"Brother Zhang, let me tell you, you'd better be careful. That guy is a lunatic. Just today, Brother Tian mentioned him, so I went to see him. As soon as I entered, he handed me his business card and stuffed me with a pile of photos, told me to keep in touch, said not to forget him. I barely managed to get out of his house."
I responded with an 'oh.' Mason Wang took me to grab a bite, and around nine o'clock, we arrived at Ken Wang's house, located behind an old street—a standalone building with its own yard, lights shining inside.
"Brother Zhang, you go in yourself. I can't stand that guy; I'll wait outside. If anything happens, don't be polite with him. Just call out and I'll come right in."
I gave an 'oh' in response. The iron gate to the yard wasn't locked; it was open. The yard was covered in fallen leaves, and there was an old Wishing Tree. With a creak, I pushed open the yard door.
Inside was a swing, and an old, worn table.
I walked up to the door, knocked, and called out.
"Mr. Wang, are you there?"
There was a series of banging sounds, then footsteps coming downstairs, followed by a crash—something was knocked over. When the door opened, I jumped, almost like I'd seen a ghost. The man in front of me was tall and thin, with a handsome face but sunken cheekbones, his figure gaunt. In the dead of winter, he was barefoot, wearing only a thin gray T-shirt.
"I'm Ken Wang. Here, take this. Remember to keep in touch." Ken Wang said coldly as I took the business card he handed me.
On the business card were Ken Wang's date of birth, a photo, address, phone number, and all sorts of quirks and personality traits.
"Remember, my name is Ken Wang."
I gave a simple 'oh' and nodded.
Ken Wang grabbed my hand with his cold fingers and led me inside. As soon as I entered, I was stunned—the walls were covered with all sizes of sticky notes, pinned up with thumbtacks.
I glanced around. For example, there were notes about when and who visited, what Ken Wang did—each record was detailed, even down to the exact second.
"What's wrong with you, anyway? My name is Ethan Zhang."
I sat down on the living room sofa—even the sofa was covered in sticky notes taped on with duct tape. The walls were hung with portraits of Ken Wang.
"I can't be forgotten. I can't." Ken Wang's eyes were icy, his voice cold as he spoke. I saw that his gaze was lifeless, indifferent to everything around him.
I told him why I had come to see him.
Ken Wang frowned, rubbing his tangled hair, as if struggling to remember something.
Then suddenly, he grabbed a sticky note from the table, checked the clock, and started writing. He recorded everything about my visit tonight—how I entered, how many steps I took, how I sat down, what I said—writing it all down in detail.
I watched him write for nearly half an hour before he finally finished.
"Can you tell me what exactly you've forgotten?"
Ken Wang looked at me indifferently.
"You're starting to forget things too, aren't you? If you don't want to disappear, you'd better start writing down everything about yourself, just like I do."
Hugh Thompson had warned me before, so I took out a small notebook and began jotting down today's events, though not as thoroughly as he did.
"I can't remember. What happened to me?" Ken Wang suddenly blurted out, then grabbed my hand, his eyes wide with panic.
"I'm Ken Wang. You have to remember me. Promise you won't forget!" After saying this, Ken Wang jumped up and ran upstairs like a madman. I hurried after him.
"What's going on?"
When I got upstairs, I saw Ken Wang enter a room. I followed him in. The room was pitch dark. From the sound, it seemed Ken Wang was shivering, as if terrified of something.
I felt along the wall, touching countless sticky notes. When I found the light switch and turned it on, I stared in shock. At my feet was a thick stack of sticky notes—the entire room was covered with them, all white.
Ken Wang was shivering, wrapped up in a quilt.
I rushed over and lifted a corner of the quilt. Ken Wang was crying, clutching his head, kneeling on the bed, snot and tears streaming down his face.
"What happened? Can you tell me, Mr. Wang?"
"Midnight—it's almost midnight. Hurry, record it! If I don't write it down, it'll be too late!" Ken Wang sobbed and shouted. I decided to stay here tonight. After letting Mason Wang know, I returned to Ken Wang's house. When I checked the bedroom, Ken Wang was already asleep.
