It was a slightly chilly autumn night in Fujian City.
It was completely dark by the time Lin Ziang returned to his low-rise rental apartment, carrying his lunchbox. The streetlights were few and far between, and the sizzling sound of frying pans from a food stall drifted up from the alley below. Mixed with the damp, post-rain air, the city smelt sour and salty.
Ah Hui was hunched over his computer with his headphones on, playing games. The screen's light reflected off his greasy face. Seeing Ziang return, he didn't even turn around, just raising his hand in a 'you're back' gesture.
'Yeah,' Ziang murmured softly, placing his cold lunch on the table. The room was so small that there was barely room to move. He sat on his small bed while the ceiling light flickered like a breath.
'Working overtime today?' Ah Hui asked.
'No, the company suddenly said the project was delayed.'
'That's good. You've got almost as many dark circles under your eyes as I have these days.'
Ziang didn't smile. He simply lowered his head, his fingers rubbing against an old talisman in the corner of the table — the one he'd had with him since the night market incident. It had faint red lines on it, like burn marks.
He wasn't sure why he kept it. He just felt uneasy about losing it.
Late at night, Ah Hui was snoring soundly. Outside, the wind gently scraped against the iron bars like tiny fingernails.
Zi'ang curled up in bed and rolled over. The familiar feeling of oppression returned. In the corner of the room, a shadow darker than night moved slightly.
Zi'ang opened his eyes wide and paused to breathe.
As if sensing something, the shadow suddenly moved closer to the bed. The air suddenly grew colder and a damp, musty smell filled his nostrils.
"... Go back ..."
The voice was so soft that it seemed to crawl through the cracks in the floorboards.
Zi'ang's heartbeat was so rapid that it threatened to burst out of his throat. He instinctively reached for the talisman in his pocket. The paper felt slightly warm in his palm, trembling as if alive.
At that moment—
— the talisman suddenly lit up.
A fine golden light seeped from the edge of the paper and wound its way into the air like a line of water. The shadow paused, its twisted form trembling slightly in the light. Then—
— it transformed into a thin mist and vanished without a trace.
Zi'ang stood there in shock as the light in his palm gradually dimmed. He could sense that this light was extraordinary. It carried a familiar, gentle aura —
—like the scent of incense from the old temple in his hometown mixed with sea breeze.
The next morning, sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the window. Ah Hui awoke with a yawn and mumbled about a dream she had had the previous night in which she was crushed by a cat.
"Did you leave the light on in the middle of the night? I thought it was lightning.'
Zi'ang paused, then smiled without answering. He put the talisman in his pocket, his gaze fixed on the ground.
Under the bed lay a small object: a tiny black bead that had appeared at some unknown time.
Its surface was cold yet strangely smooth to the touch, as if it were concealing a faint pulse.
He brought the bead to the window and, when the sunlight shone on it, he saw a fine golden thread flowing within it. The light was almost identical to that of the talisman from last night.
'The mark of the ancestral spirits?' he muttered.
He remembered his grandmother's vague saying in dialect from when he was a child: 'Our ancestral spirits watch over us from the sea. If we can protect them, we protect them; if we can't, we let them go.'
He hadn't understood it then, but now it suddenly felt as if the words were meant for him.
Night fell again. Zi'ang sat at his desk and unfolded the talisman and the small bead.
Shining his phone's light on them revealed a play of light and shadow intertwining — the lines on the talisman paper warmed slightly and the bead flickered in response.
A strange connection arose within him.
It wasn't fear or awe, but rather a sense of being summoned.
He closed his eyes and, from the depths of his mind, heard the low rumble of waves.
'The sea surges outside...'
'I can do it myself.'
It was a voice from his dream: gentle yet alarming.
The moment he opened his eyes, the wind suddenly picked up outside the window. The talisman fluttered and the light patterns on the paper seemed to be ignited by the wind. A golden glow briefly shone, then faded.
Zi'ang took a deep breath.
He knew he could no longer explain this as an 'illusion'.
The talisman was real; the spirit was real.
It seemed that he had been chosen.
It was late at night and Ah Hui had been asleep for hours. Zi'ang leaned against the bed and gazed at the beads and talisman in his palm. The light flickered once more, illuminating his determined yet slightly weary face.
The hustle and bustle of the city was blocked out by the wall, leaving only the sound of his breathing and the distant roar of a night train.
'If this is truly guidance from the ancestral spirits,' he whispered softly, 'then how should I respond?'
The red lines on the talisman moved slightly, as if in response.
Zi'ang smiled wryly and looked up at the ceiling.
In that moment, he realised that life was about more than just rent and work.
An invisible force was gradually intervening in his life.
The streetlight at the end of the street outside the window flickered.
In that dim light, a familiar figure appeared to be lingering.
It didn't approach; it simply stared quietly in the direction of the rental house.
The wind picked up a few scraps of talisman paper and formed an ancient symbol — a wave-shaped symbol — which flashed for a moment before dissipating with the wind.