After a while, the old man sat back down in the recliner, his face dark.
He felt that what he'd just done had been rather foolish.
He'd actually mistaken a dream for reality...
Had he been so sleepy he'd gotten confused?
Or...
The old man clenched his fists.
He cursed under his breath.
The Pipa ghost tilted its head.
A hint of innocence appeared on its pale face, along with a touch of grievance.
It plucked the strings again.
As expected, the old man flew into a rage once more.
This time, the old man didn't shout.
He sprang to his feet.
He hadn't even done anything, yet the old man was already breathing heavily.
The old man glared.
Like a vulture, he swept his gloomy gaze rapidly around the area.
"Who?"
He growled.
Who on earth was it?
The old man got no response.
He took a deep breath.
He rubbed his ears hard.
Once was a dream.
Twice was a hallucination.
What about the third time?
Could he have imagined it himself?
He shouldn't have misheard.
The old man was both puzzled and irritated.
Like a beast trapped in a cage,
he paced in circles.
Where on earth was it?
Where was that sound coming from?
The old man dug his fingernails hard into the back of his hand.
He could hear it...
as if it were right beside his ear.
But how was that possible?
This was his home.
His balcony.
As far as he knew, none of his neighbors played the pipa.
So...
The old man rubbed his ears again.
They were growing warm from all the rubbing.
He knew they must be red.
The old man walked from one end of the balcony to the other.
Then