Chapter 2: "Don't Give It Eyes"
The doll maker had spent over three months making it, and only a few days ago did it finally arrive in my hands.
This kind of thing was best not to appear in broad daylight, so the thoughtful doll maker didn't even notify me beforehand. Instead, he sent it to a trash dump five kilometers away and arranged for an old scrap collector there to deliver it to me at 2 a.m. The whole thing felt secretive, like a special agent rendezvous.
It came in the middle of the night. There were no streetlights under my apartment building, pitch black, so dark I couldn't see my hand. The old man was riding a busted old tricycle that seemed about to fall apart. Its wheels made a creepy noise like a strangled ghost screaming, echoing through the whole neighborhood—truly chilling.
That old man was no special agent. What kind of agent rides a vehicle that sounds like a siren? He was a spy.
The spy charged me two hundred as a "delivery fee" before handing over the cardboard box containing the doll, then disappeared into the night with that eerie noise trailing behind him.
I took twenty minutes dragging that box—about fifty kilos and no handles—up six flights of stairs, stopping to rest along the way. When I finally set it down on the landing, my usually untrained body started shaking uncontrollably. I honestly thought I might die right at my doorstep.
I’d thought I was careful enough going out that night, but apparently, someone in the building heard what was going on.
That old man’s clunky tricycle probably played 99% of that role.
Inside the box was a large green suitcase.
The doll maker only gave me the code for the suitcase lock. When I opened it, the doll lay curled up inside a vacuum-sealed plastic bag, naked, completely exposed.
The moment I saw it, I felt sorry for that doll maker.
With such masterful skill, he was wasting his talent hiding away in a tiny remote mountain village.
When I pulled it out, I touched its skin. It wasn't the soft silicone I expected—it was a bit harder, more like slightly unfired clay, moderately firm yet slightly yielding under pressure, bouncing back quickly without leaving marks.
Because the material was different, the touch was noticeably unlike real human skin. It was lighter in weight than an actual person too.
I laid it out fully on my bed, openly scrutinizing every inch from head to toe.
The doll maker was paid to do his job well—every detail was meticulously crafted.
It looked nearly identical to Liang Zhiting.
Its height, body shape, all matched the data I provided exactly. The smooth lines of shoulders, neck, waist, and abdominal muscles were all beautifully rendered. There was the biceps, chest muscles, abs, the "mermaid line"—everything. Even the male parts were crafted with an impressive size, but soft and useless, only good for looks.
There were visible seams at the joints and torso, but those were minor blemishes easily hidden by clothes.
Overall, I was very satisfied, except for one thing—the doll’s eyes were covered by a layer of black silk, its eye sockets slightly sunken. It had no eyes.
The doll maker refused to make eyes for me, no matter what I said.
This was a far more serious flaw than the seam marks.
There was a circular switch behind the doll’s ear. Press it, and it could move freely—walk, jump.
But when it actually moved, it was not as I’d expected.
Without eyes, it couldn’t see. The other facial features were purely decorative. Its nose couldn’t smell, ears couldn’t hear, and its mouth, it couldn’t speak.
I pried its mouth open; the tongue was modeled, and when I poked inside, it felt oddly hard but realistic enough. Yet no matter how convincing, there was no use; my finger could easily reach the bottom of the mouth in one go.
It had no vocal cords.
No saliva, no heartbeat, no blood, no warmth.
All these absences reminded me sharply: It was merely a "thing" with Liang Zhiting’s appearance.
An object that would never respond to me.
My greed knew no bounds; I never knew when to give up.
Unable to have Liang Zhiting himself, I wanted a doll that looked just like him. But after getting the doll, I couldn’t stand how lifeless and soulless it looked.
Liang Zhiting was lively and warm. This thing wouldn’t even smile at me.
The initial novelty wore off, and now playing with it felt like an empty game, utterly unsatisfying.
Not to mention that black silk covering its face—I could only see Liang Zhiting’s nose and mouth.
