Fujito Kiyono had lived in many European countries. He had no fixed residence—sometimes staying in theaters, sometimes renting a place for a short period. His belongings and clothes changed over and over, but the only thing that remained by his side was that cloth doll—the cloth doll called Wanzhi.

It wasn’t large, about thirty centimeters tall with a slender body made of cream-colored linen. It had no detailed fingers or toes, no facial features.

That year, Fujito Kiyono had a medium summon Xie Chi’s soul, sealed it in the urn with his blood as a seal. But he didn’t want to face a cold wooden box every day, so he sewed this doll to give her a new body.

Every day Fujito Kiyono would dress the cloth doll in new clothes. For this, he learned design and tailoring. He had two large trunks filled with exquisitely crafted small clothes—qipaos, Western dresses, kimonos… Most of all were qipaos; he still liked Xie Chi in qipaos best.

Wherever he went, Fujito Kiyono would take it with him. He said this was his fiancée, this was his most beloved.

Fujito Kiyono’s mind was actually quite normal. In others’ eyes, he was a gifted playwright, but when it came to matters concerning Xie Chi, he became a complete madman.

The new play’s London premiere ended perfectly. Fujito Kiyono had been sitting on the high third floor in the distance, overlooking the audience and stage. By his hand was a round wooden table with a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses.

Fujito Kiyono lifted his wine glass and looked toward the cloth doll leaning against the high chair at the other end of the round table, smiling as he asked, “Would you like some?”

He paused for a moment, then shook his head regretfully and muttered to himself, “You can’t drink. If you’re thirsty, you’ll have to wait until we get home.” He sipped the red wine by himself, gently set down the glass, and sat elegantly with half-drooping eyes as he enjoyed the performance. After a long while, he reached out to hold the cloth doll in his arms, looking at her with tender affection and saying softly, “I have another new inspiration. I’ll tell you about it when we get back.” He stroked the doll’s soft hair—two locks cut from Xie Chi’s corpse that he had originally kept as a memento but then used to make hair for the doll. The hair was more than enough, long and thick. Fujito Kiyono combed it many times every day, sometimes braiding two plaits, sometimes putting it up in a bun, sometimes simply tying it back with a ribbon…

Fujito Kiyono lifted the doll and kissed the top of its head, deeply inhaling the scent of the hair, closing his eyes in intoxication as he leaned back against the soft chair back with curved lips. “Wanzhi, you smell so good.”

…

The year Japan announced surrender, Fujito Kiyono was in a small town in Ireland. He felt no sadness whatsoever—his body and soul had already separated from war and the past, completely immersed in the world of two with his beloved.

He kept the shoulder-length hair that his father most despised, always disheveled or tied in a short little braid. Sometimes he would deliberately grow neat stubble, which combined with his melancholy eyes made his handsome face even more mysterious.

Women approached him, and so did men. But whether they were beautiful or ugly, outstanding or mediocre, wealthy or poor, he paid them no heed. He lived alone with his cloth doll for twenty-five years. He had no desires and never even touched another woman’s finger again.

At fifty, Fujito Kiyono returned to Japan.

His mother had long since passed away. Fujita Michi had died of breast cancer four years earlier, and their former home had been sold. He bought the mansion back.

During his brief time in Tokyo, Fujito Kiyono did everything possible to erase all information about his wartime activities during WWII. He didn’t want this life he considered pure to have any stains—he could only be a talented artist. Besides this, he also adopted an abandoned little boy, naming him Takada Shi. He needed a trustworthy person to handle his affairs after death. He gave his adopted son a wealthy life, taught him multiple languages, taught him to write, and forced him to learn witchcraft from mediums. Only after the boy showed some success did he take him away from Japan to North America.

It wasn’t until twenty-three years later, when Fujito Kiyono developed Alzheimer’s disease and his memory gradually declined, that he returned to his homeland again.

He could accept dying painfully from any terminal illness, but couldn’t allow himself to forget her. So he chose to commit suicide by gun on Xie Chi’s death anniversary, dying at age seventy-eight.

…

The moment Fujito Kiyono died, the blood seal binding the soul disappeared.

All these years, Xie Chi could hear every word he spoke to her, but she could neither break free nor easily escape. Finally, at this moment, she regained her freedom.

She only wanted to leave this cursed place and return to her homeland.

The sea often had lost, wandering souls drifting by, lost in the netherworld like drowning in smoke and mist, their soul power depleted, wandering for years.

Xie Chi lingered by the boundary river for several days. At night, evil sea spirits devoured lone souls and remnant ghosts; during the day, the blazing sun was like fire on her body. Later, Fujito Kiyono searched for her everywhere.

In less than four days, she was captured and brought back.

Fujito Kiyono had become a withered old man, but Xie Chi still had her beautiful young appearance. Seeing her again, Fujito Kiyono was so excited he choked and couldn’t speak. After a long while, he lovingly grasped her neck and said, “My Wanzhi hasn’t changed, not at all.”

Fujito Kiyono watched her almost constantly, but no matter how closely he watched, there were moments of oversight. Xie Chi escaped countless times, but was caught and brought back countless times. She had been sealed for fifty-three years, her soul power diminished—she was too weak. But even if caught and brought back a hundred times, a thousand times, ten thousand times, she would never give up trying to escape.

It was China’s Ghost Festival.

