Chapter 1

I was brutally murdered, and my mother was the sole witness.

But the trauma was so severe, she couldn't remember the killer's face.

Everyone comforted her.

"It's okay, take your time, you'll remember eventually."

Yet, ten years passed.

Mom never did remember.

On the tenth anniversary of my death,

Officer Miller pressed her again.

But Mom leaned down, kissed my nine-year-old sister, and said with serene resignation,

"Let me just forget those painful memories completely."

"After all, I have a new daughter now."

1

Ten years after my death, Officer Miller still patiently pleaded with my mother.

"Try to remember."

"If you can recall the perpetrator's face, the case will truly be solved."

"Elara was your daughter, don't you want her to rest in peace?"

But my mother's face remained utterly devoid of emotion. She slowly lifted her eyes, her voice blank.

"You're the ones who are incompetent."

"You haven't caught the killer in ten years. Do you really think you can now?"

A flicker of awkwardness crossed Officer Miller’s face, but he remained patient.

"I understand how you feel. That day, Elara suffered a terrible fate, and you were also deeply traumatized."

"However, there were no cameras on that street, and the rescue efforts unfortunately compromised some evidence."

"You are the sole witness."

"If you can recall any detail, no matter how insignificant, it might be the key to finding the killer."

As Officer Miller spoke, I hovered behind him, nodding frantically.

"Yes, Mom, what exactly happened that night? Please try to remember."

"I've been stuck in this house for ten years; I really want to know."

My mother's eyes finally showed a hint of wavering. Her voice caught in her throat.

"I've already told you, I can't remember."

"As soon as I try to recall what happened that day, my heart races, and I can't breathe."

"If I try harder, I'll pass out."

"It's truly, too painful."

As my mother spoke, tears silently streamed down her face, as if she was reliving that suffocating terror.

Watching my mother tremble, I instantly regained my composure.

Yes, I can't force her.

Over the years, Mom had made so many efforts to recall that face hidden in the darkness.

She returned to that alley again and again, standing where I fell, trying to recover her memory.

She consulted countless psychologists, only to wake up screaming and crying during hypnosis.

She even tried self-harm to force herself to remember.

She knelt before statues in churches, banging her head until it bled, praying for clarity.

Honestly, I don't want to see her suffer like this.

I floated desperately in front of her, trying to touch my mother's face, to tell her to stop trying. Even if the killer was never found, it didn’t matter.

But my hand only passed through her cheek again and again.

I couldn't comfort her. I could only watch helplessly as she said,

"I'm sorry."

"I really want to help, to let Elara rest in peace, but I truly don't want to go through this anymore."

2

Honestly, being a ghost for all these years, I've lost a lot of emotion.

But at this moment, I truly wished that the person who harmed me would face retribution.

But what could I do?

I could do nothing.

I was just a soul wandering among the living.

Thankfully, there was Dad.

Dad was gentle by nature and adored Mom. I had never seen them argue. He was Mom's strongest pillar of support, her right-hand man.

At that moment, he quickly steadied Mom. Then, turning to Officer Miller, his tone hardened.

"My wife has already said she doesn't want to cooperate further."

"Please leave."

The two officers exchanged glances. The older one, Detective Brooks, still managed a few polite words.

"It's alright, not remembering isn't your fault; it's a normal reaction after such a shock."

The younger one, Officer Jenkins, already had a hint of emotion on his face. He muttered under his breath, "Doesn't even care about her own child?"

"What kind of parents are these?"

The two officers left their business cards on the table and departed. As soon as they were gone, Dad threw the cards into the trash.

Mom finally let down all her guard. She leaned on Dad's shoulder, utterly still. Her voice was as low as a whisper.

"Honey, am I useless?"

Dad kissed her, holding her tighter.

"If you can't remember, don't try anymore."

"Even if you never remember, I'll never blame you."

But Mom's tears suddenly welled up again.

"Then tell me, will Elara hate me?"

"Hate me... for clearly seeing who killed her, yet being unable to recall his face, unable to bring her justice."

The room was terrifyingly silent. Only Mom's choked breathing.

After a very long time, Dad finally lowered his eyes.

"Don't think about these unhappy things."

"Chloe will be out of school soon."

At the mention of that name, Mom's sobbing stopped instantly.

Chloe is my sister.

She's nine this year, lively and charming.

So Mom rubbed her eyes, sighed softly.

"Look at me, I forgot the time again."

"It's time to make soup for Chloe."

3

Actually, the day I was killed, a grim reaper came for me.

But at that time, I begged, pleaded, and played dumb, saying I just wanted to spend more time with Mom.

Maybe he pitied me.

Maybe he was too lazy to explain anything to me.

He just left without a word.

And never came back.

So I stayed in the house for ten years, living in constant apprehension.

I watched as Mom, at first, held my photo, unable to sleep all night.

Then gradually, she could sleep for an hour or two. But she always called my name in her dreams.

And then, Mom gave birth to Chloe.

She was so small.

So soft.

The darling of the whole family.

And Mom and Dad's hope for living.

They didn't mention my name to Chloe or their friends. But when it was just Dad, Mom would sometimes say a few words.

"Chloe, this child, her personality is different from her sister's."

"So mischievous, and so cute."

Yes, Chloe is light.

Unlike me.

I'm a shadow.

Forever trapping them in place.

Mom turned to the kitchen to make soup. Dad watched her back, a faint smile playing on his lips. He took out tools and began to adjust the stereo.

The sound of running water in the kitchen.

And the melody of a children's song.

They intertwined into a warm, domestic scene.

It was as if the heartbreaking cries and agonizing questions from moments ago had never happened.

I looked at Dad, then at Mom.