His eyes were the most beautiful part of him.
I sat down in my swivel chair, tilting my head to gaze at the photos on the wall.
The doll climbed out of my wardrobe, its feet touching the floor. It walked slowly in my direction—too slowly.
I grabbed a book from the desk and tossed it at its feet. Naturally, it tripped, the large figure crashing down, making quite a noise.
I watched coldly without moving.
I wasn’t afraid it would break.
It couldn’t break.
After falling, it didn’t get up but knelt facedown on the floor, raising its covered face as if trying to look my way. But without eyes, its face turned slightly askew, facing my bed.
Though it was an unfeeling object, I caught a faintly pathetic expression during this moment.
Fine.
I lifted my leg and extended it—my toe just reached its chin. Following my lead, its five seamed fingers climbed my leg and slowly tightened their grip.
I knew it couldn’t hear, yet I surprisingly felt like coaxing my toy dog with some words: "Come here."
After patiently waiting a long while, it just blankly held my leg, no movement.
No interesting response—I was bored stiff.
Just as I was about to give it a firm kick away, it moved.
Still kneeling, it bent forward, using hands and feet to crawl slowly toward me. This blind-eyed snake climbed onto my generous outstretched leg, obediently resting its head on my thigh.
My interest was piqued again.
Such a fine thing shouldn’t get tiresome this fast.
I reached around its head, untied the loosely tied knot. The black silk covering its face slipped off, revealing two empty black holes where its eyes should be.
Like a monster from a surreal nightmare.
It looked so much like Liang Zhiting, yet this was Liang Zhiting without eyes.
No eyes—heartbreaking.
I touched its lower eyelid, gently probing the eye sockets, finding some slight elasticity.
If there was elasticity, maybe I could fit something here.
Like what it lacked most—eyeballs.
Three months ago, our company’s middle-aged, balding boss—who fancied himself quite the intellectual—suddenly decided to organize a team trip, taking us all to a small village called "Chanxi."
Although I’m usually an outcast nobody likes, I had no right to embarrass the boss, so I went along.
To boost his image, the boss made us take a five-hour flight, then a two-hour bus ride, finally arriving at the destination, battered and weary.
Chanxi was a small mountain village rich with local ethnic character. Surrounded by mountains, remote and with little tourism, our group was the only outsiders then.
Everyone split into small groups; I ended up alone.
Since I was here, I didn’t want the long trip to be for nothing, so I went wandering by myself.
The village was small and offered little beyond local buildings. Exhausted and hungry, I grabbed a simple meal at a roadside tea stall.
The place was shabby but the food was decent.
Few customers were inside when a little black mutt dashed right to my feet: two bright black beans of eyes staring at me, tail wagging like crazy.
Likely someone’s free-roaming dog looking for food.
I tossed it a rib bone; it grabbed it and ran off.
After I finished eating and stepped outside, I soon spotted that same dog in a roadside ditch, still clutching my rib in its mouth. Its fur was wet and stringy, paws flailing against the water, trying to climb out but failing due to the ditch’s edge.
I went over and lifted it out.
Once on the ground, it shook water wildly, splattering me. I snatched the rib bone from its mouth; it didn’t even guard it, wagging its tail at me as if grateful.
I threw the rib back and called it a "dumb dog."
The little mutt took slow steps, leaving paw prints, then glanced back at me as if checking I was following. I obliged and followed it down village paths, drifting farther off.
Soon the gravel road disappeared, replaced by a narrow winding dirt path. At the dirt road’s end was a deep sea of bamboo, leaves rustling in the breeze. Peering through the foliage, I was amazed to see a hidden shop nestled there.
Who’d open a business in such a remote spot? What could this shop possibly sell?
The black dog dashed through the bamboo and jumped inside the shop. Moments later, it popped its head out, barking at me.
I could only follow inside.
Though daytime, the interior was dim. The first thing I saw was a huge redwood counter topped with a kerosene lamp. A man sat behind it, glancing up at my footsteps.
