At that moment, a newly arrived dorm manager helpfully told me that she had seen him too. "That postman was quite short, riding a bicycle and walking with a hunched back. I asked him which district he was from, and he said he was from the Bauhinia Post Office across from us. He spoke a bit strangely—it was quite grating on the ears."
I bid farewell to Pi Zhang and the dorm manager, then walked for fifteen minutes to the Bauhinia Residential District Post Office across from our school. I asked the staff there if they had such a postman.
"Someone has been sending me harassing letters lately. There’s no name or address for the sender, and my address isn't on there either—just my name. Yet, they’re delivered to my mailbox every day. My classmates and the dorm manager saw it; they said a postman from this branch delivered them directly. I really want to ask him who commissioned him to send these letters to me."
Because I mentioned "harassing letters," they thought the matter was serious and hurriedly asked me to describe the postman in detail. I relayed what Pi Zhang and the dorm manager had said. After listening, they all insisted that no such person worked at their post office.
This was strange. How could that be? Was someone impersonating a postman? But our school’s mail was indeed delivered by the Bauhinia Post Office, and the uniform Pi Zhang described certainly matched theirs.
Just then, a postman walked in carrying a soaking wet uniform. The people inside called him Old Li and asked what had happened. Old Li looked caught between laughter and tears. "I drank way too much last night and came in late for work. I couldn't find my clothes hanging on the wall. I just found them in the alley nearby, stripped off next to Xiao Mao’s bicycle. Dammit, they’re covered in mud—Xiao Mao, you forgot to lock your bike and even forgot to put the kickstand down. It was just leaning against the wall outside. If you lose it, don't come crying to me." The one called Xiao Mao blushed and slipped out.
I wasn't infected by the laughter filling the post office hall; instead, I felt a chill crawl up my spine.
Had someone really impersonated a postman? But what was the point?
I connected the sequence of events in my mind—the postman came to the mailroom and was caught by Pi Zhang just as he was holding a letter in front of my mailbox, then handed it over.
And my lock was broken...
No! If he were there to deliver mail, the mailbox had a slot; he could have dropped it in directly. There was absolutely no need to open my mailbox.
In that case, perhaps he wasn't there to deliver a letter, but to... steal mine?
That made sense.
Was the oil painting sent by that mysterious person so important?
Did someone not want me to see it?
After hearing my story, Old Li gave a dismissive wave. "We don't really deliver letters here anymore. Does anyone even write letters these days? To tell you the truth, we just distribute newspapers every day. Letters and such are gathered for a few days and then driven to your school gatehouse. None of our people have ever gone up into your dormitory buildings. You must have it wrong. Besides, you're a young man—what are you afraid of harassment for?"
They all burst into laughter again. To appease me, the staff at the sorting desk looked up my registered mail. I found it was still a small, thin envelope, likely another oil painting, but this time my address and name were clearly written on the envelope, and it had a stamp. It had been sent through official channels, unlike the previous ones. It seemed the sender already knew someone was tampering with the delivery process.
With extreme caution, I tucked the envelope into my pocket and left the post office. Outside, I saw the bicycle Xiao Mao had just locked. The bike was leaning against the wall of an alley—a deep, dark passage. It had rained a few days ago, and the ground inside was thick with stagnant mud. Sunlight couldn't reach this narrow gap between the buildings. The air hitting my nose was damp and heavy, smelling not of ordinary water, but a fishy, swampy stench, like a pond where frogs and snakes lived.
I didn't know what force was compelling me to walk into that pitch-black alley. Perhaps it was the row of small footprints appearing next to the bicycle. They looked like they came from ordinary sneakers, but the size was very small, almost like a girl's. There were many tire tracks in the mud, but the footprints hadn't been covered; they were fresh, as if just imprinted.
I stepped onto the earthen ridges on either side, sliding as I moved deeper. The stride of those footprints grew wider and wider, as if the owner had started to run. They ran so fast that the distance between the left and right foot reached nearly a meter and a half. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead, and the air here seemed much colder than elsewhere. I didn't know what I was expecting to see, but I knew I was about to find it, just as I felt my heart was about to leap out of my throat.
Then, I suddenly stopped.
I saw the footprints in the mud change from the regular, normal soles of sneakers into terrifying tracks with three toes pointing forward and one pointing back...
Those prints were enough to cause a breakdown. They were beyond logic, just like the claw marks left on the dormitory wall the day Old Chu had his accident.
They weren't large, but they were deformed. I couldn't imagine what kind of creature would have such feet, or how long its legs must be to make such frantic, leaping strides. How had it sprinted along, stripping off the postman's clothes and shoes piece by piece to return to its original, hideous form? And yet, these things could mingle with humans, brazenly entering my teaching building and tampering with my mailbox. I stood there, a chill seeping from every pore. I didn't know who or what to believe anymore.
Then, I heard a heavy *thud* on the stairs.
