Chapter 19: Coming Home
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation.
Li Lin stood beside a bare patch of wall, holding his sampling tool, feeling utterly confused. He couldn’t understand why he was here in the first place. A strange emptiness filled his mind, as if a moment ago he knew exactly what he was doing, yet now all of it had slipped through his fingers like sand.
Captain Song Cheng—everyone on the team just called him “Captain Song”—was standing nearby, and he looked troubled as soon as the strange bloodstain vanished. He narrowed his eyes, his mind trying to grasp something that was now missing. His memory felt blurred, as though someone had quietly crept into his thoughts and taken something away. There was a dull ache deep inside him, like a splinter lodged in his mind.
A faint light flickered in Captain Song’s eyes as he focused, forcing himself to hold onto the last scattered impressions before they drifted off completely. He had trained for years to fight these kinds of mental intrusions. Nearby, Li Lin was still staring blankly at his tool, the small blade meant for scraping samples gleaming in the streetlight. He finally looked up and spoke uncertainly, “Uh, Captain? I feel like I’ve suddenly forgotten what I was doing. Wasn’t there… something here just now?”
Captain Song’s voice came out sharp and clear, cutting through the night air. “Memory interference!” he barked. “Quick, check the ‘depth’ here!”
Li Lin straightened at once, dropping the sampling tool and reaching for a small black box clipped to his belt. He pressed a few buttons, and a thin, needle-like tube slid out. Without hesitating, Li Lin brought the tip of the tube close to his eye, connecting it so that the device’s vision would merge with his own. He blinked a few times, then scanned the dark alley carefully.
Inside the box, a gentle humming sound rose and fell, and some fluid moved quietly through the thin tube. Li Lin’s eye grew completely black as his world turned into shades of gray and white. The street looked drained of all color, as if someone had spilled ink over a painting.
“No sign of Otherworld activity,” Li Lin reported, his voice low and steady. “Depth level L-minus, and I’m not seeing any escaping traces. Nothing from the Otherworld crossing over.”
Captain Song shot a glance at the device in Li Lin’s hand. It was a portable depth detector, a smaller version of the standard model, less powerful but still able to catch changes in the “depth” of reality. Captain Song knew something had tampered with his mind. He could still feel a faint memory clinging to him, like a stubborn smudge on a window, but the depth detector showed no disturbance. It was puzzling, and it set him on edge.
Just as Captain Song was about to tell Li Lin to adjust the settings, Li Lin went rigid. He had stopped talking and was now staring straight ahead, down the end of the alley. Through his blackened eye, connected to the detector, he saw something strange. Amid the ghostly gray buildings and walls, he noticed something flickering faintly with a hint of color—so faint it was almost impossible to see. It was large, about the size of a small house, and its shape was unclear, like looking through mist.
“Captain Song,” Li Lin whispered, stepping forward very slowly, “I see something ahead. It’s blurry, sort of like a building. Still reading L-minus depth. No contamination signals… I’ll get a closer look. Do you feel anything?”
Captain Song followed close behind, hand hidden in his pocket, fingers curled around a badge. He was ready to act at a moment’s notice, all his senses alert. “I don’t sense anything at all,” he said quietly.
Li Lin crept forward until he felt he was right in front of the strange, unseen shape. He hesitated, then reached out his hand slowly, as if touching a delicate, invisible curtain.
At that instant, the black box on his belt emitted a sudden, piercing whine. A burst of shrill sound cut the silence. Then came several sharp cracks, like tiny bones snapping. A thin wisp of smoke curled into the air. The device shut off completely, and the connecting tube slipped free from Li Lin’s eye. A dark, mud-like liquid dripped out but vanished almost as soon as it met the air.
Li Lin cried out in pain, clutching at his eye. Before he could rub it, Captain Song darted forward, pressing a hand gently against Li Lin’s temple. “Don’t rub it!” he ordered firmly. “Wait just a moment!”
Li Lin froze. He felt a gentle warmth spreading from where Captain Song touched him, and after a few seconds the sharp pain dulled and then vanished. Blinking, Li Lin looked down at the ruined depth detector, which was still sending up faint curls of smoke.
“Should we report this to HQ?” Li Lin asked, his voice shaky.
“Definitely,” Captain Song answered with a short nod.
Li Lin sighed, relieved that he hadn’t just imagined the whole thing. He glanced back at the empty space where he’d tried to reach out. There was nothing there now—just plain, solid ground and a wall covered in bright graffiti. The spray-painted images showed doors, windows, houses, trees, stones—almost like a childish attempt to paint a whole village on a dull, cracked wall.
