As someone who was encountering a ghost for the very first time, I was naturally full of curiosity. For the moment, I couldn't even bother to change my trousers, so taking advantage of the time she was enjoying her snacks and tea, I pelted her with a barrage of questions.
First, there was the question of her species.
From a scientific perspective, a ghost is a form of energy, a trans-medium entity without any physical substance. I still vividly remembered the scene of her passing right through my bedroom door only to bounce back off it, which fit the theory of lacking physical form entirely.
Yet if she was this kind of medium, how did one explain the rainwater she brought in with her, the teacup she picked up, and the food she ate?
I threw the question at her. She sat there in a daze for quite a while before replying, "I don't know either. When I want to pass through a door, I can pass through it, and when I want to eat something, I can eat it."
At first hearing, this explanation sounded reasonable enough, but in reality, it failed to form a closed logical loop, because she neither explained, nor knew how to explain, why the rainwater managed to soak her.
Unreconciled, I asked again, "Then are you certain that you're dead?"
Without a word, she tucked her small hand into mine. In an instant, I felt an icy chill wind its way up from my hand.
Startled into a shudder, I quickly pulled my hand away, but here I noticed a detail.
Potato chips usually have seasoning powder on them. As long as you touch them, your hands will inevitably end up with some clinging to them, which can feel rather uncomfortable.
Yet her fingertips distinctly lacked this tactile sensation, and she hadn't wiped her hands anywhere despite eating for so long.
Unwilling to dwell on this issue, I moved on to ask about her background and what she had been doing during all this time as a ghost.
This time, perhaps because a single brief sentence wouldn't suffice, she started talking quite a bit.
As it turned out, she was born in Nanjing in the twelfth year of Chongzhen, though the exact day and hour were long forgotten.
Later on, the historical peasant uprising led by Li Zicheng broke out, followed by the Manchu army entering the Shanhai Pass. In an instant, the entire city of Nanjing was plunged into a precarious and turbulent state.
In 1645, after the Qing army entered the pass, the horrifying massacre known in history as the "Ten Days of Yangzhou" took place.
During this period, her family happened to move their entire household to Southern Zhili—commonly known as Yangzhou—where they ran right into the "Ten Days of Yangzhou" and met their disaster.
Out of the whole family, only she survived. Under the desperate, life-or-death protection of their maids and servants, she managed to escape the city of Yangzhou alone, drifting all the way to the vicinity of my hometown.
In that war-torn and chaotic era, for a fifteen or sixteen-year-old girl to be wandering alone, what ability did she have to support herself? She had nearly been trafficked back to Yangzhou to become a shouma.
Fortunately, her time had not yet come. Just as she was at her wits' end, she was taken in by a local family.
This family was a collateral branch of a well-known local clan. Although they weren't particularly wealthy, they managed to get by, and they had a son of about her age.
Having taken her in, this family pitied and cherished her dearly, treating her almost as if she were their own biological daughter.
As for her, under the intentional or unintentional matchmaking of those around her, she became betrothed to the family's son, with their wedding slated to take place shortly.
Had the story ended here, it could have been considered a happy ending, but precisely this story refused to end.
That winter, she and the family's son went out to procure New Year goods, and on the road, they ran into the eldest son of the primary branch.
Where had that eldest son ever laid eyes on such a delicate and charming maiden? His eyes bulged straight out of his head, and he drooled endlessly.
From then on, the trouble began.
Matchmakers coming to call, and members of the main family visiting to use both soft and hard tactics—they practically wore down the threshold, becoming utterly exasperated to deal with.
Although the head of this household was no hero among men, he understood the ways of the world well enough to know that the main family could not be offended. Thus, he continually fobbed them off with various excuses, managing to protect her for a time.
After a while, these people stopped coming to the door, and life returned to its former tranquility, as if they had all given up.
Alas, good times never last. Barely had the new year begun, with the Lantern Festival of the fifteenth day of the first lunar month fast approaching, when suddenly a small band of wandering soldiers drifted into the area.
Claiming to be troops of Prince Gui and raising the banner of overthrowing the Qing and restoring the Ming, they rushed into her home under the cover of night, burning, killing, looting, and smashing everything in sight. All six members of the household lost their lives, and she alone was captured.
Just as she was panic-stricken and at a loss, a figure suddenly stepped in from outside the doorway, smiling as they exchanged greetings one by one with those troops of Prince Gui. Those men then departed from the courtyard.
When she clearly saw the face of the newcomer, everything became clear to her in an instant.
It was the eldest son of the primary branch!
These so-called troops of Prince Gui were nothing more than a bunch of mountain bandits and outlaws who had been hired to put on a show.
And the purpose of this show was simply to get their hands on her.
At this thought, complete despair washed over her. Watching the eldest son walk closer and closer, she found a wellspring of courage from who knows where, rushed over to grab the arsenic in the corner of the wall, and swallowed it all in one breath.
At this point in the story, her voice stopped.
Thinking that I had stirred up bad memories for her, I was just about to offer some comfort when I saw her pointing at the pile of packaging bags on the table and staring right at me.
Good grief, she stopped telling the story just because the food was finished, is that it?
Back then, ordering food delivery wasn't trendy like it is now, so in the middle of the night, I genuinely had no way to find food for her.
I selectively pretended not to see and asked her, "How come you don't look very sad?"
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. What if she was deeply sad, and had simply held back her emotions to tell me the story for the sake of the snacks? Wasn't I just reopening someone's old wounds?
She didn't notice anything amiss with my emotions. She merely shook her head and said, "So much time has passed already that I can no longer remember that kind of grief. I can only remember that the event happened."
Seeing that she had no intention of continuing her tale, I was out of options and could only spread my hands and ask, "Would you like me to brew another cup of tea?"
She shook her head, stood up, and said, "I must be going."
With that, her entire figure drifted lightly toward the balcony, floating right out of it without the slightest obstruction.
I hurriedly chased after her and asked loudly, "When are you coming over next?"
"If the young master wishes to hear more stories, we may meet again at the hour of zi on every first and fifteenth day of the lunar month."
As she spoke, her figure gradually blurred, ultimately vanishing completely into thin air.
After she vanished, a slender thread of gold immediately sliced across the edge of the sky.
Only then did I realize that I had sat right here, chatting with her for an entire night.
My mind felt somewhat dazed, and I even doubted the reality of what I had experienced last night.
If not for the fact that my trousers were already dry, emitting a faint odor of urine, I would never have dared to believe that my very first encounter with a ghost had actually allowed me to converse with her through the entire night.