Chen Li's mind was clouded with confusion as he stared at the figure in the painting. It was faint, as if hiding within the fog, but unmistakably human. He moved closer, examining the shadowy figure more carefully. The more he looked, the more it seemed to take shape—was it a man or a woman? He couldn't tell, but its presence felt unsettling, almost as if it was watching him through the canvas.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit him. Chen Li grabbed the edge of the easel to steady himself. The room seemed to spin, and his vision blurred for a moment. When he blinked and focused again, the figure in the painting looked even clearer.
Had it moved?
Chen Li shook his head, trying to dismiss the ridiculous thought. It was just a painting. He was tired, and his mind was playing tricks on him. Yet, a small voice in the back of his head whispered otherwise, stirring the growing unease that had taken root since the day he moved in.
That night, sleep came slowly. The rain had stopped, leaving the night eerily quiet. As he lay in bed, he couldn't stop thinking about the painting—the figure hidden in the mist, the dark, twisted trees. His thoughts spun in endless circles until exhaustion finally pulled him into a restless sleep.