The machine I rented on the cheap had a keyboard covered in dust, but the screen was lit. Just four words glowed there—"Please Log In."
The attendant said they were out of machines. I pointed to the corner. "That one's empty." He looked at me and said, "That one's taken." I laughed it off. At exactly 3 AM, the whole internet café went quiet for an instant. Even the mechanical keyboards' clatter seemed cut off. I couldn't help myself. I walked over and swiped my card. The screen flickered, and two words popped up: "Welcome back." I thought it was just a preset greeting. The things that happened later taught me those two words had nothing to do with the system.
It started three days ago.
My name is Zhou Yuan, twenty-six years old. I work as a graphic designer at a small company. The pay isn't great, but it's enough to rent a single room in an urban village. I have a girlfriend of four years named Su Xiao. She's the receptionist at the same company. Not stunning, but pleasant to look at. She has dimples when she smiles. We saved for two years, planning to get our marriage license by year's end. Still short eighty thousand for the down payment. To save that money, I quit smoking, stopped ordering takeout, even cut off my internet bill. Su Xiao said I was cheap. I said I was being practical. She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth turned up.
After cutting the internet, I started going to internet cafés. Downstairs at the end of the alley, turn right, there's a place called "Star River Network." Small storefront. The neon sign had a broken character, so at night it just read "Star River," like an unfinished sentence. The café had been there at least ten years. The floor was old beige tile that stuck to your shoes. The air always smelled like instant noodles, cigarettes, and cheap air freshener mixed together. The chairs were black leather gaming chairs. Most of the leather was cracked, exposing yellow foam inside. But it was cheap. All-night from ten at night to eight in the morning, only fifteen yuan. Fifteen yuan bought you a whole night and a chair to sit in.
The owner was named Wang. Forty-something, fat, balding. He wore a faded blue polo shirt year-round, the collar always loose. He wore reading glasses and looked at people from above the lenses, his eyes narrowed to slits. After I went a few times, he recognized me. He'd nod when he saw me. Sometimes he'd give me a free packet of instant coffee, the thirty-cent kind that tasted like Chinese medicine when brewed. I never saw Boss Wang smile. His expression was always that faint, absent look, like he was daydreaming. But if you talked to him, he'd respond. Just half a beat slow.
That day after work, Su Xiao said she had to work overtime, told me to figure out dinner myself. I ate a bowl of fragrant dry noodles at a Fujian place downstairs. Spent eight yuan. Felt bad about it for a while. Then I walked toward Star River Internet Café. It was already dark when I got to the entrance. The streetlights were dim. Someone in the alley was taking in clothes that had been drying all day. The plastic hangers clinked crisply against each other. The café's glass door was plastered with faded ads. The most visible was a red sticker that said "All-Night 15 Yuan." The corners were curling up.
I pushed open the door. A blast of cold air mixed with cigarette smoke hit my face. No one at the front desk. I knocked on the counter. Boss Wang came out from the back room through a small door, holding an enamel mug with "Labor is Glorious" printed on it. The red paint was mostly worn off. He saw it was me, didn't say anything, just fished out a temporary card from the drawer and tossed it on the counter.
"Just swipe it," he said.
I picked up the card and habitually scanned the main hall. Weeknight, not many people. Seven or eight people sat in the two rows against the wall, all wearing headphones, screen light on their faces, a wash of pale blue. The middle rows were mostly empty. The air purifier buzzed in the corner, its indicator light blinking on and off.
When my gaze swept to the back row against the wall, I paused.
That row had six machines. Five screens were dark. But the one in the far corner—the one near the fire exit—the screen was lit. Pale blue light. A screensaver was running, that old Windows bubble screensaver with translucent spheres bouncing around the screen. The keyboard had a layer of dust on it. Not the thin dust of a day or two, but thick, heavy dust that looked like it had accumulated for a long time. The mouse pad was dusty too. The mouse sat right in the middle, motionless.
But the screen was on.
Floating on the screensaver was a dialog box. White background, black text. Standard system font, not too big, not too small. Four characters: "Please Log In."
I didn't think much of it at the time. Internet cafés have all kinds of strange machines. Maybe someone had logged in and left without logging out, and the system stayed on. I walked to my usual spot, near the window, next to a pillar that blocked the view. The most undisturbed corner in the whole hall. Boot up, log in, open the game, put on headphones. Everything as usual.
