Existentialism | 3:00 AM: Encountering a Ghost

The ancient temple was tranquil, bathed in clear moonlight. Towering old trees had weathered three centuries, now stripped bare of leaves, leaving only gnarled branches. Qi Si silently pushed open the door to the meditation room, passed through the empty corridor, and stepped into the courtyard, where cold white moonlight poured down from above.

It was January 1st, roughly between the hours after the Ox and before the Tiger, in the dead of night, with no stars in the black sky. Since lying down last night, Qi Si had stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, imagining himself as an owl that needed no sleep—thus, he truly could not fall asleep.

Today was his seventh birthday, and he knew his mother would come to see him. Even though the ancient temple was far from the city, a three-hour round trip by car, his mother came every day or two to visit, bringing snacks and sweets, sitting with him to talk. On such an important day as a birthday, she would definitely come.

The night was already very cold. Qi Si touched his cheek—it was colder than the ice in the well. He didn’t know why he had sneaked out on such a dark and chilly night, but deep down, he felt he shouldn’t obediently lie in bed, staying in a godforsaken ancient temple on his birthday. That would be utterly miserable.

Half a month ago, his mother had taken his hand and brought him to this ancient temple to follow the master’s guidance and cultivate. The reason was nothing more than that he had killed forty-nine sparrows. When asked why, he confessed that he had been playing with a long-haired girl under the bed.

They said he was possessed, summoned a group of exorcists and shamans who danced and muttered spells for hours to drive the ghost away. He was diagnosed with the Yin-Yang Eye—born with the ability to see ghosts and communicate with spirits. Having the Yin-Yang Eye was no big deal; it could be concealed. But after trying all sorts of folk remedies and rituals, Qi Si still happily played with ghosts and monsters.

The experts expressed helplessness and advised seeking someone more skilled. Since the Yin-Yang Eye couldn’t be hidden, the only option was to send him to a place without ghosts, to prevent the child from being corrupted by spirits before his worldview formed and growing up to be a solitary, cold-blooded, dangerous individual.

Qi Si wasn’t actually corrupted by spirits; he was never an innocent or harmless child. When he discovered that the girl under the bed, even as a ghost, feared the corpses of sparrows, he was greatly intrigued. So he spent his days hiding sparrows in unexpected places to scare the ghosts.

But he didn’t plan to tell his mother—that would only complicate matters. Thus, he was sent here. The master said he carried a fatal curse, harming father, mother, relatives, and friends alike, alive or dead—he was detested by both humans and ghosts.

Qi Si thought the master was just a charlatan selling rituals and brainwashing people, exaggerating consequences to frighten and exploit them. But he couldn’t say so aloud; no one would believe a child’s judgment, and he knew he would have to “bow his head” for a long time living under someone else’s roof.

At this hour, the temple gates were tightly closed. Qi Si tiptoed, lifted the latch with his hand, pressing his elbow and shoulder against the door, pushing with all his might. The door creaked open just a crack.

The door was bronze, heavy and weighty, usually requiring two monks to push it fully open. Qi Si stepped back a few paces and squatted, staring at the door.

A cold wind blew in from outside, blocked somewhat by the towering gate, sweeping past Qi Si and blowing behind him. The leafless old tree swayed wildly, shedding several thin, brittle twigs.

“Qi Si, you want to go out, don’t you?” a voice spoke behind him.

Qi Si turned to see a red figure perched on a branch—a young man dressed in a suit and trousers. No shadow was cast in the moonlight. He must be a ghost.

That had to be the fiercest red-clad vengeful spirit; only such high-level ghosts could enter the ancient temple illuminated by Buddha’s light and calmly converse with him.

Qi Si asked, “Who are you?”

The ghost leapt down from the tree, bared his teeth in a grin: “Guess—though there’s no prize for guessing right.”

Qi Si said nothing. The ghost strolled to the door, appraising it: “You look like you need some help. Maybe you could ask me to push this door open for you.”

Qi Si thought for a moment and asked, “What’s the price?”

The ghost seemed to have anticipated his question, the smile on his face growing wider and more pleasant, but he raised a finger to his lips: “No price today. It’s your birthday, so consider it a gift.”

His expression was unusually sincere, much like a fairy-tale Santa Claus who loves children and willingly hands out gifts. Yet Qi Si felt the smile was false, like a perverse killer trying to fool a child with candy. But a true killer wouldn’t be so patient—if there were ill intent, a crime would have already occurred.

Tilting his head, Qi Si pondered for a moment, then made the grateful, surprised smile children often make when receiving an unexpected gift: “Then please help me push the door open. Thank you.”

The ghost placed his hand on the door and gently pushed. The door swung open silently, without even the faintest scrape, as quiet as a fragile dream.

The ghost took Qi Si’s hand and led him out of the temple. Outside, the woods were lush and deserted. The world was eerily still; even birds were asleep. Only the rustling of dry leaves underfoot could be heard. Moonlight draped trees, rocks, and springs in a silvery veil, like a glaze sealing an oil painting, freezing everything in place with no movement.

