Chapter 1: The Deal at the End of the Corridor

Two of the light bulbs in the hospital corridor were broken, and the remaining few flickered a ghastly white, splitting the entire corridor into sections of light and darkness. I leaned against the wall, the back of my head hitting the cold tiles, which tingled with cold. The paper cup of coffee in my hand had gone completely cold, and the bitter taste rose from my throat all the way to my stomach.

Twenty minutes ago, the attending physician pulled me into his office and said a bunch of things I’d already guessed. Late stage, metastasized, at most three months. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses, his eyes barely moving as he said this, probably repeating the same lines to different families every day. I nodded. He asked if I wanted to consider end-of-life care, and I said I’d think about it.

What are you thinking? Nothing. Three months. My mom was lying in that hospital room, so thin she was just skin and bones. Every day, IV tubes were stuck in her arm, leaving countless dark purple needle marks. I couldn’t bear to look at her. She was only forty, and half her hair was already white.

I crushed the paper cup. Coffee grounds splattered out, leaving sticky residue on my fingers, which I didn’t bother to wipe.

”Mr. Shen Qi.”

The sound came from the shadows of the corridor. It was neither loud nor soft, neither male nor female, as if seeping from a crack in the wall. I turned my head to look, and there stood a person in the shadows, wearing a drab gray jacket. His face was not clearly visible in the shadows, but I could see a slight smile on his lips.

My hair stood on end. Not from fear, but the kind of creepy feeling you get when you’re standing in an empty corridor late at night and you don’t even know when they appeared.

”Who are you?” My voice was more steady than I had expected.

He took two steps forward and stepped into the light. It was the face of a middle-aged man, unremarkable, the kind you’d never notice in a crowd. But his eyes were off; the pupils were too dark, so dark I couldn’t see any reflection in them.

”Let’s make a deal,” he said. “You trade fifty years of your lifespan for your mother’s twenty years of youth. The terminal illness will be cured, and her body will return to its twenty-year-old state.”

I stared at him for a full five seconds. Countless possibilities raced through my mind: mentally ill, a conman, a pyramid scheme operator, a pervert lurking in the hospital late at night. But when he uttered the words “your mother,” there was an unwavering certainty in his tone, as if he knew better than I how many days the woman lying in room 502 had to live.

”What are you?”

”A messenger from the underworld.” He tilted his head. “Calling him a messenger is fine too, it doesn’t matter.”

Absurd. Utterly absurd. I should have turned and walked away to the nurses’ station to call security. But my legs wouldn’t move. I noticed my hands were trembling, not from fear of this stranger, but from the words “the terminal illness is gone.” I couldn’t help but wonder, what if it were true?

”Fifty years of lifespan in exchange for twenty years of youth.” I repeated, my throat dry. “I’m twenty-two this year, fifty years… that means I can only live to twenty-seven.”

”clever.”

Five years. He’s going to take away fifty years of my life, leaving me with only five. In return, he’ll turn my mother from a terminally ill forty-year-old back into a healthy twenty-year-old.

I looked down at the crumpled paper cup on the ground. My heart was pounding, each beat making my ribs ache.

The sound of a trolley came from the emergency room at the end of the corridor, its wheels creaking as they rolled over the floor.

What can you do in five years? Enough for me to graduate from university, enough for me to save some money, enough for me to settle her down.

That’s enough.

“Terms and conditions.” I looked up.

A glint of something indescribable flashed in his eyes as he held up three fingers. “First, her body is absolutely healthy, back to her peak condition at twenty, all ailments completely eradicated. Second, you can’t tell anyone about the deal. It’s not that you don’t want to, it’s that you can’t say it; your throat will choke as soon as you open your mouth. Third, your lives are intertwined. If something happens to her, you’ll sense it; if you die, she’ll go with you.”

That last one made my stomach clench. It meant I not only had to live, but I had to live cautiously. I couldn’t afford any accidents, I couldn’t take any risks, because if I kicked the bucket, she would be with me.

That’s fucking accurate. This bastard has even blocked my desperate escape route.

”Is there any more?”

”That’s all.” He chuckled and put his hand back in his pocket. “Sign or not? No need for a blood seal, a verbal agreement will suffice. The underworld’s administrative efficiency is higher than yours in the human world.”

I took a deep breath. The smell of disinfectant in the corridor filled my lungs, pungent and icy. My gaze swept across the closed door of ward 502, a sliver of dim light shining through the crack. My mom must be asleep now. This afternoon, she was holding my hand and saying, “Baby, don’t stay in the hospital, go back to sleep. Look at your dark circles.”

She’s already so thin, and she’s still worried about my dark circles.

My eyes stung. I raised my hand and rubbed my face hard to suppress the soreness.

”sign.”

The moment the words left my lips, a surge of heat spread from my chest to my limbs, as if someone had poured a pot of scalding water into my veins. It didn’t hurt, but my whole body felt numb. I looked down at my hands; something was moving rapidly beneath the skin on the back of my hands. It lasted for about ten seconds before the sensation subsided, replaced by a wave of exhaustion.

His knees buckled and his shoulder slammed against the wall. Cold sweat seeped from the back of his neck, soaking a small patch of his collar.

Fifty years have passed just like that.

Looking up again, the dark corridor was empty. The man in the gray jacket was gone. The floor was spotless, without a single footprint. Only the fluorescent lights were still flickering, their pale light illuminating the empty corridor.

I tore myself off the wall, my legs still a little weak. I walked to the door of ward 502 and glanced inside through the glass.

On the hospital bed, my mother’s blanket moved slightly.