Around ten-thirty, I went to the bathroom. On my way back, I passed that lit machine. The screensaver was still running. That "Please Log In" dialog box was still there, unmoved. I casually touched the keyboard. My fingertip came away with a layer of dust. I rubbed my fingers together. The dust was dry and powdery, not damp or sticky. Just pure dust that had settled for a long time.
That was a bit strange.
If someone had logged in, the keyboard couldn't have this much dust. If no one had logged in, why was the screen on? Where did that "Please Log In" dialog box come from?
I went back to my seat. Lost two games in a row. My mind kept going back to that machine. Not fear, exactly. More like—you know how when you see a crooked picture frame on the wall, you can't relax until you straighten it? I'm a designer. Occupational hazard. When I see something off, I have to figure it out.
At one in the morning, people started leaving. Four or five remained, all wearing headphones, lost in their own worlds. The lights were dimmed. The overhead fluorescent lights were off. Only the warm yellow wall lamps remained, casting soft light on the floor. The air conditioning was strong. I was cold in my short sleeves. I rubbed my arms.
I took my water cup to the water dispenser for hot water. Boss Wang came out from the back, holding a notebook, probably doing inventory. After filling my cup, I asked casually, "Boss Wang, can that machine in the corner be used?"
Boss Wang was writing something in the notebook. He looked up, peering at me from above his glasses. He looked for two or three seconds. That expression—I still remember it. Not nervous, not scared. A very calm expression, like he was thinking about how to phrase something. Then he said two words: "Full."
"Full?" I repeated, looking back at all the empty seats in the hall. "There's plenty of space. That whole row is empty—"
"That one's taken." Boss Wang cut me off. His tone was flat, like he was stating something not worth discussing. He closed the notebook and walked toward the back room. After two steps, he stopped, turned his head, seemed to hesitate, then said, "Don't touch it."
Then he went in.
I stood by the water dispenser, my mind replaying his words. "That one's taken." Taken by whom? I clearly saw no one there. From my first day at this internet café, that machine had always been in that state—screen on, no one sitting there. I hadn't noticed before. But tonight, paying attention, I realized I'd never seen anyone sit at that spot.
I went back to my seat, feeling uncomfortable. People are like that. The more you tell them not to do something, the more they want to do it. But I had at least a basic education. Some rationality remained. I told myself, just don't touch it. Play your game. Go home when the sun comes up.
Things started getting wrong around two-thirty in the morning.
First, the game. I was playing a ranked match, picked a marksman. Good early game development. Mid-game, it started lagging strangely. Not network lag. More like—the image would freeze for a moment, then recover. Freeze again. I thought it was a graphics card issue. Checked the task manager. Everything normal. Switched back to the game. Something strange appeared on my screen.
My character stood in the river brush, motionless.
I hadn't pressed the S key. Hadn't clicked the ground. It just stopped moving, like someone had frozen it. Teammates were flaming me in chat for being AFK. I quickly clicked the mouse. Two or three clicks, and the character moved again. I thought it was a keyboard or mouse issue. Shook the mouse cord. Didn't think much of it. Kept playing.
About ten minutes later, the second thing happened.
My game character suddenly opened the chat box on its own.
Not the quick chat. The typing kind. The cursor blinked in the input field. No text yet, but the chat box was open, like it was waiting for someone to type. My hands were on the keyboard, but I definitely hadn't pressed Enter. I stared at the screen for two seconds. A bit creeped out. But reason told me this was probably a game bug or accidental key press. I closed the chat box and kept playing.
A few minutes later, I started feeling cold.
Not the air conditioning kind of cold from outside in. It was a chill seeping out from inside my bones. Starting from my back, crawling up my spine to the back of my skull. I unconsciously hunched my shoulders and looked behind me. No one. Only three people left in the hall, all far apart. The nearest was five or six meters away, wearing headphones, the screen light making his face look pale.
I turned my head. My gaze drifted toward that machine in the corner.
Screensaver still running. Dialog box still there. Everything as usual.
I checked the time. 2:48 AM.
