A Secret (GL) - Chapter 4

A-piao. (A floater).

This term popped into Gu Shuge’s head. Back in high school, she had read some supernatural novels. Those stories had all sorts of names for ghosts, like “Good Brother,” “Spirit,” or “A-piao.”

“A-piao” best described her current state. Hovering emptily in space.

Gu Shuge thought for a moment, then tilted her body to the left and lay on her side on the sofa. As a result, her entire form floated against the surface of the sofa, maintaining a side-lying posture.

She rolled over to lie flat. Fortunately, the sofa was long enough; her height was a little over 1.7 meters, which fit just about perfectly.

This time she was prepared. Finding that she didn’t sink into the interior of the sofa but instead maintained a flat posture on top of it, she didn’t find it strange.

Once settled, Gu Shuge didn’t stop; she wanted to try more. She very indelicately extended her left leg, trying to reach the coffee table in front of the sofa.

The moment her leg stretched out, she cast a guilty glance at Shen Juan. She came from a good background and had been well-raised; her posture and manners were usually strictly disciplined. Moreover, she had always been mindful of her etiquette in front of Shen Juan, never daring to be even slightly rude for fear of ruining her image in the older woman’s heart.

But now, with Shen Juan right in front of her, she was performing such an unrefined action.

Gu Shuge felt both guilty and melancholy. No matter what she did, Shen Juan could no longer see her.

She quickly tapped her leg against the coffee table, and it passed right through. She immediately pulled it back, not daring to stay lying down. She sat up quickly, straightening her posture, and let out a soft sigh.

She sat in silence for a while before whispering, “I just wanted to see what I can do… how I’m different from a person.” Having tried it, she could complete the postures of “sitting” and “lying” on the sofa, but she still couldn’t touch other objects.

Shen Juan gave no reaction. She couldn’t hear her voice, nor could she feel her presence.

Even though she could still see and feel, the truth was that, to Shen Juan, she was truly and completely dead.

Gu Shuge’s straight spine slowly slumped. After being separated from her physical body for half a day, the reality of death finally brought her a delayed sense of pain and anxiety. Like Lin Mo and the driver earlier, she began to show signs of being lost and aimless.

Where should she go? What should she do? Was she about to leave Shen Juan forever?

“Sister, I don’t want to go,” Gu Shuge said softly to Shen Juan.

Shen Juan didn’t look toward where she was sitting. She sat on the sofa without leaning against the backrest, her posture neither straight nor slumped—a posture of lonely fragility. her gaze was unfocused, as if looking at the floor in front of Gu Shuge, or perhaps somewhere else entirely. She seemed devoid of any life force.

Gu Shuge panicked. she felt an oppressive weight crushing her spirit. Gasping for breath, she reached out for help as she had after every setback in the past: “Sister, help me.”

Shen Juan remained motionless. Gu Shuge could tell she was thinking about something. Whenever Shen Juan was deep in thought, she liked it to be quiet and undisturbed. Gu Shuge knew this habit well, so every time Shen Juan went silent, she would follow suit, giving her peace and staying out of her way.

Now that she was a ghost, this custom persisted.

Gu Shuge stopped speaking.

Her mind was a mess. She didn’t want to keep sitting there enduring this helpless panic. She simply stood up to continue her experiments.

She could “lie” and “sit” on the sofa. Her gaze fell on the dining room, where there were chairs. She walked over to a wooden dining chair placed against the wall, took a deep breath, and sat down.

She stopped. It was as if a barrier of air supported her body, allowing her to form a sitting posture tight against the seat of the chair.

Gu Shuge leaned back. She didn’t pass through the backrest; she successfully maintained a leaning posture. She thought for a bit and then pulled her legs up, forming a cross-legged sitting position on the chair. It worked again—she was sitting cross-legged on the chair.

Since Shen Juan wasn’t here, Gu Shuge didn’t have to worry about her image and let herself go a little more. She continued her trials and walked over to the dining table.

The dining table in their home had some history. It was a long table that could accommodate eighteen people. There were no utensils on the table, and the space in the center for candelabras and vases was empty; the entire table was clean.

Gu Shuge planned to sit on it. She didn’t use her hands to press down on the surface, because they would surely pass through. Fortunately, being over 1.7 meters tall meant she didn’t need to push off the table; by standing on her tiptoes, she could sit on the edge.

She failed.

Her bottom passed straight through, and her body ended up embedded in the table.

Gu Shuge paused for a moment, walked out of the table, and tried several more times. None were successful.

She thought about it and simply bent her legs, intending to lie on the floor. Her back touched the floor, and then her body sank—half of her was embedded in the ground.

Gu Shuge: “…”

She pulled her hand out of the floor and held it before her eyes. It wasn’t entirely transparent; she could see a complete image, but it wasn’t solid. Her palm in front of her eyes was like a layer of flesh-colored plastic film; she could see the objects behind it, though they were blurred into mere outlines.

