The Mystery of the Inner Demon

Chapter 133 The Edge of Memory
"Every time we went out, my mother would prepare some glass marbles. When we arrived at Nanling, we would play marble-in-the-hole. Whenever I won, she would reward me with a marble. I still have those marbles; they are the most precious memory of my mother and me."

"You mean, this person knows your secret?" Zhong Kui leaned on the sofa, one hand supporting his temple, tapping the sandalwood armrest with his bluish-gray nails, listening to his story leisurely.

"No, the moment I saw this image, I felt my memory reorganize," Qi Fei said, his eyes blurry, his Adam's apple rolling up and down as he swallowed, as if he were back in his childhood. "The marbles turn, turning into the little holes," he recited the distant nursery rhyme. "I realized I might have forgotten a playmate. In Nanling, besides my mother and I, there was another child with us. Because my mother said to me, 'You have one too.' She said 'also.'"

Zhong Kui glanced at Qi Fei, her eyelashes casting fine shadows on her eyelids. Then she finally sat up straight from her reclining position. "Do you want to try what I did to Wu Chun?"

"Hypnosis?"

"Well, let me guide you into your deeper consciousness and see what those missing details are. Of course, since this is a memory from your very childhood, it will be more difficult and may also have a negative impact on your current mental state. Even so, are you willing?"

Qi Fei nodded without hesitation, sweat oozing from the back of his neck, gleaming faintly under the chandelier.

Beads of sweat the size of beans fell from Qi Fei's forehead, soaking his collar along his jawline. His whole body was still shaking uncontrollably, mixed with the sound of his teeth chattering.

Qi Fei's breathing gradually grew longer, and in a trance, he could smell the scent of quilts drying on the balcony of the old house. The sunlight from when he was three suddenly pierced through the years and shone on his eyelids. He saw his mother squatting on the terrazzo floor, amber marbles rolling out of the pocket of her frayed floral apron. The hand that was always stained with flour was now carefully opening his small fist. "Baby, look," the warm palm supported his clumsy fingers, and the glass beads collided with a clear sound. The chirping of cicadas came from the top of the distant sycamore tree. His mother's hair, coated in golden brown, brushed against his burning ears as she taught him the swing of the marbles.

Suddenly, a cool glass bead touched his knuckles, and Qi Fei realized that a boy of his own age had appeared beside him. Two chubby hands moved back and forth in the spotlight. The child, with grass juice still stained between his fingernails, could flick the crimson marble with his thumb steadily and accurately. They giggled alternately, and when their elbows touched, they could feel the fine beads of sweat on each other's skin. Qi Fei tried hard to look up and see the face clearly, but in the backlight, only the fuzz on the back of the child's neck shone, like the last complete outline of a dandelion before it was blown away by the wind.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of shattering glass pierced Qi Fei's dream. Qi Fei's entire body convulsed violently in the recliner, feeling as if invisible hands were gripping the inside of his skull. Tiny purple spots of light exploded across his retina, and the boy's blurred face twisted into a vortex in the bright light. Beads of sweat rolled down his spasming back into the cracks in the sofa, and a cub-like whimper escaped his throat—his real body was using pain to resist the emergence of memories. The last thing that flashed through his blurred vision was the boy's wrist, his sleeves rolled up, a dark red birthmark blossoming like a petal. This image, like a scab, cut through the dust, causing him, still in hypnosis, to instinctively curl up into the womb.

"We'll come back slowly." Zhong Kui's voice echoed from a reality as distant as the deep ocean. Someone placed a warm towel on his sweat-soaked forehead. The chirping of cicadas and the clatter of marbles rapidly receded, leaving only the palm of his left hand, like the warmth of a melting orange candy, the touch of a child's skin.

Zhong Kui abruptly retracted the silver pendant in her hand. "I'll count to three, two, one, so you can wake up." Her final words held a strange tremor, like the lingering sound of a guqin's final string. With a snap of his fingers, Qi Fei saw a blinding light at the end of the endless, dark passage. He instinctively shielded himself with his hand, salty tears seeping through his fingers. He felt like he was falling off a cliff, his lower back slamming against the back of the sofa, and he opened his eyes in horror.

In front of him, Zhong Kui's face, which was so white that it was almost transparent, gradually became clear, and the tip of his nose was lingering with the faint smell of sandalwood and blood.

Qi Fei was in tears, his fingers digging deeply into the leather of the sofa. He was lost and didn't know where to go. He went forward and hugged Zhong Kui: "Don't leave me, please, don't leave me." He pressed his hot forehead against her cold collarbone.

Zhong Kui was not moved by this and let him hold her. Her right hand, hanging by her side, was still clutching the hypnotic pendant. She said coldly, "I'm not your mother, Qi Fei. You have to wake up completely from your memory."

Qi Fei suddenly let go, as if burned by these words. As he retreated, he knocked over the bone china cup on the coffee table, leaving a dark stain on the carpet. His Adam's apple slid twice with difficulty, and his right hand instinctively reached for his sidearm—a defensive action for the detective in his emotional turmoil. Realizing he was tensing his shoulder blades like an interrogator, he pressed his index finger hard between his eyebrows.

"Okay, now you can tell me, did you see it?" Zhong Kui looked at him, his eyes like a Rakshasa with primitive insight.

Qi Fei took a deep breath, his fingertips unconsciously stroking his trouser legs: "I can confirm that I have a playmate, a little boy, the same age as me." He spread out his palms and clenched them, as if he could still touch the round curve of the marble, "When the marble goes into the hole, his knees will turn red from kneeling, and there is a dark red birthmark on his wrist..." His thumb pressed hard on the protrusion of his wrist bone, and his fingernail turned white from being pressed.

The halo of light from the floor lamp cut a line between light and dark on his face, and his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his back. This man, usually rock-steady with his gun, now nervously tapped his index finger on the leather of the sofa. "A three-year-old wouldn't bother covering his cuffs." His voice suddenly hitched at a sharp turn, his Adam's apple rolling twice before continuing. "But I got full marks in criminal portraiture, and yet I can't figure out the direction of his features."

"I think the answer you want isn't with me. You know who you should look for." Zhong Kui looked at him and said, her eyelashes casting spider-web-like shadows under her eyes. The silver pendant on her wrist trembled slightly with her cough, as if pulled by an invisible thread. "You have to face this matter alone. I can't help you."

"Master, you are tired. Go to bed quickly." Grandma Meng's voice, which was always cold, was tender only when it was directed at Zhong Kui.

(End of this chapter)