She was beautiful.
The gentle ripples of the water refracted light and shadow perfectly, enhancing Sophia's every movement like a filter in a dream. Ethan had seen professional singers and dancers at his parents' work performances, but Sophia's rustic charm hit him just as hard as his cousins. Raised to be proper and polite, he was spellbound by her wild, unpolished allure—sao, bold, earthy, unrefined, yet impossibly captivating, like a scent he couldn't resist.
She drew closer, a figure from a painting stepping both into and out of her frame. Ethan forgot he was drowning, ignoring the water filling his nose and mouth, the panic of suffocation. Not until…
She reached out.
The day before, while pushing to the front of the crowd during her performance, Sophia had swayed over, singing, and touched his cheek—his porcelain-pale skin made him stand out like a doll among the grubby kids. He'd hoped for another touch.
But this time, she used both hands.
They clamped down on his shoulders, cold as ice, squeezing until it hurt.
The spell broke. The eerie fascination vanished, replaced by raw terror—like anesthesia wearing off, pain flooding back. He struggled, kicked, tried to wrench free, but her grip was vice-like, unyielding.
Then, a pull from behind.
Ethan felt himself being dragged, like the tug-of-war games at school, except this time he was the rope. With a final, sickening rip, he was wrenched upward.
In his blurring vision, he seemed to float higher and higher, while Sophia shrank below, her arms reaching, a chasm yawning between them that shouldn't exist.
"Heave ho!"
Thankfully, Ethan still wore his bamboo basket; Victor grabbed it and pulled with all his might. The weight was unnatural—dead weight, like wrestling a maddened ox instead of a child. Something below resisted, fighting to keep Ethan submerged.
Ryan rushed to help, locking his arms around Victor's waist and pulling back.
Finally, "SPLASH!"
As Ethan broke the surface, the opposing force vanished abruptly. Victor, Ryan, and the dripping boy crashed onto the boat in a heap.
"Row! Now!" Victor roared, still on his knees.
Evan, this time steady, shoved the pole with all his strength, propelling them away.
"Grandpa! She's coming! Coming!" Ryan screamed, pointing.
Victor looked up: the black mass of hair was moving with them, closing in as the boat glided.
She was chasing.
"Ryan—help Evan pole! Now!"
"On it, Grandpa!"
The brothers chanted in unison, their strokes gaining speed. Victor grabbed a fishing rod, eyes blazing. When the hair drew closer still, he thrust the rod into the water ahead of it.
The rod sank easily, as if piercing air—then a violent pull threatened to drag Victor overboard. He let go just in time, heart pounding.
The hair was closer. From the boat's edge, Victor could make out the black cheongsam underwater, moving against the eastward current.
She was walking. Walking on the riverbed, as if gravity didn't exist.
The boat began to tremble, then shake violently. Victor didn't dare imagine capsizing—this wasn't about swimming; this thing was cursed.
His eyes fell on the at his feet. Without hesitation, he flung it over the water, just meters from the hair. The net settled, half-submerged. At first, it dragged onward, but slowly, its speed faltered, then stopped.
It worked—she was tangled.
Victor dashed to the stern, snatching the pole from Evan. "Check on Ethan!"
The boys, exhausted from poling, hurried to Ethan's side.
"Ethan? Ethan, wake up! Wake up!"
"Grandpa—he won't wake!" Evan shouted.
Victor, still poling and glancing back at the fading net, yelled, "Is he breathing?"
"YES! But… he's out cold."
"Pat his back!"
They propped Ethan up, slapping gently, but he remained limp.
"Grandpa, it's no use!"
Victor clenched his jaw, poling furiously, sweat stinging his eyes. Finally, the boat reached home. He dropped the pole, scooped Ethan into his arms, and jumped ashore—stumbling, knees hitting the stone steps to protect the boy.
"Shit…"
A gash oozed blood, but he ignored it, shouting as he entered: "Elena! Elena!"
"Back so soon?" Elena was cleaning the stove, but when she saw Victor carrying Ethan, she gasped. "What's wrong? What's happened to the boy?"
Victor laid Ethan on a mat in the inner room—with so many kids, they slept on the floor in summer. Elena lifted Ethan's head, slapping his cheeks, but he remained unresponsive, and she burst into tears: "My boy! My sweet boy, what's happened to you?"
"Stop wailing!" Victor kicked her calf gently. "Get him dry clothes—now."
Elena wiped her eyes, rushing to fetch clothes.
"Evan—go get Doctor Zheng!"
"On it, Grandpa."
"Ryan—fetch Blind Liu."
"Right away."
Doctor Zheng Huamin, the village barefoot doctor, earned his nickname "Big Syringe" for scaring kids with his tools. Blind Liu Jinxia, despite her cataracts, was a local spiritual healer—her tragic past (two dead husbands, a cursed reputation) made her both feared and sought after.
As Elena changed Ethan's clothes, Victor rinsed his knee with well water, then opened a locked cabinet, pulling out three cigarette packs.
"Give one to Doctor Zheng," he instructed, tossing her a pack. "Open it in front of him, offer one when he arrives, another when he leaves. We'll owe the rest."
He threw another pack her way. "Give Blind Liu the whole pack. No haggling."
Elena hesitated. "I heard her fees are steep now."
Victor snorted. "Let her keep her eyes blind, not her conscience."
Liu Jinxia's late husband had been Victor's childhood friend. In her widowhood, Victor had helped her family, braving gossip. Now, he'd be damned if she charged him.
The third pack went into his pocket.
"You're going out?" Elena asked, surprised.
"To find Uncle Sanjiang."
"What did you encounter out there?"
