Chapter 385: The "Ghostly Figure" in the Stairwell and the Sleepless Girl

Two o’clock in the morning.

Jiang Ci stood at the entrance to the stairwell of Building Three and stamped his feet.

The hem of his military greatcoat hung heavy with slushy snow.

As expected, the motion-sensor light in this stairwell was broken again.

These motion-sensor lights in old-style family dormitory buildings were like Schrödinger’s cat,

you never knew if they would turn on this second, or only after you’d taken a nasty tumble.

Jiang Ci didn’t dare stamp too hard; it was the middle of the New Year holiday, and disturbing people’s sweet dreams wasn’t right.

The stairwell was pitch black, the kind where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, filled with a stale, musty smell and the lingering aroma of someone’s stewed meat.

Jiang Ci felt his way up along the wall.

First floor, all clear.

Second floor, he banged his knee on the corner piled high with junk, but he gritted his teeth and endured it without making a sound.

He reached the small landing at the turn between the second and third floors.

Jiang Ci was just about to charge up the last flight to the third floor when his heart suddenly clenched.

At his doorstep, on that small third-floor landing, a dark, huddled shadow was squatting.

That shadow had disheveled hair, was curled into a ball, its face a ghastly white tinged with an eerie blue glow.

Under that blue light, the face twitched from time to time.

Jiang Ci’s scalp prickled, and he almost threw the Red Fuji apple in his hand like a grenade.

On New Year’s Eve, of all nights, he’d run into a ghost?

And a modern ghost that was scrolling on its phone?

Just then, that “ghostly figure” sniffled,

let out a choked sob, its fingers frantically tapping on the glowing screen, muttering something under its breath.

“Wuwuwu… Gege is too tragic… those antis have no heart…”

“Who dares say this show isn’t good… I’ll flame you to death… wuwu…”

Jiang Ci: ”…”

This voice… why did it sound somewhat familiar?

He took a step closer.

That “ghostly figure” was clearly no ordinary person either, with extremely high alertness.

Almost the instant the sound was made, the blue light suddenly went out.

The “ghostly figure” jerked its head up, a scream catching in its throat—

“It’s me.”

Jiang Ci lowered his voice, speaking rapidly to cut off the impending shriek.

By the faint snowy light filtering in through the stairwell window, the two of them stared wide-eyed at each other.

It was Li Li, who lived across the hall from him.

The girl was wearing a fluffy one-piece pajama set, with two bunny ears on the hood,

and she was staring in terror at the tall man before her.

Messy hair, eyebrows dusted with snowflakes, that worn-out military greatcoat,

and tucked under his arm… two strings of tacky, old-fashioned Big Earth Red firecrackers.

Li Li’s brain short-circuited.

One second ago, she had been in the Weibo Super Topic,

facing a still photo of Jiang Ci wearing a tattered padded jacket that couldn’t hide his peerless looks,

frantically typing out flattery, crying and shouting “Gege is too amazing,” “the god of Broken Feeling.”

The next second, the man himself appeared before her in this utterly shocking manner, squatting right in front of her.

Li Li’s mouth fell open, her gaze switching back and forth between the tragically beautiful Jiang Ci on her phone screen

and the Jiang Ci in front of her who looked like he’d just returned from stealing chickens in the countryside.

“Ci… Ci-ge?” Li Li’s voice trembled.

“Mm, it’s me.” Jiang Ci scratched his head somewhat awkwardly,

pulling the collar of his greatcoat up higher. “Not sleeping at this hour, squatting here practicing your kung fu?”

“I… my signal at home is bad, the internet here is faster…” Li Li explained instinctively,

then snapped back to reality and stood up. “Oh my god! Ci-ge, you really came back!”

Her voice was getting louder, excitement overcoming shock.

“Shh—”

Jiang Ci acted swiftly, making a shushing gesture.

He switched the firecrackers to his other hand, awkwardly freeing one arm,

and reached into the already-opened box of Red Fuji apples.

He fumbled around and pulled out a large, bright red apple.

He casually wiped it on his coat and directly shoved it into Li Li’s hand.

“Hush money.”

Jiang Ci pointed at his own front door, then at Li Li’s mouth, his expression sincere:

“Don’t shout. I want to give my mom a surprise. This getup… don’t tell anyone either, save me some face.”

Li Li hugged the big apple, looking at Jiang Ci who was right in front of her.

Even if he looked a bit rough, even if he looked a bit tacky.

But his eyes, in the dim stairwell, were frighteningly bright.

Exactly the same as the gaze on the Spring Festival Gala stage that made people want to cry at a glance.

