Chapter 1
THE STREETLIGHTS were no brighter than fireflies. They did little to illuminate the night through which a girl fled, darting across the uneven cobblestones. She suddenly tripped and fell, knees slamming into the ground.
Fingers twisting nervously in her shirt, Li Qian gasped for air. The summer night was so humid that it was like trying to breathe inside a steamer basket. All she could hear was the thunder of her own heart and the sound of approaching footsteps.
That rustling could only come from old soft-soled fabric shoes. There was a sluggishness to the steps, a shuffling that suggested an elderly person whose legs were no longer what they’d once been.
She whipped her head around, but other than tiny bugs flitting randomly under the light, there was nothing behind her.
Li Qian was a pretty girl with delicate features, but at the moment her hair was a mess; much of it had come loose and was plastered to her skin with sweat. Her lips were as pale as her face. No one could be beautiful under the circumstances, not even her. Her expression slowly contorted into something strange—a look of fear, or perhaps resentment.
She leapt up. “Don’t even think of following me!” Teeth gritted, she snarled, “I shook you off once, and I can do it again.”
The footsteps stopped.
Li Qian rolled up her sleeves. Her pale arms prickled with goosebumps despite the summer heat and humidity, as if she was chilled by something invisible. She snatched up a brick from the ground. The inescapable sound of the footsteps all around her felt like rot spreading through her bones.
There could be nothing more petrifying than seeing nothing.
Li Qian started screaming, flailing the brick around in a panic. It grew heavier and heavier, its rough surface rubbing her palm raw. Exhaustion spread black spots across her vision. Gasping, she bent over, leaning her weight on her knees. Her gaze drifted to the ground.
Her pupils immediately contracted, and her whole body began to shake. The brick dropped from her hand onto her toes, exposed in her sandals, but she seemed not to notice. With great effort, she backed up a few steps, then sat down hard as her legs gave out.
The shadow… The shadow!
She was right in front of the streetlamp. How could there be such a clear shadow in the pool of light it cast?
It was like a splash of ink on the ground. Who knew how long it had been there, watching her?
Li Qian lay paralyzed, but the shadow remained upright.
Are you guilty? If not, why are you afraid of the shadow?
She thought she heard a sharp laugh.
Early in the morning, before 5 a.m., the phone on the bedside table rang as if trying to wake the dead.
Zhao Yunlan had worked all night. After getting home, he hadn’t even undressed, just rolled straight into bed. It felt as if he’d barely drifted off before being dragged back to consciousness. Expressionless, he opened his eyes; his heavy lids accentuated them, making his double eyelids even more pronounced. He stared at the ceiling with something like hate.
Three seconds later, like a corpse reanimated, he finally lurched upright. His head felt like it was full of glue, but he managed to grab his phone from the bedside table.
To say Zhao Yunlan’s apartment was as messy as a doghouse would be a grave insult to dogs everywhere. Clothes were strewn all over the bed and floor; it was impossible to tell whether he planned to wash or wear them. All manner of junk was piled on the queen-sized bed, some of it almost beyond human imagination. The lone sock draped over the corner of a laptop was one thing, and the presence of sunglasses and an umbrella wasn’t wholly bizarre, but it would be a stretch to explain the tall hat folded from white paper or the huge jug of cinnabar powder.3
All of this clutter had been pushed into a heap, leaving only a nest big enough for one person to lie in—and he’d probably dug out that space just before lying down.
Zhao Yunlan answered the call, looking ready to unleash a torrent of abuse. “What now?”
On the other end of the line, Wang Zheng got right to the point. “Director Zhao, there’s been a death.”
“When?”
“Last night or early this morning.”
“Where?”
“University Street.”
“Mm…” Zhao Yunlan rubbed his face, expression savage. “Send lao-Chu to check it out.”
“Chu Shuzhi went to Xiangxi for a work trip.”
“What about Lin Jing?”
“He was lent to the Netherworld.”
“Then Zhu Hong—no, scratch that. It was the full moon yesterday, so she asked for leave. Who’s left?”
“Me,” Wang Zheng said. “But it’s nearly sunrise, so my shift is ending soon. Otherwise, there’s Daqing and the new intern, Guo Changcheng.”
Zhao Yunlan yawned and said, listlessly, “Have Daqing go with the intern to take a look. Let the kid get his feet wet.”
Almost inflectionless, Wang Zheng said, “Intern Guo Changcheng can’t go anywhere just now. When he came to report last night, he passed out from terror. He may simply be asleep now, rather than unconscious, but regardless, he still hasn’t woken up.”
Zhao Yunlan paused at that. Then he asked, “What scared him into passing out?”
“Lao-Wu and I.” Wang Zheng gave a scrupulous report, concluding with, “I told you ages ago to have a professional funeral store make lao-Wu a proper body. Zhu Hong’s hands are clumsier than her feet. Even the beanbags she sews leak everywhere. No papier-mâché person she makes will ever pass for human.”
Zhao Yunlan sat silently on the edge of his bed. Recognizing his lack of available minions, all he could do was sigh sleepily. “All righty, I’ll be there shortly for a look. Tell Daqing to wait for me.”
After hanging up, he yelled in frustration, swore, then took three minutes to wash up before speeding toward University Street.
As Zhao Yunlan passed through the intersection and decelerated, a black shadow descended from the sky. Like a grenade, a round animal slammed into the hood of his car, nearly denting it. The metal clanged with the impact.
Zhao Yunlan immediately stomped on the brakes, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth. He stuck his head out the window. “This is a motor vehicle, sir, not your litter box! Could you please take it easy?”
Perched on the hood was an utterly black cat. Atop the mere suggestion of a neck was a face like a persimmon; his body was a perfect sphere. With great effort, he sucked in his belly while folding his hind legs beneath him. Only after overcoming those challenges could he extend his front legs—short compared to his round belly—and assume a dignified sitting pose.
This big kitty with his persimmon face took a quick look all around. Seeing no one nearby, his whiskers quivered as he slowly opened his mouth. A rather deep male voice emerged. “Cut the bullshit and get out here. Can’t you smell it?”
The smell in the air was indeed unspeakably disgusting. Zhao Yunlan parked on the side of the road and got out, then immediately covered his nose. Brow furrowed, he asked, “What is this stink?! Did you let one loose?”