Then I made a decision—one I'd regret for a long time. I stood up and walked toward that machine.
Halfway there, the air purifier suddenly stopped. The buzzing that had filled the night cut off. The whole hall fell into a sudden silence. So quiet I could hear my own footsteps, the soles of my shoes making faint friction sounds on the tile. The warm yellow wall lamp overhead flickered once. Just once. Fast, like a blink. Then back to normal.
I stood in front of that machine.
The bubble screensaver was still bouncing, one after another, unhurried. That dialog box floated in the center of the screen. The three characters "Please Log In" sat quietly on top. The keyboard was covered in dust. I leaned closer and noticed the dust wasn't completely uniform. Several keycaps had thinner dust than the surrounding ones, as if someone had touched them. I identified those keys: W, A, S, D, and the spacebar.
Standard gaming key layout.
I stood there hesitating for about half a minute. Reason told me, turn around, go back, don't be stupid. But another voice in my head said, it's just a computer. What could happen? Boss Wang said "that one's taken." Maybe it's just a system glitch. Maybe the attendant was lazy and didn't want to maintain another machine. Maybe... lots of maybes.
I happened to have a temporary card in my pocket, one I'd bought a few days before. Still had over ten yuan on it. I took out the card, turned it over in my hand, and then I did it.
I inserted the card into the reader.
A beep. The screen flickered. The screensaver vanished, and the desktop appeared. Nothing special about the desktop. Standard internet café system interface. Several game icons on the left, timer on the right. The timer jumped once, showing a balance of fifteen yuan.
Then that "Please Log In" dialog box didn't disappear. It stayed in the center of the screen. After about two seconds, the text changed.
"Welcome back."
I didn't think much of it. Assumed the system detected that this card had been used on this machine before. Internet café management systems are all different. All kinds of strange prompts. I pulled out the chair and sat down. The moment my butt touched the seat, a chill came up through the cushion. Not cold. Cool. Like sitting on a waterlogged sponge. I shifted my position, opened the game, entered my account and password, put on my headphones, and dove into the canyon.
The first hero I played was a marksman, going bottom lane. The start was normal. After getting first blood, I started snowballing, pushing all the way to the enemy high ground. I played very focused, turned the headphone volume up high. Teammates' voices and skill sound effects mixed together, buzzing in my eardrums. This focus lasted about twenty minutes until I finished the first game. Won. Satisfied, I clicked to return to the lobby.
That's when I felt it.
On the right armrest, there was an extra arm.
Not a real extra arm. More like—in your peripheral vision, you can see an outline. Gray-white, contrasting with the dark leather background. But when you turn your head to look, nothing's there. I took off my headphones, turned my face, and carefully examined the right side. Empty seat. Black leather with two cracks, exposing the foam inside. No one.
I thought I was hallucinating from playing too long. Rubbed my eyes, put the headphones back on, started a second game.
Second game, I picked a jungler. Good early rhythm. After taking the dragon, I was heading to top lane to support. I was controlling my character through the river when suddenly, a cold breath hit my right ear.
Not wind. Not the air conditioning. It was breathing.
Can you tell the difference between wind and breathing? Wind is scattered. Breathing is concentrated. Wind is continuous. Breathing has rhythm. That cold breath had rhythm. In and out. With slight moisture. Like someone was less than three centimeters from your ear, slowly, deliberately breathing out. The fine hairs on my right cheek all stood up. Goosebumps spread from my ear down my neck, shoulder, arm.
I jerked my head around.
The seat next to me was still empty. The leather chair was vacant. Not even a depression. I reached out and touched the right seat surface. Cold. Not the kind of cold from air conditioning. The kind of cold like... like all the warmth had been sucked out of it.
I took a breath. Told myself to calm down. Fatigue causes hallucinations. Common knowledge. I'd been working overtime for three days, staying up all night playing games. Brain not clear was normal. I decided to finish this game and go back. Forget the remaining balance on the card. Life was more important.
Then I looked at the screen.
My game character stood in the middle of the river, motionless. Not lagging. Not disconnected. It had stopped on its own. Its equipment slots were all empty. Six slots, completely clean, like someone had stripped everything with one click. The message log had teammates frantically typing question marks, saying I was feeding, saying I was AFK. I didn't have time for them. I saw something that made my scalp tingle even more.