He looked about forty but with graying hair. His eyes were dull and lifeless.
His voice was faint: "Welcome."
He must be the owner.
The man stood, and only then did I notice his left leg was a prosthetic.
He pushed open a side door, inviting me further inside. That’s when I realized what they sold.
Glass cabinets filled the room, displaying countless exquisitely posed, lifelike dolls.
Big and small, each looking vividly alive.
This was a doll shop.
The black dog followed inside, wagging at my feet, jumping up on my calf.
The man said, "It likes you." Its paws soaked my pant legs, and before I could complain, the man scolded the dog, "Where have you been getting all wet? You’re filthy."
The dog yelped and lowered its ears, sulking.
I explained, "It fell in the ditch."
"The ditches here are really deep. Its legs are so short, it couldn’t climb out. You rescued it?"
"I was just passing by."
The man smiled, "Since you saved my precious dog, I can’t let you leave empty-handed."
"Is there a doll you like? You can pick one for free." He tapped a glass case, inviting me to choose.
Businesses don’t usually give things away for free. Were they not afraid of losing money?
The man seemed to notice my suspicion and said, "I make these just for fun. Pick any you like."
That I hadn’t expected—the man was a doll maker.
Making these so effortlessly yet so exquisite was humble.
"Very good craftsmanship," I complimented.
"Of course," he said calmly.
The man was unsteady on his feet. After talking a bit, he looked like he might collapse. Just then, someone else came out of the back room—not a person.
I saw very obvious seams on the limbs as it moved. Its movements were slow and odd, and it wore an eyeshade. Though blindfolded, it skillfully avoided obstacles as it walked.
No living person moves like that.
It served two cups of tea—one to the man and one to me. Then it knelt on all fours. The man sat on its back as if it were a chair.
One knelt, one sat; so natural, as if they’d done this countless times before.
If he had been sitting on a real person, this would be deliberate humiliation.
Though absurd, something deep inside me stirred as I stared at the doll used as a chair. The man caught my gaze and asked, "Interested in this kind of thing?"
Suppressing the raw excitement in me, I asked, "Is this a doll too? How does it move?"
Patting its head confidently, the man said, "My exclusive craftsmanship."
Maybe my eager expression was too obvious. He glanced at me sideways, asking, "Want one?"
I nodded without hesitation. "Can you make one like this for me?"
"...I usually don’t make dolls for people, but," he hesitated, looking at the black dog, "seeing as you saved my puppy, okay, I will."
"I can create exactly what you want."
Before I could celebrate, he added, "But it’s expensive. I won’t give it to you for free."
My heart pounded and voice shook: "Whatever it costs, make one for me!"
He held up five fingers indicating the price.
It wasn’t cheap, and most normal people would hesitate, but I quickly sent the payment, afraid he might change his mind. I knew I didn’t look wealthy, but I’d saved a lot over the years; the price was steep but manageable.
And I was happy to pay for what I wanted.
The man probably thought I was crazy. His cloudy gray eyes rested slowly on me. After a pause, he asked, "Any specifics?"
I pulled out my phone, showing him secret photos of Liang Zhiting. "Make a face like this!"
After arranging everything, as I left, the man shouted from behind the redwood counter: "Oh, one thing—I must warn you."
"What?"
"Don’t give it eyes," he said, rubbing his chin, in a spooky tone. "If you give it eyes, it will come alive."
I casually brushed it off at the time, not taking it seriously.
What nonsense. Getting eyes and it comes alive? Have I gone crazy from staying too long in that village? I’m not a child; I won’t be taken in by such childish, fairy-tale nonsense.
"He refuses to do it—someone else will."
I murmured as I lifted the doll’s chin, raising its face from my lap.
It accepted everything I gave it smoothly. The more water I poured in, the more this sponge absorbed.
Good, so good.
Such a well-behaved dog.
I kissed its nose, saying, "Don’t worry, I’ll give you perfect eyes."
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