She flexed her fingers. There was no resistance; her joints were as flexible as when she was alive.

Gu Shuge didn’t get up from the floor. She tentatively sank further down. Her body met no resistance. First her legs, then her torso, then her head—part by part, she sank beneath the earth. It was like diving into water while swimming. The difference was that she felt no buoyancy.

Before Gu Shuge’s eyes was total darkness. She kept going down, the darkness growing thicker.

Would I sink straight into hell, get caught by little demons, and be tossed into the cycle of reincarnation?

Gu Shuge thought, somewhat inappropriately.

But her fears didn’t come true. The darkness seemed bottomless.

After an unknown amount of time—the concept of time always becomes blurry in the dark—Gu Shuge saw no change, so she kicked her legs downward. Her body actually began to float upward.

Finally, like a “ground-tunneling” technique in a movie, her head emerged first, followed by her torso and then her legs. Her body parts came out of the ground one by one.

Gu Shuge returned to the house. The lights were still off.

She gave a soft sigh. If someone told her that everything happening now was just a dream, she would definitely believe them. Everything she had just experienced was too bizarre.

Unfortunately, the truth was that no one could see her or speak to her. She was truly dead.

Gu Shuge remembered something else. She held out her palm and blew a breath onto it.

There was no sensation of air moving.

So, whether she sighed or breathed, it wasn’t real. It was just a “form,” like lying or sitting—a posture and habit left over from her time as a human.

To confirm this idea, Gu Shuge performed the action of holding her breath and stood perfectly still. Minutes ticked by. After a long time, Gu Shuge blinked slowly and resumed “breathing.” While holding her breath, she felt no suffocation, and her lungs felt no strain.

She began to understand.

Everything she was doing now was a habit from her life. It wasn’t real. This included walking—it was likely just a habit. She could move by floating, just as she had underground.

She also understood why she could sit on chairs and sofas but not on the table. Chairs and sofas were pieces of “seating furniture.” When craftsmen made them, they infused them with a specific intent; perhaps every object had something akin to a soul. Therefore, she could “sit” on seating furniture, and since a sofa is meant for lying down, she could “lie” on it too.

In that case, was her panic and the heartache she felt when seeing Shen Juan also fake? Was it just a habit?

At that thought, a dull, stifling pain radiated from her chest again. Gu Shuge looked down and pressed her hand to her heart. This time, her hand did not pass through her body. Did this mean her hand couldn’t pass through the same type of substance, or did it mean her heart was actually still there?

Gu Shuge didn’t understand.

She couldn’t help but perform another human action: she sighed.

Being a ghost for the first time, it was normal to be a little confused.

Losing the mood for further exploration, she returned to the living room, still using a walking gait.

By the faint glow of the streetlights, she saw Shen Juan looking down at something in her hand.

Gu Shuge approached and poked her head over, discovering that Shen Juan was looking at the talisman pouch she had taken from her body. She was staring at it intensely, as if some secret were hidden inside it.

Gu Shuge was puzzled.

This pouch had been given to her by Shen Juan two years ago, and she had worn it for two years. At the beginning, she often took it out to look at it and had even opened it secretly. The pouch wasn’t sealed, so it was easy to open. Inside was a small Buddha statue and a slip of yellow paper. The paper was ordinary, but the statue was strange.

The statue was made of an unknown material—black, like jade, cool and smooth to the touch, but upon closer inspection, it wasn’t jade. It felt like some mineral she had never seen before. The style of the Buddha was also unusual; typical statues are kind and merciful. This one, however, looked like a “Wrathful Vajra”—not merciful at all, but fierce and menacing.

Gu Shuge had wondered about it; Shen Juan wasn’t a religious person, so why give her such a pouch and insist she wear it? But she was so used to trusting Shen Juan that when she couldn’t figure it out, she just dropped it and didn’t investigate further.

Now the pouch was back in Shen Juan’s hands.

Gu Shuge crouched in front of her, joining her in looking at this pouch she had carried for two years.

It looked the same as ever. Its owner had experienced death, yet it remained clean—no blood, no dust. The yellow fabric was a bit coarse, yet it gave off a strange sense of being otherworldly.

“It shouldn’t be.”

Gu Shuge heard those three words.

It was Shen Juan speaking.

Gu Shuge looked up and saw the pain and despair melting into tears in Shen Juan’s eyes.

What shouldn’t be? Gu Shuge was confused. Suddenly, a spark flashed in her mind, and a memory buried deep in her consciousness surfaced. She remembered. That day, Shen Juan had handed her the pouch and said: “You must keep this on you at all times. Even when you sleep, don’t let it leave your body.”

At the time, she had said: “This is something for little kids to ward off evil. I don’t want it.” But even as she said that, she had taken it and tucked it properly into her pocket.

Shen Juan had given her a helpless look and said one more thing.

That sentence surfaced clearly, echoing through her memory. Shen Juan had said: “It can help you block one fatal calamity.”