The Night Calls
Yun'er woke with a start, her tiny body trembling under the thin blanket. A cold sweat clung to her skin, and her chest rose and fell in short, panicked breaths.
Something was wrong.
She turned, clutching Zhi's arm. "Gege," she whispered, shaking him. "Wake up."
Zhi groaned, turning away. "Mmm… go back to sleep, Yun'er."
But Yun'er shook him harder. "No, Gege! Something is wrong! I saw it—I saw Mama in my dream, and she—" Her voice broke.
Zhi blinked awake, frowning at her tear-streaked face. "It was just a nightmare."
Yun'er shook her head furiously. "No! It wasn't just a dream! Mama is in danger! I know it."
Zhi hesitated. He had learned to trust Yun'er's instincts—whenever she had a bad feeling, something was always wrong.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The hut was too quiet, the wind outside unnaturally still.
Zhi's stomach tightened.
"…Where's Mama?"
Yun'er swallowed hard. "She's not here."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Zhi threw off the blanket and rushed to the door. The cold night air bit at his skin as he looked outside. The moon cast a pale glow over the dirt path, and there—leading away from their home—were fresh footprints.
His mother's.
He turned to Yun'er. "Get the fire torch."
Yun'er nodded, scrambling to light the torch with trembling fingers. The small flame flickered to life, casting long shadows on the walls.
Zhi grabbed her hand. "Stay close."
Together, they stepped into the night, following the footprints into the woods.
—
The forest was eerily quiet, the trees standing like silent watchers. The only sounds were the crackling of the torch and their hurried footsteps.
Yun'er clutched Zhi's arm. "Gege, I'm scared."
Zhi squeezed her hand tighter. "We'll find Mama."
Deeper and deeper they went, their small bodies dwarfed by the looming trees. Then, suddenly—
Voices.
They froze.
Ahead of them, past the mist, they saw her—Mama.
She stood rigid, facing two figures.
Zhi's breath caught in his throat. The torchlight flickered, illuminating their faces.
There were two men.
Two versions of the same person.
One looked weak and desperate. The other stood eerily still, his hollow eyes locked onto their mother.
Yiling's hand clenched around the knife at her side. She hadn't noticed them yet.
The weak one—their father?—opened his mouth. "Yiling, I—"
At that exact moment, Yun'er let out a small gasp.
Yiling's head snapped toward them. "Zhi? Yun'er?"
The children ran forward. "Mama!"
The moment they did—
The two men vanished.
Like mist dispersing in the wind, they simply ceased to exist.
The only thing left was the empty space where they had stood.
The torch flickered, the silence around them deafening.
Yiling, knife still raised, turned back to where the men had been.
Nothing.
It was as if they had never been there at all.
Zhi panted, his grip tightening on the torch. "Mama… what was that?"
Yiling didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
—