Chen Li froze, his breath caught in his throat. The old man's words echoed in his mind—it's real, and it's coming for you.The apartment seemed to close in around him, and the weight of the old man's presence only added to the suffocating atmosphere.
"You must be mistaken," Chen Li stammered, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's just a painting. A nightmare, maybe. But nothing more."
The old man shook his head slowly, his expression grave. "You're wrong. I've seen it before. Others have too. This figure—it doesn't just appear by chance. Once it chooses you, it won't stop until it finds you. That painting is just a doorway."
"A doorway to what?" Chen Li demanded, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to dismiss the man's words as nonsense, but something deep inside told him that the old man was speaking the truth.
"A doorway to him," the man said quietly. "To his world. The world of the forest, the mist, and the darkness. He watches from there, waiting for the moment when the boundary between his world and ours weakens. And now that you've painted him, that boundary is growing thinner by the day."
Chen Li shook his head, trying to make sense of the man's words. "Who is he? Why is this happening to me?"
The old man sighed, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of years had settled on him all at once. "He's a shadow, an ancient being that feeds on fear and despair. No one knows his true name, but those who've encountered him call him the 'Wraith of the Mist.' He preys on the vulnerable—those whose minds are open to his whispers. He'll come to you in your dreams, but it won't stop there. Eventually, he'll cross over into the waking world."
Chen Li felt a chill run down his spine. He wanted to laugh, to tell the old man that he was crazy, but something about the man's eyes—the intensity, the knowing—made him hesitate.
"What can I do?" Chen Li whispered, almost afraid to ask.
"There's only one way to stop him," the old man replied, his voice barely audible. "You have to destroy the painting. Burn it before it's too late. If you don't, he'll find his way through, and once he does, there's no going back."
Chen Li swallowed hard. Burn the painting? The thought filled him with dread. He had spent countless hours working on it, pouring his nightmares into every stroke. Yet the idea of keeping it, of letting it exist in his apartment, made his skin crawl.
"You need to act fast," the old man continued. "The longer you wait, the stronger he becomes. Soon, he won't need the painting to reach you."
Without another word, the old man turned and walked away, leaving Chen Li standing in the doorway, his mind racing. As the man's figure disappeared down the hall, Chen Li's eyes drifted back to the painting.
The figure in the mist seemed closer now, its shadowy form more defined, almost as if it was ready to step out of the canvas at any moment.