I had been taking gastrointestinal medicine lately. My stomach didn't hurt as much, but I was constantly dizzy and lethargic, drifting in a perpetual haze. At first, I thought it was just a natural reaction to everything I’d been through—it’s only normal for one’s spirit to flag after such trauma. But as I watched the plants growing around me lose their vibrant green, I began to wonder if I had already passed my prime.
My roommate pushed the door open just then, carrying two bowls of duck blood vermicelli soup. Seeing me leaning listlessly against the edge of the bed, he asked with unusual tension, "Are you hungry?"
I actually was, a little. But I was also so tired I didn't want to move.
While I was struggling between the choice of sleeping or eating, my roommate had already sat down across from me with a bowl. He clumsily picked up some vermicelli and held it to my lips. I had no choice but to sit up and eat. Despite his earnest efforts, the soup dripped all over my pants, scalding me.
I don't know what was wrong with me, but my appetite had surged. I finished two bowls without any trouble at all. I just felt they lacked flavor, as if they were missing some seasoning. My roommate later bought me a box of sushi, and I polished off all the extra wasabi and soy sauce.
After that reckless binge, my stomach started hurting again. I truly hated my roommate in that moment. "Why did you feed me so much?"
He reached out and rubbed my stomach.
He didn't know his own strength. My stomach was already painfully bloated, and his rubbing made me want to gag. I tried to hold it in—I do value food, after all—but I couldn't. I grabbed a cup of hot water and bolted into the bathroom. I didn't stop until I had vomited everything I’d eaten that evening. The acidity was agonizing. Just as I was about to flush the squat toilet after rinsing my mouth, I suddenly noticed that there wasn't just chyme in the bowl; there seemed to be blood.
It’s hard to distinguish the color of blood from chili oil, but I hadn't eaten any meat tonight. Yet, amidst the digested food, I saw small, shredded bits of flesh. It was revolting. Had I really vomited that up?
A wave of terror washed over me. If I were "pregnant," it certainly wasn't a ten-month human gestation. It felt more like a parasite. Were my internal organs being eaten away by something?
I saw my roommate’s face go pale. I forced myself to stay calm. "I want to go to the hospital."
My roommate was pacing outside. He jumped when he heard me. "What’s wrong? Does your stomach hurt?"
"No, I..."
Before we could finish, Pi Zhang pushed us aside and squeezed into the bathroom. I pulled my roommate back into the dorm room, choosing my words carefully. "I think I’m sick. I’m vomiting blood. I want to go to the hospital for a check-up. Do you have a small plastic cup? I need to take a sample."
My roommate searched the whole room but couldn't find a plastic cup, so he went downstairs and bought a carton of ice cream. Sure enough, I couldn't resist the temptation of the sweets and ate the ice cream. By the time I finished and washed the container, intending to go back to the toilet to collect those bits of flesh, the toilet had already been flushed. Dammit! That idiot Pi Zhang! Who takes a dump at eleven at night!
My roommate pressed a hand to my shoulder. "Why don't we just sleep?"
I was indeed exhausted. I noted the hospital visit in my phone's memos, planning to go tomorrow.
Even though I was tired, I couldn't fall asleep because I kept hearing a dog barking outside. I was now utterly terrified of that sound. I tossed and turned, afraid to close my eyes, and finally knocked on the upper bunk. "Liu Wukong, Liu Wukong! Are you awake?"
My roommate poked his head out. "What is it? Can't sleep?"
I climbed up to his bunk, clutching my pillow. He let me in on the side against the wall and turned on his side, his hand idly stroking my hair. "Go to sleep," he said softly.
His embrace was cool and carried the pleasant scent of body wash. Surrounded by him and the soft quilt, a sudden warmth made my nose sting. "I really like you."
I froze the moment the words left my mouth. Why did I just say that? And why was I sobbing like some fragile maiden while saying it?! My heart was genuinely filled with a sense of grievance and sorrow! This was bad! I’d known my roommate for less than a month! He wasn't even human! And I had just been thinking he was the one hurting me!
