Chapter 106: The Midnight Whispers of the Wind

After a long and arduous search, Luo Hanya finally located the switch. The light flickered a few times before casting a dim glow that barely illuminated the room.

He stepped inside cautiously, surveying his surroundings. The room was simple and bare—no unnecessary decorations, just a single lightbulb, an old black-and-white television of indeterminate age, a bamboo bed, an antique writing desk, and a dressing table. The ceiling was dull and grimy; the window was broken, allowing raindrops to seep through the cracks, lending the space a chilling, desolate air. The only somewhat redeeming aspect was the absence of mosquitoes or any other vermin. The room reeked of ruin and cold emptiness, as if it were the dwelling of a restless spirit.

Luo Hanya shook the bed sheets, triggering a surge of musty, moldy odor that seemed to have lingered for centuries. The stench hit his nostrils like a heavy blow, forcing him to pinch his nose and stagger back several steps.

“Cough, cough!” After considerable effort, Luo Hanya managed to clear the foul air, finally breathing easier.

Frowning, he lay down on the bed with eyes half-closed, pupils dilated, immersing himself completely in the darkness as he listened intently to the faint sounds emanating from the shadows.

“Mother…”

“Mother, are we all dead now?”

The ethereal voice of a child whispered, clear and haunting amid the gloom, yet its origin was impossible to discern. The words drifted through the empty space, omnipresent and intangible.

[Main Quest Updated: Investigation]

The cold, mechanical voice cut through the child’s murmurs. Just two words, yet they weighed heavily on Luo Hanya’s heart. He smiled wryly, sitting up on the bed and shaking his head. Tonight, he knew, would be a night without sleep.

Pacing around the bed, Luo Hanya recalled Man Luo’s warning: “Don’t open the window. Don’t go out at night.” After a moment's hesitation, he sighed and did not venture outside immediately. Instead, he approached the window and opened it.

A gust of sea wind mixed with raindrops blew in. Luo Hanya leaned forward, cautiously observing the darkness beyond the window, inhaling the cold, fresh air. Outside, a furious storm raged, the night pitch-black. He could discern nothing but the relentless crashing of waves, perhaps the ocean battering against jagged rocks along the shore.

“Nothing at all…” After a while, Luo Hanya sighed deeply, turning away to prepare for his investigation of the mysterious voice.

“What is this… fog?” Turning back, he was stunned speechless. Behind him, no house remained—only a thick, impenetrable fog so dense that he could not see his own hand.

“Mother…”

“Mother, another companion has come! I’m so happy; now someone will play with me.”

The child’s voice sounded again, this time seemingly much closer, almost within arm’s reach.

Had this been the old Luo Hanya, his scalp would have tingled, his body trembling uncontrollably. But since merging with Xiye, his senses of fear had dulled, leaving him unshaken by the dread that once gripped him.

“Hello, can you come out so your brother can see you?”

“Sigh…”

“What’s wrong?”

“I want to go out too, but Xiao Feng is sick, and mother won’t let me.”

The tender voice carried a sorrow far beyond its years. A wave of sadness washed over Luo Hanya’s heart, causing an ache he could scarcely bear. Biting his tongue, he asked, “May I come and visit you then?”

After a brief silence, the child’s voice turned hesitant. “Brother, aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Why would I be? What is there to fear about Xiao Feng?”

“Sigh… then brother, please come in.”

Everything felt surreal, like a dream. Luo Hanya looked around in confusion, unable to believe what he saw. Moments ago, he was at the window; now, he stood before a door.

“Brother, the door isn’t locked. Come on in.”

Gently, Luo Hanya pushed open the door. Inside were two beds. On one lay a boy of about twelve or thirteen, his features delicate and handsome enough to grow into a striking youth. Yet his pallid face and white clothing betrayed a sickly pallor.

“What illness does Xiao Feng have?”

“Consumption.”

“Sigh… then he truly cannot go outside.”

“Brother, will you listen to me recite a poem?”

“Recite a poem?”

“While I still can speak…” Xiao Feng’s voice grew more sorrowful, like one resigned to an inevitable fate.

Luo Hanya felt a surge of helplessness. He knew Xiao Feng was a ghost, and every action might endanger his own life, yet he had no choice but to comply. After all, he was still but an ordinary man.

“Alright?” Xiao Feng’s voice dropped even lower. The ocean’s roar outside grew wilder. No one could guess the cost of refusal.

“Of course…”

“You’re so kind, brother. All these years, you’re the only one who would listen to my poetry.”

A cold shiver ran down Luo Hanya’s spine, sweat beading his forehead. He already understood the price of denial.

“April is the cruelest month,
Lilacs grow in the wasteland,
Mixing memory and desire,
Spring rain urging sluggish roots to awaken.
…
You cannot speak,
Nor can you guess,
For you only know a pile of broken idols,
Enduring the sun’s scorching lash.
Dead trees cast no shade,
The cricket’s chirp brings no comfort,
No sound of flowing water among scorched stones,
Only shadows beneath this red rock.
…
Your arms are full,
Your hair is wet,
I cannot speak,
My eyes see nothing,
I am neither alive,
Nor truly dead,
I know nothing,
When gazing toward the bright center,
There is only silence.
The desolate and empty sea.
…”

Luo Hanya’s consciousness blurred, as if the vast, empty sea would swallow him whole. He slowly closed his eyes, his body swaying before collapsing to the floor. Suddenly, a strange sound pierced his ears—a child’s labored breaths, broken words, then hysterical coughing, as if trying to expel every ounce of impurity within.

The agonizing cough was like a thunderclap, shattering the enveloping sea. Luo Hanya’s tightly closed eyes snapped open. Gasping for air, his body drained of strength, he collapsed helplessly, unable even to struggle.

“A white flower blooms in the wasteland—that is my resting place.”

……