Zhang Chenyan felt utterly perplexed. Every word he was saying now, he couldn't fully comprehend, and he doubted whether the person on the other side could either. These weren't the words he wanted to say, yet they were coming out of his mouth. The feeling of having his body controlled by someone else left him frustrated and helpless; he wanted to reclaim control over his body, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't.
Even more unsettling was the fact that there was no response from the bathroom stall. If he remembered correctly, hadn't the person inside just been shouting and making noise? Why was it suddenly so quiet?
Zhang Chenyan: "Answer me!"
Zhang Chenyan rarely spoke to anyone in such a harsh tone. It was obvious that whatever was controlling his body was still in charge.
Silence. A dead silence persisted.
At that moment, Zhang Chenyan couldn't afford to worry about anything else. His first thought was—something must have happened!
Simultaneously, his hand pounded heavily on the stall door: "Open up! Open the door!"
The thudding sound echoed in the bathroom, and Zhang Chenyan wanted to cry.
This wasn't even his own hand. The pain wasn't being felt by whoever was controlling him, so why were they being so forceful?
Zhang Chenyan was certain his hand was swollen. He wanted to stop, but the more terrifying part was that his body then slammed against the door.
What was happening? Was this force controlling him actually trying to break the door down with his body?
Zhang Chenyan thought this was completely absurd, like something out of a poorly written drama. If doors could be broken down with a few hits, why bother having locks at all?
Fortunately, after a few attempts, it seemed the entity realized Zhang Chenyan's frail body wasn't up to the task. It had him leave the bathroom to find the museum's security personnel, reporting that someone might have fainted inside.
The security officers arrived quickly, and in a short time, they unlocked the stall door with a master key.
But the moment the door swung open, Zhang Chenyan nearly gagged.
The man… was dead…
There were no visible wounds on his body, but blood was continuously pouring from his mouth. Upon closer inspection, Zhang Chenyan realized the man had bitten off his own tongue.
He didn't know when this had happened. He was sure he had heard the man's voice just moments ago. Perhaps while he was being forced to speak outside the stall, the man was in there, "killing himself."
No, it might not even be suicide.
Zhang Chenyan didn't know if it was just his imagination, but he had a strong feeling that the man hadn't wanted to die. It didn't look like a voluntary act at all.
But under such circumstances, could someone have actually approached the stall and caused his death in such a manner?
Zhang Chenyan carefully recalled the events. When he entered the bathroom, the man was still alive, and it was while Zhang Chenyan was talking to him that he suddenly fell silent. Realizing something was wrong, Zhang Chenyan had immediately sought help. He remembered that he found the security guards right near the bathroom, and the conversation to explain the situation was brief. After two sentences, the security guards had accompanied him back to the stall.
Could someone have entered during that short period?
A death in such a public place is no trivial matter. Zhang Chenyan quickly reported what had happened, and the museum staff promptly reviewed the security footage.
The footage clearly showed that the man had entered the bathroom shortly before Zhang Chenyan, and then Zhang Chenyan entered the bathroom. Less than five minutes later, Zhang Chenyan rushed out to seek help, and the security guards followed him back in.
During this time, no one else had entered or exited the bathroom.
The footage ruled out the possibility of someone else entering the bathroom to commit the crime, as well as the possibility of someone lying in wait inside the stall.
But even without the footage, the nature of the man's death made it unlikely that any external force could have caused it.
In the end, the incident was officially deemed a suicide, no matter how much Zhang Chenyan wanted to believe otherwise. He had to accept this conclusion.
When Zhang Chenyan left the Aerospace Museum, he suddenly realized he had regained control of his body. Facing the concerned expressions of his mother and father, he didn't know what to say.
"You must be shaken up," his father said gently, pulling him into an embrace. "Don't worry, Mom and Dad are here."
At his age, Zhang Chenyan felt awkward being hugged like a little kid. He stubbornly tried to break free, but his father held him tightly, refusing to let go.
"Don't think about it, and you won't be afraid. Otherwise, you'll have nightmares tonight," his father continued. "When I was scared, my dad used to hold me like this, and it worked. I'm not sure if it'll work for you."
So this was a "family tradition"?
Zhang Chenyan was torn between laughter and tears. Oddly enough, he wasn't as scared as he had been initially; in fact, he was starting to calm down.
In retrospect, part of the reason he could stay so composed was that during the ordeal, he had been a mere spectator—a bystander to the horrific scene and to his own actions.
"I'm not afraid," Zhang Chenyan finally said.
It felt so good to have control over his own voice again, to say only what he wanted to say.
But his father still didn't let go. "We need to hug for a full five minutes. They say that's how long it takes to transfer the fear, so it won't turn into a lasting trauma."
Zhang Chenyan was even more exasperated. Why was this "family tradition" even timed? As if it were based on scientific principles or something.
"Once, when I was little, I fell down the stairs and got badly hurt. After that, I was terrified of stairs and would cry every time I saw them. But then your grandpa held me like this, and after that, I wasn't scared anymore," his father added as evidence.
"You must have been really young then, right?" Zhang Chenyan asked, unable to resist.
"Yes, how did you know?" his father responded in surprise. "I think I was five or six, not long after I started remembering things."
Zhang Chenyan sighed. "But I'm a teenager now, in high school. Isn't this a bit… much?"
"You're still my son, even at this age," his father replied, matter-of-factly.
Most of the time, his father was gentle and understanding. But for some reason, he was unusually insistent about this. No matter how many times Zhang Chenyan insisted he wasn't afraid, his father wouldn't budge. He was determined to hold him for the full five minutes, convinced it would prevent nightmares and trauma.
