The Body-Borrower Comes Home - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was just getting dark when I arrived at Baishui Village.

The mountain roads were in terrible condition.

The minibus dropped me off in front of the small village store and turned around immediately, without even a honk of the horn. As the taillights flickered, mud splattered across my pant legs.

I stood there, dragging my suitcase, and was first hit by the damp, cold smell of earthy musk. Then it hit me: I hadn’t been back here in ten years.

The old camphor tree at the village entrance was still there.

White cloth hung from its branches.

When the wind blew, the cloth brushed against the bark with a rustling sound, like someone whispering low from above.

I looked up, and my heart sank halfway.

My father really was dead.

Three days ago, the town hospital called me. They said Lin Guosheng had passed away the night before and told me to come back to handle the funeral arrangements. I was editing a video at the time; the screen was filled with footage of someone else’s wedding, a piercingly bright red. The nurse on the other end asked me three times if I could come back before I finally said, “I can.”

In truth, I hadn’t made up my mind.

The day I left home at eighteen, I thought it would be best if I never returned for the rest of my life.

But when someone dies, things change.

I dragged my suitcase toward the village, my soles making a squelching sound as they sank into the mud. I hadn’t gone more than a few steps when the curtain of the village store was pushed aside, and Aunt Wang stepped out carrying a kerosene lamp.

She froze when she saw me.

Then, her expression changed instantly.

It wasn’t the surprise of seeing an old acquaintance after many years.

It was the look of someone seeing a ghost.

The kerosene lamp swayed in her hand, the light shining directly onto my face.

“Jianxia…?”

I nodded. “Aunt Wang.”

She stared at me, her lips trembling. It took a long time before she managed to squeeze out a sentence.

“Jianxia, didn’t you return to the village three years ago?”

My head throbbed.

“What?”

Aunt Wang seemed to realize she had said something wrong. Her eyes darted away, and her voice dropped to a low whisper. “No… I mean, your mother kept saying you were back these past few years. I thought…”

She became more and more incoherent as she spoke.

But I wasn’t listening to a word of it.

“I never came back,” I said, staring at her. “Aunt Wang, make yourself clear. Who came back?”

What little color was left in Aunt Wang’s face drained away completely.

She opened her mouth, about to speak, when a man’s voice suddenly came from behind her.

“Who’s there?”

I turned and saw Chen Du walking out from behind the store.

He was wearing a dark jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands were stained with engine oil, looking as though he had just been repairing a motorcycle. He was a bit taller and leaner than I remembered, with a heavy brow that made him look cold when he watched people.

Even after ten years, he recognized me at first glance.

But the expression on his face was much like Aunt Wang’s.

It wasn’t joy.

It was stiffness.

“Lin Jianxia?”

A spark of irritation flared up inside me.

“What is wrong with all of you?”

“You’re looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Chen Du didn’t rise to my anger. He just stared at the black suitcase in my hand and asked after a long pause, “Did you come back alone?”

“Obviously.”

“Did you run into anything on the road?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you didn’t run into anything?”

I glared at him. “What exactly are you trying to ask?”

Chen Du’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Finally, he just said, “Get inside first.”

“Aunt Zhou is in the house alone.”

At the mention of my mother, my temper vanished.

I started to drag my suitcase forward, but Aunt Wang called out to me from behind. “Jianxia.”

I looked back.

She stood under the light, her face still pale.

“Don’t answer if anyone calls your name at night, do you hear me? Whatever you do, don’t look back.”

I looked at her and said nothing.

Chen Du had already walked over and reached out to take my suitcase.

I instinctively pulled back.

He didn’t let go, saying in a low voice, “The road is slippery.”

“Give me the suitcase.”

His tone was exactly the same as when he was a child.

No explanation, no coaxing-just a quiet certainty that you would eventually listen to him.

I hadn’t intended to give it to him, but my mind was in such a mess that I simply let go.

He walked ahead carrying the suitcase, and I followed behind. There were few people out in the village; occasionally, a house would have its lights on, but as soon as they saw me, they all pulled their doors shut.

It was as if they were avoiding a plague.