My character, that male warrior in armor holding a weapon, closed the game on its own.
Not a crash. Not a freeze. The game window was still there, but it had exited to the game lobby interface on its own. Then the mouse started moving. I wasn't controlling it. My hands were already off the keyboard and mouse. The cursor slid across the lobby interface, precisely clicked open the friends list, closed it, then clicked open something else.
A chat window.
Not the in-game chat. The chat software on the desktop, the one the internet café system comes with for calling the attendant and ordering food. I'd never used it. Couldn't even remember what the icon looked like. But now it was open, the dialog box popped up, blank.
Then, in the input field, one character at a time, several characters appeared.
No one was typing on the keyboard. The dust on the keyboard hadn't moved. But the characters appeared one by one in the input field, like an invisible hand was typing.
"Long."
One character: "Long."
"Time."
"No."
"See."
Four characters together, sent. At the top of the screen, in the chat history area, a new line appeared. The sender was the number of the machine I was currently logged into—A17. But above this line, the chat history showed another message. The send time displayed as three years ago. The sender also showed A17. The content was: "Wait for me to finish this game."
Two messages, three years apart.
I stared at those two lines for about three seconds. My mind went blank. Then the first thing I did wasn't scream or run. I reached for the card. My hand was shaking. My fingers fumbled several times before I could grip the edge of the card. Pulled it out hard. A soft click. The screen went black. The timer disappeared. The desktop shrank to a point of light, then nothing.
When I stood up, my knee hit the table leg. Pain made me gasp, but I didn't dare stop. Turned and walked toward the door. The two people left in the hall were still playing games. No one noticed me. As I passed the front desk, I glanced inside. Boss Wang wasn't there. The back door was closed. Light leaked through the crack.
Out the café door, the cold morning wind poured down my collar. I shivered and realized my back was soaked. The alley was quiet. The streetlight stretched my shadow long. A stray cat crouched by the trash can at the corner. Its green eyes stared at me for a second, then it turned and ran.
I jogged all the way home. My hand was still shaking when I opened the door. The key missed the lock several times before I got it in. Su Xiao was already asleep. Even breathing came from the bedroom. I didn't turn on the light. Took off my shoes in the dark, went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. Cold water on my face, I looked at myself in the mirror—pale, dry lips, dark circles under my eyes. I stood gripping the sink for a while before my heartbeat slowly calmed down.
Lying in bed, I tossed and turned, couldn't sleep. My mind kept going back to that line of text. "Long time no see." Long time no see what? Who sent that "Wait for me to finish this game" three years ago? Why was that machine always on? What did Boss Wang mean by "that one's taken"?
The more I thought, the more awake I became. I took out my phone and searched "Star River Internet Café." Not many results. Scrolled through a few pages. Mostly irrelevant reviews and address information. I added a keyword: "accident." Searched again.
This time, a local news article from three years ago popped up.
The headline: "Teenager Dies During All-Nighter at Urban Village Internet Café."
I clicked open the news, scrolling down bit by bit. The news said three years ago, a seventeen-year-old boy was playing games all night at Star River Internet Café. He'd been playing for nearly thirty hours straight. Around three in the morning, in the middle of a game, he suddenly collapsed. The café staff called emergency services, but he was already gone by the time he reached the hospital. Cause of death: cardiac arrest, possibly triggered by long-term sleep deprivation and exhaustion.
The news had a photo attached. An interior shot of the internet café. I zoomed in, carefully identifying the layout. Beige tiles, black leather gaming chairs, six machines against the wall. The photo was taken from the front desk looking inward. In the frame, I could see that row of machines against the wall. Counting from the left: first, second, third...
I counted to the sixth.
The one in the far corner. The one near the fire exit. The screen was on.
The photo resolution wasn't high. Very blurry when zoomed in. But I could still vaguely see a thin figure sitting in the chair in front of that machine, wearing dark clothes, posture slumped, like he was asleep on the table.
The news was published on November 17th, three years ago.
I closed my phone, shoved it under my pillow, closed my eyes. My mind was a mess. Footsteps in the alley outside. Probably some neighbor coming home late. A dog barked in the distance, then silence. Su Xiao turned over beside me, her arm across my chest. Warm, with the familiar scent of body wash. I held her hand. My palm was sweaty.
