The moment the needle tip pierced the cinnabar, all the candles in the shrine went out.
My hand stopped in mid-air, holding the silver needle covered with cinnabar between my fingertips. Hongyang was kneeling in front of me, with a blank face on the paper body - no eyes, no nose, no mouth. This is a paper figurine that I spent three days and three nights making with my own hands. Every strip of bamboo strips was bent by my hands.
"Don't be afraid." I whispered, my voice echoing in the empty shrine.
The silver needle trembled slightly in my hand. When my father taught me, he said: "The touch of eye is the touch of life. With one stroke, the paper figure will come to life." His eyes at that time were very complicated, as if he was looking at something that should not be passed down. When I was seven years old, I didn't know what it meant to be afraid, I just thought it was fun. Now I understand, but I can't stop.
The tip of the needle landed on the right eye socket of the paper man and gently drew a circle. The cinnabar spread out on the paper, like a drop of blood falling into the water. My hand is very steady, not like a person sticking needles into a paper figure in the middle of the night.
Then the left eye.