The alley was about two meters wide, flanked by dilapidated "tube" apartment buildings four or five stories high. They looked like staff dormitories from the eighties or nineties. The stairs weren't built inside the buildings; instead, iron platforms and steps were bolted to the exterior, extending from the sides of the buildings down to the ground on both sides of the alley. The loud noise came from my left. The old stairs began to tremble from the fourth floor where the heavy object had landed, letting out a series of creaks and groans. I watched the handrail—its black paint peeling to reveal the blue protective oil beneath—and couldn't help but take a terrified step back.
The vibration of the iron was exceptionally long-lasting, a continuous resonance. I leaned against the wall, my heart in my throat, terrified that another strange, sudden crash would follow. But for nearly a minute, no other sound came. The swaying of the handrail gradually subsided, and I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps I was just too tense; maybe someone living in the building had just thrown out some trash... Regardless, this long, narrow alley made me uncomfortable. Subconsciously, I pressed my hand against the envelope in my pocket and lowered my head to walk out.
I had barely taken a step when I felt a chill on the back of my neck.
Was it raining?
I reached back to wipe it, and I knew instantly that if I didn't leave this place now, I was doomed.
My hand was covered in liquid.
It wasn't very viscous, but there was a lot of it. My hand was soaked, and it was already trickling down inside my shirt. There were tiny bubbles in the fluid, like human saliva.
My first instinct was absolutely not to look back or look up. But then I thought, if the thing is already above my head and I don't look, it'll bite my neck off.
So, I looked up.
The moment I raised my head, a dark shadow lunged at me!
Driven by instinct, I rolled to the ground. I discovered that in the spot where I had just been standing, two crimson flowers over a man's height had grown with incredible speed. The vines of the flowers had ensnared something that was pitch-black and glistening. It opened its mouth to roar at me, but a moment later, it was decomposed, vanishing amidst the netting vines.
I gasped for breath, staring blankly at the two flowers. They looked somewhat like pitcher plants and smelled foul. The edges of their calyxes were razor-sharp. They stood their ground, turning their flower heads toward me as if watching me. Beyond them, the entire muddy path was filled with the rustling sound of plants growing. This time, the plants looked extremely aggressive, with bright, conspicuous colors—completely different from the grass and flowers that had grown before.
My strength failing me, I stood up and leaned against the wall to make my way out. The sky had turned overcast, looking like it was about to rain, making the old buildings appear even more blurred and sinister. Behind those dark windows—where the glass was mostly missing—or through the gaps in broken balconies, I occasionally saw the flick of a tail.
They were very long.
Tails. Supple like a snake's, but covered in barbs, looking like a literal saw. It reminded me of a Xenomorph or something similar.
I started to run. I wasn't very deep in the alley; I could see the cars and bicycles passing on the road in front of the post office, and I could see the owner of the cigarette shop next door haggling with a customer. However, the sound of human voices no longer reached me. I wasn't sure if they would notice if I screamed for help.
My entire body was colder than the damp walls.
As I struggled to run toward the exit, the stairs beside me began to vibrate again.
The left side shook, and then the right. All the iron stairs ahead began to clang—*bang, bang*—like countless giant bells echoing before me. This time, it didn't stop after one sound. The clanging impacts grew faster and faster; something was running down the stairs...
Needless to say, I was desperate. I knew they were coming for me, and I knew they realized I had discovered them. They had abandoned stealth and cut off my path back. So, in that instant, I turned around and sprinted deeper into the alley.
I had never been athletic; basketball was at most a hobby, and when I played with friends to fill a team, I was usually just a support player and often got scolded for being clumsy. But this time, I truly ran fast. I didn't think about anything; I just felt that I couldn't let them catch me. Heaven knows what those things were or what they would do to me. I wouldn't even know how I died.
They moved fast, their stride in the mud a full meter and a half. How could I normally take such large steps? But now, I was practically flying. Beneath my feet, various unknown plants kept sprouting; the moment they broke through the earth, they were as thick as a wrist. No matter how crazily I ran or how hard it was to keep my balance, the right plant would always appear beneath my feet or wrap around my wrist to steady me, allowing me to escape safely.
The iron stairs on both sides clattered incessantly, like a roof in a torrential downpour, shaking as if they would collapse the next second. I flew past, not daring to look. Behind me, there was a constant hissing and a raspy sound, almost like a broken old record—gibbering, emitting syllable-like sounds that made my hair stand on end. They were very close; several times, some liquid splashed onto me, burning with a stinging pain, but they could never quite catch me. I could hear their agonized shrieks. Once, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a tail at the base of a staircase. But as it swept toward me, it was completely corroded by a green liquid sprayed from a crimson pitcher plant. I quickly ducked and scrambled past.
Throughout this, I was so highly strung that I didn't even have the courage to look back once. Behind me, there was surely a living hell.
***
