Chapter 67 (2/2): Spam Calls (6k)

Perhaps…

She could find some clues from her.

Taking a deep breath, Huá Qí’ān entered the number and dialed.

After a few rings, the call was answered.

“Hello?”

A warm, slightly aged female voice came from the other end.

Huá Qí’ān quickly recognized it as her Chūzhōng homeroom teacher.

“…Zhāng Lǎoshī, sorry to disturb you. This is Huá Qí’ān.”

Huá Qí’ān’s voice was a little dry.

Facing a teacher, she still felt the instinctive tension of a student.

“…Huá Qí’ān?”

The voice on the other end was clearly surprised.

“Oh, it’s Qí’ān! I haven’t heard from you in ages—thought you’d forgotten all about us! How have you been lately?”

Zhāng Lǎoshī’s enthusiasm made Huá Qí’ān a bit flustered, but deep down she relaxed.

For a top student like Huá Qí’ān, even after many years, teachers still remembered her well.

“I’m doing well, teacher. I just…missed you, so I thought I’d call to check in.”

Huá Qí’ān didn’t state her real purpose right away.

She went along with the conversation, making up a reasonable excuse.

“Oh, you child, how thoughtful.”

Zhāng Lǎoshī chuckled.

“Funny enough, I’m in Hanyang right now, here for a hospital checkup.”

Hanyang?

Huá Qí’ān’s eyes instantly brightened.

This was simply a golden opportunity.

“What a coincidence! Teacher, I’m studying here in Hanyang right now.”

“How about…we meet up?”

“Of course.”

Zhāng Lǎoshī agreed readily, clearly holding a very good impression of Huá Qí’ān.

“Come to Hanyang First People’s Hospital. I’ll be here all afternoon.”

Call ended.

Huá Qí’ān glanced at the time, and without any hesitation, shoved a few textbooks into her backpack, put on her shoes, and left the dormitory.

The tangled mystery that had haunted her for days—maybe today, she would catch a glimpse of the truth.

On Fridays, there were only morning classes.

So, after finishing her classes, Huá Qí’ān had the afternoon free.

Her hometown was in Anchuan.

Back on the bus, she’d once been spotted by that odd old woman.

It was a city neighboring Hanyang, but far less developed.

The Chūzhōng she’d attended was small; most students were from nearby villages, and news traveled fast among them.

If something happened—a wedding or a funeral—it would be known throughout the school by the end of the day.

It was already lunchtime.

So, the agreed meeting place with her Chūzhōng homeroom teacher was naturally set in the hospital cafeteria.

This was the largest hospital in Hanyang.

For a frequent visitor like Huá Qí’ān, it was all too familiar.

It was lunchtime, the cafeteria bustling with people, filled with the smell of food, disinfectant, and the clamor of voices.

A place so full of ordinary human warmth seemed to temporarily drive away those eerie, chilling thoughts.

Huá Qí’ān spotted her teacher sitting by the window at once.

After years apart, her teacher’s hair was now streaked with gray, but her eyes remained gentle and bright.

“Teacher.”

Huá Qí’ān walked over, pulled out the chair opposite, and sat down, wearing a polite, gentle smile.

“Xiǎo’ān, it’s been so long.”

Hearing Huá Qí’ān’s voice, Zhāng Lǎoshī’s face filled with a gratified smile.

She turned to look at Huá Qí’ān, wanting to see how she was doing now.

But seeing her thin body and pale skin, the teacher couldn’t help but pause for a moment.

“…Didn’t expect you’d grow up into such a fine young lady in the blink of an eye.”

In the end, Zhāng Lǎoshī only spoke a few polite platitudes.

“Teacher, you flatter me.”

Huá Qí’ān first inquired about her teacher’s health, learning that it was nothing serious and only required rest, which set her mind at ease.

They ordered a few simple dishes and chatted as they ate.

At first, the conversation centered on Huá Qí’ān’s college life.

The teacher asked carefully about her studies and daily life, with all the warmth of an elder for a junior.

She also discreetly probed about her health, seeming genuinely worried.

Huá Qí’ān answered patiently, behaving like a well-mannered, diligent student.

After some small talk, she finally, as if casually, steered the conversation to her real purpose.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen our Chūzhōng classmates in ages. I wonder how everyone’s doing now.”

She stirred her soup lightly with her spoon, head lowered, as if only mentioning it in passing.