My unease grew stronger.

Baishui Village wasn’t large; after two turns, I arrived at the entrance to my family’s courtyard.

The courtyard gate was halfway open, and two white lanterns hung from the lintel.

One was extinguished.

The other was still lit.

I froze in my tracks.

“Why are there two?”

Chen Du stopped as well.

He glanced at the gate, his voice deepening. “Let’s go in first.”

The lights in the main hall were on.

The moment I stepped over the threshold, the suffocating scent of incense ash rushed toward me.

The funeral altar had already been dismantled, but an offering table remained in the room. On it sat a black-and-white photograph of my father. In the photo, Lin Guosheng wore a stern expression, looking just as unpleasant as he had when he was alive.

A person sat beside the offering table.

My mother.

She was as thin as a bundle of dry firewood, her hair half-white. She was burning joss paper with her back to the door.

Hearing the movement, she slowly turned her head.

I hadn’t seen her in ten years.

Yet I recognized her instantly, though she had aged far faster than I had imagined.

“Mom.”

I called out to her.

She froze.

The paper money slipped from her hands, sparks rolling across the floor.

I thought she would cry, or rush over to hit me, or perhaps scold me, the unfilial daughter who finally realized it was time to come home.

But she didn’t.

She just looked at me. First, there was a moment of blank confusion in her eyes, then they suddenly constricted as she recoiled.

“Who are you?”

I stood rooted to the spot.

I doubted my own hearing.

“Mom, it’s me, Jianxia.”

“No, no…” She shook her head, her voice trembling. “Xiaxia only came back at noon. She just went to the back room to get my medicine.”

“You aren’t her.”

A chill ran straight through my back.

Chen Du set the suitcase down and took a step forward. “Aunt Zhou.”

My mother immediately grabbed his arm like a drowning person clutching a lifeline.

“Chen Du, don’t let her in.”

“She’s back again.”

As soon as those words fell, my ears rang with a deafening roar.

*Again.*

It wasn’t that someone had stolen my identity.

It was that this thing had already been here more than once.

I stared at my mother and asked, word by word, “Who is back?”

She didn’t answer. She only stared at me as if looking at some wild beast about to pounce.

“Mom!” My voice rose. “Look closely! I am Lin Jianxia!”

Her whole body shuddered, and tears suddenly began to fall.

“Don’t mimic her tone.”

“She’s already back.”

“Don’t come here anymore.”

The string in my head that had been pulled taut for ten years snapped with a loud *pop*.

I didn’t care about anything else as I turned and rushed toward the back room.

I had to see exactly who was playing these supernatural tricks.

Chen Du reached out to stop me, but I shoved him aside.

The door to the back room was open.

It was even colder in here than in the main hall.

The light was on. A bowl of medicine that hadn’t yet gone cold sat on the table. At the head of the bed lay my mother’s old padded winter coat, folded neatly; the stitching was fine and dense, looking as though it had just been mended.

On the old wooden table by the window sat an enamel basin. Two pieces of women’s clothing were soaking inside.

One belonged to my mother.

The other was mine.

To be precise, it was a gray sweater identical to the one I was wearing.

I stood there, my back tingling with numbness.

I had bought this sweater in the city last winter; it was an expensive brand.

No one in Baishui Village could afford to wear it, nor could they have bought the exact same style.

Unless that person had seen my luggage, seen my current life, and had even known what I would be wearing when I returned-one step ahead of me.

As I stood there dazed, a faint sound suddenly came from outside the window.

It sounded like someone stepping through the puddles in the backyard.

I whipped my head around.

The window paper bulged slightly in the wind, and a woman’s silhouette stood indistinctly outside.

She was about the same height as me, her hair pinned up, standing very straight.

Through the layer of old window paper, I couldn’t see her face clearly.

But I knew she was looking at me too.

In the next second, the shadow retreated and vanished.

By the time I rushed out, only the sound of the wind remained in the backyard.

The wooden bucket by the well was swaying.

There was a row of wet footprints on the ground.

The footprints weren’t large, and the patterns of the soles were clearly visible.

They were identical to the ones on my own feet.