This bout of staying up late took a far heavier toll than I had imagined. My under-eye bags were as dark as a panda’s, and my face was entirely devoid of color, as if I were a man on the brink of death. It took me two full days of sleep to finally recover my senses.
Once I had regained my composure, the first thing I did was Baidu the meaning of "Shuowang."
"Shuowang" refers to the new moon and the full moon, occurring on the first and fifteenth days of every month in the lunar calendar.
I must interject a small doubt here: as far back as I can remember, the Qingming Festival was always calculated as the fifth day of the fourth lunar month. That was why my first meeting with her happened to fall on the fifteenth. But later on, without me even noticing, it seemed everyone began to tacitly accept that the fifth of April on the solar calendar was the true date for Qingming. This left me feeling somewhat bewildered. Was I really the only one who had remembered it wrong?
But that was not important.
After that weekend, I had no heart for studying. My head was completely filled with wonder over what kind of stories she might tell next time to satisfy my curiosity. I had even gone so far as to prepare a whole stash of snacks in anticipation. Back then, I was still quite innocent; the thought of anything romantic between us had never crossed my mind.
Studying makes time fly, and soon enough, it was the end of the lunar month—the date I had agreed upon with her.
Many people have a misconception about how the ancient Chinese divided the day, mistakenly thinking that "Zishi," the hour when yin energy is strongest, corresponds to the modern midnight hours of 12:00 to 2:00 AM. This is incorrect. Zishi actually corresponds to the time between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM.
Sure enough, no more than two minutes past eleven, I saw a blurred figure drifting outside my window, gently tapping on the glass.
I walked over, opened the window, and whispered, "You can just walk straight in, can't you? Why the need to knock?"
She brushed the long hair from her forehead, revealing a face even colder and more chilling than the moonlight. "I just felt that it would be impolite not to greet you."
I thought to myself, *Did you think you were being polite when you came last time? Why so subtle tonight?*
I only let the thought turn over in my mind, then stepped aside to let her in, cautioning, "My parents are home, so please try to keep it down."
I don't know if she heard me; all I saw was her glide over to the chair and reach for the White Rabbit cream candies.
I closed the window and returned to the room, adjusting the lamp to a warmer glow so that her face might appear softer, less ghastly. Once that was done, I sat on the edge of the bed, not in a rush to speak, waiting for her to eat her fill.
After a full half hour, she finally set down the spicy gluten strips she had been snacking on. Between gasps for air, she asked, "By the way, may I ask for the young master's name?"
To be honest, I wasn't quite used to her tone of speech. On one hand, the dialect she used, while intelligible, was distinct from our local one. On the other hand, at times she sounded just like a modern person, while at others she turned formal and archaic, tossing in terms from the past like "Shuowang" from our last parting.
Hearing her turn formal again, I immediately cupped my hands in a salute. "My surname is Jiang, given name Honggui. 'Jiang' as in the grass-radical character, 'Hong' for 'to promote,' and 'Gui' for the horse and ghost characters. May I ask for the young lady's name?"
"Oh, 'may I ask for the young lady's name'? One does not ask for a lady's surname when inquiring after her name; one asks for her 'fair name.'"
Perhaps it was the heat of the spicy strips, or perhaps because it was our second meeting and she was less guarded, but her tone lacked the chilling edge of our first encounter, and her way of speaking had shifted slightly. If I had asked that way last time, she surely would have replied with zero emotional fluctuation, "It should be to inquire after one's fair name," or she would have simply stated it outright.
I scratched my head and chuckled. "It’s just that you suddenly started using such archaic language, and I couldn't quite keep up."
"Yes, yes, the young master is right."
As she spoke, she stood up and performed a refined bow. "This young woman is Shen Xuanrou. I offer my greetings."
Just then, my bedroom door suddenly swung open. It scared the life out of me.
My old man stood in the doorway, peering inside with a puzzled expression. "That’s strange. I clearly heard a girl's voice just now. Where is she?"
I was still wondering how to explain it to him when I heard him say that. I quickly scanned the room, pretending to be confused. "What are you talking about? It's the middle of the night, and you're all home. How could I possibly bring a girl home?"
"Do you really think I'm that bold, Dad?"
My father clearly wasn't convinced. Certain he hadn't misheard, he walked in and checked the balcony, under the bed, behind the curtains, and inside the cabinets. Finding no evidence, he finally pointed at my desk and scolded, "You're a young man, eat fewer snacks. It’s bad for your health."
"And stop staying up so late. Look at those heavy bags under your eyes."
With that, he shut the door without waiting for a reply.
"Hey, Shen Xuanrou, you can come out now. My dad’s gone."
I called out softly, but found no trace of her anywhere. What was going on?
Just as I was thoroughly baffled, a figure suddenly emerged from the top of the bed—it was Shen Xuanrou.
I asked her why she had gone up there, and why she couldn't just appear or disappear as she pleased. Shen Xuanrou floated down and sat on the edge of the bed, her face dark with frustration as she asked, "Is your family a lineage of Taoist priests?"
"The moment your father opened the door, I felt as if I’d been repelled by a massive force."
I thought for a moment and replied, "My grandfather seemed to have some connections with these sorts of things. I’m not sure about my father, but perhaps my grandfather left him something to wear for protection. As for me, it's just a hobby."
At that, I suddenly remembered something and asked, "You said last time that you were born in the second year of Chongzhen. That means you’ve been a ghost for over three hundred years, nearly four hundred."
I reached under the bed and pulled out the Bagua Mirror that usually hung on my door, face-down. "With nearly four hundred years of cultivation, you’re afraid of this thing?"
Shen Xuanrou sighed, then suddenly revealed a trace of a smile. "Young master, you say that—yet when you first saw me, you were so frightened you wet your pants. If it were an ordinary person, wouldn't they have been scared to death?"
I didn't quite catch her meaning, but I understood perfectly well that she was teasing me about the incident from our first meeting.
I defended myself, "Well, nature calls, doesn't it? Who told you to just walk in and stand there facing the wall without saying a word?"
Seeing that I still hadn't grasped her point, she countered, "Young master, tell me: between a ghost whose weaknesses you think you know, and a ghost who fears absolutely nothing at all, which one would you rather be around?"