Chapter 8: Bird’s-Eye View of the Sky

“Blech!”

Qi Ran was half-kneeling on the rooftop ground, gripping the cold metal railing for support. Her slender frame was hunched tightly, her waist convulsing violently. Tears welled up involuntarily; she had no semblance of composure left. She felt as if she wanted to vomit her entire stomach out. When nothing more came, only dry heaves remained.

If one tried to explain what she had just experienced in the simplest terms, it was like a brat child swinging a yo-yo with a string fourteen stories long.

Qi Ran couldn’t focus her mind to perceive anything. All she could see was the world spinning uncontrollably. The countless points of light in the city stretched into streaks that swept chaotically across her retina, leaving nothing behind.

“Truly pathetic.”

The architect of her misery, Miss Ghost, sat perched on the slender railing, resting her chin in one hand and clicking her tongue. “Miss Qi, it’s only the third time and you’re already throwing up. Could it be you’re the kind of delicate little princess who only rides Winnie the Pooh and the carousel at amusement parks?”

Qi Ran weakly wiped the corner of her mouth. The burning sensation in her throat felt like she’d just swallowed a fireball whole.

She didn’t refute Miss Ghost’s words; she didn’t even know what Winnie the Pooh and carousels were. Qi Jianguo would certainly never take her to such a place. So she guessed they were some kind of family-friendly amusement rides. The word “amusement park” was as alien to her as “Children’s Palace”—a phrase she’d only seen in books—like things from a parallel world.

In reality, Miss Ghost’s age might be younger than her outward appearance suggested, Qi Ran thought. Once her initial veil of mystery was stripped away, her true nature emerged in her every gesture—young, arrogant, slightly impulsive, possessing cunning but lacking thoroughness, not exactly kind, but not terribly wicked either.

“What exactly do I need to sense? At least give me some direction.”

“I’m really not trying to be mysterious. You have to figure this out on your own. Any advice I give would only harm you,” Miss Ghost said. “If I had to put it into words, you’ll sense a kind of scent, or a vision, or a sound—maybe even some other sensation. It’s a message that only you can perceive. Everyone is different. Some see a deeply impactful image, some smell a particularly alluring scent, some hear a familiar sound. In short, it varies from person to person.”

“What did you sense?” Qi Ran asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Me?” Miss Ghost smiled faintly. “Let me teach you the second most important rule for people like us: never tell anyone what you have sensed.”

“What’s the most important rule?”

“Never try to probe into what others sense. It’s best to not even show curiosity,” Miss Ghost said flatly. “It’s an incredibly rude and serious breach. For those with extreme personalities, they might even see it as a direct provocation.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be sorry.” Miss Ghost snorted softly.

Qi Ran tried to stand, but her legs were so pathetically weak she couldn’t muster any strength. She gave up and simply sat leaning against the railing.

“Forget it. Looking at you now, jumping again would just be a waste of time.” Miss Ghost retracted her gaze and let out a sigh. “Come back after midnight tomorrow. We’ll keep trying. You have at most three days left to squander.”

Qi Ran nodded.

“If I manage to feel that sensation… what happens after?”

“You’ll see another world.” Miss Ghost smiled. “The real world, the one with its false front stripped away. It has many names, none of them official. Call it whatever you like.”

The real world? After hearing Miss Ghost’s words, Qi Ran recalled a very old horror movie she’d once seen. She could no longer remember its name, only that the protagonist was a company boss. Driven by certain events, he began to suspect the world before his eyes was false. He sought a master, obtaining a small vial of eye drops made from cow tears. After applying them, he discovered that everyone around him, all his loved ones, were ghosts. He had been living in a phantom’s lair, simply unable to see it.

Could it be that countless invisible ghosts truly existed in this world, and she just couldn’t see them? Qi Ran found it hard to smile.

Seeing Miss Ghost’s figure fading away, she snapped out of her thoughts and called out, “Wait, what should I call you?”

Miss Ghost paused. She hadn’t expected Qi Ran to ask that.

