Ci’an and Kai Xin crouched side by side on the ground, looking at the sunflower seedlings.

Kai Xin said, “It doesn’t look like it’s grown any taller at all.”

Ci’an said, “It can only grow taller by absorbing sunlight and nutrients.”

Kai Xin looked up at the sky. “It’s a beautiful day today.”

“Yes.”

“What about the nutrients?”

“The nutrients are underground.”

“What’s underground?”

“Dirt, corpses, human bones.”

“It’s like a mirror. We’re on this side, and they’re on the other.”

“It isn’t a mirror.”

“I hope that when I die, I can be buried underground too. Do you think we’ll meet again then?”

“I don’t know.”

A shadow fell over them from above. Jiayan joined them with great interest.

“Who are they? New friends? Little Kai Xin, it hasn’t been that long since we last saw each other, and you’ve already abandoned the old for the new? I thought I was your best friend.”

Kai Xin opened her mouth, too stunned by the baseless accusation to speak. She looked at Ci’an, then at Jiayan. After a moment, she finally found her voice.

“What are you talking about?! Who said you’re my best friend? Don’t make things up! My best friend is obviously…”

Jiayan beat her to the punch.

“I know, Miss Ci’an. How could I not know? I was only joking, Little Kai Xin. Although I’m terribly hurt, being your second-best friend isn’t so bad. I suppose I’ll graciously accept.”

Kai Xin choked on her words, as if she had thrown a punch into cotton. Her fierce expression lost all its force, which amounted to a tacit acceptance of Jiayan’s claim.

“All right, can you tell me who’s buried underground?” Jiayan curled her knuckles and tapped the ground, as though knocking on a door. “Is it a bug, or maybe a worm?”

Reluctantly, Kai Xin answered, “Only dead people are buried underground.”

The tapping stopped abruptly. Jiayan’s knuckles hovered above the dirt. Without looking up, she asked naturally, “Are they under here, Little Kai Xin? You wouldn’t be holding a grudge and trying to scare me again, would you? Let me tell you, I’m actually a coward. Don’t frighten me.”

“Who’s frightening whom? Did I ever say there are dead people buried under here? I only said that I want to be buried underground after I die.”

“A ghost.”

“Haha, you caught me.” Jiayan didn’t even blush. “But the second part is true. I really am a coward.”

Kai Xin turned her chin away with a huff. “Well, I’m not a coward.”

“All right, all right, brave Miss Kai Xin,” Jiayan said. “Have I made you feel better now?”

She placed her palm flat against the ground, as though high-fiving a heart that had long since died. Her tone remained lazy and casual. Her lowered eyes revealed no color—perhaps the color of earth.

Was it soil-brown? Or ashen gray? Or perhaps a blur of blood and flesh?

While Ci’an pondered this, Jiayan continued.

“If we compare this earth to a mirror, we can never touch the other side… unless…”

“Unless what?” Ci’an asked.

“Unless there is no separation between yin and yang.”

She turned her head and grinned.

“Am I right, Little Kai Xin? Do you know any other idioms that can represent the boundary between life and death?”

Kai Xin instinctively tried to think of one, but failed. In her frustration, she suddenly realized that she was only a child. She could simply refuse to answer such a boring little question-and-answer game.

“Humans and ghosts walk different paths,” Ci’an answered.

“...!”

At lunch, Kai Xin ate three full bowls of rice. The maid tried to stop her, but failed.

The inevitable consequence was that Kai Xin’s stomach became round and painfully bloated. On the verge of tears, she found herself remembering how kind Aunt Yu had been.

Jiayan burst into unrestrained laughter.

“Oh, Little Kai Xin, Little Kai Xin, I really can't with you. Even after seeing that Miss Ci’an and I have gotten along better, you don’t have to be so happy that you eat three bowls of rice! I’m practically moved to tears.”

“That’s none of your business, coward!” Kai Xin’s face flushed with embarrassment and indignation.

“Poor Little Kai Xin. Aunt Yu isn’t here, so there’s really no one left to keep you under control.” Jiayan spoke leisurely. “I suppose you could even lie on the floor and throw a tantrum, and it wouldn’t matter. How wonderfully free. Children can do whatever they want. Even if they do something wrong, they don’t have to worry about anyone blaming them.”

What did she mean, children could do whatever they wanted? Did being a child mean you could simply do whatever you pleased?

Kai Xin protested, “I don’t plan on being a child forever. What’s so great about being a child? I want to grow up quickly and become an adult who doesn’t have to worry even when I do something wrong.”

“A very good dream.” Jiayan nodded in approval. “I support you.”

“I knew you didn’t approve. It’s fine, because I don’t care… Wh-what? What did you say?”

“I said I support you. Don’t think so badly of me, all right? I had no choice about becoming an adult, and you have no choice about being a child. But that doesn’t stop us from becoming friends, does it?”

Kai Xin froze. Somehow, a little warmth suddenly stirred in her heart.

Jiayan tilted her head.

“Besides, I’ve always felt that you’re the only one who can understand me, Little Kai Xin. After all, you’ve been kind, brave, adorable, compassionate, helpful, respectful toward your elders, caring toward children, protective of flowers and plants, and never one to bully the weak since you were little.”

The expression of emotion on Kai Xin’s face became rather complicated as she listened to the long string of compliments. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“The ‘weak’ you’re talking about—is that you, Jiayan?”

Jiayan maintained her smile.

The scent of sandalwood seeped through the tightly closed door, curling through the air in delicate strands and transforming the small Buddhist hall, built of white walls and gray bricks, into an otherworldly paradise.

“The elder is inside,” Jiayan said outside the Buddhist hall, unusually respectful. “The Old Madam has been meditating here for days, devoted to worshipping the Buddha. It certainly can’t hurt for the two young ladies to come and pay their respects occasionally.”

The expression on Jiayan’s face betrayed her. It was impossible to tell whether she was mocking the place or simply disgusted by it.

But only for an instant.

Then she became that carefree, shameless Jiayan again.

As though both versions were her.

As though neither one was.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of the wooden fish became clearer, mingling with the strange fragrance of sandalwood.

It was exactly the same as that lost night.

In Ci’an’s mind, everything formed a straight line—converging, overlapping.

That sinister, cackling laughter rang in her ears once more.

Ci’an looked up at the red door.

She saw human evil growing in a sea of blood: grotesque, twisted forms; babies covered in scales; green flies crowned with halos; insect eggs gleaming with grease; the stench of flesh and bone filling the air; black-haired arms emerging from the bellies of fish; fish exploding and dying as they swam.

This scene of earthly hell was like a resurrected evil spirit.

The Buddha spoke of salvation.

The Buddha hid behind the door.

Inside that pitch-black mouth, there was no tongue.

Knock. Knock. Knock.