36: How to See a Ghost

Yesterday, Qin Yan came home very late. After taking a shower, he lay in bed tossing and turning, replaying the moment when that bowl of wontons had fallen to the floor—over and over in his head.

He couldn’t sleep at all. Some inexplicable feeling stirred in his chest. He got up and lit an incense stick for Zhou Shurong, then used the twisting pattern of the smoke to judge that Zhou Shurong wasn’t at home.

His mind shifted focus. He started thinking about where Zhou Shurong might have gone.

What was he doing? Was he in danger?

Nervously, he paced back and forth like a restless fish, unable to sit still for even a second. In his mind, he’d already imagined several disastrous scenarios.

He knew it was pointless to worry like this, but his overactive brain didn’t listen to reason.

Eventually, fatigue set in.

Driven by instinct, he opened the bedroom wardrobe, pulled out Zhou Shurong’s clothes, piled them on the bed, and fell asleep atop them. The last thought he had before dozing off was a sad realization—Zhou Shurong’s scent was no longer on them.

His sleep was light. In a half-dream, he sensed a familiar presence, and his body instinctively relaxed. He drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber.

When Qin Yan woke up, the curtains were tightly drawn, leaving the room dim.

He glanced at his phone. It was 9 a.m. He lay in bed, not wanting to move, staring at the ceiling in a daze. Then suddenly, a thought struck him. He leapt out of bed and padded barefoot into the living room.

Zhou Shurong was lying on the couch with his eyes closed, resting.

He didn’t need sleep. But during the long, empty nights, he hadn’t known what to do, and so had developed a habit of pretending to rest. That habit would have to change—he had things to do now.

Hearing footsteps, he opened one eye. From his side-lying position, the first thing he saw was a pair of bare feet—fair skin, soft pink toenails with pale crescent moons. His other eye opened, and he let his legs float down from the sofa, sitting up.

Well—not quite sitting, not quite lying. More like hovering gently.

He looked at Qin Yan, whose expression was full of anxious urgency.

Qin Yan glanced sideways. He noticed the incense burner was still sitting on the coffee table, forgotten. Sunlight had already crept to the base of the sofa.

He went to the window first, drew the curtains shut, and muttered quietly, “From now on, make sure the curtains are always closed. Day or night—no sunlight allowed in!”

Zhou Shurong chuckled and nodded politely. “Thank you, Mr. Qin, for your sincere care.”

Qin Yan paused. His eyes swept over Zhou Shurong on the couch, then scanned the room as if he’d heard something. Zhou Shurong remained still, but one finger on his knee twitched slightly.

Qin Yan quickly looked away, his brows slightly furrowed.

He opened the TV cabinet and took out some incense and candles.

Zhou Shurong glanced at the incense burner on the table and started to understand.

Incense could be used to fill the belly—replenishing yin energy the same way food did. Since he’d nearly overstuffed himself at the hospital, Zhou Shurong wasn’t hungry at all.

Still, with no real expectations, he prepared himself for breakfast.

As the incense burned, Qin Yan watched the smoke intently.

Zhou Shurong knew what Qin Yan was hoping for. When the smoke surged toward him like a rushing tide, Qin Yan’s face lit up with joy. He clapped his hands together.

“Welcome home!”

The tension in Zhou Shurong’s expression softened.

He replied softly, “I’m home.”

Once the incense burned all the way through, the ash in the burner was nearly spilling out. Qin Yan picked it up to dump it in the trash—then let out a soft “Huh?” The ring used to secure the trash bag was gone.

Zhou Shurong touched his nose, eyes drifting away guiltily. Then he remembered Qin Yan couldn’t see him and boldly looked back.

Qin Yan used his phone’s flashlight to search the corners around the TV stand, then peeked under the couch. He remembered the smoke had floated that way and had even asked Zhou Shurong to move aside before he started looking.

Zhou Shurong adjusted his glasses and obligingly floated away.

He was more than happy to help—he felt like a real person again. It was such a thrill to participate. It was like playing a game, hiding something and then watching Qin Yan search for it with mischief in his eyes.

But the ring was nowhere to be found. After thinking it over, Qin Yan decided to let it go.

He didn’t think Zhou Shurong had hidden it—surely he wasn’t that childish?

Qin Yan assumed Zhou Shurong was still sitting on the couch. He turned toward that direction and chatted away, his eyes shining with happiness.

Zhou Shurong watched him talk to thin air and nearly burst out laughing. He smiled and sat back down.

How does one talk to a ghost you can’t see?

Probably like a blind person trying to sign with someone mute. Half the time you miss what the other is saying—but it’s still fun. One man and one ghost, both smiling happily.

Maybe this was what people called relationship chemistry.

As Qin Yan grew more animated, he gestured wildly in the air with both hands.