I didn't sleep much that night. Drifted in and out until dawn.
The next day at work, I was floating. Su Xiao saw I looked off at the front desk, asked what was wrong. I said I didn't sleep well. She brought me a cup of coffee to my desk, touched my forehead, said no fever, told me not to go to the internet café at night, go home early. I nodded and agreed, but my mind was on something else.
Around four in the afternoon, I couldn't hold it in anymore. Asked my supervisor for leave, said I had a dentist appointment. Actually, I went back to Star River Internet Café.
The café during the day was completely different from night. The rolling shutter was half up. Sunlight came in through the glass door, illuminating the stains on the floor. A few people sat scattered in the hall playing games. The air purifier wasn't on. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Boss Wang was sitting behind the front desk, still holding that enamel mug. When he saw me come in, his expression changed subtly for an instant. The corner of his mouth moved, like he was about to say something, then swallowed it.
"Daytime internet is five yuan per hour," he said.
"I'm not here to go online." I stood in front of the counter, both hands on the surface, lowered my voice. "Boss Wang, that machine in the corner. Did something happen there three years ago?"
Boss Wang's hand holding the enamel mug paused. Then he slowly set it down. He took off his reading glasses, wiped them with his shirt corner, put them back on, and looked at me for about five seconds. That expression wasn't the panic of having his secret exposed. More like a resigned "you asked after all."
"You touched that machine last night?" he asked.
"I did."
Boss Wang sighed. Set the enamel mug aside. Walked toward the back room. Turned and waved for me to follow. I went after him, through a narrow corridor full of cardboard boxes and broken chairs, into a small partitioned room in the back. The room had a camp bed, an old wardrobe, a small TV. The top of the TV was covered in dust. A mirror hung on the wall. Next to the mirror was a faded photo. In the photo, a thin, tall boy in a red basketball jersey made a peace sign at the camera, smiling brightly.
"That's my son," Boss Wang said. His voice suddenly became very soft, like he was afraid of waking someone. "Named Wang Yu."
My heart sank.
Boss Wang pulled over a chair and sat down. Found a pack of cigarettes on the table, took one out and put it in his mouth. Didn't light it. Just held it there. He looked at that photo and said, "Three years ago. Yu Yu, that kid, loved playing games. Every day after school, he'd run to the internet café. I thought, better under my watch than running wild outside, so I didn't really control it. That November, his school had a sports meet. Two days off. He just soaked in the internet café, played a whole day and night."
"I told him to go home and sleep. He wouldn't listen. Said just one more game, then he'd go. That 'one game' turned into another and another. From day to night, from night to dawn. I had something to do that night, went out. Before I left, I told the attendant to watch him. The attendant said later, when he checked, Yu Yu was slumped over the table. Thought he was asleep, didn't wake him. By the time they realized something was wrong, it was too late."
Boss Wang stopped there. Took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth, turned it between his fingers twice.
"That machine. That's A17," he said. "Where Yu Yu sat last."
The partitioned room was quiet for a few seconds. Outside came the sound of keyboard typing. Clack clack clack. Distant and blurry.
"What did you see last night?" Boss Wang asked.
I told him everything about last night. From "Please Log In" to "Welcome back" to that "Long time no see." All of it. While I talked, Boss Wang kept his head down. When I finished, he put the cigarette back on the table, stood up, walked to the mirror, opened a drawer next to it, and took out a black hard drive.
"This is A17's original hard drive." He set the hard drive on the table. "After it happened, I changed the hard drive, changed the motherboard, changed the graphics card. Almost replaced the whole machine. But as soon as you install the system and plug in the network cable, it lights up on its own. Shows 'Please Log In.' I called people to fix it. The repair technician said there's nothing wrong with the hardware. I had the system people reinstall it. Same thing after reinstalling. Finally, I just stopped fixing it. Left it there. No card inserted, no one allowed to log in. If anyone asks, I say it's full."
"Only it lights up by itself." He added, his tone carrying something I couldn't quite identify. Like resignation. Like reluctance.