Li Li nodded vigorously, clutching the apple tightly to her chest.

“Go back to sleep quickly, it’s cold out here.”

Jiang Ci waved his hand and turned towards that familiar security door.

Li Li didn’t leave.

She bit her lip, using that faint light to watch the tall back pause at the door.

She suddenly felt that, compared to the distant, unreachable Film Emperor on TV,

this “homeless man” in front of her who gave her an apple and was afraid of waking the neighbors,

seemed more worthy of her fighting all night against those antis.

Jiang Ci stood at the door.

He gently placed his things by his feet, reached into the inner pocket of his coat, and found the key.

At this very moment, his heartbeat was actually faster than when he was waiting backstage at the Spring Festival Gala.

Jiang Ci gripped the key, his fingers somewhat stiff.

He aimed the key at the keyhole, about to insert it—

His movement stopped.

Between that dark green security door and the frame, there was a gap.

If you didn’t look carefully, you’d never notice it.

The door was unlocked.

It had been left for him.

Jiang Ci’s hand hung in mid-air, his nose suddenly stung,

that sour feeling rushing up his nasal passages straight to his eyes, even stronger than the cold wind from earlier.

What surprise, what ambush.

At this moment, it all seemed superfluous.

Madam Chu Hong had long ago, with this single door gap, seen right through his little scheme.

He put the key back into his pocket.

Reached out, gently pressed against the door panel, and pushed it open.

The door opened.

A wave of scent, mixed with sandalwood incense and the oily aroma of fried meatballs, washed over him.

That was the smell of home.

Jiang Ci closed the door behind him.

Only one floor lamp was on in the living room, the light dim, yellow, and soft.

The TV was still on, the screen replaying a song and dance performance from the Spring Festival Gala, but it had been thoughtfully muted.

A group of performers in sequined dresses jumped around silently on the screen, looking somewhat comical.

On the sofa, a figure was slumped to one side.

Chu Hong was covered with that checkered wool blanket she’d used for over a decade, half her body sunk into the sofa, her hand still tightly clutching her phone.

She was asleep, her breathing long and even, but her brows were slightly furrowed,

as if there was still some worry in her dream she couldn’t let go of.

Jiang Ci didn’t walk over immediately.

He quietly placed the New Year’s goods in the entryway, took off his shoes, and walked into the living room in his socks.

He went straight to the five-drawer cabinet in the corner of the living room.

His father’s photo was placed there.

In the glass cup in front of the photo, the Erguotou liquor was still full.

Next to it was a small bowl.

The bowl held a single dumpling.

Because it had been left for so long, the dumpling skin had dried and cracked.

Jiang Ci looked at that dumpling, then at the photo of his father smiling with simple honesty.

On stage, he had acted it out once to thin air.

Now, life was handing the script back to him, unchanged.

Jiang Ci reached out, picked up that long-cold dumpling.

Hard, cold, even a bit gritty on the teeth.

But he stuffed it into his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed it.

Delicious.

After eating the dumpling, Jiang Ci walked to the sofa and knelt on one knee on the carpet.

He looked at his mother’s face, which had clearly gained several more wrinkles,

the dark circles under her eyes especially glaring in the dim yellow light.

The blanket had slipped halfway off, revealing her shoulder in her home clothes.

Jiang Ci reached out, carefully pinched a corner of the blanket, wanting to pull it up for her.

The moment his fingertips touched the blanket, Chu Hong trembled violently, as if sensing something.

She wasn’t fully awake, caught in a half-dreaming, dazed state.

That blurry figure before her, wearing an old military greatcoat, carrying a chill all over,

overlapped with a certain image from the depths of her memory.

Chu Hong’s eyes instantly grew moist. She instinctively reached out

and grabbed Jiang Ci’s ice-cold hand.

A trace of vulnerability and grievance she had never shown before her son.

“Old Jiang…?”

This extremely soft murmur slammed hard into Jiang Ci’s chest.

He let his mother’s hand tightly wrap around his fingers.

A few seconds passed.

The mist in Chu Hong’s eyes gradually cleared, her focus returning.

She saw clearly the person before her.

Young, handsome, even if wearing the same tattered greatcoat as her husband,

this was her son.

That resilient woman who had single-handedly supported the family for years blinked away that moment of vulnerability in an instant.

She didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, she gently patted the back of Jiang Ci’s hand twice,

that familiar tone carrying a hint of disdain,

yet hiding infinite heartache, sounded in the deep night.

“This coat isn’t thick enough.”

She sat up, casually touching Jiang Ci’s ears, red from the cold,

lightly and casually picking up the unfinished dream.

“See, you’re frozen through.”