Counting the time, if Mr.Wang’s daughter wakes up somewhere around two in the afternoon, I will go with Plan A. If she wakes up around four, I will go with Plan B; and if she doesn’t wake up till nightfall, then I will have to go with Plan C.
Even if I miscalculated the amount of ether appropriate for a child, and she never wakes up again, I still have the ultimate Plan D.
Naturally, if none of the above turns out to be true and some other alternation takes place that requires my immediate intervention, I still have seven other plans in reserve I can put into motion, except those that will be more troublesome to implement; as long as the unpredictable maniac Ying Ru isn’t involved in this mess.
That is what makes prophecy so terrifying.
A true prophet is not only capable of filling one’s mind with images or scaring someone with words.
He must have the incredible power to make things come true, and the unwavering determination to see things through.
I continued to savour my noodles.
There was only one thing I needed to do now.
Bo Yan sat on top of the stall in the bathroom, holding a swiss knife in his hand pointing at his wrist.
He was only considering the possibility, hoping his thoughts would somehow earn him the compassion from the Gods, and spare him.
No matter how tired he got, he dared not to close his increasingly heavy eyelids.
Because he couldn't begin to imagine what his "other self" would do next.
Miss Chen sat in front of the TV, holding a wet towel wrapped with ice next to her darkened and swollen cheeks.
She needed to restore her beauty quickly before the shorter one of her boyfriends showed up in need to satisfy his lust.
Ying Ru still hadn't returned.
*Knock knock knock*
Miss Chen cautiously opened the door a crack, making sure he wasn’t who she thought he was. Then, she opened the door.
“Is my little girl here watching the TV with you?” Mr. Wang smiled.
“She didn’t come here today. I’m sorry,” Miss Chen apologized, trying her best to conceal the injuries with the wet towel in her hand.
“Really?” Mr. Wang sounded surprised as he began heading back to his room.
Miss Chen shut the door behind her and returned to her TV.
It was half past seven in the evening when Mr. Wang finally hung up. It was time to panic.
While Mr. Wang continued to argue with Miss Chen over the door, Old man Zhang was suddenly at a loss staring at the constantly shaking closet in his room.
Why was the closet shaking?
Old man Zhang had long past the age of believing in ghost stories, but he could not figure out why the closet kept shaking for no reason, as if someone was kicking it from the inside, struggling.
“Fuck…” Confusion only lasted for a few seconds before Old man Zhang returned to the real world of logic.
“Hey, you from upstairs, what the hell are you doing in my closet?” Old man Zhang grabbed the baseball bat sitting in the corner of his room and raised it over his head, shouting his lungs out.
He probably meant Bo Yan as “the one from upstairs”.
“You already fucked me once yesterday; now get your ass out of my closet. Who are you trying to scare this time?” Despite the provocative words, Old man Zhang dared not to open the closet doors.
Old man Zhang did hide himself in Miss Chen’s closet before.
But facing a giant sealed box, before he could approach that confined space, he still needed a significant amount of courage he hadn’t managed to muster just yet.
Once again, I unconsciously began humming the tune of the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine while kicking the imaginary foot pedal of the bass drum, playing the non-existent guitar, swaying my body to and fro and letting my mind wander.
Bang!”
Underneath her purposely low worn hat, barely visible, the edges of her pink lips tilted slightly to one side.