During my internship as a forensic pathologist, I accidentally opened a video file of a 20-year-old murder case in the database. I watched in horror as a young girl was brutally killed. Devastated, I frantically dragged the progress bar back to the beginning. Like a madman, I started sending message after message. [Please, I beg you, don’t open the door! There’s a serial killer outside!] [You’re so young. Seeing you like this hurts me more than if I were killed myself.] [Don’t open the door! You’ll die, you’ll really die!!] At that moment, the little girl who was about to open the door suddenly stopped. She turned around and looked up, her shocked gaze meeting mine. “Who… who are you?” She could see me?! The moment our eyes met, I almost dropped my phone in shock. The girl’s sweet childish voice continued to come from my phone. “What’s this? Why did these words suddenly appear?” “Is someone projecting them?” I looked back at my phone. In the video, the girl reached out into the air, as if trying to grab something. Although it seemed unbelievable, I was now certain that the little girl couldn’t see me. But she could see the messages I was sending! Just then, the aggressive knocking on the door resumed. “Knock knock knock,” each sound more urgent than the last. The girl turned back, her hand reaching for the doorknob again. The TV in the living room was on, broadcasting the 2005 New Year’s Eve TV gala. A group of beautiful deaf-mute dancers were performing “Thousand-Hand Guanyin,” a dance that would later become world-renowned. (Note: The New Year’s Eve TV gala is a major annual event in China, featuring various performances and celebrations.) Without time to think, I quickly sent another message. [Lily, I know what I’m about to say sounds strange, but please believe me. I’m from 20 years in the future.] [I’m a forensic pathology intern named James.] [I’m watching a real video of you being murdered. There’s a serial killer outside the door. No one knows what he looks like, and he hasn’t been caught even now.] [You’re currently the last known victim on record.] [According to the police’s current deduction, he kills randomly. As long as you don’t open the door, he’ll leave, and you’ll be safe!] The girl had beautiful natural curls and big, blinking eyes. Her expression was surprised: “You know my name?” I noticed that at this moment, the girl had clearly lowered her voice. I knew she was starting to believe what I was saying. Thinking back to the scene of her being brutally murdered that I had just witnessed, I still felt a lump in my throat. [Yes, I know your name is Lily. Because three hours from now, close to midnight, your mom will come home and cry while holding you, calling your nickname.] [The video ends completely at midnight.] The girl fell silent. She quietly brought over a stool and stood on it to look through the peephole. I don’t know what she saw, but her expression clearly became somewhat fearful. “What should I do now?” [Lily, no matter what he does, don’t open the door. Try to call the police! Do you have a phone at home?] The girl nodded. “Yes, under my mom’s pillow.” Out of professional instinct, I thought for a moment and then sent another message. [Lily, when it’s safe, can you describe what the killer looks like to me? Maybe you can help us catch the criminal in the future.] The girl quietly brought over a stool and stood on it to look through the peephole. Then she turned back, about to say something to me when suddenly my head started to ache violently, as if it was about to split open. My ears were also filled with a piercing roar. “Ah!” I clutched my head and fell to my knees in pain. The next second, my consciousness was instantly pulled into a thick darkness.
When I regained consciousness, I smelled the pungent odor of disinfectant. I opened my eyes and found myself in a hospital. My hands and feet were sore and numb from maintaining a rigid posture, slumped over the bedside table for a long time. I looked at myself, somewhat confused. How did I end up here? The TV hanging in the hallway was playing the New Year’s Eve gala. Three male celebrities in mismatched outfits were singing on stage. “I invite you to meet me on the spring mountain; I’ve saved up a year’s worth of countless thoughts; Today is just an ordinary day; But it becomes extraordinary because I met you…” This… seems to be from the 2014 New Year’s Eve gala… Just then, a nurse on duty walked in. The nurse saw me and seemed unsurprised. “After the New Year, you should really hire a caregiver to help you. You young couple, working during the day and staying up like this at night, even the strongest body can’t take it.” I felt like I had grabbed onto a lifeline. “Nurse, is this a rerun on TV?” The nurse looked at me with sympathy: “Did you wake up confused? It’s not a rerun, this is this year’s live New Year’s Eve gala.” With that, the nurse skillfully pulled open the curtain of the bed in front of me. But when I saw who was lying on the bed, I felt all the blood drain from my body.
