The Promise of the River of Forgetfulness

The living room light was on, and a woman in a white qipao sat on the sofa. Her back was to me, her long black hair falling to her waist. She held a string of rosewood prayer beads, rolling them one by one between her fingers.

“Who are you?” I clenched the Five Emperor Coins in my pocket, my voice tight with nerves.

The woman didn’t turn around. Her voice was soft, as though it had been steeped in water. “Mr. Shen, I’m here to deliver something.”

“What?”

She slowly turned around. Her face was stunningly beautiful, her skin as pale as snow and her eyes bright and expressive. Yet I felt a chill all over: there were no pupils in her eyes, only a cloudy white, as if veiled in mist.

“I’m delivering a talisman.” She raised the yellow paper charm in her hand. Its paper was an eerie dark red, covered in twisted symbols drawn in cinnabar, exactly like the signature on the invitation. “Stick it on the door, and those things won’t be able to get in tonight.”

Lu Changfeng had warned me never to approach a woman dressed in white. I took a step back and watched her warily. “I don’t need it.”

“Are you sure?” The woman smiled, the corners of her mouth curling into an eerie arc. “That little ghost in the red jacket was just an appetizer. The ‘guests’ at Wangchuan Tower are much harder to deal with. Mr. Shen, your grandfather survived back then only because of this talisman.”

Her words stirred something in me. How could she know about my grandfather?

“Who are you, exactly? What was your relationship with my grandfather?”