2. Myself and I

Outside the lounge bar, the dark crimson sky seemed to thicken, casting the entire city in a heavy shade of red. Even the snowflakes drifting down from the heavens were stained with that somber hue.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Lu Feng found the red-lit streets before his eyes growing hazy and dreamlike; his head throbbed dully, and even breathing was becoming an effort.

He wandered aimlessly along the snow-laden street, each step pressing into the snow with a soft “puchi, puchi” sound that was both soothing and pleasant to the ear.

Behind him, a pair of uneven footprints trailed in the snow, as if expressing the heaviness in his heart and the injustice of the mundane world.

He walked alone for a long time, until a thick layer of snow had gathered on his shoulders and head.

Suddenly, as he trudged forward, head lowered, Lu Feng felt a gentle bump from a passerby coming the other way.

He looked up and saw the person hurrying away, already swallowed by the wind and snow behind him.

For some reason, beneath that blood-red sky, Lu Feng felt as if the entire world was shrouded in a lethargic thirst for blood, as though he was walking through a living purgatory.

At that moment, though the street had been empty, the wind and snow ceased, and small groups of pedestrians began to appear out of nowhere, materializing like phantoms.

More and more figures filled the vacant street in an instant, making the avenue cramped and oppressive, the air growing dense and heavy.

They were dressed in black cloaks, the hoods drawn low over their faces, which were so dark and hollow that, upon closer look, there seemed to be nothing at all beneath the cloaks.

The crowd brushed past Lu Feng, a chill like knives scraping his very marrow. With each passing, it felt as though something was trying to seize his soul. He even saw his spirit leaving his body, chasing after the crowd.

He thought perhaps it was the drink conjuring these hallucinations, but when he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, the crowd remained, spreading like wild vines, engulfing the street and himself.

His body was being crushed, nearly torn apart by the press of the mob.

His breathing became labored, as if it might stop at any moment.

The world spun; he felt his body going numb, his consciousness fading, bit by bit...

A sudden clang jolted him from the abyss.

On the other side of the street, a noise startled Lu Feng awake. He sprang up, instantly alert.

Turning his head, he saw a black tabby cat rummaging through garbage in the dimness, having knocked over an empty can.

Looking closely, the crowd from moments before had vanished.

His gaze swept the ground—there were no footprints, save for the two lines he had left behind.

Had he just seen a ghost?

The thought broke free in his mind.

Lu Feng didn’t believe in tales of ghosts or spirits, but goosebumps prickled across his skin.

Suddenly, a biting wind swept from behind, carrying a wailing, soul-stirring moan.

The tabby cat froze in its scavenging, raised its head to meet Lu Feng’s gaze, then sprang away to higher ground.

Barely daring to breathe, Lu Feng slowly twisted his body to look behind him, his movements minute, every muscle trembling.

One meter.

Two meters.

Three meters.

He continued turning, but nothing unusual appeared behind him.

He exhaled a long, shaky breath, feeling a rush of relief mingled with the reassurance that he’d only frightened himself.

But what happened next left him paralyzed with terror, frozen in place.

A hand patted him on the shoulder.

The sensation was all too real; he even heard the sound of the pat.

He turned his head stiffly.

A figure in black—exactly like those from the street, face veiled in inky hollowness beneath a cloak—stood behind him.

Just the sight of that black cloak sent icy dread stabbing through Lu Feng. He felt as though the figure was staring straight into his soul.

He could even sense, clearly, the figure’s intention to devour him whole...

They say that when death comes, one sees ghosts.

Run.

The thought flashed through his mind, primal survival instinct surging.

He bolted.

Pain split his head as though it would burst.

Wind howled past his ears.

Don’t look back.

Don’t look back.

Don’t look back.

He kept repeating the mantra as he ran; he’d read online that if you encounter a ghost, you must never turn around.

He tore through the snow, reaching the lounge bar, but its sign was dark—the place had closed.

He darted into a sheltered corner of the entrance, keeping a wary eye on the street.

Thankfully, the figure in black hadn’t pursued him.

His limbs went weak; he pressed himself against the wall, gulping for air, cold sweat soaking him as the terror replayed in his mind.

Just then, a familiar chill swept over him from behind.

Damn it! He was done for—he simply couldn’t run anymore.

If there was no escape, he’d fight. He wondered what striking a ghost would feel like.

Furious, he spun around. The black-clad figure stood right there, barely a step away.

Lu Feng stared coldly at the figure; the muscles on his face twitched uncontrollably.

For a full minute, neither moved.

As he was about to get a better look, the figure obligingly removed its cloak.

With a single glance, Lu Feng was dumbfounded.

The face beneath the cloak was exactly his own—every detail identical, even their breathing perfectly synchronized.

This...

As if in response, the figure’s eyes began to glow red, releasing flames forged in the depths of hell, engulfing Lu Feng entirely.

A gaping maw split open from the chin, as if ready to swallow the world in a single bite.

"You... who are you..." he tried to say.

But before he could finish, he felt himself swallowed whole by his cloaked twin.

Then, darkness.

4:30 in the morning.

As a wave of chill swept over him, Lu Feng’s fingers twitched slightly; his eyes slowly opened, and his body curled in on itself.

It had been a long, deep sleep—he’d dreamed, a dream that felt like a lifetime.

Awake, Lu Feng surveyed his surroundings and found himself lying in a corner of the lounge bar’s entryway.

At some point, the crimson sky had quietly faded, and the heavy snow had ceased.

The city, blanketed in fresh white, gleamed pure and sharp in the pre-dawn light.

He rolled to his feet, movements swift and sure, not a trace of his usual sickliness.

No, that was no dream.

If it had been, he’d have woken in a hospital bed.

If it had been, how could he still be alive?

He checked himself carefully—no missing limbs, his head no longer throbbed; his thoughts were clear, and strength surged through his body.

Before, even thinking would send sharp pain lancing through his skull.

He felt no delight at being alive. For one so long accustomed to awaiting death, the prospect of living had become strange and contemptible.

Such an existence sapped the body and butchered the soul, like staring into darkness, falling into the abyss; with nothing left but life and death, nothing else could move him. He was simply curious as to what had happened to him.

He tried to piece together the events of the night before, still shuddering at their horror.

How could this be? What on earth had happened?

Perhaps he should go have his fortune told, or pray at a temple?

Mulling it over, Lu Feng slowly set off in the direction of the hospital.