“They’re all doing well, I think.”

The teacher replied with a chuckle.

“Not long ago, there was a Chūzhōng reunion. Lots of people came.”

“Too bad they said they couldn’t reach you…never thought you’d come find me today.”

“All those boys—so tall and strong now, you’d never recognize the naughty kids from back then…”

The teacher started talking animatedly about the boys in class—who got into good schools, whose family was doing business and got rich, who stopped studying and now had kids…

But Huá Qí’ān noticed that when she mentioned these things, her eyes darted around, as if avoiding something.

Huá Qí’ān’s heart sank.

She narrowed her eyes, feeling that ominous premonition growing stronger.

“Is that so? That’s good.”

Huá Qí’ān put down her chopsticks, lifted her gaze, and looked straight at her teacher.

“And… what about the girls in class?”

This question was like a stone thrown into a still lake, instantly shattering the light atmosphere.

The teacher’s smile froze.

Her expression became hard to read—a mix of regret, reluctance, and some hesitation as if she didn’t know how to begin.

She opened her mouth, as if about to speak, but swallowed her words, only taking a sip of water to cover her discomfort.

“The girls… they’re doing well too, all got into good schools.”

Her words became vague, her eyes evasive, not daring to meet Huá Qí’ān’s gaze.

As expected.

Huá Qí’ān’s heart completely sank.

She knew her teacher was hiding something—but she had come here for an answer.

She needed to know the truth.

“Teacher.”

Huá Qí’ān’s voice was soft, but carried a determination that could not be refused.

A name—one she had long doubted but could never be sure of—slowly floated to the surface.

“I want to know…”

“Xià Wǎnguī—how… is she now?”

The moment the words “Xià Wǎnguī” left her lips, the whole world seemed to go silent.

The teacher’s hand trembled, spilling some warm water onto the table.

Her face paled in an instant.

Those always-gentle eyes were now full of sorrow and regret that could not be dispelled.

She looked at Huá Qí’ān, lips trembling for a long time before she finally let out a heavy sigh, nearly drowned out by her breath.

“…Xiǎo’ān, how did you know?”

“That child…ai…”

In the end, she spoke.

“Wǎnguī, that child…a few years ago, well…”

Even if it was vague, Huá Qí’ān understood.

Boom…

Her mind went completely blank.

Like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.

The world crumbled before her eyes.

The cafeteria’s din, the smell of food, the scent of disinfectant… Everything faded instantly.

Only the sharp, continuous ringing in her ears remained.

[Wǎnguī, look! I caught a fish!]

[If this little fish was you, Qí’ān, I’d cling to you like these weeds and never let you go…]

[Let’s be best friends forever!]

[Liar…]

[You forgot me?]

[Heartless…]

[Qí’ān, you can only be mine.]

Broken fragments of memory, resentful whispers, cold kisses, entangling water weeds…everything rushed into her mind like a flood breaking a dam, surging through her thoughts.

Finally, it all condensed into a bloody, suffocating truth.

It was her.

It really was her.

The Nǚguǐ who dragged her into the icy depths night after night, who claimed her with a near-cruelty…was her long-dead, forgotten childhood friend.

Xià Wǎnguī.

“How…could…this…”

Huá Qí’ān murmured in a daze, her face drained of all color.

She didn’t even remember how she bid farewell to her teacher, or how she left the hospital.

She simply shut off her thoughts, walking mechanically, numbly, like a soulless corpse.

Everything around her blurred and faded.

It wasn’t until a chill, moist and cold, enveloped her that she snapped back to herself.

At some point, a thick fog had risen all around.

It had come without warning, dense as milk, swallowing the world whole.

The hospital, the people—everything disappeared in a blur.

Visibility was less than a meter.

She stood in place, momentarily stunned.

The salty, damp scent crept in from all directions like a ghostly whisper, filling her nose and curling around her tongue.

Before, she hadn’t understood this smell.

Now, she seemed to.

Huá Qí’ān’s heart pounded, a chill racing up her spine to the crown of her head.

She instinctively gripped the protective charm on her chest.

The lingering warmth could only barely steady her nerves.

She wanted to run, to escape this ominous fog.

But she couldn’t see the way—she could only rely on her memory of the hospital to try to find the exit…

[Qí’ān…]

A mournful, tearful, wet voice seemed to whisper right at her ear.

This time, she heard it clearly.

[You finally…remembered me…]