I stared at the hard drive on the table. Black casing, surface worn white in places. No different from any ordinary hard drive. But my back was getting cold again. That chill crawling up my spine was back.
"Then why didn't you remove that machine?" I asked.
Boss Wang didn't answer right away. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection—or maybe at that photo on the wall. After a long while, he said something I've never forgotten.
"What if he's still there."
Coming out of the partitioned room, the sunlight outside was already slanting. Through the glass door, it stretched long bands of light across the floor. More people in the hall. Five or six o'clock, the after-school, after-work rush. Several students in uniforms sat in the row near the door playing games, making noise. The screen of that A17 machine in the corner was still on. The bubble screensaver looked faint in the sunlight, almost invisible.
I stood in the middle of the hall, looking at that machine from a distance. Suddenly noticed a detail I hadn't paid attention to before—the chair.
The leather on that chair was intact. Not cracked and peeling like the other chairs. A jacket was draped over the back. Dark blue school uniform jacket, folded neatly. Like its owner had just gone to the bathroom and would come back any moment to take it.
But it had been draped there for three years.
I withdrew my gaze, said goodbye to Boss Wang, walked out of the internet café. The air outside was fresh. Someone in the alley was pushing a cart selling roasted sweet potatoes. The sweet, greasy scent mixed with the evening chill drifted over. I bought one, held it in my hands, too hot, switching from one hand to the other. Took a bite. Sweet.
At this point, I thought it was over. A machine. A boy who wouldn't leave. A father who wouldn't remove the machine. All of it together made my heart heavy, but ultimately had nothing to do with me. I decided not to go to Star River Internet Café anymore. Walk two more blocks to another one. More expensive, but at least I wouldn't have to fight a dead person for a seat.
But it wasn't over.
After I got home, I opened my computer and started working on designs. Su Xiao was watching a show next to me. We each did our own thing, occasionally said a few words. The atmosphere was normal. Around nine o'clock, a notification popped up in the bottom right corner of my computer. Said my cloud storage was full. I clicked to clean it up. Scrolled to a folder I hadn't touched in a long time. Inside were old files from three or four years ago. College assignments, project drafts from my old company, some random screenshots.
I was scrolling through when I saw a screenshot.
That screenshot was from four years ago when I'd just started working. A chat log from a game group. That game had released a new version. I was looking for people to team up with in the group. Added a few friends. Later I switched games, left that group, and slowly lost contact with those friends.
I was about to delete it, but an ID in the screenshot made me stop the mouse.
"Universe's Number One Handsome."
I remembered this ID. A friend I'd added in the game back then. Skills were average, but he could really talk. When playing games, he'd chat from start to finish. From school homework to life goals. Topic density so high you couldn't focus on playing. I played with him for about six months. Relationship wasn't that close, but when we matched, we'd always chat a bit.
Then for a while he stopped coming online. Avatar gray for over half a month. Later I switched games too. Never saw him again.
I looked at that ID in the screenshot. Suddenly a image flashed in my mind—that faded photo on the wall of the internet café's back room. A boy in a red basketball jersey, making a peace sign, smiling brightly.
I remembered when Boss Wang mentioned his son, he said something. He said Yu Yu liked using a screen name when playing games. Something like "Universe's Number One Handsome." "That brat picked such a shameless name. Don't know who he takes after."
I hadn't paid attention to that sentence at the time. I wasn't sure if I'd heard it right. But now, thinking back, I was sure I'd heard it right.
I stared at that gray avatar in the screenshot. Stared for a long time.
Su Xiao saw I wasn't moving, leaned over and asked, "What's wrong?" I came back to myself. Said nothing, just cleaning old files. She pulled her head back and continued watching her show. I closed the folder, closed the computer, went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Stood by the window and drank.
Outside the window, the urban village was packed with handshake buildings. Light spilled from countless windows. Orange, white, cold, warm. Like a giant, chaotic pixel wall. Somewhere in a distant window, a child was practicing piano. Intermittently. Playing "Für Elise."
I suddenly thought of a question.
That boy with the ID "Universe's Number One Handsome." Three years ago, in the last few minutes of his life, he was playing his final game. The last message in his chat log was: "Wait for me to finish this game." Then he collapsed. Never woke up.
But he didn't seem to know this.
Or rather, he didn't want to know.