He waved his hand through the air in front of him and felt nothing unusual. It was as if whatever he had seen was never there at all.
“There was definitely something here,” he muttered. “The device showed it, even if it broke before I could confirm. And the depth reading stayed at L-minus.”
Captain Song stood quietly for a moment, thinking. Then he said, “Let’s head back to HQ. I’ll file a report to the council. We need to keep an eye on this place. It could be an unregistered Otherworld event. We’ll bring in heavier equipment and specialists next time.” He glanced at Li Lin. “How’s your eye?”
Li Lin pretended to consider this carefully, then asked slyly, “If it’s really bad, can I get half a day off?”
“No chance,” Captain Song replied, his voice firm. “We’re short-staffed.”
Li Lin sighed again, less dramatically this time. “Then I guess it’s fine. I’ll just use some eye drops when we’re back.”
Captain Song nodded. Li Lin bent down to gather up the broken depth detector. Together, they made their way back toward their electric scooters, parked just around the corner.
Li Lin inserted his key into his scooter’s ignition. The display lit up for a split second, then flickered and died. He tried again, but nothing happened. He looked up at Captain Song, who was having the exact same problem with his own scooter.
“My scooter’s dead… Yours too?” asked Li Lin, baffled.
Captain Song answered with a silent nod, his face dark.
“Do you think it’s just a coincidence?” Li Lin asked, his voice quiet and uneasy.
Captain Song shook his head slowly. His expression turned grave. “The Academy has a term for this kind of phenomenon.”
Li Lin tried hard to recall what he’d read in their training manuals and old reports. Then both men spoke almost at the same time, their voices overlapping as they said, “The machine spirit’s displeased.”
They exchanged a look, realizing they hadn’t quite gotten the phrase in sync. Both of them said at once, “You got it wrong.”
Before they could argue further, Captain Song waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s save that for later. Right now, let’s just get out of here.”
“But Captain, we have to push the scooters ourselves?” Li Lin complained, falling into step behind Captain Song.
“Unless you want to leave them here,” Captain Song retorted calmly.
Li Lin shook his head. “Can’t we call a truck from HQ to pick them up? Or maybe borrow that electric tricycle from logistics? This is going to take forever.”
“Stop whining,” Captain Song said, rolling his eyes. “You’re younger than me—don’t tell me your stamina’s worse!”
Grumbling under his breath, Li Lin followed the captain. The two agents from the Special Affairs Bureau slowly pushed their scooters along Wutong Road, their figures getting smaller as they headed away from the mysterious spot.
…
Meanwhile, Yu Sheng floated in darkness—something he had become almost accustomed to. He had found himself in this strange void so often lately that it felt oddly comforting, almost like returning home. The absolute blackness stretched in every direction, weightless and silent.
He remembered Irene’s scream, still ringing in his ears. He could hardly blame her; he must have looked terrifying, stumbling into that room dripping with blood, a gaping wound in his stomach. It was no wonder the doll inside the painting had shrieked. Even for a cursed object, Irene’s nerves were obviously not made of steel.
Yu Sheng wondered what would happen when he went back. Would Irene remember the awful scene of his body collapsing in front of her, or would the memory slip away like it did for Foxy back in Night Valley? Foxy had once forgotten that she had smashed his skull with a headbutt—only to remember it later, but at first, it was as if that horrible moment had never happened. Yu Sheng wasn’t sure if this forgetting was caused by him or by something else. If Irene also failed to recall his “death,” then maybe he was the cause of these strange memory gaps.
Time was impossible to measure here in the darkness. Yu Sheng let his mind wander, reviewing the events he had been through. After a while, he decided to rest, drifting in the emptiness, waiting patiently for the familiar feeling that would signal his return to the living world.
And then he felt it: the gentle tug of something pulling him upward, the sensation of falling back into reality. He focused hard, trying to catch any clues, to remember the place he would soon reappear in. Images flickered before him—places he knew, faces he recognized—before they all rushed away. Suddenly, one image jumped forward, looming large and clear:
Wutong Road, Number 23. His home, right inside the front door, in the living room.
Yu Sheng’s eyes snapped open. He found himself exactly where he’d imagined: inside his own home. Everything was just as he’d left it, the old painting still resting on the dining table. Soft light fell across the floor. The air smelled like dust and paper.
Irene’s voice rang out with relief and delight. “Yu Sheng! You’re finally back!”