Chapter 6: The Painting

I ran out of the hospital and saw an empty taxi right at the entrance. I yanked open the door and jumped in.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"Hecheng Nursing School," I replied.

My heart was pounding, my mind stuck on Wang Jie's eerie smile. I kept replaying everything—if the woman I saw that night wasn't Wang Jie, then who was she?

The more I thought about it, the colder I felt. Even if I convinced myself that I had just been dreaming, Wang Jie and that girl in the dress were real. There was no way I was mistaken.

What the hell was going on? Was I losing my mind?

A splitting headache took hold, and my chest felt tight again, like when I was leaving the hospital. Cold sweat drenched my forehead.

The driver noticed and assumed I was hot, so he turned off the heater. But without it, I felt ice-cold—my limbs stiffening.

That creeping chill returned, the same suffocating presence I'd felt in my dream. It was as if someone was right behind me. I sat rigid, staring straight ahead, too scared to look back.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Turn around and head for Sanbao Temple," I told the driver.

He glanced at me in the mirror. "What for?"

"Just go," I said.

The driver seemed intrigued. "Hey, buddy, are you going to see a fortune teller? You got into some bad luck?"

I frowned. "Why?"

"I know someone who's really good at this stuff. Want me to introduce you?"

I ignored him. Sanbao Temple had plenty of so-called masters, but real ones were rare. I figured he was just a tout trying to earn a commission.

But the driver wouldn't shut up. He kept praising his contact—how accurate his readings were, how powerful he was. I was already on edge, and his chatter only irritated me more.

"Can you stop talking?" I snapped.

The driver paused but didn't seem offended. "What's wrong? You have a fight with your girlfriend?"

"No," I said. "Just drive."

"Yeah, right," he chuckled. "If you didn't fight, why aren't you two talking?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I turned to look at him. He was still smiling. "What are you staring at?" he asked. "You mad or something?"

I spoke slowly, enunciating every word. "I got in alone. I don't have a girlfriend."

The driver scoffed. "Oh, come on, I saw you two get in together. She's right there—" He glanced in the rearview mirror. His voice cut off mid-sentence.

His face went pale.

I understood immediately. My voice trembled. "Drive. Now."

The driver finally snapped out of it, slammed his foot on the gas, and took off. I sat frozen in the passenger seat, afraid to move, afraid to look back.

"Faster," I urged. "Just get us there."

He drove like a maniac, racing through the streets. When we reached the road leading to Sanbao Temple, he suddenly pulled over.

"Why are you stopping?" I asked. "We're not there yet."

His hands were gripping the wheel too tightly. "Get out."

"What?"

"I said get out! I'm not taking you any further."

"We're not even at the temple!"

"I don't care. I don't want your money. Just get out!"

I was terrified but also furious. "Are you kidding me? Who drops someone off in the middle of nowhere? You want me to report you?"

He didn't reply. He just sat there, sweating profusely.

The chill returned.

I swallowed my pride. "Please, man. Just take me there. I'll even see your fortune teller. I swear, I'm scared out of my mind."

The driver sighed heavily. "Listen, buddy, this is way beyond me. Even the master I know probably can't fix this. Just go."

His fear was real. That made it worse.

I had no choice. I got out of the car.

The temple was close, but I still ran, desperate to reach it. The streets were lined with fortune tellers and exorcists, their stalls bustling with people. The sight of the crowd reassured me.

It was noon, yet I still felt cold. Not a normal cold, but a chill that burrowed into my bones.

I searched for a trustworthy place, looking at shop signs. Most were flashy, but I chose the shabbiest one. If this guy was still in business with such a rundown setup, he had to be legit.

Inside, an old man sat cross-legged, meditating.

I rushed in. "Master, I need help. Something's happening to me!"

The old man's eyes snapped open. "Who let you in?!"

His voice was sharp, unnervingly loud for someone his age.

I flinched. "What?"

He pointed at the door. "This is not where you should be. Get out!"

I was dumbfounded. Had I offended him somehow? Was it because I didn't knock?

Before I could react, he grabbed a handful of something from a nearby basket and hurled it at me.

I looked down. Grains—rice, red beans, green beans.

I was getting annoyed. "What's your problem? If you don't want to help, just say so. Why are you throwing stuff at me?"

I turned to leave.

"Stay where you are," he ordered.

I hesitated. He seemed serious.

He circled me, flinging grains as he moved. The tiny projectiles stung as they hit. Then he stopped. "It's done. I drove her away."

His words sent a chill down my spine.

"What… what do you mean?" I stammered.

"You've been experiencing strange things, haven't you?"

I nodded.

"You've been feeling cold?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "Something was following you. I just got rid of it."

Cold sweat dripped down my back.

I'd finally found someone who understood. "What was it?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Does it matter? It's gone. Unless you want to go digging up its grave?"

I shuddered. He had a point.

I reached for my wallet. "Master, how much do I owe you?"

He waved me off. "Forget it. It was nothing. Just take care of yourself. You're too weak—easy to attract things."

He handed me a plastic bag filled with grains.

"If you see anything unnatural, throw this at it."

I frowned. "But you said it's gone. Why do I still need this?"

"For peace of mind," he said.

That made sense. I thanked him profusely, trying to give him money, but he refused.

"Come back in a few days," he said. "If everything's fine, you can pay me then."

I was touched by his kindness.

As I left, he even flagged down a taxi for me. My heart felt lighter. Finally, I'd found someone who knew what they were doing.

Back home, I felt much better. I lay in bed, watched a movie, and relaxed.

By six, I got up, grabbed the bag of grains, and went to work.

Everything was fine—until I reached the security office.

The air inside was freezing. A deep, unnatural cold.

Then I noticed something on the desk.

A painting.