He was still waiting. Waiting for that game to finish. Waiting for that person who promised to play with him to come online. Waiting for a "long time no see."
And yesterday, I sat in his seat. Inserted a card. Lit up the screen. His computer recognized that card. Or rather, recognized me, his old friend ID. So it lit up "Welcome back." So he leaned next to me, breathing cool air, wanting to see what game I was playing now. So he opened the chat window and typed that sentence he'd waited three years to say.
I stood by the window, finished that glass of water, set the cup on the windowsill. Outside, someone was arguing. A woman yelling at her husband for not coming home at night. Voice sharp, cutting through the urban village night sky. Stray cats meowing in the alley. Trash can knocked over. A muffled thud.
These were all real sounds. Reminding me I was in the real world right now. Feet on tile floor. Hand holding a glass cup. But my spine was still cold. Because I knew there was something I didn't want to face but had to face.
He was waiting for me.
Not just anyone. Me.
Four years ago, I added a friend named "Universe's Number One Handsome" in a game. Played with him for six months. Chatted through countless all-nighters. Later I switched games, left the group, deleted the friend, forgot about it completely. Four years later, I moved to this urban village. To save a few yuan on internet fees, walked into an internet café three hundred meters from my place. Sat down at a machine no one ever sat at.
I don't believe in fate. But the coincidence of this matter makes me think that even if fate doesn't exist, it's worth inventing.
That night I had a dream. In the dream, I was in a giant internet café. Computers row after row, no end in sight. Every screen was lit. Every chair was empty. I walked through the aisles. My footsteps echoed in the empty hall. When I reached the deepest part, I saw a machine. No game on the screen. Just a chat window. One line of text:
"You're here?"
I woke up before dawn. Su Xiao was sleeping soundly beside me. I lay with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling, until the alarm went off.
For several days, I didn't go to Star River Internet Café. Switched to another one at the street entrance. Three yuan more expensive. Worse environment. Chairs hard as rocks. Mouse pad had something sticky on it. But I endured. Every night ten to eight in the morning. Played games, revised designs, spaced out. Left at dawn. Life went on. Like nothing had happened.
But I knew something had changed. Like when I played games, sometimes I'd stare at the friends list in a daze. Like when I passed the entrance of Star River Internet Café, my steps would unconsciously speed up. Like I started having a recurring dream. In the dream, there was always a lit screen. It said "Please Log In."
About a week later, I went back to Star River Internet Café. Not to go online. To find Boss Wang. I wanted to talk to him about his son. About what kind of person that boy named Wang Yu was. But when I got to the entrance, I found the internet café was closed. Rolling shutter pulled all the way down. An A4 paper taped to it. Said "Temporarily Closed." No date. No indication of when it would reopen. The neon sign next to it was completely dead. Couldn't even see the "Star River" characters. Just a black iron frame hanging over the door.
I asked the convenience store next door. They said the boss seemed to have gone back to his hometown. Left a few days ago. Didn't say when he'd be back. I stood in front of the rolling shutter for a while. Peered through the crack. Couldn't see anything. Just black.
That night when I got home, Su Xiao was cooking. The scent of green peppers stir-fried with meat drifted from the kitchen. She heard me come in, stuck her head out and said, "You're back? Wash your hands and eat." I answered, went to the bathroom to wash my hands. The faucet was on high. Water rushed over my palms. Ice cold. I looked up at myself in the mirror. Thinner than a week ago. Dark circles under my eyes darker.
But okay. Still alive. Still here.
While eating, Su Xiao talked about things at the company. Said her mom was coming to stay for a couple of days next month. I nodded while listening, but my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking, that boy named Wang Yu. Was he still sitting at that machine now, waiting for a teammate who would never come online? I was thinking, Boss Wang closed the internet café and went back to his hometown. What about his son's machine? Was it off? Or still lit?
After dinner that night, Su Xiao went to wash dishes. I sat on the couch scrolling through my phone. Scrolling and scrolling, I opened that game I hadn't logged into in a long time. The loading screen progress bar crept forward bit by bit. My palms were sweating.
Login successful.
The friends list popped up. A few lit avatars scattered here and there. Most were gray. I scrolled down. Scrolled to the very bottom. Saw a gray avatar. ID: "Universe's Number One Handsome." Last online time showed "three years ago."