Victor glared at the curious children, lowering his voice. "We'll talk when I'm back."
He pushed his bicycle out, leaving Elena to hover over Ethan, calling his name softly. A granddaughter piped up: "Why is Ethan brother like this?"
Liam chimed in, too loudly: "He met a water ghost! Got dragged down to be its replacement!"
The kids recoiled, terrified.
"SLAP!" Elena cuffed Liam's cheek. "Stop spouting nonsense! Go check if our guests are here—now!"
Liam ran off, rubbing his cheek but unresentful, dragging Mason with him.
Elena told her granddaughter Yingzi to fetch a bowl of water and a needle. She dragged the needle across Ethan's forehead and crown, then laid it flat in the bowl—a local ritual to "call back" a wandering soul.
Soon, shouts rang out: "Doctor Zheng is here!"
The man entered with a wooden medical box. Elena offered a cigarette, which he tucked behind his ear as he knelt by Ethan.
"Fell in the water, won't wake," she explained.
Doctor Zheng pried open Ethan's mouth, checked his eyes, then listened with a stethoscope. When he finally sat back, lighting the cigarette, Elena pressed: "Well?"
"How long was he submerged?"
Evan answered: "Just a moment—Grandpa pulled him out right away."
Doctor Zheng exhaled smoke, frowning. "He's not drowning. No water in the lungs. Physically fine."
"Then why won't he wake?"
"Take him to the town clinic. Could be… other issues." He packed up, accepting another cigarette with a sigh. "You called Blind Liu, right?"
"SLAP!"
Liu Jinxia's voice cut through the chaos: "Heard from Ryan—something in the water got him?"
Elena gripped her hand. "Victor went for Sanjiang. Come see the boy."
Liu Jinxia tensed—if Victor sought the body collector, this was serious. Inside, she barked at the children: "Scram, little pests! You're disturbing the Kitchen God!"
Once alone, she ordered: "Bring him to the kitchen—closer to the stove."
With her daughter Juxiang's help, Ethan was laid on the kitchen table. Liu Jinxia's weathered hands, stained with tobacco and vinegar, probed his legs, face, then paused on his shoulders.
"Elena—did you do the needle ritual?"
"Y-yes." Elena held up the bowl, gasping at the rusted needle, its red stain spreading like blood.
Liu Jinxia paled. "Sister… the boy's been cursed. A spirit latched onto him."
Elena shoved a cigarette pack into her hand, but Liu Jinxia pushed it away. "I can't take your money. Han saved us once—now I return the favor."
She turned to Juxiang. "Remember Lan? Her son's in trouble."
Juxiang nodded. Li Lan, Ethan's mother, had been her only friend as a child, defying village stigma to play with her.
Liu Jinxia took a deep breath, grabbing incense ash from the stove. "Cover his mouth and nose."
Juxiang obeyed as her mother rubbed ash into Ethan's neck and shoulders. Then, horror—two purple handprints materialized on his skin, vivid as bruises.
"Strong spirit… Juxiang, ready the thread."
Juxiang fetched a bowl of ink, a red thread reeking of iron, tying one end to her wrist, the other to Ethan's. Liu Jinxia chanted, painting circles on Ethan's forehead with a brush.
The thread began to tremble. Juxiang collapsed, choking, her body thrashing as if unseen hands pressed her down. Liu Jinxia's voice rose, relentless, until Juxiang went limp, gasping.
"Hot water—clean him," Liu Jinxia ordered, swaying.
As Elena wiped the ash away, the handprints dissolved like ink in water, leaving no trace on the cloth. And then—Ethan's eyes fluttered open.
"Little Ethan! You're awake!"
He stared, dazed, before whispering hoarsely: "Grandma."
Elena hugged him close, rocking him as Juxiang sipped water, trembling.
Liu Jinxia stood, patting her arm. "Let him sleep. He'll be fine."
As they left, Elena tried to protest, but Liu Jinxia waved her off. "Wait until Han returns. We've done what we can."
In the tricycle ride home, Liu Jinxia checked her daughter's neck, already bruising. "Does it hurt?"
"Mom, sit down—you'll fall."
Liu Jinxia sank back, sighing. "Juxiang… are we cursed to suffer, just us?"
…
Victor didn't return until late. Elena put the children to bed, then slept with Ethan on a makeshift in the kitchen, fanning him as tears fell—thinking of her divorced daughter, wondering if she'd made the right choice sending Ethan here.
Ethan dreamed of school, of peeing in a toilet that looked like a throne (the "porcelain jar"), only to wake suddenly, desperate to urinate.
Moonlight guided him to the riverbank. As he stood there, the boat beside him began to thump against the stone steps, no wind or wave to explain it.
Memory crashed back: black hair, cold hands, the underwater smile.
He stumbled, falling, and saw her: a head bobbing beneath the boat, hitting the hull with dull thuds, then rising, hair sliding away to reveal half a face—pale, painted, smiling.
Her lips, still red, parted in a silent call.
Ethan scrambled up, fleeing toward the house, but a drip-drip-drip followed him. At the threshold, he looked back.
Sophia stood there, water pooling at her feet, red heels dripping, cheongsam clinging to her corpse-pale skin. Her smile widened, triumphant, as if she'd finally found what she'd been chasing.
"Grandma! Grandma, wake up!"
But Elena slept on, the fan slipping from her hand.
The dripping stopped.
Ethan turned, heart pounding, to meet Sophia's gaze—close now, too close—her hands reaching, nails glinting in the moonlight, ready to drag him back to the river, to the cold, to the endless song that had lured him once before.
And in the silence of the night, a single thought screamed in his mind:
She'd never really let him go.