It was a rainy day. The adults held umbrellas, while the small child was bundled in a yellow raincoat. He didn’t know where he was going—perhaps because his mother wasn’t holding him, or perhaps because the dark surroundings frightened him—but he cried uncontrollably.
Finally, they arrived at a circular clearing. Viewed from above, the sea of flowers here had been trimmed into strange ring-like patterns.
The Rose Lady grew somewhat impatient. She casually picked up the child.
Sure enough, he stopped crying and let out innocent laughter, babbling sounds escaping his lips. "Mama... Mama..."
The Rose Lady said, "Let’s play a game. You wait here for Mama, and don’t make a sound. I’ll come back for you soon."
He asked, "Game?"
The Rose Lady placed the child inside a box and smiled. "Yes, we’re playing house. See, this is the house Mama gave you. You must be good and not cause trouble."
"I... will be good."
The Rose Lady raised a finger to her lips and softly shushed him. "No making noise, okay?"
The boy covered his mouth and curled up, tucking himself into a tiny ball like a kitten. He was so small he barely took up a third of the box’s space.
Raindrops, carried by the wind, splattered onto the Rose Lady’s body. Muddy water stained her skirt, dirtying it and marring her pristine appearance.
She stood up and looked around.
Countless boxes lay scattered haphazardly across the clearing. Every time she brought a child here to be disposed of, she would say the exact same words, soothing them as they waited for death.
Some of those boxes still held flesh that hadn’t fully rotted away. Soon, the relatively clean box before her would also overflow with the stench of decay.
"No, these eyes still aren’t right."
"My son’s ears weren’t this big."
"No, my son had a mole right here on his face."
"Didn’t I show you the photo? Why can’t you make it perfectly identical?"
"Try again. Piece it together again."
"My son must look exactly the same as before."
...
[I don’t know when it started, but the town gradually became shrouded in black mist. The plague that killed my son has returned, and more and more people are undergoing uncontrollable, grotesque transformations.]
[Some who tried to stop me babbled nonsense, saying this was all my fault, that I had invited terrible retribution.]
[How could that be? I just wanted my child back. In this world, even if everyone opposes me, I will never yield.]
[Because I am a mother. Isn’t a mother the greatest person in the world?]
In a dimly lit room, the master of the house—now "pregnant" with the next generation—curled his tall frame into a ball, hugging a pillow as he slept soundly.
The small mass of black substance inside him had made him vomit several times earlier, leaving him exhausted. That was why he was sleeping so deeply now.
Xia Miao sat at the desk, nearly finished flipping through the notebook.
Her grip on it tightened unconsciously, the urge to tear it apart growing overwhelming. But rather than wanting to destroy the notebook, it was more like she wanted to step into its pages and rip apart the face of its owner.
Suppressing the surge of emotions, she finally turned to the last page.
[My son, my son, he’s finally back!
He’s so healthy, so perfect. I’ve finally heard him call me Mama again.
But my time with him is running out.
I’ve contracted the terrible plague. I can feel my body undergoing grotesque changes—after all, no normal human would crave devouring their own child’s flesh like a beast, would they?
Sooner or later, I’ll become like the others in this town—perhaps growing fangs, perhaps sprouting a tail, turning into a monstrous creature.
He can’t stay here any longer. If he does, he’ll eventually end up like me, neither human nor ghost. And those half-dead residents will surely try to kill him.
I can’t allow that to happen.
I must use the last of my treasures to have someone alter his appearance. Only then will these terrifying people never be able to find him.
My child, may you leave this town and never return. As long as you are happy, all my efforts and sacrifices will have been worth it.]
Between the lines, the Rose Lady’s fierce maternal love poured forth. She had paid a tremendous price to summon her son’s soul back from hell and crafted a perfect, healthy body for him. She had sacrificed everything for him—who wouldn’t call such devotion "the greatness of a mother"?
In his sleep, E Gui furrowed his brow, discomfort from another wave of nausea making him restless. A warm liquid dripped onto his face, and his eyelashes fluttered slightly.
Was it raining?
But wasn’t he sleeping indoors? Why was it raining?
Dazed, E Gui opened his eyes and met Xia Miao’s tear-filled gaze.
It took him a moment to process before he quickly sat up. "Miao Miao..."
His cool fingers brushed her face, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. He was frantic but too tongue-tied to ask what was wrong or how to comfort her, so he could only grow distressed himself, his own eyes reddening.
"Miao Miao, don’t cry. I’ll change."
Xia Miao laughed through her tears. "You haven’t done anything wrong. Why are you so quick to say you’ll change?"
E Gui tilted his head and blinked.
Xia Miao said, "I just had a nightmare. I dreamed you ran out to play in the rain again, and then you insisted on picking up candy from the ground to eat. Of course, you got sick, and I had to take care of you. So troublesome!"
E Gui lowered his head, his long hair spilling over his shoulders and onto the bed, some strands draping over her like black threads binding them together.
He nuzzled her cheek and said slowly, "Miao Miao, no. Heart hurts."
E Gui knew her words were a lie—she would never find him troublesome. She only ever ached for him when he suffered.
He added, "I won’t... eat trash."
Xia Miao couldn’t help but laugh. But as her fingers traced his face, a surge of anger and sorrow welled up inside her.
How ironic. That "great mother" had painstakingly pieced together what she called a perfect face, only to have it erased in the end, forcing her beloved child to live under another’s visage.
And what of E Gui?
How much of this face truly belonged to him?
A patchwork of features, deemed insufficiently identical and cast aside as waste—did he even remember his original appearance?
Or had he never had a face of his own to begin with?
E Gui gazed at Xia Miao in confusion, unable to comprehend the complex emotions playing across her face.
Suddenly, Xia Miao cupped his face in her hands, closed her eyes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
The tips of E Gui’s ears flushed red. Covering his mouth, he murmured, "Miao… kiss me."
"Yes, I kissed you," Xia Miao replied, her lips curving into a playful smile as she opened her eyes. "E Gui looks so lovely when he’s being kissed."
Heat rose to E Gui’s cheeks, and an odd sense of shame washed over him. He lowered his gaze, fingers clutching at the hem of Xia Miao’s skirt like a bashful bride.
What nonsense she was spouting.
How could she possibly know how he looked when she’d had her eyes closed the whole time?