My roommate stared at me for a long time, his expression speechless. Then he pressed me into his chest and sighed. "Don't cry. I love you. Only more, never less." As he spoke, he began to gently peck at the back of my neck.
I felt like an idiot. I liked him, he liked me—what was I crying for? I was happy, wasn't I? Even if he might have put something unknown inside my stomach...
"Brother Liu, have we... slept together?"
My roommate said calmly, "No."
"I slept with someone else a few days ago."
"Oh." My roommate gave me a calm hug. "I don't mind."
And that’s how I knew—what Lu Daoshi said was absolutely true! I was definitely "expecting"! Just look at my roommate’s pretentious act!
I was going to the gynecologist tomorrow.
I dreamed of many bizarre scenes, all of them dark and blurred. One scene lingered in my dream for an especially long time.
I saw black towers soaring into the clouds, looking like a cluster of stacked cannons. They stood in various shapes and sizes beneath a terrifying, massive moon. The moon was crimson, yet it cast a dismal, pale light over an endless desert. I was walking alone across this vast wilderness toward those silent towers that seemed to have stood there since the dawn of time. I couldn't control my actions, nor could I stop myself from feeling afraid. I also heard the sound of the wind, like a rising tide. That wind reminded me of a living creature, coming from the giant tower directly in front of me; every breath it took pulled me further forward. Along with the wind, there was a rhythmic, massive booming, as if ten thousand pile drivers were working together in the distance. When the wind came, all other sounds fell silent; when the wind receded, only the sound of my own breathing remained.
Finally, I reached the foot of that gargantuan city. When I looked up, I couldn't see the top. I felt that these giant towers had been abandoned for a long time; their surfaces were weathered and mottled. In the dream, I picked up a stone from the base of a wall and tucked it into my shirt. The stone was heavy and strange, carved with dense strokes that formed characters I didn't recognize.
When I woke up the next day, my whole body felt weak. I turned over, and something fell to the floor with a dull thud. I rubbed my eyes and leaned over the bed, unable to believe what I saw.
It was a black stone.
I got out of bed to use the bathroom, and when I returned, it was gone. I didn't know if it had been a hallucination or something else. I looked at my fingernails; there was still some black powder trapped underneath.
I washed it away and then, pretending nothing was wrong, went to class. My roommate arrived before me. I sat down in the seat he had saved for me, and he handed me some hot soy milk. I asked if he had eaten, and he shook his head, indicating he already had.
"Last night... did I say anything weird in my sleep?"
"No."
I didn't ask him about the whereabouts of the black stone either. When it fell to the floor, the dorm door had been open. Clearly, my roommate had woken up before me to go wash up. When I came back, he was gone, and the black stone had vanished as well.
I felt like my roommate was hiding quite a lot from me.
After class that afternoon, I wanted to go back to the dorm to rest before heading to the hospital, but I received a second oil painting.
This time, Pi Zhang brought it to me. My palms went cold as I gripped the thin envelope. I patted Pi Zhang’s shoulder. "It’s not mine. There’s no name on it."
"Who says it’s not yours?" Pi Zhang gave me a strange look. "I ran into the mailman when I passed the mailroom. He told me to bring it, specifically saying it was for you."
My roommate watched us from the side. I tucked the letter into my pocket and hurried back to the dorm with my head down. I shut the door. When I turned around, my roommate was standing right in front of me, staring at me face-to-face. I let out a yelp and scrambled back, my spine hitting the door. My roommate grabbed my hands, which I had raised in panic. He held them tight enough to restrain me but not enough to hurt, using a strength I couldn't escape to pull me close. "You seem very afraid."
His expression was sincere, and I slowly began to relax. He pulled me over to sit on my bed and poured me a glass of water. "Is it because of that letter?"
Clutching the warm water, I decided to tell him the truth. "The paintings show some very terrifying things. Things only I should know about."
He tilted his head again, not understanding why I was afraid.
"I feel like someone is watching me, telling me... those terrifying things."
"Is that so?" he said somewhat nonchalantly, his long fingers plucking the letter from my pocket. Leaning against the desk, he opened the envelope that I so dreaded.