For some reason, I suddenly didn't want to stay home.

I slowly floated out.

Only then did I realize that the two police officers hadn't left; they were resting downstairs from my house.

I had seen the business card Dad threw in the trash. I knew the younger one was Officer Jenkins.

He was true to his name—tall, long-legged, and full of integrity.

He was indignantly saying, "What's wrong with this family?"

"Why are they so indifferent about their own biological daughter?"

Detective Brooks was an old detective. My case had always been his.

He exhaled a smoke ring, sighing slowly.

"They do love their child. They're just… too disappointed too many times."

My case had become a cold case. Several times people were arrested, only to be released later.

Mom and Dad's feelings had changed from initial madness, hatred, and blaming the world, to expectation, then to calm.

Finally, they seemed to become bystanders.

They would only say to those who cared about them,

"It's all over now."

"Let it be."

"Elara, if she has a spirit in heaven, will bless us to find the killer."

Officer Jenkins was still young. He didn't seem to fully grasp his mentor's logic. He wrinkled his nose.

"Alright, I saw a lot of girl's stuff at their house just now."

"It's admirable of them, keeping Elara's things exactly as they were for ten years."

Officer Jenkins didn't finish his sentence. He saw a Buick minivan pull up at the entrance of the complex. Mom quickly jogged over to meet it.

A girl hopped out of the car. She smiled so sweetly.

A carbon copy of me, when I was alive.

4

Mother and daughter walked away hand in hand.

Officer Jenkins snapped back to reality and scoffed. "No wonder they don't care about Elara anymore."

"Turns out they have another daughter."

His tone was so bitter.

It made me absolutely furious. I almost immediately rushed over, pointing at him and yelling.

"How dare you say that about my parents? How dare you say they don't care about me anymore!"

"I've always been their most cherished, most beloved daughter! Always!"

Unfortunately, I'm a ghost.

The kind of ghost who stays in the human world due to obsession, with very little power.

My hands can't touch people.

No matter how loud I scream, my voice won't reach his ears. All my counterattacks did was stir a wisp of cool air. It ruffled his hair slightly.

No one noticed me.

Naturally, no one cared about my anger or joy.

So I sulkily returned home.

Dinner was already served. Three dishes and a soup, all Chloe's favorites.

She closed her eyes and showered them with praise.

"Mommy's chicken wings are the best! The best in the whole world!"

I floated to the table, speaking sarcastically. "Is that all?"

"When I was little, the chicken wings Mom made were truly delicious, much more flavorful than these."

Chloe ignored me and turned to praise Dad. "Dad fixed the stereo; he's super amazing too."

A few words. And both of them were beaming.

But I rolled my eyes so hard they almost went to the back of my head. This kid, I wonder who taught her. So young, yet already so good at sweet-talking.

I irritably extended my finger, intending to flick Chloe on the forehead.

"These chicken wings can't shut you up!"

"Say a few more words, and I'll eat them all."

But my fingertip simply passed through the plate. My palm opened, still empty.

And Chloe, happily, scooped the remaining chicken wings into her own bowl.

I pouted. "So what?"

"I was the first one to love chicken wings."

"Mom only made chicken wings because of me!"

But no one could hear my words.

I looked up again at Mom and Dad.

They certainly weren't looking at me.

They were looking at Chloe.

Their faces filled with loving smiles.

Actually, I shouldn't be jealous.

Because when I was alive, they looked at me with the same eyes.

But today, for some reason, I felt a little irritable.

Maybe because I didn't get any chicken wings.

Maybe because of that mean officer's provocation.

Meanwhile, Chloe suddenly spoke.

"Mommy, you promised me that when I get ten perfect scores, you'd set up an art studio for me."

She looked up, blinking.

"Mommy, isn't there an extra room in the house?"

"Can I have it?"

I jumped up like an angry rooster. "That's not an extra room! That's my room!"

"You naughty child, why are you trying to steal my room?!"

5

After Chloe was born, my bedroom was locked. When she was little, she didn't understand and cried to go in. My parents would coax her then, saying it was a secret room. She could only go in when she was older.

But the year Chloe turned five, Mom forgot to lock it. She snuck in. She rummaged through everything in my room. She even pulled all my comic books out of my drawer and threw them all over the floor. When Mom found her, Chloe burst into tears. She thought Mom was going to hit her.

But Mom said nothing. She just handed over the yellowed comic book. "If you like it, take it."

But Mom never told Chloe, "This book was your sister's favorite. You must cherish it." So I watched as Chloe took it to school. Then a naughty boy kicked it into a puddle.

At this moment, facing Chloe's request, Dad actually said something fair. "That room cannot be touched."

"How about this, I'll partition a part of the living room for your art studio, how does that sound?"

That was a good idea. But Mom suddenly objected.

"No."

"That would make the house feel even smaller."

This house wasn't very big. I was born here. Back then, Dad was still a junior clerk at his company. Mom's career hadn't taken off either. They didn't have much money. It was after my death that their business grew bigger and bigger. But they never moved. Perhaps to preserve my memory. After all, they said this old house was filled with my traces.

On the wall in the entryway, there were pencil lines. From a short little mark, all the way up. Finally stopping at the year I was fourteen.

In the closet, Mom neatly folded all my school uniforms, as if I would still come home to wear them.

But now, Mom put down her chopsticks and said casually, "Then let's move."

Dad's smile froze for a moment. "Honey, didn't we say we'd keep…" He very tacitly avoided mentioning my name. They never mentioned my name in front of Chloe.

But Mom nodded, becoming even more resolute. "We can't just stay here forever because of what happened in the past."

"As for that room…" She looked back, her eyes complex.

"No one will live in it anymore."