Ghost Blows Out the Light
Autumn in Beijing. The wind blowing from Shichahai is already quite chilly.
Hu Bayi squats at the entrance of the alley, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, squinting as he watches the passersby on the street. He has just returned from the south—to be precise, he was discharged by the military. He hasn't thrown away the faded military shirt he's wearing, but the top collar buttons have long been left undone. The street before him hasn't changed much since the year he left, but as for himself, something inside his heart has rotted away, never to be pieced back together.
"Old Hu!" A hefty man weighing well over two hundred pounds comes jogging over from across the street, his round face slick with sweat and grease. Even from three paces away, you can smell the gamey aroma of the mutton hotpot he just ate. Wang Kaixuan throws an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he'd just struck gold. "You're finally back! I've been doing nothing but losing money these past six months, just waiting for you to get back so we can make our fortune together!"
Hu Bayi pats his belly. "You must have gained twenty pounds in these six months."
"Piss off."
The two sit down on the steps at the mouth of the alley. Fatty Wang pulls out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and lights one for each of them. Through the haze of smoke, red slogans painted on the opposite wall can be seen, their color long faded. As for the future, neither of them mentions it, nor do they want to.
Meanwhile, far away over the Pacific Ocean, on a flight from San Francisco to Beijing, a woman stares blankly at the clouds outside the window. At her side lies a videotape wrapped in kraft paper, and a yellowed old photograph of the ancient city of Jingjue in the Western Regions.
Deep in the desert, the wheel of fate buried thousands of years ago has already begun to turn.
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