So, in the end, Zhang Chenyan found himself standing outside the Aerospace Museum, locked in a tight embrace with his father for a full five minutes. The two of them looked as if they were glued together, inseparable.
As his father finally released him, a sudden thought flashed through Zhang Chenyan's mind: "So this is what it feels like to have a dad…"
He didn't know why he had thought that, but the phrase was imprinted clearly in his mind at that moment.
Hadn't he always had a father? His dad just worked away from home frequently, but that didn't mean he didn't have one. Why would he think such an unfilial thought?
Shaking his head vigorously, Zhang Chenyan tried to push the notion out of his mind.
But the movement made Xie Han worry. "Is it happening again? Honey, maybe you should hold him a bit longer—like a booster shot."
As he was once again enveloped in his father's warm embrace, Zhang Chenyan silently thanked his mother.
What was a "booster shot" anyway? If they were going to indulge in superstitions, why did they have to make it sound so scientific?
So there was another five minutes of father-son bonding.
This time, however, Zhang Chenyan remained remarkably calm throughout. He had accepted the situation—if he couldn't stop it, he might as well just go along with it.
After five minutes, he repeatedly assured his parents that he wasn't afraid anymore, not even a little bit, and even praised his father's family method as being particularly effective. Finally, the matter was put to rest.
On the way home, the family of three was unusually quiet, a stark contrast to the excitement of their journey to the museum. No one had expected such a thing to happen, and although Zhang Chenyan insisted that he was fine, everyone was still a bit worried.
If they had just encountered a madman, they might not have been so shaken. But the madman had died—right in front of Zhang Chenyan—and it was likely that while Zhang Chenyan was speaking outside, the man had been inside, "killing himself."
Just a thin wall between them, just a matter of minutes.
Had it not been for the stall door, Zhang Chenyan might have witnessed the entire process.
The thought alone was chilling.
By the time they arrived home, it was already evening. Zhang Chenyan went straight to the bathroom to wash up before saying goodnight to his parents.
Before bed, his father came to ask if he needed him to sleep in his room.
Zhang Chenyan promptly refused. He was a teenage boy, after all—no way was he going to have his dad sleep with him. That would be beyond embarrassing.
"Alright, but if you need anything, just call me. If you get scared in the middle of the night, don't hesitate to come to us," his father said, looking at him with concern. "Don't worry about waking us up. None of us are going to sleep well after what happened today."
Zhang Chenyan nodded, feeling touched by his father's straightforward concern.
That night, he noticed the living room light stayed on for a long time. Even after he fell asleep, the light was still shining. He knew this was his father's way of silently keeping watch over him, staying up late to read just to be nearby in case his son needed him.
That night, Zhang Chenyan wasn't the least bit scared. The light from the living room was his anchor, his assurance.
"My dad's watching over me," he kept telling himself before he fell asleep, finding courage in that thought.
When Zhang Chenyan woke up the next morning, he found his father sleeping on the couch. Confused, he asked, "Dad, why are you sleeping here?"
His father looked equally puzzled. He stretched and yawned, then casually said, "Maybe I was snoring too loud last night, and your mom kicked me out."
Just then, his mother emerged from the bedroom, still half-asleep. Seeing her husband on the couch, she laughed, "You actually slept out here all night? Honestly, your snoring was so loud last night, it was like a thunderstorm. I thought you'd sneak back to bed once I fell asleep, but you're really obedient."
"Would I dare disobey my wife? Besides, if I came back and woke you up again, wouldn't you have beaten me up?" his father teased.
Not wanting to witness more early morning banter, Zhang Chenyan returned to his room after washing up and started working on his homework. School was starting in a few days, and he hadn't even touched his assignments. If he didn't get a move on, he could already picture himself pulling an all-nighter before the first day, and even then, he might not finish in time. There were just too many pages—he'd probably end up doing detention anyway.
"Finally getting around to your homework, huh?" Xie Han peeked into the room, placing a glass of milk on his desk. "I was beginning to think they'd stopped giving out holiday assignments at your school."
As he drank his milk, Zhang Chenyan retorted, "Mom, can't you just be nice for once? Playing with sarcasm, huh?"
"Oh, listen to you, lecturing me now," Xie Han chuckled. "Anyway, I won't disturb you while you're studying. Finish your milk and get back to work."
With a sigh, Zhang Chenyan downed the milk, handed the glass back to his mom, and buried himself in his assignments.
Xie Han quietly closed the door behind her as she left, a considerate gesture Zhang Chenyan appreciated.
But he couldn't resist muttering to himself, "She never remembers to knock when she comes in, but at least she always shuts the door on her way out."
All things considered, it wasn't so bad.
The homework wasn't too difficult, and Zhang Chenyan worked quickly. Perhaps because his father was home, he was in a good mood and worked efficiently. When he got to the last part of his Chinese assignment, there was a short essay prompt titled "A Wonderful Day."
Zhang Chenyan couldn't help but grumble a bit. Diary assignments like this were something students had to write every year, from elementary school all the way to high school, and they never seemed to get any less childish.
But grumbling aside, Zhang Chenyan found himself happily writing about the day. After all, this time he really had something to write about—it had genuinely been a wonderful day.
"Today, I went to the Aerospace Museum with my parents. The guide there was very professional, explaining everything in great detail with a warm and patient voice. I saw many new technologies I had never seen before, and I was thoroughly delighted the entire time…"