Chapter 19: You Need a New Punishment
The search engine showed the question I’d just typed in—“Can dolls come to life?”
Probably because my question was so broad and bizarre, all I found were irrelevant news articles and horror movie info, nothing of real help.
Below my query, several related search suggestions popped up: “Do dolls gain souls after being kept long?” “Do dolls attract ghosts?” “Taboos about keeping doll figures.” Each one more chilling than the last.
Of course, asking such an unscientific, supernatural question would only get you branded a lunatic.
I wanted to be an atheist—actually, until that morning, I was one. But how could science explain what I had seen with my own eyes?
When, early this morning, I saw those artificial eyeballs fused to the flesh in the eye sockets of the doll I’d kept nearly two months, I thought either I was dreaming or losing my mind.
I stood in front of the wardrobe for about twenty minutes, psyching myself up. I summoned the courage to try forcibly pulling out its eyeballs. But when I peeled back the eyelid and touched the smooth, slippery surface of its eye, I nearly recoiled as if handling a raw fish’s innards.
Trembling, suppressing my fear, I dug in with effort—until a faint ‘ptht’ sound, like something popped, and my fingertip grew wet. Pulling my hand away, I saw my fingertip wrapped in a translucent, reddish-and-white thin membrane.
I gasped low and stumbled backward, falling awkwardly to the floor.
The silent doll lay quietly inside the wardrobe, eyes fixed on me sitting on the floor. After a moment, a line of winding blood trickled down from its eye corner, streaking across most of its cheek.
It shouldn’t have blood.
That sight drained what little courage I had left. I dashed to the bathroom and collapsed beside the toilet, vomiting violently until I felt my insides were turning inside out. I hadn’t eaten anything, so what came up was just bitter stomach acid. After that was gone, the nausea still wouldn’t stop, and a gush of yellow-green bile followed. At that moment, I thought I was going to die from vomiting right there.
Only dry heaves remained at the end. I collapsed weakly on the floor, my face soaked with tears and snot, too tired to even move a finger.
After a long while on the floor, I propped myself up on my knees and staggered to rinse my mouth and wash my face. The water flowing from the faucet carried away that reddish membrane stuck to my finger and slowly slid down the drain.
Looking up, the face in the mirror was pale and sallow, the eyes stained with tragic red, like a dried-up corpse drained of all vitality.
I returned to my bedroom and took a long time to process it, finally forced to admit that its eyeballs really had fused with it—I couldn’t rip them out. I couldn’t imagine prying two bloody chunks of tissue out with my own fingers. I knew it wasn’t human, but it bled. That gave me the awful illusion I was gouging a living person’s eyes, a feeling I couldn’t bear—I’d go insane.
…
It’s okay. I found out early—thankfully, I found out early.
As long as I don’t turn on its switch, it won’t wake up. Then nothing will happen. Yeah, it’s fine. Surely nothing else will.
Just to be safe, before leaving, I tied its hands and feet tightly with rope, added two new locks to the wardrobe, locked the room door, securing everything firmly. Foolproof.
Even after all these precautions, after work, when the office was empty, I still sat at my desk, not moving.
I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I didn’t want to go home.
I was afraid to go back.
I was scared I’d see it standing by the entrance when I returned, or that maybe it had broken free and gone out into the world, doing whatever it wanted. Maybe there was chaos outside already, only the flames hadn’t reached my place yet.
I knew the chance was slim, but I couldn’t help worrying and fearing.
The rope in my hand was slowly fraying. Whatever was tied at the other end was nearly escaping my control. I’d done everything I could—I was powerless now, just like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, naively thinking that would avoid reality.
After sitting frozen for more than two hours, it was already past eight.
I hadn’t eaten all day; my stomach was loudly protesting. With spasms, too hungry to ignore, I went downstairs to grab dinner somewhere nearby and decided to spend the night at the office.
Unexpectedly, just as I stepped out of the elevator onto the first floor, I bumped into Liang Zhiting coming in.
“Nan Li?” he paused as he saw me and glanced at his watch. “Still working late at this hour? Overtime again?”
I ought to have been happy to see him. But what had happened today sapped all my energy. I just nodded faintly and said, “Mm.”
“Have you eaten?”
My throat was dry as I replied, “I’m going right now.”
Liang Zhiting: “…” He reached out to touch my forehead, then touched his own, checked his temperature, and said, “No fever. Are you feeling unwell? You don’t look well.”
I lied, “It’s nothing… just work stuff.”
“Has it been sorted out?”
I had no words.
“Sigh, stop overthinking. If you’re feeling down, just go out and have fun. Work’s not as important as feeling happy. Tomorrow’s problems can wait. Come on, I’ll take you out.”
Without asking, he hooked his arm around my shoulder and pulled me toward the exit.
I staggered along behind him and asked, “Where to?”
He winked and smiled, showing his little tiger tooth mischievously: “A good place.”
“A good place” turned out to be a recently opened bar downtown.
For the past two decades, I’d been living alone, dull and mundane. Aside from spying on Liang Zhiting, I had no interests or hobbies. Work-home-sleep, work-home-sleep, like a programmed robot. On days off, I preferred to stay home—hated noisy, crowded places. I rarely went to malls, and bars? I always gave those a wide berth, detouring hundreds of meters around.
This was my first time stepping inside one.
The deafening music made my heart jump up and down with every beat. The sound waves battered me, almost distorting my shape.
Exactly as noisy as I’d imagined.