Qi Si suspected he hadn’t left the temple but entered an otherworldly dimension beyond human reach. Suddenly, he feared being taken somewhere unreachable, lost to his mother until the birthday passed and missing the grand annual celebration.

He stopped walking. Not wanting to go any further, the ghost turned and smiled, asking what frightened him. Knowing he must not show weakness lest more malice follow, Qi Si feigned calm, shaking his head. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to go any further. Staying here is fine.”

The ghost laughed: “I know. You’re afraid I’ll take you somewhere strange, be separated from your mother, and miss your birthday, aren’t you?”

Qi Si remained silent, unwilling to give this ill-intentioned visitor more information. The ghost sighed to himself: “Qi Si, you don’t need to be so tense. You can trust me—I will never harm you.”

This was more sincere than the earlier false smile, but Qi Si still refused to believe a word. He glanced back and saw the wide-open temple gate only three steps away, with a courtyard paved in green stone slabs, the gaps filled with copper coins for blessings.

He shook off the ghost’s hand and squatted at the uneven long stairway. Since his mother had sent him to the temple, the master hadn’t allowed him to leave; the monks forbade him from approaching the gate, afraid he might slip away unnoticed.

This was the first time he had studied the world outside the temple carefully. Beyond the bushes and branches lay a steep cliff. Under the clear moonlight, he could make out pavilions on the opposite stone wall. An empty bird’s nest perched in the treetops, below which was a squirrel’s den. All creatures had gone to sleep, none peeking out.

The muddy ground bore footprints, chaotic and overlapping, deep and shallow. Qi Si searched in vain for his mother’s tracks. A few irregular white stones were embedded in the soil as decoration. He remembered that pressing these stones would crumble them into white powder, usable as chalk.

Though muddy things were somewhat dirty, if they were interesting enough, even cleanliness could be overcome. Qi Si pinched a white stone between two fingers and darted back inside the temple to the master’s quarters.

He stood on tiptoe, still not tall enough, then called to the ghost behind him: “Come here, lift me up.”

The ghost, unusually good-natured, floated over smiling and did as asked. From a height about a person tall, Qi Si began to draw on the master’s door panel.

After a while, a huge tortoise was painted on the wood, nodding its head vividly and lifelike. Qi Si jumped down from the ghost’s arms, dusted white powder off his hands, and strode away.

Throughout, the ghost had quietly watched Qi Si’s antics. Only now did he smile approvingly: “Not bad, you have artistic talent. Next, you should think about how to clear your name.”

The ghost’s tone was as condescending as an annoying adult’s, but Qi Si didn’t find him hateful just yet. After all, pranks were only complete with accomplices and an audience.

Gazing at the ghost, he felt a strange suspicion and asked again, “Who are you?”

The ghost leaned in, speaking confidentially: “You guess—you already have a guess, don’t you?”

Qi Si thought for a moment and then asked, “Will my mother come today?”

The ghost laughed: “She will, at six in the evening…”

“I know. You don’t have to say more.” Qi Si cut him off and casually tossed the half-used white stone into the dry well in the courtyard, producing a soft “thud.”

He didn’t want to know too much about the future. Unknown gifts brought surprise and anticipation; living with answers was too dull, even if those answers concerned him and might ease his burden.

The ghost’s form faded, leaving behind a smiling voice: “Qi Si, happy birthday.”

Later that night, Qi Si lay alone in bed, finally feeling sleepy. He now knew his mother would definitely come today—no surprises. That was enough. He just hadn’t expected the first to wish him happy birthday wouldn’t be his mother but a ghost from afar.

He thought, in the past, his mother was always the first to bless him on his birthday. Knowing he couldn’t sleep the night before, she stayed with him until midnight, saying softly, “Qi Si, happy birthday.” But now, his mother was absent, and only a ghost kept him company.

Half asleep, he drifted off and then woke again. The sun had risen high, its milky rays slanting through the sparse wooden window lattices, softly resting on his cheek.

Outside the meditation room, the master’s hoarse voice sounded angrily: “Who painted the tortoise on my door? Own up!”

Qi Si listened to the chirping birds and the hurried footsteps outside, then dressed and ran out. Before the scowling master stood a line of monks, all downcast and speechless. Qi Si chuckled softly.

Under all eyes, he ran up to the master with an innocent, childlike expression and a clear voice: “Master, today is my birthday. Can you wish me a happy birthday?”

The master’s anger faded. He looked down kindly and smiled: “Happy birthday, Qi Si.”

After Qi Si ran off, the master scolded his disciples with a stern face: “You’re not as easy to deal with as a little child!”

Qi Si laughed and ran far away, sitting openly before the wide-open temple gate, watching squirrels and birds peeking out. He thought that before his mother arrived, he had already collected two birthday wishes. If he wished himself a happy birthday, that would make three.

He wondered if his own blessing would overlap with the one from the ghost. But even if it did, what did it matter? He was willing to count them as many times as they came, wasn’t he?

Beneath the dawn’s glow, Qi Si softly said to himself—and to the ghost somewhere unknown—“Qi Si, happy birthday.”