “No.”

“Really no?” Chi Ziming felt her gaze flicker, as if she wanted to speak but hesitated, or perhaps she was just overly shocked.

“Alright then, when you want to tell me, find me. This is my last stop. Oh no, I might stay here for a few more days.” With that, he threw his cigarette to the ground, stomped it out with his foot, and prepared to go downstairs. After a few steps, he seemed to remember something. “Go back to your room. It’s windy and cold at night here, and—it’s not safe.”

Yes, with this incident having occurred, it certainly wasn’t safe. He felt that this girl seemed approachable, but when you truly tried to get close to her, you’d realize there was a vast distance between you, not easily bridged. He thought perhaps he would walk into the heart of this small village, into the girl’s heart, and then she would calmly tell him. Yes, he couldn’t leave with doubts. He’d live a few more days.

When he returned to his room, he suddenly remembered the old man with the slight limp. Perhaps he would tell him something.