I woke up in the morning and had a split headache. I vaguely remembered having a nightmare, but I couldn't remember it.

The closed curtains were exposed to a gap, and the sunlight shone on the withered green ivy in the windowsill, as if burning.

I got out of bed and sat in front of the dressing table. There were some cosmetics neatly placed on the table, not many, and I hadn't used them for many years. I looked up and saw myself in the mirror: my skin was pale like a zombie, and my hair grew a lot in two months because I was careless.

She looks like a female ghost.

I immediately felt funny about my thoughts, and suddenly remembered the morning dream:

A female ghost sat on my body, her hair hanging down to the edge of the bed.

This is very interesting.

As the saying goes, "I think about it in the day and dream about it at night." I never watch horror movies, and my concept of female ghosts is also very vague, but I have a clear memory of female ghosts in my dreams. What is the "reality" associated with it?

I turned around and looked at the room I had lived in for ten years and began to think.

This is a typical women's dormitory. The backrest chair in front of the windowsill is full of messy clothes, drooping without vitality, and a small piece of bra is exposed at the bottom.

The photo of the bedside was covered with dust, and the two people inside had no similarities to me.

Everything is no different from last night. There is nothing that reminds me of a "female ghost".

The chaotic thoughts made me feel exhausted. I stood up and decided to go to wash. When I opened the door of the room, I saw a bloody sanitary napkin in the wastebasket in the corridor.

A burst of anxiety exploded in my chest. I woke up from my drowsy state, and my body's senses returned to normal. I heard the sound of water coming from the bathroom.

I don’t remember any sanitary napkins I changed before going to bed last night... it’s ridiculous!

With resentment towards the intruder, I hurriedly walked through the narrow corridor and followed the sound to the bathroom door. I exhaled a long sigh, grabbed the handle, turned, and pushed the door.

The shower curtain was not pulled up.

A woman I didn't know was showering under the shower head.

She saw me, turned around, and blinked at me innocently.

After a half-second silence, I looked at her indifferently, closed the door again, turned to the living room, walked into the semi-open kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.

Although this summer vacation life that I can’t go home is completely unimportant, I am still obsessed with making a beautiful breakfast for myself every day.

For this reason, I borrowed a friend's mobile phone and bought seven types of fried eggs online: Today is Saturday, so I have to make fried eggs in the shape of Mickey Mouse.

I was happy to watch the white and yellow fried eggs gradually forming in the mold. I picked up the shovel and slashed a thread on the mouth of "Mickey Mouse".

The heated oil, with the transpiration of heat, kept piercing the egg whites through the shovel, making the Mickey mouse look like it was talking.

I leaned forward, listened carefully for a while, suddenly smiled with relief, nodded, and said to Mickey Mouse in the frying pan:

"Good morning, too."

But I quickly frowned. The oil at the bottom of the pan heated too fast, and the yolk in the middle of the fried egg broke and flowed everywhere.

A violent feeling of anxiety climbed up to my whole body. I silently turned off the heat, took out the fried egg crockery, picked up the pan, and poured the unformed fried egg into the trash can. It was no longer Mickey fried egg.

I tried my best to remain calm, and took a brand new egg out of the refrigerator and let it all start over.

The egg whites in the mold gradually turned white. This time, I used a shovel to draw a thin line on Mickey Mouse's mouth at the most appropriate time.

The new Mickey spoke to me. I was very happy, and this time it understood me very much. I smiled at it gently.

Before I served the exquisite breakfast to my own dining table, in this old-style apartment, after three years, I heard a second human voice besides me.

The woman who was taking a shower in the bathroom just now, wrapped in a bathrobe that belonged to me alone, sat on a mahogany chair with peony lace, and took a pleasant breath:

"It smells so good!"

I looked at her and noticed her hair: If I were sitting on me, the length might have just passed the edge of the bed. After a while, I suddenly lowered my head and looked at the fried eggs of Mickey on the plate. After a while, I sighed softly and a few words floated out of my teeth.

"This is not a dream." I put down the plate expressionlessly, placed the chopsticks neatly beside the plate as usual, and said to the fried eggs solemnly:

"It's that female ghost. But this is not a dream."

This young girl who sat in front of me for some reason reminded me of the female ghost I dreamed of when I saw her will completely change my future life trajectory in the next 28 minutes and 13 seconds.

But, before she carried out a series of outrageous deceptions on me in the next five seconds, please allow me to interrupt the story and briefly analyze the status quo.

I have never had any interaction with the woman in front of me. According to the aesthetics of modern people, she may have similar characteristics to the female stars on TV: a beautiful face, delicate skin, tight body... her hair is very long. Her skin is warm and healthy white, which is completely different from my pale complexion that never sees the sun all year round, and is enough to teach people to feel ashamed of themselves.

Her temperament looks like a well-educated daughter. This forms an amazing contrast with her shameless behavior of illegally entering the house. It also proves that it is the endorsement of "trouble".

I'm not afraid of meeting ghosts. I'm most afraid of trouble.

In order to avoid trouble, my instinct reminds me not to communicate too much with her, so as not to be involved in things I don’t understand; the most rational way may be to go back to the bedroom, pick up your phone and call the police directly.

But that also means more trouble. I will have to contact the police and will be more likely to miss eating freshly baked eggs and bacon on Saturday mornings – and it’s something I can’t miss even if I bet on my life.

It is even more impossible for me to have a showdown with her like a shrew between women based on personal anger. There are two reasons:

First of all, although she is in menstruation and is weak, I have been lacking exercise for many years and may not be able to beat her.

——Secondly, since I am not a woman, I am not very good at attacking her.

By this point, maybe you will be surprised by my gender.

Because I used a little basic logical induction at the beginning of the story—for some reason, I had roughly studied psychology for a while. It was a technique that was often used for interrogation or speech:

By only stating part of the truth, the information recipients are induced to use common sense to complete the blank parts of the information, and skilled criminals can even deceive the lie detectors with this. Influential online critics can use this to control public opinion orientation and pretend to let readers "inadvertently" discover something they want readers to discover.

The room I live in is indeed a typical female room: thirteen years ago when my adoptive parents were still alive, they slept in the same room due to work reasons, and I moved into my adoptive mother's room after they died ten years ago. The dressing table and the cosmetics on it are also her relics, and I have never moved it, but the backrest chairs are almost all of my male clothes, and when I describe it, I only highlighted the bras that slipped out from the bottom.

It is extremely interesting to study the psychological consciousness of humans when screening information. When you see through the little trick at the beginning of the story, you will often subconsciously become alert and carefully pay attention to whether there are similar "logical induction" in other narratives.

I hope you can do this.

I know a lot about similar tricks.

Because what I am about to tell is a complete story that belongs only to "madman" and "liar".

The story is full of lies and deception, and every character in the story is hard to trust, including me as a narrator.

So, please bring all the hesitation and doubts to challenge all the hypocrisy in this story.

If you can surface at the end and see the truth hidden in the story; if you are like me, you have been touched by the fact that is in danger; if you are willing to abandon all your doubts and choose to believe all this in the end - please come to Shahe Children's Welfare Home in Tianhe District, Guangzhou to find me.

I will be there to wait for you, tell you another version of the story, and complete my last consultation in my career.

Now the story is about to begin. And it all starts with the woman named Liu Yanshi.

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Notes:

Inverted Hanging (Tarot Card)

Interpretation of card face: This card symbolizes self-sacrifice. The card face depicts a warrior with his hands tied upside down, and a faint halo of angels appeared on his head. Although others think it is extremely painful, he looks peaceful because he knows that he is sacrificing for others. Even if his body is destroyed, his spirit will last forever.
Chapter completed!