Flowers of the Departed Souls

Luo Yifu opened her eyes. Darkness enveloped her, emanating a terrible chill. She rubbed her eyes and found herself on a mountain, leaning against a tall eucalyptus tree. Only then did she remember that during dinner, her craving for alcohol got the better of her. She had secretly drunk the yellow wine her mother used for seasoning. But drinking always made her face flush, and afraid of being discovered, she ran out here. Unexpectedly, the alcohol kicked in, and she vaguely leaned against the tree and fell asleep.

At this moment, she saw a gloomy and barren hillside, covered with a thick layer of withered grass. The wind rustled across the wilderness. Beneath the vast sky, thick black clouds hung heavily at the edge of the hillside and over the distant sea. Everything appeared so somber and dry, as if all life had been drained, concealing unspoken, bitter omens. Beside her lay haphazard, somber-colored rocks. For the first time in her life, she felt this gloom and terror. An unspeakable sensation gave her an indelible sense of dread.

She thought she had been woken by the cold. She should leave immediately and go home. But when she tried to stand, she found her legs numb, unable to move for a moment. At that instant, the feeling of fear surged over her like a tidal wave. She sensed someone walking towards her. You see, in this village, most people were unwilling to go out at night. She dragged her feet, struggling to crawl behind the tree.

At this moment, a tender song drifted through the air: “Gentle breeze blows, gentle breeze blows, awaken from dreams to willows green, the person in the wind, oh, blows the flowers… Butterflies fly, butterflies fly, but everything is only in dreams…” How familiar that song was. It stirred Luo Yifu’s distant yet cherished memories. No, this voice, this voice…

Her eyes widened. She saw a six or seven-year-old boy walking towards her, humming the song, holding a reed flute. He sang, danced, and swayed as he walked. She rubbed her eyes and almost cried out. Wasn’t this her younger brother, Luo Xiaojie? And this song was clearly one she had taught him to sing before. But her brother had clearly disappeared more than a decade ago. Everyone thought he was dead, including herself. No, how could this be? How could he be here?

Although every time she thought of her brother, her heart filled with endless regret and self-blame—if she hadn’t left him alone on the hillside that day, her brother wouldn’t have met with an accident. She had only left for a few minutes and then couldn’t find him again. Some said he was dragged away by a mountain demon, others that he drowned in the sea, but his body was never found. Could it be that her brother really wasn’t dead?

At this thought, Luo Yifu was too excited to speak. But what was strange was that he looked exactly the same as when he disappeared, hadn’t grown at all. He was still wearing that light yellow short-sleeved shirt from back then, humming the song, walking aimlessly. But it was clearly winter now. Yes, so many years had passed…

But she couldn’t think about that anymore. She was too excited. She ran out from behind the village, following him, her voice trembling as she softly called out, “Xiaojie, Xiaojie, Xiaojie…” But Luo Xiaojie paid no heed, continuing to walk. Luo Yifu’s heart was simultaneously consumed by regret, excitement, and fear. But no matter what, he was her brother, her only brother. She ran after him, calling his name loudly.

At this moment, Luo Xiaojie seemed to finally hear her. He stopped, his eyes a little dazed, looking at Luo Yifu. But his gaze passed through her, seeming to land on a distant place. “Sister, where are you? Why aren’t you back yet? I’m scared.”

Luo Yifu stood in front of him, her voice still trembling. “Xiaojie, I’m here. Sister is here. Sister misses you so much. Don’t be scared.”

She reached out to hug her brother, but found her arms embracing only air. Looking up, she saw Xiaojie being held by a strange person in black. The man in black had disheveled long hair and wore a terrifying mask, like a man-eating devil. Xiaojie struggled and cried out, his hands flailing wildly in the air, as if trying to grasp a lifeline, and that lifeline was his sister. “Sister, save me—save me—”

Luo Yifu abruptly woke up. The cold wind made her shiver. Only then did she realize she had fallen asleep under the tall eucalyptus tree after secretly drinking wine. And that dream was so vivid, still fresh in her mind. Could it be that the circumstances of Xiaojie’s disappearance were just as they happened in the dream? Was he snatched away by a man in black? She couldn’t help but recall the legend of the God of Death that her elders had told her. It was said that eighty or ninety years ago, the man in black who was burned by the villagers transformed into the God of Death, and since then, the village had never known peace.

Regardless of the reason, at this moment, a belief solidified within her, stronger than ever before: Xiaojie was not dead!

But as Luo Yifu ran frantically down the hillside towards the village, she didn’t notice that on the other side of the tree, a masked figure stood, like a statue, watching.