Andy was thrown into a tumult. A sudden impact to the head and he snapped open his eyes, gasping, hands scrabbling at his throat, fighting for air. Rolling onto his back allowed more room to pull loose the rope pressed against his windpipe. He lay heaving, stunned, the coarse noose clutched in his fist eliciting a sense of deja vu. Except the neck it had encircled this time was his.

Thunderous roaring gradually faded to the susurration of a faint breeze and the occasional chirp of a distant bird. Sunlight filtered through thin curtains illuminated an unfamiliar wood-beamed ceiling running above him. The rafters were plastered with yellow paper bleeding red inscriptions. One piece detached, fluttered to the ground littered with more of the same. He looked around to discover the surrounding walls and furniture–antique cabinets, a simple table and chair, a decorated screen partition pushed to one side–completely smothered in layers of rectangular talismans.

Andy gingerly moved into a sitting position and picked up a nearby sheet. He was able to make out the words for “soul” and “spirit” and “vengeance” in elegant inkbrushed script, the words round, loose, and left-leaning. These were accompanied by abstract strokes and cryptic symbols not taught in Auntie Jia’s weekend Mandarin Learning Academy, which his mom had him enrolled in from age five to seventeen, in a bid to cling onto the past.

He vaguely wondered at his wide long sleeve, connected to a blue robe not part of his usual attire, as well as the limb it covered. As Andy sat in a nest of malevolent purpose, trying to remember if his right arm had always been this pale, there came the rattling sound of a door opening.

A fair oval face popped around the partition, bearing wide almond eyes framed by a fringe and full lips. “Mr. Liu?” the girl called out.

For a moment they locked shocked eyes, each startled for different reasons. Then the girl noticed the state of the room. “Are you…feeling alright, Mr. Liu?” she hazarded tentatively.

Andy reflexively flashed his best impression smile, bold and charismatic, curtailed at the end only by the tenderness of his neck. “Better now that you’re here,” he croaked before he could stop himself. The response was second nature, ever since he learned pretty girls’ heart strings could be strummed. But he was a disengaged player and his mind was already wandering back to the situation at hand. Who was Mr. Liu, and why was he in a historical Chinese drama?

The girl frowned. “Why do you say that?“

Sensing her unease, Andy immediately began flapping a hand near his temple, adding hoarsely: “I’m sorry I–I hit my head just now. Please don’t mind anything I say.” He offered a different smile, sheepish and nonthreatening, and lowered his gaze.

Seeming placated by this response, the girl stepped fully into view. She was not much younger than he, lithe of figure, dressed in a brown tunic and trousers with long black hair half-gathered behind her head. She strode purposefully to the window and made certain the curtains were securely closed before asking, “What happened?”

“I’m…not sure,” Andy replied truthfully. Between the fluoxetine and lorazepam, it was hard to remember much these days. Lectures and parties, dreams and blackouts all blended together. He’d been drifting for a long time, carried by the momentum of others.

“The examination begins tomorrow,” the girl remarked, briskly flitting about corralling paper talismans. “You sure picked a fine time to play around.” She was undeterred by the apparent occult quality of the scene, going so far as to huff and scold him as she tidied. “What kind of clerk will they take you for if they saw you messing around with such things? You’re supposed to be a scholar, not a sorcerer.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

The room was small and the girl made good work of it in short order. A red circle array was soon uncovered upon the wood floor, painted in the same graceful style as the talismans, with Andy at its center. His earlier writhing had smeared parts of the warped and crazed spells embedded within, but the remaining shapes and characters were gruesome in their intent to summon an evil force.

Since when did they start demonizing university students? Andy thought. I haven't even declared a major yet.

“This will be a pain to scrub off,” the girl sighed wearily. “And you didn't eat lunch.” She gestured to a meal tray sitting on the table, containing a bowl of white rice, a small dish of stir-fried vegetables and tofu, a ceramic cup, and a lidded jug. “Was it not to your taste? I worked hard to get that wine especially for you.”

Why did it feel like she was testing him? Andy caught the girl staring keenly in his direction before turning away. He considered. It would be impossible to pose as her esteemed Mr. Liu for long without raising her suspicions. Nor did he want to.

His mother had spent the last fifteen years of her life living as an outsider in a foreign land, scrubbing toilets to ensure a future for her children. She had navigated a new environment, struggled with identity shift, adapted and overcame hardships. She never said she cared. About what others thought of her. About how she was treated. If she could stand to not care amid her displacement, then he could stand to care less amid his delusions.

Andy shrugged and let out an awkward chuckle. “I’m sorry I’m not…I’m not Mr. Liu.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. However, instead of recoiling as he had expected she sidled closer. When she was within arm’s reach her right hand shot out, snatched his left wrist and wrenched it aloft. The robe sleeve fell back, revealing three red ink lines streaked across pale flesh like wounds.

“Sacrificial ritual,” she muttered.

“What?” Andy breathed in amazement. “What is that?”

“A type of curse, born of desperation. When a person suffers injustice but is powerless to stop it they, in a last ditch attempt, can give up a mortal body and use the annihilation of the soul as payment for supernatural intervention. Only a few attempts have ever been reported, and they have all been for revenge.” The girl looked to one side, ruminating. “I knew Mr. Liu was being unfairly treated, but I didn’t think it was to this extreme.”

Andy tried to clear his swollen throat. “That sounds terrible, but I am no vengeance demon. I’m afraid I won’t be of much help here.” He attempted to pull his limb away but the girl held on tight.

“You will help,” she insisted, pinning him with an angry glare. “You already inhabit Mr. Liu’s body, tacitly agreeing to the contract. You have to fulfill the wish or the curse will rebound, destroying your primordial spirit.” She directed his attention back to the marks, where the red ink was already leaching into surrounding veins under the skin. “It will only get worse the longer you delay. If the poison reaches the heart and the deadline is missed, then you who have accepted this vessel will be torn apart in both body and spirit.”

“Torn apart?” he echoed.

Andy marveled momentarily at the strange schemes concocted by his subconscious. Combined with the colorful characters who enacted them. The solidity and detailing of this particular fantasy were especially exquisite. Even time passed realistically–seconds heavy with tension.

The girl, as if abruptly realizing the impropriety of their proximity, finally dropped his arm and stepped back. She lowered her head, bit her lip. “I should’ve been there for him,” she said quietly, tugging at Andy’s heart strings, nearly ripping them out by the roots. She took a deep breath, then confronted him with shining wet eyes. “Whether you wish to stay or return to your realm you must first uphold your end of the bargain. Mr. Liu did not die in vain. If this is the final wish then I, Shuangyi, vow to do everything in my power to see it accomplished.”