Shen Nanshu
The delivery box has been sitting in the entryway for three days, and you haven't opened it.
It’s not that you aren't curious. The recipient is clearly your name and apartment number, but the sender is a complete blank. The palm-sized box makes a faint rattling sound when shaken, as if it’s hiding some unspeakable secret.
But you’ve been so busy rushing your thesis lately that you’ve had to squeeze every second of sleep out of your schedule. The box just lay there on the floor, getting kicked once when you came in and once when you went out, until its square edges were worn into a polygon.
On the night of the fourth day, the moment the final draft was successfully submitted, you finally remembered its existence.
You opened the package to find a finely crafted doll inside.
It’s about the size of a palm, made of soft silicone, and the facial features are carved with startling vividness—the corners of the eyes droop slightly, the bridge of the nose is straight, and the lips are pursed in an innocent curve. Dark brown hair falls softly over the forehead, like some kind of gentle little animal.
You stared at this face for three seconds.
Why does it look so familiar?
Before you could think too deeply, you pulled another item from the box—a palm-sized manual with bold black text printed on the cover:
【Sense-Synchronized Doll · User Guide】
"This product establishes a one-way sensory connection with a designated target. Touch any part of the doll, and the designated target will feel the same sensation in the same location. The target cannot perceive your existence in reverse."
Below was a line of smaller text: "The connection is permanently bound; no additional operation required."
You flipped through it a few times, then checked the box again—no sender, no purchase record, no clues whatsoever.
Who sent this?
A prank? Or some friend who was bored enough to play a joke on you?
You picked up the doll and looked at it. The craftsmanship was impossibly delicate; even the eyelashes were distinct. For something this realistic, the cost shouldn't be low.
Forget it, if you can't figure it out, don't think about it for now.
You tossed the doll onto the table and got up to take a shower.
The water splashed loudly, but that face kept turning in your mind. The brows, the nose, the lips—who does it look like, exactly?
As you came out drying your hair, you froze in front of the mirror.
The mirror reflected the light from the neighboring balcony. This old apartment has poor soundproofing. A guy who's studying for his postgraduate exams lives next door, and you can occasionally hear him flipping pages.
You’ve seen him a few times.
In the elevator, at the convenience store downstairs, by the trash cans. He’s tall and thin, wears thin-framed glasses, and always dresses in clean, light-colored hoodies. Every time your eyes meet, he’s the first to look away, the tips of his ears slowly flushing a faint red.
Once, when you were carrying too many things, he happened to be leaving the elevator. He silently held the door open for you for a long time, and only when you walked into the hallway did he whisper a small "Take care."
His voice was muffled behind a mask, like he was holding an undissolved piece of candy in his mouth.
Last week he knocked to borrow soy sauce, standing at the door looking helpless, handing over a bowl with plastic wrap tightly over the top, afraid of spilling.
"You can pour back whatever you don't use," he had said.
You almost laughed out loud.
Someone like that, what was his name again?
His surname was Shen, and his name was quite elegant—Shen Nanshu.
Nanshu, Nanshu. You recited it in your mind; it sounded nice.
After drying your hair and lying down in bed, you checked the time—1:30 AM. The lights were on next door, and you could faintly hear talking; he was probably on a video call with a friend.
That doll was still sitting on the desk, its face turned toward you.
You stared at it for a while, suddenly feeling a bit bored.
Since you were free anyway, you might as well see if this thing was really as supernatural as the manual claimed.
You reached out and gently poked its left cheek.
It was soft with good rebound.
The room next door suddenly went quiet.
The talking stopped abruptly.
You blinked and pricked up your ears.
A rustling sound came from across the wall, as if someone had suddenly stood up. A chair leg scraped against the floor with a sharp *screech*.
"Sorry, my connection lagged for a second," his voice rang out, carrying a trace of imperceptible panic.
You looked down at the doll in your hand; the indentation from your poke was still on its left cheek.
A coincidence?
You poked it again, this time on the right cheek.
Next door went quiet again.
After a few seconds, his voice rose again, this time a bit shaky: "The internet isn't great today... let me take a breather."
You stared at the doll, your heart skipping a beat.
No way...
You picked the doll up and examined it over and over. The more you looked, the more it resembled him—those slightly drooping eyes, those thin pursed lips, that soft hair falling over the forehead.
Shen Nanshu, the guy next door who blushes just from borrowing soy sauce.
You were possessed by a sudden whim and reached out, gently pinching the doll's right earlobe.
A very faint intake of breath came from across the wall.
Then there was a flurry of panicked rustling, as if something had been knocked over.