The gates of hell opened wide, and the boundary river’s jurisdiction relaxed. Xie Chi pretended to make peace with Fujito Kiyono, then took advantage of his inattention to run out again.

She used all her strength to rush toward the boundary river, running toward Chinese territory in the vast sea.

“Wanzhi—”

He was chasing her again.

In the distance were several wandering souls circling around a lonely island. Xie Chi hid on one side of the island, listening to the calls echoing from all directions.

All these years, to suppress himself, Fujito Kiyono had not hesitated to devour souls. His power was too enormous. Xie Chi had tried to resist, but it was all like throwing eggs at stones—she didn’t even have a chance to die together with him.

She didn’t want to be captured and brought back again.

Even if her soul scattered and she disappeared in this endless sea.

Xie Chi endured intense pain and forcibly split herself apart.

She gave all her kindness and gentleness to the larger part, keeping only the fierce, ruthless nature and all her resentment to continue circling with Fujito.

The remnant soul slowly drifted in another direction. “Go back, go find him, go—”

She watched the larger part of her soul continue toward her homeland, then turned to lead Fujito Kiyono in another direction.

As soon as he sensed her aura, Fujito Kiyono immediately chased after her. “Wanzhi, you can’t escape. Come back quickly.”

“Come back.”

…

The already fragile soul, missing a small part and battered by the sea, was already dying. As soon as she returned to her homeland, Xie Chi was entangled by a lust demon. She had no strength left to struggle, but the demon pursued relentlessly. Fleeing through a hospital, she encountered a little girl who had just died and borrowed the body to hide.

But what she didn’t expect was that after being unconscious in the human body for several days, when she woke up, the baby had actually come back to life. But the original soul had already left, and she was trapped in this body.

Before her was a good-looking couple who kept calling her “Tong Tong.”

She wanted to cry out:

“Let me out—”

“He Feng.”

“He Feng—”

But what came out was only clear, crisp crying.

…

Reborn with seven mortal souls in her new body, her memories gradually faded as the body grew, until they completely disappeared by the full moon.

The other remnant soul nearly scattered several times, unable to take form, leaving only a faint consciousness dwelling by the ashes.

All these years Fujito Kiyono had been searching for that larger part of her soul, wanting to bring it back for fusion. He forced his adopted son and grandson, who had studied spiritualism for years, to go to China and search for a full ten years.

It wasn’t until he heard that He Feng was entangled with a girl that he came to confirm in person.

He watched Ji Tong’s every smile and expression from afar. That demeanor, in certain moments, was extremely similar to before.

“Wanzhi, so you’re hiding here.”

“I’ve searched so hard for you.”

…

Zhou Hui hired professional investigators to look up Fujito Kiyono’s information. One night, he received a message from the investigator learning that a woman named Fujita Wanzhi had once been buried in the Fujita family cemetery, later moved to a small cemetery in the suburbs and buried together with Fujito Kiyono.

Zhou Hui sat at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard, falling into unprecedented collapse.

Her bones were still there.

…

Two years ago Zhou Hui had obtained a Japanese visa. Early the next morning, he took all his documents and prepared to go abroad. Before leaving, he called Ji Tong’s name.

She was sleeping drowsily, opened her eyes to see Zhou Hui with his bag packed and fully dressed. “What time is it?”

“I need to leave for a few days, go abroad.”

“Where to?”

Zhou Hui didn’t answer directly. “To see a friend.”

Ji Tong sat up. “Not taking me?”

Zhou Hui fell silent.

Ji Tong smiled and lay back down. “It’s okay, you go. I’ll wait for you to come back.”

Zhou Hui leaned down to hold her. “I’ll be back very soon.”

…

Zhou Hui went to Shanghai to transfer flights, arriving in Tokyo at 5 PM. Someone picked him up at the airport and drove straight to the cemetery.

Nothing couldn’t be solved with money. The investigator had already made arrangements in advance, and the gravekeepeer directly led them to find the place.

Zhou Hui stood before the enormous tomb. Several stone posts were arranged around it, looking very eerie, like some kind of seal.

He said to the two people behind him, “Let me be alone for a while.”

Only he remained in the empty cemetery.

Zhou Hui walked forward two steps, crouched down, and looked at Xie Chi’s black and white photo on the tombstone.

He looked at her for a long time before reaching out to touch her smiling face. “I’m sorry for letting you sleep here all this time.”

…

Zhou Hui took away both the urn and the photo.

His memories from his time as a wandering spirit existed intermittently, and he still remembered where he had been buried. It was on a low slope of a small fishing village, overlooking the sea and land. Later, a sweetgum tree had grown beside the grave.

But after many years, the soil had accumulated in layers, already too thick to dig out the bones. He took a handful of sweetgum soil and yellow earth and left, taking Xie Chi’s ashes to Shandong, burying them together on the mountaintop where Xie Chi had once erected a monument for him.

Ji Tong hadn’t lied to him—there was indeed nothing under the monument.

Zhou Hui placed the urn and a handful of yellow soil inside, then covered it with earth.

After just one layer, he brushed the soil away again and held her in his arms.

He buried his face deeply and kissed the cold wooden box.

The cold wind drew out the pain from the depths of his soul thread by thread. In this silent place, he began to cry out in pain, almost venting.

The sound echoed lowly in the valley.

…