“Dad!” Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. “How did you end up like this?!” The man on the bed had his eyes tightly shut, emaciated to just skin and bones, with sunken cheeks and a sallow complexion. His throat had been cut open. His body was full of tubes. The nurse took out a device and skillfully lifted a section of the tube in my father’s throat, inserting a thin tube to suction out the congested phlegm with a scratching sound. After finishing the procedure, the nurse looked at me sympathetically, seeing my panicked face. “If you need anything, press the call button.” Then she left. All the muscles in my body felt frozen, numb and cold, as if I had lost all sensation. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How could this be possible? This year was supposed to be 2025. I was doing an internship, about to become a full-time employee, realizing my long-held dream of becoming a forensic pathologist! The office was on holiday, and I was busy sorting through files on my phone. My dad and mom were in the living room, laughing and making dumplings. Fireworks were going off outside, and the TV in the living room was blasting music. A robot was doing a traditional dance, tossing a handkerchief. My parents laughed, joking that instead of having the robot toss a handkerchief, they might as well have it throw grenades. How did it suddenly… Is this really not just a nightmare? I reached out my hand, and the moment I touched my father’s withered, cold body, Countless memories forcefully flooded into my brain. On New Year’s Eve in 2005, my mom, returning home from her night shift, encountered the infamous serial killer. He brutally murdered her and dumped her body in the neighborhood garbage bin. After that, the killer went dormant and never struck again. My mom became his last victim. My warm and loving home collapsed completely that night. The killer not only took my mom’s life but also took away my dad and ruined my life. My dad, holding my mom’s corpse, suffered a severe mental breakdown. From then on, he fell into depression, smoking and drinking heavily. He couldn’t get over the pain of losing my mom. He started to neglect me. As a result, I had to start working right after finishing middle school to support myself and my dad. To survive, I did all kinds of hard and menial jobs. I’ve broken dishes, assembled screws, carried cement. I watched as my once close classmates drifted away, no longer able to relate to each other. One by one, they entered university, striving for their life’s ideals. Some even went abroad. While I could only hide in the distance. Enviously watching their backs. I thought my life would forever be under a dark cloud. Until I met my wife, the love of my life. I had my own little family, and I thought the hard days were finally over. But then we found out my dad had late-stage lung cancer. What followed was a long and grueling process of chemotherapy and surgery, draining our savings and leaving us in debt. Yet his life was still coming to an end. I took out my phone, and the date really was January 30, 2014. With trembling hands, I searched for information about that serial killing case. The murderer was still at large. Online, you could see some photos of the victims taken after they were killed. Even though they were blurred, they were still unbearable to look at. The name and picture of the last victim. Instead of Lily Thompson, it was now my mom. Sarah Johnson…
I collapsed, sinking to the ground. How could this happen? How could this happen… Just then, the door opened again. A beautiful young woman with long hair draped over her shoulders, wearing a red scarf and a down jacket, walked in. Looking at me, she waved the lunchbox in her hand and smiled. “Honey, I made chive and egg dumplings, all by myself!” “Eat them while they’re hot!” She walked in hurriedly, almost tripping. My body reacted before my mind could process, standing up to steady her. Memories of her flooded back like a tidal wave, instantly covering the “dream” I couldn’t distinguish as real or false. Meeting my wife, falling in love, supporting each other. Every little detail, every frame, felt so real and vivid. Love for her immediately spread through my heart. She was my wife, Emma. She was beautiful, a graduate from a prestigious university, working at a bank. Yet she fell for me, a poor guy with only a middle school education, making a living by hauling goods for supermarkets. I awkwardly took the lunchbox. My wife must have sensed something was off. Her warm fingers touched my forehead with concern: “Honey, what’s wrong? Are you too tired?” I smiled bitterly. “I had a dream, I dreamed…” I paused: “I dreamed of a group of robots doing a traditional dance, tossing handkerchiefs.” My wife handed me a bowl of dumplings and couldn’t help saying, “I think it would be more believable if you dreamed of them carrying machine guns and throwing grenades.” “You must be too tired from taking care of dad lately. After the New Year, I’ll switch to a less busy position so I can help you more.” Grenades… My wife’s words made me feel disoriented. The smiling face of my mom flashed before my eyes again. My wife looked worried and pulled my head to rest on her soft chest. I could hear her clear heartbeat. “Thump thump.” The fear, unease, and doubts in my heart were all pressed down beneath the iceberg by this sound. “Honey, you’ve really been through a lot.” My wife couldn’t help but try to cheer me up. “You’re so tired you’re dreaming about beautiful female robots…” I couldn’t help it either, the tense muscles in my face relaxed, and I squeezed out a smile. But when I looked up at the TV, the New Year’s Eve gala host was interviewing the three male celebrities. The tone was teasing. This scene was so familiar. Was it really all just a dream?
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