Chapter 12
Behind every staunch and resistant atheist, there’s usually a devout believer in the supernatural.
Xie Zhang’s parents had been just that.
As a child, he’d been dragged to temples and shrines, taught to respect the gods and spirits, neither blindly following nor disrespecting them.
His scientific education made him skeptical, but his parents’ teachings had left a mark.
Yet, those devout parents had died in a sudden car accident.
Xie Zhang had prayed night after night, hoping for their return, even as ghosts, willing to pay any price.
But the gods hadn’t answered his prayers, and his parents’ spirits hadn’t returned to comfort their grieving child.
Since then, Xie Zhang had developed a deep aversion to anything supernatural.
But now…
Xie Zhang poked the sulking Song-shadow, who was clutching a tissue box.
The chibi shadow, still upset about Xie Zhang’s Photoshop stunt, swatted his hand away with a shadow tendril.
But just looking at him filled Xie Zhang with joy and warmth.
Even if it was a shadow, even if it was a ghost.
It was still the lover he longed for.
As a child, his mother would sometimes tell him stories, tales passed down from his grandmother, who had been a shaman.
Xie Zhang was sentimental and stubborn.
He cherished his memories, refusing to let them fade.
So, despite his atheism, he clearly remembered those stories.
Ghosts drained a person’s life force, causing weakness, bad luck, and misfortune.
But every feared ghost was someone’s beloved.
Only souls with strong attachments, longing, or unfinished business returned as ghosts to fulfill their desires.
In every story his mother told, the way to appease a spirit was to help them resolve their unfinished business, allowing them to move on.
But Xie Zhang didn’t want to lose Song Jingmo again.
Selfish or not, ugly or not.
He looked at the tiny Song-shadow, struggling to type, a faint smile touching his lips.
This time, he would hold onto Song Jingmo tightly.
If Song Jingmo had to leave, then he would go with him.
He didn’t want to be a lingering regret.
He just wanted companionship.
He… didn’t want to be left behind, abandoned, again.
…
Song Jingmo was incredibly frustrated.
Xie Zhang’s problem wasn’t about being sick or not, or about believing in ghosts or not. It was that they couldn’t communicate on the same wavelength.
No matter what he said, Xie Zhang would just think—
Ah, my imaginary Momo is finally talking to me.
The chibi shadow angrily slammed the spacebar.
Xie Zhang watched as the key jammed, a pleased smile on his face.
Seeing this, Song Jingmo sighed.
The tiny shadow sat down, carefully popping the spacebar back into place, continuing to type, sighing again.
He’d never realized how much effort Xie Zhang required!
He was usually the one being taken care of.
Well, it was no use getting upset.
One step at a time.
He repeated this mantra to himself, glaring at Xie Zhang.
So troublesome!
Song Jingmo deleted the contents of the document, then typed a new sentence.
【Whether you believe it or not, this is just my theory.】
【It seems the more you think about me, the stronger I become, and the more I can do, like smash your head.】
Xie Zhang watched the shadow’s tendrils flitting across the keyboard, his gaze darkening as he read the words.
“Is that so?”
As soon as he spoke, Song Jingmo felt a surge of heat.
He rubbed his lower back, nodding vigorously.
【Yes, yes, yes! Before, I was just stuck in your shadow, bored and useless.】
Xie Zhang reached out, gently touching the tiny shadow: “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.”
Song Jingmo looked at him skeptically.
He typed: 【You… seem very invested in your hallucinations.】
Xie Zhang’s smile, unwavering in its delusion, sent a shiver down Song Jingmo’s spine. He said softly: “They’re not hallucinations. Momo and I will never be apart.”
Song Jingmo: “…”
He couldn’t even comment on that level of delusion.
He was starting to think Xie Zhang needed professional help.
His shadow might be alive, but Xie Zhang’s mind was definitely not right.
One step at a time, focus on the essentials.
At least they could communicate now. It didn’t matter if his mind was a bit scrambled, as long as he could coax him into eating and sleeping properly. Health first, everything else later.
As he repeated this to himself, his mind raced.
Half an hour later.
The printer spat out a neatly typed schedule.
Xie Zhang held the paper, detailing everything from sleeping and eating times to work and exercise schedules, his expression slightly perplexed.
Song Jingmo sheepishly scratched his cheek.