I sat in a booth, with Liang Zhiting on my left and several unfamiliar men on my right; a few others faced us. Around seven or eight people, all Liang’s friends—I didn’t know a single one.
In the dance floor, men and women twisted and moved, wearing revealing clothes, all with toned bodies. I stared boredly at a sexy guy in a crop top. He hugged one man twisting his waist, then pressed his back against another and kissed passionately. Damn, I closed my eyes.
Felt like I’d get an eye infection.
The music was so loud that Liang Zhiting suddenly leaned toward my ear and asked, “Do you want a drink?”
His soft lips brushed my earlobe, making me shiver. I touched my burning ear. He smiled at me from beside, and I realized I hadn’t answered. Seeing this, he shook his head and kindly handed me a drink.
“Liang, who’s this?” a blond guy across asked, pointing at me.
Liang Zhiting said, “This is my friend, Nan Li. He’s a bit shy, so don’t scare him.”
Everyone burst out laughing, praising Liang Zhiting’s thoughtfulness.
The blond said, “Scared? Liang Zhiting’s friends are our friends. After a few games, you’ll be fine.” He raised his glass. “I’m Xiaohe.”
I nodded, forcing myself to greet, “Hi.”
They clearly had known each other a long time and were close. I was just the odd one out—besides Liang Zhiting, I didn’t know a single person. Luckily, Liang Zhiting didn’t leave the booth, or I wouldn’t have known how to sit through it.
After half an hour of drinking, most were already drunk. Liang Zhiting had quite a bit, but I hadn’t touched a drop, nursing a glass of orange juice the whole time.
Some played cards and dice games; I sank into the sofa watching. It was dull. I’d been here almost an hour, ears about to burst from the music—only annoyance left.
Why didn’t I leave? First, Liang Zhiting invited me. Leaving early would be rude to him and his friends. Second, I really had nowhere else to go.
Home? I was too scared to go back.
Might as well stay. At least I could see Liang Zhiting here.
Xiaohe finished a round and came to rest. His face was flushed red from drink. Seeing me out of place, he sat beside me and said, “Nan Li, come play.”
The smell of liquor hit me. Calmly, I turned my face slightly and said, “I don’t know how.”
“You don’t know how to play?”
“Mm.”
He laughed, “Who doesn’t know how to play cards nowadays? How old are you?”
I didn’t answer.
Xiaohe was a young guy, not very tall. Despite trying to act mature, his behavior was still childish—probably not even nineteen and hadn’t finished growing.
I said, “Older than you.”
I glanced down at his waist and below. Yup. I was bigger in every way.
My look was blunt; Xiaohe understood and blushed red and blue, clearly annoyed.
“Don’t know cards? Then play something else—big or small dice? Guess big or small, loser drinks. Deal?”
I was about to decline when Liang Zhiting overheard, turned to ask, “You wanna play with Xiaohe?”
He seemed interested, so I forced myself to agree.
It was a game of luck—and my luck was terrible.
Say big—small comes up. Say small—big rolls instead.
The dice seemed to mock me.
After several rounds, I lost every time. Each loss meant Xiaohe poured me a drink. The cocktails tasted fine at first, but the aftereffects hit fast and left me reeling.
After a few drinks, I was nearly dizzy. When I lost again, I frantically shook my hands and pursed my lips to refuse the cup pressed to them.
Xiaohe disregarded me and tried to pry open my mouth, spilling drink all over me.
“Okay, okay, stop forcing him,” Liang Zhiting’s voice cut in, seeming to rescue me.
The cup was finally taken back.
“Let’s change punishment. Something simpler—truth or dare?” I was drunk and dizzy. Xiaohe squeezed my cheeks, shaking me. “Nan Li, pick one. If you bet, you gotta pay up.”
My head felt like it was spinning. Irritated, I pushed his hands away.
I leaned back against something soft, not the sofa. Liang Zhiting’s voice came from above: “Just pick one. After that, it’s over.”
I opened my eyes to see Liang Zhiting’s face.
I was leaning in his arms. He didn’t pull away. One hand rested on my waist like he was steadying me.
I hesitated, then mumbled, “Truth…”
“Well then,” Xiaohe asked with a teasing tone, “Do you have someone you like?”
I lowered my head, silent for a long moment, then nodded.
“Who?”
I kept my mouth shut.
Xiaohe yelled, “Drink your punishment then!”
“Fine.”
Just as I reached for the drink, someone stopped me.
Liang Zhiting blocked the cup and said, “I’ll drink for him.” Then he downed it in one gulp.
Xiaohe grinned, “Okay, that round doesn’t count. New punishment—a dare.”
What the hell was this? Isn’t one punishment enough? I’d told the truth. Why punish me again? Damn that Xiaohe, was he deliberately picking on me?
Everyone wrote punishments on slips of paper and put them inside empty cups for me to draw.
I was too tired to do it, so Xiaohe drew one for me. He opened it and showed everyone. Laughter erupted from the crowd.
Xiaohe unfolded the slip and read: “Swap clothes with the youngest person here.”
The youngest? That’d be Xiaohe.
He wore a normal-looking baseball jacket. I didn’t understand what was so funny.
The next moment, Xiaohe laughed and unzipped his jacket. I stared at him, eyes blacking out.
I completely understood.
Underneath the baseball jacket, Xiaohe wore a white halter crop top with a crossed neckline, sleeveless and backless, held on by two thin strings tied at the waist—no better than Sun Daying’s barely-there coy halter.
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Translation notes:
"Sun Daying’s barely-there coy halter" refers to this:
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