I opened the chat window. Hesitated for a long time. Typed a line.
"Long time no see."
Sent. The message went out. No reply. The avatar was still gray. Motionless.
I was about to close my phone when a system notification popped up at the very top of the screen. I glanced at it. Froze completely.
"Your friend 'Universe's Number One Handsome' is in the game lobby."
The status changed. The gray avatar didn't light up. But the text in the status bar changed. From "Online three years ago" to "In game lobby."
I stared at that line of text for three whole seconds. Then I abruptly exited the game. Turned off my phone. Threw it to the other end of the couch. Su Xiao stuck her head out from the kitchen and asked what was wrong. I said nothing. Hand slipped. She said why is your face so pale. I said the chili was a bit spicy.
That night I didn't fall asleep until four in the morning. Before I fell asleep, I heard a sound in the living room. Very faint sound. Like something buzzing. I thought it was the refrigerator. Didn't pay attention.
But later I remembered—my refrigerator is silent. It doesn't buzz.
That sound was more like a computer case fan spinning. Light. Continuous. In the dark corner of the living room. Spinning in small circles.
After dawn, I went to the living room and checked everything. Nothing. TV, router, lamp. All appliances were off. But I noticed a detail—the laptop sitting on the coffee table. I clearly remembered closing it last night. Now it was open. Screen black, but the power light was blinking. On and off. Like it had just been woken up.
I didn't touch that computer. I changed clothes and went to work. Downstairs, the alley had good sunlight. A line in front of the breakfast stall. Dough sticks sizzling in the wok. The breakfast lady asked what I wanted. I said soy milk and dough sticks, to go. She packed it up quickly and handed it over. Charged me five yuan.
Everything was very normal. Sunlight. Breakfast. The line of people. Sizzling wok. Everything was telling me this was an ordinary workday morning. Nothing strange had happened in this city.
But I held that cup of hot soy milk, walking in the crowd, and felt a patch of cold on my back. Not big. Just a small patch. Right at the third vertebra of my spine. Like an ice-cold finger was lightly, unhurriedly pressing against it.
I didn't turn around.
I knew looking back wouldn't show anything. He wasn't behind me. He was somewhere else—in that invisible data, in those unclosed windows, in those games without goodbyes, in every internet café at three in the morning. Quietly waiting.
Waiting for that person who owed him a "long time no see" to finally speak.
And I spoke.
I regretted it. But regret was useless. Some words, once spoken, were like that temporary card inserted into the reader. They activated a system you couldn't control. It would run on its own, time itself, wait on its own, until the timer hit zero.
I didn't know when the timer would hit zero. Maybe never. Maybe tonight.
When I got off work, Su Xiao called. Said she got paid today. Let's go eat hot pot. I said okay. At the hot pot restaurant, Su Xiao ordered a full table. Tripe, duck intestine, beef rolls. The red oil base bubbled. Steam flushed her face red. She put a piece of tripe in my bowl. Said eat more. Look at you. So thin lately.
I said okay. Bowed my head and ate meat.
Next to the table was a glass wall. Outside was a brightly lit street. Cars coming and going. People coming and going. But the moment I lowered my head, in the glass reflection, I saw a face.
Not mine. A teenage boy's face. Thin, pale, with a shy smile. Pressed right against the glass next to me. Like separated by a thin, invisible screen. Quietly, patiently watching me eat hot pot.
The meat on my chopsticks fell into the pot. Splashed a small bloom of red oil. Su Xiao said oh, be careful. I raised my head. Only my own face in the glass. And the noisy figures behind me in the hot pot restaurant.
"Nothing," I said.
Then I picked up another piece of meat. Put it in my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Tasted good. Spicy just right.
Outside the glass, the night was thick as ink. Somewhere deep in the alley, an internet café with its door closed. Rolling shutter locked tight. Sign long extinguished. But behind that door, in some corner, a screen was still lit. Bubble screensaver bouncing in the darkness. One after another. Unhurried.
On the screen, that chat window was still open.
A new message on it. Sender was a gray avatar. Send time: tonight, 7:13 PM.
The message read: "I'm waiting for you."