Chapter 3
Song Jingmo’s music room was on the second floor. The third-floor study was primarily Xie Zhang’s domain, the desk cluttered with his files and data.
However, half the bookshelves were filled with music-related books, and on the desk sat Song Jingmo’s mug and a chewed-up pen.
Xie Zhang hadn’t been in here for a while, and the villa hadn’t seen a cleaning lady recently, so a thin layer of dust covered the surfaces.
Dragged to the desk by his shadow, Xie Zhang unerringly picked up the chewed pen while the shadow’s tendril rummaged through the files.
Seeing this, Song Jingmo sheepishly curled up his shadow tip.
He’d had the habit of chewing on pens since childhood. His brother used to scold him for it, and later, Xie Zhang did too. But musicians, well, they had their quirks.
When Xie Zhang realized Song Jingmo couldn’t break the habit, he replaced all the ballpoint and gel pens in the house with fountain pens.
But Song Jingmo always found ways to smuggle pens in, and the house would occasionally sprout a pen with a mangled end.
Song Jingmo tried to pull the pen from Xie Zhang’s hand, but he couldn’t get a grip on it.
His shadow tip unconsciously scratched at the desk.
He chewed on pens when he was thinking… and fountain pens offered no satisfaction whatsoever!
The guilty Song-shadow quickened his search, finally grabbing a piece of scrap paper, a fountain pen, kicking off the cap, and attempting to write.
The inky black shadow sprawled on the desk, holding the paper down with its body, its trembling tendril lifting the pen and scratching at the paper, but the pen wouldn’t write.
Frustrated, the shadow blob shook the pen vigorously, hoping for a miracle.
Xie Zhang watched this absurd scene unfold, his previously vacant, obsessive gaze softening. Being crazy wasn’t so bad after all.
So this was the world of the mentally ill… rather endearing.
Better than being lucid and painfully alive.
If only it were the real Momo he was seeing.
After shaking the pen fruitlessly, Song Jingmo threw it onto the desk in exasperation and began searching for an inkwell.
Xie Zhang silently offered the ballpoint pen he was holding to the now slightly plump shadow.
Song-shadow looked up at Xie Zhang.
Xie Zhang remained motionless, still holding out the pen.
Song Jingmo: “…”
Let go of it already!
So clueless!!
Exasperated by the pen and now by Xie Zhang, Song-shadow frantically pawed at the pen in Xie Zhang’s hand with his shadow tendril, trying to make him understand that he couldn’t touch anything Xie Zhang was holding.
Seeing the shadow’s futile attempts, Xie Zhang became even more convinced he was hallucinating—after all, if it were really Momo, how could a ghost be unable to touch something held by a human?
Only hallucinations lacked this sense of physicality.
Seeing the shadow about to start carving into the desk with the fountain pen in frustration, Xie Zhang gently placed the ballpoint pen on the table and withdrew his hand.
Song Jingmo mentally added another grievance to his imaginary ledger and begrudgingly picked up the pen.
Just as the tip touched the paper, before he could write anything, Song Jingmo felt his energy drain away like a toy with dead batteries.
The shadow tendril holding the pen slipped through it. The pen clattered onto the table, rolling a few times.
Song Jingmo: “?”
He tried to focus all his attention on controlling the shadow, but he could only watch helplessly as it reverted to Xie Zhang’s outline, falling from the desk and lying still on the floor.
He was trapped within the shadow again, unable to move.
Song Jingmo: “!!”
No, not at this crucial moment!
He stared intently at Xie Zhang, a colossal figure from the shadow’s perspective, took a deep breath, and focused all his energy.
Burn him again! Come on!
Xie Zhang, oblivious, stood by the desk, staring at his perfectly normal shadow, and sighed softly.
Song Jingmo, trapped within the shadow, strained to reach Xie Zhang, but it was all for naught. His non-existent cheeks ached.
Since he was already there, Xie Zhang sat down at the desk and turned on the computer.
Song Jingmo slumped dejectedly within Xie Zhang’s shadow, lamenting his lack of experience in being a ghost or a shadow.
Suddenly, he heard the click-clack of the keyboard. He strained to reach the shadow of Xie Zhang’s fingers on the keys, looking up at the screen looming above.
In the search bar at the top of the screen was a stark line of text: “Sudden disappearance of hallucinations in schizophrenic patients.”
Song Jingmo froze.
Xie Zhang’s gaze also fell on the screen.
He skimmed past the first few lines about medication and psychiatric intervention, his eyes lingering on the paragraphs below.
“…Improvement in the patient’s living environment and lack of triggers can lead to improvement in symptoms… but schizophrenia is fluctuating, and the disappearance of hallucinations may only be temporary…”
“…When a patient’s physical condition deteriorates significantly, their attention shifts to the physical discomfort, and hallucinations are ignored by the survival instinct, creating the illusion that the hallucinations have disappeared…”
Xie Zhang’s expression was thoughtful.
After a while, he slowly stood up and walked towards the dining room downstairs.
Song Jingmo, whose efforts had been outdone by a simple Google search: 6
…
Xie Zhang was a good cook, thanks in part to Song Jingmo’s picky palate. Over time, the housekeeper’s duties had been reduced to cleaning.
But even the best cook could do nothing with an empty refrigerator.
Xie Zhang ordered takeout and poured himself a glass of hot water while he waited.
His cold fingers wrapped around the warm glass. Xie Zhang lowered his gaze, noticing the warmth spreading to the ring on his ring finger.
Leaning against the bar, he set the glass down and removed the plain band, turning it in the light to catch the inscription on the inner surface.
Their engagement rings weren’t expensive jewelry, or even custom-designed.
Back then, Xie Zhang had been at his lowest point, utterly despairing.
Song Jingmo had dragged him into a silver jewelry store. They chose a pair of plain bands, the most popular style in the shop, and carefully engraved each other’s initials inside.
Song Jingmo, still unsure of his current state of being and diligently studying his new form, suddenly jolted. The familiar burning sensation returned.
He instantly perked up, an inky black blob rising abruptly beside Xie Zhang.
Xie Zhang turned: “…”
Song-shadow tentatively raised an arm and waved at Xie Zhang.
Xie Zhang: “.”
Few people had the bizarre experience of seeing their own shadow wave back.
After all, even crazy people had their own unique brand of crazy.
But he had to admit, that hesitant, slightly polite gesture was very Song Jingmo.
Xie Zhang chuckled softly and slid the ring back onto his finger.
As expected, exposure to the trigger brought back the hallucination.
This was good. He could maintain the hallucination while still distinguishing it from reality, allowing him to function.
Perhaps soon, he would see an even more lifelike hallucination of Momo.
Song Jingmo, the instigator of all this, was startled by Xie Zhang’s increasingly unsettling smile.
Oh no, he seemed even more unwell now.
Song-shadow looked around, spotted his target, and carefully picked up the glass of water Xie Zhang had set aside, placing it in his hand.
Drink more water, drink more water!
Xie Zhang obediently took a sip from the warm glass, then, as if remembering something, lowered his gaze and chuckled again.
Song Jingmo: “:(”
Stop smiling, it’s scaring the shadow.