After a moment’s reflection, she murmured, “I no longer have a surname. Only the given name ‘Qiao’ remains. Call me whatever you like.”

“Can I call you Ah Qiao, then?”

“I said, whatever.”

Qi Ran still had so many questions. How had that middle-aged driver accomplished everything? How exactly had Miss Ghost become what she was now? How many people like them were there? But Miss Ghost was either tired or simply irritated, offering Qi Ran no further chance to ask. She vanished silently from the railing, as if she’d never been there at all.

（——————）

“Hello, Miss Two Hundred Thousand. May I get a word with you on your current feelings?” Liu Xu, sitting in the front desk, had rolled up a scrap of paper into a mock microphone. “How do you plan to allocate these funds? Have you considered treating your two dearest friends to lunch?”

“Hello. I’m not planning on treating anyone. Rather, I’d like to ask my two dear friends, shouldn’t you be treating a patient just out of the hospital?” Qi Ran sighed. “The two hundred thousand is with Tao Xiao. She said she’ll help me open a bank account when I’m an adult.”

“Treating others is too mature. I think an adult should handle it,” Liu Xu said, looking towards Xu Yan. “Did some adult with a weekly allowance of two hundred hear that?”

“A-Yan here is still a consumer. You’re the one who’s already stepped into the great dyed vat of society, Mr. One Thousand Nine. No one fits the title of ‘adult’ better than you,” Qi Ran said.

Xu Yan focused intently on her review materials, completely ignoring their banter. As the most academically gifted of the trio, the effort she poured into her studies was indeed remarkable, a living example that hard work could compensate for a lack of natural talent.

By the time class started, Qi Ran’s mind was still wandering. It was her fourth day attempting suicide jumps with Ah Qiao. Compared to the wretched state she’d been in on the first day, her resistance to the vertigo had improved considerably. She could even maintain consciousness for several minutes during the completely uncontrolled free-fall. But no matter how many times she tried, she still couldn’t perceive that special sense. Ah Qiao had fallen into deep thought over this and ultimately decided she should go find that young student surnamed Zuo.

“Don’t stress over whether you can find that sense. Your body’s ability to accept my presence means you are inherently a half-kindred to us. I’m not teaching you something new; I’m guiding you to rediscover an instinct you should have always possessed. It’s like teaching a fish how to breathe with gills.”

Although Miss Ah Qiao usually carried herself with an air of dismissive arrogance, when she actually taught, she unexpectedly possessed a certain gravitas of an elder.

As for the task of finding that person, Qi Ran couldn’t come up with any leads. She planned to visit the Public Security Bureau after school to inquire about search methods. But Liu Xu had told her that outside of legitimate reasons—like a missing relative, a runaway, or someone disappearing owing money—they generally wouldn’t disclose another person’s private information to her.

Qi Ran felt a bit despondent. What legitimate reason could she possibly have? Should she tell the police, “I have a ghost inside me, and she urgently needs to find a student named Zuo”? They’d just send her straight to a mental hospital. Not to mention her medical history already included a mild concussion; she wouldn’t even need to search for a reason—it was a seamless, one-step process.

At noon break, she had no appetite and simply stayed in the classroom. It was then she suddenly heard the voice of the young Teacher Xia.

“Qi Ran, your cousin-uncle is waiting for you at the East Gate. He said his name is Li Siwen. He wants to see you about… your father’s affairs.” Teacher Xia’s tone was cautious. Perhaps because she was fresh out of university, this young woman still approached every student with pure goodwill.

Uncle? Since when did she have an uncle surnamed Li? Qi Ran frowned slightly. “He said his name is Li Siwen?”

“Yes. Same surname as your father. Both are Li.”

Qi Ran froze. “Teacher Xia, what is my surname?”

“You took your father’s surname, Qi. Why do you ask?” Teacher Xia looked confused.

Qi Ran said nothing more, simply standing up.

She was now certain that the person who had come to see her was the very same driver who had been with Bai Sangzhu days ago.