"Shen Nanshu?" Someone's voice came faintly from the other end of the video call. "Why is your face so red?"
"It's... it's nothing." His voice was muffled, as if he were covering the microphone. "Let's end it here for today, I’m not feeling very well."
Then came a set of hurried footsteps, moving from the desk toward the bed—judging by the sounds you usually heard, his bed should be against the wall that you share.
A *thump* followed, as if someone had thrown themselves onto the bed.
You held the doll's earlobe, your fingers feeling a bit stiff.
Coincidence.
It has to be a coincidence.
You took a deep breath and put the doll back on the table, deciding not to touch it again.
However, barely two minutes after lying down, a low sigh came from next door.
It was very light, so light it was almost inaudible, but for some reason, you just knew—that was the sound of a face being buried into a pillow.
You rolled over and stared at the ceiling.
You couldn't sleep.
Your head was full of that face, those slightly drooping eyes, those thin pursed lips.
You sat up and picked up the doll again.
This time you didn't touch it; you just watched.
Moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, falling on the doll's face. That innocent expression, that soft hair over the forehead—it was a perfect miniature version of the person next door.
You reached out and traced the doll's collarbone with a fingertip.
Next door suddenly went silent.
Then came a suppressed groan.
Immediately after, something heavy hit the floor—as if someone had rolled off the bed.
You almost laughed out loud but quickly covered your mouth.
No way, no way... is he really this sensitive?
You turned the doll over, hesitated for a moment, and poked its lower back.
A violent rustling came from next door, followed by a very low, nasal groan.
The sound traveled through the wall, muffled and soft, as if something were blocking his mouth.
Your fingers froze.
This reaction...
Before you could figure it out, footsteps suddenly echoed outside your door.
Light, hurried, approaching from a distance.
They stopped right at your door.
You gripped the doll and held your breath.
After a long time, so long that you thought you had misheard, two cautious knocks sounded on the door.
*Knock. Knock.*
In the middle of the night, 2:00 AM.
Your fingertips on the doorknob were trembling slightly.
Taking a deep breath, you opened the door.
He was standing outside. The voice-activated hallway light hadn't come on yet, and only the moonlight from the window at the end of the hall filtered in, plating him in a blurred silver edge.
He was wearing light gray pajamas, the collar slightly open, revealing a section of pale collarbone.
He kept his eyes down and didn't look at you. His eyelashes trembled slightly in the moonlight, and an unnatural flush still lingered on his cheeks. His Adam's apple bobbed once, then again.
You noticed his hands were gripping the seams of his pants, his knuckles turning white.
"Um..." he began, his voice so low it was almost inaudible, with a slight raspy edge to it.
Then he paused.
His gaze fell on what was in your hand—the doll.
You instinctively hid your hand behind your back.
His eyes followed your hand for a moment, then he quickly retracted his gaze, looking down again.
"It's so late," you tried to keep your voice as normal as possible. "Is something wrong?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
His Adam's apple bobbed over and over.
Finally, he just shook his head.
"It's... it's nothing."
He took a step back.
"I just... heard a noise and thought something might be wrong over here."
He didn't look at you the entire time he spoke, his eyes fixed on the cracks in the floorboards. The moonlight shone on his face; that flush spread from his cheeks all the way to his earlobes, then down his neck, disappearing into his collar.
"I'm fine," you said.
"Okay." He nodded. "Then... I'll head back."
He took another step back.
Then he turned and walked back to his apartment.
The pitter-patter of his slippers on the floor echoed, step by step, further and further away.
He never once looked back.
You stood there, watching his door gently close, making almost no sound.
The hallway became quiet again.
Only the moonlight, you, and the doll in your hand remained.
You looked down at the doll, then at that tightly closed door.
So... he knocked on your door in the middle of the night just to ask if you were okay?
You went back to your room and put the doll back on the desk.
When you lay down, there wasn't a single sound from next door.
But for some reason, you just couldn't sleep.
Your mind was entirely occupied by the image of him standing in the moonlight—the lowered eyes, the reddened ears, the bobbing Adam's apple.
And that moment where he seemed to want to say something but stopped.
When his gaze fell on the doll, he clearly paused for a second.
Yet he said nothing.
He just asked if you were okay.
Then he left.
You rolled over, staring at the wall that separated the two of you.
Suddenly, you couldn't understand—
When he knocked just now, what exactly was he trying to confirm?
The moonlight from the window slowly moved across the ceiling.
It remained completely quiet next door.
You picked up the doll...Faça login para continuar a conversa.