Inside was another oil painting, small, not even the size of a palm. I recognized the scene instantly.
It was the city from my dream last night. Geometric spires rising beside a desolate riverbed, a crimson moon, and a blurred silhouette of myself. I was walking toward that silent city. At the base of the city, there was a massive eye.
"Have you seen this before?" My roommate gave a light chuckle and gently placed the painting on the desk. "These are just ordinary illustrations. Don't overthink it." He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His gaze might not have held praise, but it was definitely the kind of tender look born of affection. This tenderness, and the ease with which he expressed it, made me feel comforted yet deeply confused. I didn't think I had done anything to attract him so much, and besides, I was a man.
He still hadn't learned certain human rules—for instance, how to lie naturally. He seemed very intent on keeping me from knowing what that city in my dreams actually was. I knew his world would be vastly different from what I imagined, but I refused to remain ignorant of the mutations happening to my own body.
Looking at the oil painting, I suddenly felt that perhaps I could ask... "him," the person who painted it.
At first, I thought he was threatening me, but now, I felt the other party might not have any malicious intent—at least, I was still in one piece. Moreover, I felt a bizarre sense of closeness to him in my heart; he shared these nightmares with me and was willing to communicate.
My roommate had class that afternoon. I stripped off my clothes and crawled under the blanket. My roommate, who was in the middle of changing his shirt, stopped buttoning it. "Aren't you going to the hospital?"
"I don't really want to go anymore. It’s probably just gastroenteritis; I’ll be fine with some medicine. I’m going to sleep. Help me sign in for attendance."
My roommate usually went along with whatever I wanted. He set out the medicine by my bed, poured some water, and then left with his books. As soon as the door closed, I jumped up to find Pi Zhang. "You said you ran into the mailman directly downstairs today. Which post office was he from?"
Pi Zhang said where else could he be from but our local district. "But it is strange. I’ve never seen a mailman come into the building before. Don't they usually deliver to the school gate, then the security guard gives it to the dorm lady, and she puts it in the mailboxes for each room?"
Our mailroom was unattended, located to the left of the dorm entrance, opposite the dorm lady’s breakroom. It contained mailboxes for every room, each with its own lock. Any letters were dropped inside, and any roommate could pick them up.
Seeing my strange expression, Pi Zhang followed me downstairs. We walked to the mailroom. My eyes were sharp, and I suddenly noticed that our mailbox door was hanging open. I rushed over. Our flimsy brass lock was indeed hanging from the door, unlocked.
It was a common little brass lock with a semi-circular shackle. Now, the shackle wouldn't click shut.
The lock was broken.
"What did that mailman look like?" I asked Pi Zhang.
Probably seeing how pale I was, Pi Zhang looked annoyed. "You think I’m lying to you? There were so many people there, everyone saw him!"
I knew he could be a bit overbearing and had a short fuse, so I tried to soothe him. "I’m just asking because I want to find him. I’ve received these strange letters several times now. I want to find the sender and ask a few things."
Pi Zhang’s anger vanished as quickly as it had come. Ignoring the dorm lady’s distant shouting, he crushed his cigarette butt under his shoe and knit his brows. "It was a bit weird. He was very short, and even in this heat, he was wearing a very thick uniform—the deep green kind from the post office—and two pairs of thick white cotton gloves. I didn't really catch his face; he was so short and wearing a hat, and looking down at him like that, I couldn't see much. But his voice was strange. A bit hissy, like he was leaking air. I saw him with a China Post satchel slung over his shoulder, standing on his tiptoes peering at your mailbox, so I asked if he was delivering a letter for you. He just gave me the letter and told me to bring it to you."
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 柳无空 | Liu Wukong | The protagonist's roommate. |
| 鸭血粉丝汤 | Duck blood vermicelli soup | A traditional Nanjing specialty dish. |
| 皮章 | Pi Zhang | A student living in the same dormitory as the protagonist. |
| 宿管大妈 | Dorm lady | A middle-aged or elderly woman who manages the dormitory. |
| 中国邮政 | China Post | The official postal service of China. |