There were only a few minutes left until midnight. I was tired too, so I found a blanket on Ken Wang's sofa and fell asleep.
"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"
There was a commotion. I opened my eyes and screamed. Ken Wang's cold face was twisted with anger; he held a kitchen knife, shouting as he swung it at me.
I immediately rolled off onto the floor.
"I'm Ethan Zhang! You forgot—I was here last night!"
Ken Wang's expression returned to normal. He put down the knife and hurriedly started feeling around for something.
"First time meeting, I'm Ken Wang. Remember to keep in touch, and whatever you do, don't forget me."
As he spoke, Ken Wang handed me a business card, exactly the same as last night's. I started telling him why I'd come—I had forgotten something. Suddenly, my mind went blank.
"What was it?"
I couldn't remember. Aside from coming here to visit, all I recalled was meeting a woman named Helen Lane. She seemed to want to talk to me, but I couldn't remember a single thing we discussed.
Beep beep beep—it was Hugh Thompson calling. I picked up and asked him.
This chapter isn't finished yet ^.^, please click next page to continue reading!
"Hugh, why exactly did I come here?"
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
"I don't remember either. But I did write it down yesterday—about Rachel Lan." Then Hugh Thompson told me what he'd recorded about Rachel Lan. My heart ached.
After hanging up, I took out the sticky note I'd written last night. Sure enough, I'd come because of Rachel Lan. Ken Wang sat coldly beside me, reading over the note from yesterday.
"Mr. Wang, can you tell me now? What exactly happened?" I asked, notebook in hand, jotting things down.
Only then did I learn that Ken Wang had been forgetting things for two years. At first, he thought he was just absent-minded, but during those days, he had a dream—a girl a bit younger than him, and a man a bit older, kept begging him not to forget them.
As time went on, Ken Wang gradually couldn't remember anything from the previous day. He'd always kept a diary, but when he looked back, there was only one sentence.
Don't let others forget you. Once you're forgotten, you disappear—only existing in stories.
A thick stack of marked sticky notes—after reading them, Ken Wang showed me the most important line in his diary.
Over and over in my mind, I repeated Rachel Lan's name. I couldn't forget her. If what was written was true, if I ever forgot her, she might really disappear.
All day, I checked Ken Wang's sticky notes and recorded today's events with him. This time I kept a detailed record, and called Hugh Thompson to inform him of the situation. He said he'd tell the Ghost Burial Squad brothers to write about me every day too.
I tried calling out to John Chou in my mind, but there was no response at all.
The whole day passed quickly, and as evening approached, Ken Wang started trembling again.
I kept recording, searching through the sticky notes.
Tonight, Ken Wang had a terrible headache. I felt uneasy too. Outside, the wind howled. The old, broken windows let in a constant chill.
At eleven thirty, Ken Wang started shouting and ran back to his bedroom. I kept writing in my notebook, and called Hugh Thompson again.
Suddenly, I heard a chilling giggle—a child's cold laughter from outside. I turned and saw a Bleeding Child Phantom, blood streaming from its seven orifices, floating outside. It was a ghost. I stood up in shock.
"It's almost time, Ethan Zhang."
My mind felt like it was melting, a complete blank.
"Don't forget me. Remember, my name is Ken Wang."
Suddenly, I remembered Ken Wang. Looking outside again, the Bleeding Child Phantom had lost its smile and glared at me coldly.
Without hesitation, I clenched my fists and rushed forward.
"Very soon, Ethan Zhang—the door to the story is open."
Behind me, I spun around and punched. Suddenly, identical Bleeding Child Phantoms surrounded me, mouths wide, cackling wickedly.
I clutched my head, feeling dizzy and faint.
"Your name is Ken Wang, and... Lan... Rachel..."
With a thud, I collapsed onto the floor, losing consciousness.
"Get up and eat, Ethan. Your mom made braised fish—the fish is extra plump today."
In a daze, I sensed a middle-aged man calling me, and a woman skilled at cooking beside him. I couldn't see their faces, but their gentle warmth seemed to melt my heart.
I woke up.
"What am I doing here?" I looked around the messy room, covered in sticky notes. The wind kept blowing, sending notes swirling everywhere.