Chapter 5: Floating Fragrance
Lin Qishan sat in his car with the window rolled halfway down. The early summer breeze drifted through the cabin, swirling the ash from the cigarette between his fingers. Through the car's dusty window, he gazed toward an old building in the distance — the original headquarters of the Xiangci Sanctuary, now abandoned. Its doors and windows hung half open, its walls flaking and worn, exuding a faint aura of decay.
He had been sitting there for nearly two hours, not saying a word.
Before long, a black sedan pulled into the courtyard. The door opened, and Pang Yunxiu stepped out, dressed in a pale gray suit. His hair was combed back to a glossy sheen, giving him a mild, innocuous appearance — yet there was an indescribable gloom lurking beneath.
Two men in dark suits trailed behind Pang Yunxiu. Lin Qishan recognized one of them — the same man he had tangled with that night at the banquet. A fresh scar cut across the corner of that man's eye, and his sullen gaze swept watchfully around.
Lin Qishan stubbed out his cigarette, pushed open the car door, and stepped out.
Seeing Lin Qishan, Pang Yunxiu raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Lin, what a coincidence."
Lin Qishan's tone remained flat. "Young Master Pang, did you come here specifically to wait for me?"
Pang Yunxiu gave a slight smile. "My father funded the construction of this place back in the day. The demolition never went through, so it's been left deserted ever since. I just came by today to have a look." As he spoke, he glanced at the old building before continuing, "Surely Mr. Lin isn't also interested in this place, is he?"
Lin Qishan did not answer. His eyes shifted to the shattered incense burner on the rooftop. It had broken into several pieces now scattered among the weeds, looking for all the world like discarded spirit tablets.
"Sometimes the past ought to be completely let go," Pang Yunxiu said softly, though his voice carried a quiet warning. "Otherwise, it's easy to get hurt."
Lin Qishan replied blandly, "You're right about that."
Pang Yunxiu gave him a long look, then motioned for the two men behind him to leave. He proceeded by himself into the old building.
Lin Qishan stayed where he was, waiting until Pang Yunxiu's figure had completely disappeared. Only then did he step onto the crumbling stairs and slip into the darkness.
The hallway was thick with a stale, damp odor, and the walls were mottled and peeling — like the aged wallpaper from an Eileen Chang novel, whispering of an unspeakable decay. At the end of the corridor, Lin Qishan discovered a half-open door. He pushed it wide and stepped inside, and the air instantly grew even more oppressive.
In the center of the room stood a massive altar table blanketed in dust. From its front hung a torn red cloth inscribed with faint characters reading "Merciful Salvation for All." On either side of the table stood several Buddha statues: one statue was a Broken-Hand Buddha missing an arm, another had lost its head, and all of them were weathered and defaced. Lin Qishan's gaze fell on a corner of the wall where a layer of plaster had been deliberately scraped away to reveal some blurred characters — "Ah Tang was here."
Lin Qishan felt a jolt in his chest. Suddenly he caught a faint noise behind him and whipped around. In the doorway stood an old woman with gray-white hair, dressed in a shabby white gown.
She slowly stepped into the room, her expression indifferent as she cast him a look. "You shouldn't have come," she said.
Lin Qishan was silent for a moment, then asked, "Do you know Ah Tang?"
A slight sneer surfaced on the old woman's pale face. "Who doesn't know Ah Tang? She was the most devout worshiper — and the only one who betrayed."
"Why do you say that?" he pressed.
The old woman's eyes suddenly turned sharp. "Because she spoke up. Here, anyone who dares to speak out is never forgiven."
Lin Qishan's expression flickered. The old woman slowly turned and glided away, her white gown whispering across the floor behind her as if she were a ghost fading into the shadows.
For a long while, Lin Qishan stood in the middle of the room, overcome by an indescribable sense of pressure. Every object here, every crack in the walls, seemed to be delivering a silent warning to him. Again and again, the image of Ah Tang sitting in the interrogation room with her head devoutly bowed replayed in his mind — a scene he had never been able to forget.
By the time he left the old building, the sky had grown overcast. Early summer raindrops pattered against the car window like tears that had been held back for too long. He started the engine and drove away from this forsaken place.
Late that night, Lin Qishan received a message at home from Jiang Miao: "Qishan, I found the last recording from before Ah Tang disappeared, but it's very muffled. I can only make out one sentence she said."
Holding his breath, he opened the audio file. In that moment, he seemed to hear wind — a soft rustle of static — and within it a voice, familiar yet strange, gently saying: "I'm waiting for you in front of the altar table."
Lin Qishan closed his eyes, a sour ache spreading through his chest. He thought of that one-armed Buddha statue, of Ah Tang's pale face, and of all the words she'd left unspoken.
Outside his window, in the dead of night, the rain was still falling softly, like a dream that refused to awaken.