C1 The Preface

If you wanted someone to die without a sound, what would you choose?

Just a simple staged suicide?

People don’t get to choose where life begins, but maybe they can choose where it ends. And the cruelest place of all is to slip away silently beside the person you love most. No painful struggle. No lingering warmth. No ragged breathing. Just lying there, quietly, inside a terrifying memory.

In the blazing heat of summer, the ceiling fan spun nonstop, yet it didn’t bring even a hint of relief. It was the kind of stifling stretch where the air felt too thick to breathe, and the humidity had coaxed dark stains back onto the yellowed white walls.

A sweet little kid rocked restlessly in a wooden chair, making it screech with every sway. Growing impatient, he hopped down and bounced over to his mom, who was getting dinner ready. He’d just come in from playing outside and he was starving, so he whined in a spoiled, pleading voice:

“Mom, when will the noodles be ready? I’m so hungry!”

His mother was as gentle as ever. Her eyebrows curved like a thin crescent moon, and her smile lifted warmly as she looked at him with pure affection. “Don’t rush,” she said. “The best food takes time. Go sit down—your noodles will be ready in just a minute.”

The kid puffed out his lower lip and stared pitifully at the pot, where steam rolled up in thick waves. Usually he was the obedient type, so he trudged back to the battered wooden chair.

“Okay, okay—time to dish up!”

His mother’s proud voice instantly grabbed his attention. He looked at her with bright, eager eyes, mouth open like he was about to start drooling.

“Whoa! Finally! Dinner! Yes!”

He grabbed the chopsticks that had already been set on the table and reached for the noodles, but halfway there, his mother blocked him with her own chopsticks. The kid looked up at her, confused:

“Huh? Why won’t you let me eat?”

“Hold on—there’s one more good thing I haven’t added yet!”

Mom brought over a small, lumpy pot from the stove. Steam rose from it, carrying a rich, greasy aroma. She poured the dark sauce over the noodles.

“This is my secret meat sauce. It tastes even better with this.”

The kid lifted the top layer of noodles and, without a second thought, stuffed a huge bite into his mouth. He chewed for a long time before finally managing to say:

“Mmm. This is really good!”

Seeing how happy he was, Mom smiled, relieved.

After dinner, Mom and her son sat under the fan listening to the radio. The boy sat cross-legged on the couch in his bare feet, happily playing with the little toy car his dad had just bought. Mom sat beside him, but her eyes were unfocused, fixed on the old vine-covered tree outside the window.

“We interrupt with an urgent news update. In recent days, Mu County has seen multiple home break-ins with significant property losses. Police are still investigating the suspect. Residents are advised to lock doors and windows and take precautions.”

The boy looked up at his mom. “Should we close the windows?”

“In this heat? If we shut everything, we’ll roast. It’s fine—we’ve got security bars.”

He went back to playing, then suddenly glanced at the door. The old wooden door had a fresh coat of red paint, brushed on unevenly. Outside it, the rusted metal security door gave two faint rattles. He probably thought his dad was home.

As evening deepened, the cicadas buzzed like a pot at a rolling boil. To make it a little cooler, Mom opened all the windows. By the time it was almost bedtime, only one light was left on in the dim house, casting a dirty yellow glow while mosquitoes and other bugs swarmed around it.

In the hottest stretch of summer, falling asleep early felt like a luxury. The mother and son had gone to bed, but the boy couldn’t stop worrying about his father, who still hadn’t come home. He turned to his mother and asked, “Why isn’t Dad back yet?”

His mother let out a soft sigh. “Your dad still hasn’t gotten back from his trip. Go to sleep first.”

“Still not back? It’s been days.”

His young voice was full of disappointment. He hadn’t seen his father in almost a week.

His mother fanned him hard with a big hand fan, as if trying to shoo him into sleep.

“It’s after nine. Hurry up and go to sleep.”

She set the fan down and started toward her bedroom when a small hand suddenly wrapped around her slender fingers.

“Mom, can you sleep with me tonight?”

She looked into her son’s pleading eyes and couldn’t bring herself to say no.

“Okay. I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Mm-hmm.”

She walked into the bathroom. The heat had even warmed the water in the sink. She splashed her skin with the lukewarm water and quickly wiped her face. In the mirror, her sallow complexion and the faint creases at the corners of her eyes stared back at her. She looked worried, and she lowered her head, bitterly.

She pulled out some skincare from the drawer and smoothed it onto her face. It was all high-end imported stuff—back then, only the truly wealthy could afford things like that. So why was someone like her living in a place like this?

She drifted back to the bed. A wave of dizziness hit, and she felt it again—those eyes, watching her. It unsettled her. She scanned the room, but found nothing.

Her son, still waiting, hadn’t fallen asleep. “Mom, what are you looking for?”

“Why are you still awake? It’s almost ten.”

“I can’t sleep. It’s too hot!”

“There’s a little breeze coming through. If you calm down, you’ll cool off. Now go to sleep.”

The mother patted her son and lay down beside him.

The cool bamboo mat clung to her fever-warm skin, taking the edge off the stifling heat. Her body felt heavy, and she quietly drifted off to sleep next to him.

It was late. Under the dim yellow light, her skin looked ghostly pale. Her son was already fast asleep.

The day had been clear and bright, but now a sudden shower had rolled in, thunder rumbling. A dark shadow seemed to slip through the room—was his father back?

Maybe he sensed something. The boy’s eyes fluttered open, and through the haze he thought he saw a figure hidden in the darkness. But he soon fell asleep again.

Whether it was real or a dream, he seemed to touch something icy cold—and it felt strangely comforting.

A long time passed. When the big clock in the room chimed five times, the boy jolted awake, wide awake in an instant. He realized he was clinging to his mother, holding her tightly. Confused, he thought:

“Why didn’t Mom push me away this time? She always hated it when I slept hugging her.”

Still wondering, he quietly slid away from her. Just as he started to turn over, something felt wrong. He shot upright in bed, staring in terror at his mother lying there, completely still. His eyes went wide, pupils blown, his small mouth slightly open, his face turning a sickly bluish-gray.

He’d seen what dead people looked like on TV, and the body lying there looked the same. Trembling, he reached toward her skin. The instant he touched it, it was like an electric shock—he yanked his hand back. Unable to believe it, he gently shook her, forcing out a few panicked words:

“Mom… Mom…”

Terrified, the boy tumbled out of bed and stumbled toward the door, scrambling to get out.

The scene flashed stark white, images in his mind rewinding at breakneck speed. With ragged breaths and sweat pouring down his face, a handsome man with a shadowed, brooding look jolted awake from a nightmare.

He steadied himself and slowly sat up on the soft bed. After scanning the pitch-dark room, he realized it had all been a dream. With a sharp exhale, he threw back the covers and got to his feet. A black silk robe draped over him, making him look even taller. He walked to the dresser, drank a glass of water, then returned to sit on the edge of the bed.

This time, he didn’t go back to sleep. Days of nonstop nightmares had left him on edge. He picked up the photo from the nightstand and gently traced the face in it—the same mother from his dream. Sleeping beside her was Kong Shuoyi.