He wasn’t exactly a fan of such a disciplined lifestyle, but it was exactly what Xie Zhang needed right now, a return to his old, healthy routine.
So…
Uh.
Ahem!
He’d simply copied Xie Zhang’s old, AI-generated schedule.
And added a few… essential, healthy adjustments.
Xie Zhang, of course, recognized his old schedule. What surprised him was…
How did Song Jingmo, who usually slept until noon, know his exact wake-up time, breakfast time, morning run time, and shower time?
He’d always wanted to change Song Jingmo’s erratic sleep schedule, the late nights and late mornings.
But Song Jingmo’s inspiration and energy levels were unpredictable. After two weeks of trying to force him into a regular routine, although his complexion had improved, his spirit had dwindled.
Xie Zhang had reluctantly given up, focusing instead on ensuring he ate healthy meals.
He wanted to ask Song Jingmo, but his current “mental patient” persona prevented him, even though the question clawed at his throat.
Seeing Xie Zhang staring silently at the schedule, Song-shadow crept up his wrist, peeking.
Was there a problem?
Xie Zhang cleared his throat, pointing to a line on the schedule, asking calmly: “Why half an hour of sunbathing at 3 pm?”
He hadn’t done that before.
Song Jingmo clicked his tongue.
He typed forcefully: 【I knew you workaholics never enjoyed the 3 pm sunshine!】
【Listen to me! From now on, every sunny day, you will bask in the sun for half an hour!】
Song Jingmo loved basking in the afternoon sun, the warmth spreading through him, relaxing in a rocking chair until he felt like melting away.
Xie Zhang frowned.
Considering Song Jingmo’s current state, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it, even wondering if he should carry a large black umbrella when they went out.
【No arguments!】
Song Jingmo, reading his expression, typed before he could speak.
【If you don’t want to sunbathe, I still will! I haven’t had any sun in ages. You never opened the curtains before, and I didn’t have enough energy.】
Xie Zhang paused.
Momo… wasn’t afraid of sunlight…?
He quickly replayed his memories of the past few days.
He’d been exposed to sunlight several times, but Momo hadn’t shown any signs of discomfort.
Were ghosts naturally immune to sunlight, or was it because Momo resided within his shadow?
After all, shadows were only visible in sunlight.
This was important.
He made a mental note.
He would be returning to the office soon, and they would be going out more often. He needed to test this.
Song Jingmo, oblivious to Xie Zhang’s thoughts, snatched the schedule and ran towards the bedroom.
Xie Zhang followed.
The A4 paper was much larger than the chibi shadow. Song Jingmo, initially holding it aloft, then grabbed both ends, using it as a makeshift parachute, and jumped down the stairs.
Logically, the light paper and the weightless shadow should have floated down like a parachute.
But since Song Jingmo was controlling Xie Zhang’s shadow, whenever he wasn’t touching something, he would be pulled back to Xie Zhang.
Finding this amusing, he jumped and was pulled back repeatedly. The paper was too light, so he grabbed a small stone ball from a hallway ornament, hugging it close, his shadow bouncing around the villa like a yo-yo.
“Woohoo! This is fun!”
“Again!”
Xie Zhang thought he heard Song Jingmo’s voice again.
Still distant, but perfectly synchronized with the shadow’s playful actions.
He stopped, his grip tightening on the banister.
If he could give Momo more strength, would he, one day, be able to truly talk to him again?
Or even… more?
The next morning, Xie Zhang, forced into an early bedtime by Song Jingmo, was awakened by the sound of a chicken.
A screaming chicken, to be precise.
He jolted awake, his mind still foggy, the piercing shriek of a dozen rubber chickens echoing through the room.
Xie Zhang: “…”
He looked at the shadow tendrils squeezing the yellow chickens, his expression helpless.
What had he done to deserve this?
Thanks to Xie Zhang’s cooperation, Song Jingmo felt energized, having successfully eliminated the time-wasting activity of sleep. It was fantastic!
He’d been gaming all night; it was glorious!
But now—
He flung open the bedroom curtains, letting in the 6 am sunlight.
He held up a pre-drawn sign.
【Good morning! The early bird gets the worm!】
【Time for your morning run!】
It featured a stick figure jogging enthusiastically.
Xie Zhang, besieged by screaming chickens: “…”
After a moment, he smiled.
Yes, it was a new day.
Good morning, Momo.
