The Dream's Illusions and Reality: What Was Real, What Was False?

The thief could no longer sleep. He rolled out of bed, groped for his slippers in the dark, and walked onto the balcony where the clothes were hung.

He raised his head and gazed into the distance, his eyes falling on a rooftop far away.

He narrowed his eyes. In the distance, he seemed to see a blurry black silhouette on the rooftop.

The silhouette sat alone at the edge, beneath the moonlight.

His heart had yet to settle after the nightmare, and though he had meant to relax, he saw the silhouette spread its arms and topple off the rooftop.

"Fuck—" he muttered under his breath, shuddering with fright.

But the falling silhouette suddenly vanished in midair. He rubbed his eyes, checking whether it had been an illusion.

After lighting a cigarette, he returned to the room. By the moonlight, he looked closely and saw that a pile of spirit money had somehow been scattered across his bed.

Not those bright red banknotes, but... but yellow joss paper with square coin holes!

He turned on the dormitory light in a panic, and his light-sleeping roommate opened his eyes in annoyance.

"Who is it? Turning on the light to use the bathroom in the middle of the night..."

The roommate turned around groggily, and a flash of red crossed his vision. The roommate sleeping on the other side woke with a start and looked again at the thief's bed. "Whoa, hundred-yuan bills?"

The yellow joss paper with square coin holes vanished from view, turning back into those wrinkled banknotes.

The thief turned the light off again and hurried back to his bed to gather the banknotes. "You must still be half asleep," he said irritably.

A wave of drowsiness came over his roommate again, and he could barely keep his eyes open. He yawned and murmured, "Maybe. You shouldn't have that much money. If you did, I'd wonder if you stole it somewhere."

Before long, only snores could be heard in the dormitory.

Things were too strange. Perhaps the thief was afraid.

He thought, Maybe I should give the money back... but what about the hundreds I've already spent?

The next day, the teacher went over matters concerning the college entrance exam in the classroom. He was as lost as usual, but this time, the teacher singled him out by name.

The teacher's scolding and his unease over the stolen money pressed on that nerve.

Amid the clamor, he met Fan Daoyi's gaze once more.

A faint smile still lingered on Fan Daoyi's lips.

His lips parted and closed.

Where did you say my money was?

His eyes were bloodshot. Ignoring the teacher's scolding, he ran straight out of the classroom.

Money, return the money... I have to return it!

How much am I still short? How much...

He climbed the wall into the dormitory, counted the money he had left, and scraped together some loose change.

Not enough. Still short, still short!

He went back to his old trade, cornering a lower-grade student and extorting protection money.

He chose a frail-looking fellow as his target and intimidated him into an alley entrance.

Faced with the furious thief, the cornered student trembled, his expression fearful. "Wh-what do you want...?"

"How much money do you have on you?"

"I... I don't have any..."

"Tell me, how much money do you have on you?!" The thief slammed a fist into the wall.

Blood seeped from his knuckles, but he seemed not to feel the pain, constantly muttering as he asked how much money the student had.

The student fearfully fumbled through his pockets and held out the money with both hands.

He snatched it, put it together with the money he already had, and counted it again.

Still not enough.

He stuffed the money into his pocket and viciously threatened the student. "You're finished if you dare tell a teacher."

With that, he turned to leave.

The frail student pushed up his slipping glasses with one hand and asked in a voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz, "Wh-what do you need the money for?"

The thief ignored him and continued toward the exit.

"Is it to pay someone back?"

That single question stopped the thief in his tracks. He stiffly drew back the foot he had stepped out with and turned his head in astonishment.

The frail student's initial timidity had vanished, replaced by a trace of mockery.

"How much? A thousand?" the student continued.

In the thief's vision, the frail student's face began to twist, and a layer of skin peeled away from it.

He saw it—saw an incomparably familiar face.

It was... Fan Daoyi!

"You extorted money from me to repay the money you owe me. Does that count as paying it back, or not?"

The fragile thread in his mind snapped completely, and he broke down, scattering the money.

"I didn't steal this! I didn't steal anything! Here, take it! Take all of it!"

He refused to admit he had stolen the money, tears and snot smeared all over his face.

He was utterly terrified.

Fan Daoyi picked up a piece of spirit money and walked toward the thief.

He shoved the spirit money in front of the thief's eyes and smiled. "What exactly did you scatter at me? Can you see it clearly?"

Spirit money... it was the yellow joss paper with square coin holes that he had seen in last night's hallucination.

The spirit money fluttered through the air, swaying as it fell and forming a thin layer on the ground.

A small flame flickered to life and burned the spirit money to ashes.

"That was thoughtful of you, knowing to burn money for me." Fan Daoyi's figure was swallowed by the flames. He raised a hand to catch the black ash drifting upward and smiled eerily. "After all, I'm already dead."

"Just... last night."

Boom!

A buzzing filled the thief's head as he recalled the hallucination he had seen last night.

That wasn't a hallucination? It was real?

No, it was fake, fake! I saw Fan Daoyi in the classroom today!

"I didn't lie to you. You scattered spirit money beside my corpse. What are you afraid of? Are you trying to escape?" Fan Daoyi raised a finger and pointed upward.

The thief followed the gesture with his eyes. Above them was an exposed corner.

A potted flowering plant sat on it.

It was the rooftop from which he had seen the silhouette jump last night.

"Stop playing ghosts and gods with me!" He forced himself to stand firm, certain of his belief. "You took part in the game, didn't you? Is this an ability you got from it?"

"Heh, I won't believe it. I won't believe it!"

"In that case, all right." Fan Daoyi's words drifted lightly out.

But that did not mean he would let the thief off easily.

"Since you won't acknowledge the spirit money you scattered, then..." Fan Daoyi spoke the words the thief had heard in his head countless times. "Where did you say my money was?"

As Fan Daoyi approached, the thief kept backing away.

"Hmm?" Suddenly, Fan Daoyi looked visibly disappointed. "What are you doing here? We agreed I'd handle this round entirely on my own."

The thief stiffly turned to look behind him. There stood an identical Fan Daoyi, leaning on a cane and standing quietly behind him.

"Wear away his hopes of getting away with it, and present enough evidence." The Fan Daoyi behind him smiled and stepped aside to open a path, revealing more people behind him.

A crowd gathered around him, hurling accusations, and a twisted corpse lay on the ground. The thief was trapped among them, unable to escape.

"It was him! He was the one who stole the money!"

"He killed Fan Daoyi."

"What a poor child. It was all because of him."

Countless voices surrounded him, and in his vision was that flash of crimson. It was... crimson blood flowing across the ground...

"I didn't..."

The gathered crowd raised their phones one after another, playing videos as evidence.

The video showed proof of his theft.

"I didn't."

He was cornered in a dead end, shoved and squeezed by the people around him.

"I didn't!"

He pushed through the crowd and ran out.

Then, with a tremendous bang, the desk in front of him and the chair behind him toppled over.

Startled by the loud noise, his classmates turned toward its source, their expressions puzzled. He was still standing beside his own place.

His face was pale, haunted by fear and confusion that would not fade, and his voice trembled incessantly. "...Another dream?"

He raised his eyes. At the desk ahead and to his right, Fan Daoyi was playing the video of the theft on a phone held beneath the desk.

The dream's illusions and reality: what was real, and what was false?

Could he still tell them apart?