C1 The Wedge a Real Dream

The night was starless and moonless, pitch black to the point where one couldn't see their own hand in front of their face. Footsteps echoed through the alley, steady and unhurried.

Ruan Ruan was carrying her late-night snack, likely having just left a restaurant, the food still emitting wisps of steam.

Unbeknownst to her, a shadowy figure had started following her—a tall man, standing well over six feet tall.

The man's pace was slow, each step causing a mix of sweat and blood to bead on his forehead. His brow was deeply furrowed, signaling that he was suffering through immense pain.

Meanwhile, Ruan Ruan strolled along cheerfully, occasionally breaking into song, unbothered by the night's darkness and oblivious to the presence trailing her.

Suddenly, the man quickened his pace, reaching out to grab Ruan Ruan, but his strength failed him, and he collapsed onto her back, sending both of them tumbling to the ground.

Ruan Ruan was dazed by the unexpected weight, her late-night snack now strewn across the pavement. The scent of blood mingled with the aroma of the food, creating a peculiar fragrance in the night air.

Regaining her senses, Ruan Ruan pushed the man off and switched on her flashlight. Upon seeing his face clearly, she inhaled sharply.

She had always enjoyed gory zombie flicks, known for their blood and violence, but this was a new level of horror. The man's face was drenched in fresh blood, his body too, as if he had emerged from a mass grave or taken a bath in blood.

Terrified, Ruan Ruan stumbled backward, her back now smeared with blood, the sweet, metallic scent filling the air.

The man was barely breathing, his chest rising and falling so slightly it was almost imperceptible.

Shaking, Ruan Ruan dialed 911 and called for an ambulance, having never encountered such a frightening scene before.

"You're not dead, right?" she asked, her voice quivering as she swallowed hard.

The man's eyes were closed, his breaths faint; he was completely unconscious.

With trembling hands, Ruan Ruan checked for his breath under his nose. It was faint, but he was still breathing—he wasn't dead, but he was close.

About ten minutes later, the sound of an ambulance pierced the air, followed closely by the wail of police sirens. Ruan Ruan had intended to wait for the police and explain the situation, but the moment she heard the sirens, she inexplicably took off running.

Once home, she bolted the door and wedged a chair under the handle for good measure. After securing herself inside, her legs were shaking so much that she slowly slid to the floor. She hadn't killed anyone, so why was she so scared?

Ruan Ruan stepped into the bathroom, letting the lukewarm water cleanse her body and wash away the blood from her arms. She anticipated a visit from the police the next day and planned to simply tell the truth. There was no reason for them to wrongfully accuse her.

Comforted by this thought, Ruan Ruan's spirits lifted. She discarded her bloodied clothes and climbed into bed, expecting to be kept awake by the day's horrors. Instead, she fell asleep almost immediately and didn't stir until morning.

As the sun rose, its brilliant rays streamed through the window, bathing Ruan Ruan's face in light. It was this same bright sunshine that beckoned her to wake up each day.

Despite waiting all day, the police never showed up. Ruan Ruan picked up her phone and called the station to inquire about any recent murders or possible suicides from the night before.

The response was negative, and she was chastised for impeding police work.

Confused, Ruan Ruan stared at her phone. If what she saw last night wasn't real, could it have been a ghost?

As a web novelist, Ruan Ruan had always been half-believer in the supernatural. Considering she had been out at such a late hour, encountering a ghost seemed plausible.

"No, that can't be right. He was breathing; ghosts don't breathe," she quickly dismissed the thought. Ghosts couldn't have a breath.

Then she remembered the clothes she had worn the previous night. Rushing to the bathroom, she found the trash can empty—no blood-stained clothes, not a single drop of blood. What was happening?

Ruan Ruan hurried out of the bathroom, slipped on her shoes, and dashed to the alleyway she had visited the night before. With so much blood on the man, there had to be some trace left behind.

Ruan Ruan rubbed her eyes, gazing blankly at the alley's ground. It was spotless, with no trace of the late-night snack she had spilled the night before.

As the thought of food crossed her mind, her stomach growled loudly. A true food lover couldn't afford to think about food; the mere thought was enough to make them hungry. Deciding it was best to head home for a meal, she resolved to deal with the corpse situation on a full stomach.

Upon opening the refrigerator, Ruan Ruan was taken aback. Inside were the exact dishes she had purchased from the store the previous day: sweet and sour pork ribs, shredded potatoes, stir-fried cabbage, and rice. Everything was identical, right down to the portion sizes.

"Was it all just a dream?" she muttered to herself after a long pause. Indeed, she had been dreaming, and it had been a terrifying one at that.