The night shift ended late that night.
The advertising agency had taken on a last-minute client, and Director Li gave the job to Lin Ziang, saying, "You're young; you can handle it." Lin Ziang stayed alone until 11:30pm.
The entire floor was empty; only the printer light flickered like a single eye and the air conditioner hummed softly.
Ziang turned off his computer, his shoulders stiff. As he left the building, he found the air outside oppressively stifling; even the wind was damp.
He walked down the street, the streetlights flickering one after another like yellow beads floating in the fog.
Nights in Fujian City always had an indescribable dampness — not rain or fog, but air receding from the sea.
'The MRT exit should be up ahead,' he muttered to himself. But the further he walked, the more unfamiliar the area became.
The street signs were blurry and the cement pavement beneath his feet was glistening with moisture. As he turned a corner, a streetlight ahead suddenly went out.
'Damn it,' he said, frowning.
He pulled out his phone and opened a map. The screen flickered briefly as it lit up, but the signal bar went blank and the time was frozen at 11.47 pm.
'No network?'
He raised his phone and shook it, but the signal remained at zero. The street was completely silent; not even the usual clamour of motorcycles could be heard.
He realised he was the only person left on the street.
At that moment, even the air seemed to freeze.
Just as he was about to turn around, he heard a soft sound—like raindrops falling onto damp ground.
He turned around, but the street corner was empty.
Another 'drip', closer this time.
The light flickered softly. The shadow beneath the streetlight appeared to have a new layer.
It wasn't a tree or a person, but it had a vague shape. It slowly stretched from the ground like a long black thread.
'Who?' Zi'ang called out. His voice drifted across the empty street, but there was no response.
The shadow moved.
As if breathing.
The next moment, a cold wind crept up the back of his neck.
He took a step back, tensing his back.
The shadow slowly rose, a featureless, misty, damp form.
It stood in the light as if 'looking' at him.
'Don't come near...' he whispered.
The shadow paused, then tilted slightly. The light on the ground distorted and, for a moment, even the lamppost seemed to bend.
The air suddenly turned cold.
He heard that voice, like countless whispers layered together.
'Son... Son..."
Zi'ang's heart tightened. There was an accent in that voice that was extremely familiar — the accent of his hometown.
'Who... who are you?' he practically shouted.
The figure didn't answer, but instead moved forward by an inch.
The streetlights flickered three times, then went out.
The world plunged into darkness.
He could hear his own heartbeat and another kind of breathing.
It was close, moist and low, almost against his ear.
He instinctively took a step back, his foot knocking against an empty bottle and making a clinking sound. At that moment, he subconsciously reached for the old talisman he had found under the bed and kept in his pocket.
He squeezed it hard.
With a soft 'crack', the talisman suddenly lit up in the darkness.
A golden light flashed, illuminating the silhouette of the shadow — damp, faceless and shrouded in mist.
The light seemed to burn the shadow, causing it to twist and emit a hoarse, low hum.
It began to retreat.
Zi'ang's forehead was covered in sweat. The light from his palm grew brighter, illuminating the damp walls around him. As if washed by a tide, the shadows receded layer by layer.
After a few seconds, everything fell silent.
The light faded.
The streetlights came back on.
The shadow had gone.
He gasped, almost collapsing to the ground. The talisman was now nothing but ash.
A breeze blew and the ashes scattered into a puddle at his feet, creating a faint glow.
He looked down and saw something lying quietly in the light.
It was a new talisman.
The damp paper gleamed with faint golden lines.
He stared at the talisman for a long time.
His hands were still trembling.
Logically, he knew he should throw it away — it wasn't normal.
Yet deep down, he felt an inexplicable urge to pick it up.
He stretched out his hand. The paper of the talisman floated half an inch in the air before gently landing in his palm.
It felt slightly hot; that familiar warmth was returning.
He suddenly realised that this wasn't the first time.
The first time had been in a dream; the second time had been in the city.
An invisible thread connected him to these 'existences'.
He looked up at the mist-shrouded intersection in the distance.
The mist was like a vast ocean, flowing silently.
A faint voice carried on the wind:
'The sea... is outside.'
He shuddered. It wasn't a hallucination — it was a call.
He didn't dare dwell on it any further. He carefully put the talisman in his pocket and hurried towards the light.
As he left the street, the sounds of cars and people returned. The signal returned and the phone's time jumped back to '00:12'.
It was as if nothing had happened.
But he knew that the darkness that night hadn't been caused by a power cut.
It was the curtains of another world being lifted.
When he returned to the rented house, Ah Hui was already fast asleep. The interior was bathed in warm light, and the air was thick with the scent of instant noodles.
Zi'ang took off his coat and sat on the edge of the bed.
He took the talisman out of his pocket. There were faint ripples on the paper, as if reflecting ocean waves.
He remembered Mazu's voice in his dream:
'Outside, the sea surges; you must navigate it yourself.'
Those words echoed over and over in his mind.
He suddenly smiled. It was a bitter smile, tinged with a hint of determination.
'Okay,' he whispered. 'Then I'll go.'
He placed the talisman on the bedside table and turned off the light.
Night fell, quiet and still; only breathing remained.
But in the faint darkness, a faint light seemed to flicker beneath the bed.
It was as if it were waiting for something.
When he awoke the next morning, he discovered that the new talisman beside his bed had been disturbed.
Its corners were slightly curled, as if blown by the wind, but the window was closed.
Beneath the talisman, in the cracks of the floorboards, a faint mark had appeared.
'Second Seal, Open.'