He assumed Zhou Shurong hadn’t been involved in any of it. He wrapped his recent experiences in a shiny, cheerful package, only sharing the good parts and burying the unpleasant ones deep inside.

Zhou Shurong sat across from him, nodding with a soft smile. Even if Qin Yan couldn’t see him, he gave him his full attention. His dark eyes watched him intently.

Until Qin Yan’s stomach let out a loud growl.

His voice cut off abruptly, and his face turned crimson—because he suddenly realized he hadn’t brushed his teeth or washed his face. He hadn’t greeted Zhou Shurong in a clean, proper state.

He puffed up his cheeks and muttered something at the air, then bolted into the bathroom.

Zhou Shurong drifted after him, eyes crinkling with amusement.

Qin Yan hadn’t closed the bathroom door. He stood at the sink, head down, brushing his teeth and washing his face. After rinsing off the cleanser, he reached for a face towel—when he suddenly noticed a thin layer of condensation on the mirror.

In the mist, a line of words appeared.

With a damp face, he softly read them aloud:

“Uncle Wei is a ghost. Be careful!”

Qi Yan nodded.

He repeated the line:

“Uncle Wei is a ghost. Be careful?”

Zhou Shurong nodded again, patiently, even though Qin Yan couldn’t see him.

“Uncle Wei is a ghost?!”

He shrieked, voice full of disbelief.

Zhou Shurong stopped nodding. Instead, he reached out and began writing on the mirror.

Qin Yan stared at it. A droplet of water clung to the tip of his eyelashes, trembling. When it finally fell, he blinked.

In that blink of a moment, he noticed a new character had appeared on the mirror.

—Yes.

Qin Yan’s eyes lit up instantly. His focus wasn’t even on the terrifying truth that Uncle Wei was a ghost. A flicker of pity passed through his heart, but it was quickly drowned by a flood of joy.

Because instinctively, his mind made the connection: if Uncle Wei could be a ghost… then that meant Zhou Shurong could become one too.

Before, he never dared to believe it. Even though he’d witnessed strange things, without seeing Zhou Shurong himself, he couldn’t jump to conclusions—afraid it was just his longing playing tricks on him.

“Shurong, it’s you?”

—It’s me.

Even now, a sliver of doubt lingered in his heart. He reached out and touched the words on the mirror. The moment his finger made contact, the letters blurred, melting into the surrounding mist.

He looked a bit panicked, as if those words were Zhou Shurong—and that he’d just made him disappear with a single touch.

Then, a new message appeared on the mirror:

—Touch it again.

A smile returned to his face, but as he read the message more clearly, hesitation flickered in his expression. Touch it again? What if the words smudged again?

In the end, his trust in Zhou Shurong won out. Qin Yan gently tapped a letter with the pad of his finger. The chill of the mirror transferred to his skin—a cold sensation.

The character he touched didn’t change. Qin Yan pressed it again. Still, it didn’t blur. It was like it had fused with the glass.

Behind him, Zhou Shurong watched with a smile full of fondness.

This time, he’d infused the writing with yin energy—ensuring it wouldn’t wipe away no matter what.

Now, Qin Yan truly knew Zhou Shurong was there. It wasn’t wishful thinking. It wasn’t an illusion. It was undeniable truth.

“Shurong, tell me! How can I see you?!”

Qin Yan spun around, eyes scanning the small bathroom.

His cheeks were flushed, overcome with excitement and joy!

When he realized it was pointless to look around, his gaze returned to the mirror.

Zhou Shurong looked at the person in the reflection—several strands of damp hair stuck playfully to his fair, lovely face. His bright eyes were locked on the glass, as if he were trying to spot Zhou Shurong within it.

For a second, it felt like their eyes met.

But it was only an illusion.

Zhou Shurong felt his cold eyes begin to burn, the heat so intense it felt like they might melt. He raised a hand and discovered… a tear had fallen without him realizing it.

“Do you really want to see me?” he murmured.

He stared at the smooth mirror. Only one figure was visible in it.

Qin Yan had once seen him, but now Zhou Shurong wasn’t sure anymore—was that just a fantasy, a memory he’d made up?

There was no reflection of him in the mirror. No trace of him in water. No sign of him in any reflective surface.

Since he died, he hadn’t seen what he looked like anymore.

Were his eyes still clear, or had they gone cloudy?

Did he look cold, or gentle?

Was his smile stiff?

Did his lips still have color?

He had seen other ghosts before—the wonton vendor, the old lady at the hospital—

And all this time, he’d hoped that Qin Yan’s eyes would someday hold his image.

But now, he was afraid. He wavered.

All these messy thoughts lingered for just a moment. Then, looking into Qin Yan’s eager eyes, Zhou Shurong took a deep breath and wrote on the mirror:

—Wait a little longer! Just wait for me—there’ll be a way!