Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 12 | Page 221

It was dark. The room was filled with antique furniture. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I felt a tap on my
shoulder. I whirled around but found myself face to face with a white shadowy figure, with a pale face and hollow
eyes. They filled my chest not with fear, but sadness.
The figure said, "I’m Xiaoqing. I've lived here in Gucheng all my life." Pausing, she tried to catch her breath.
Tears streamed down her eyes.
"Everyone here seems so melancholic. What's wrong?" I asked. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Too many
questions popped into my mind.
"A long time ago," Xiaoqing explained in a shivering voice, "here was a peaceful town. But the war broke out,
and my husband left in the army. I struggled to provide for our daughter, Shen Yan." Her voice sank to a murmur.
I gave Xiaoqing a look of concern, encouraging her to carry on.
"Soon after," Xiaoqing continued with shuddering sobs, "the Government decided that our weary town seemed
an unlikely place for business. They called for redevelopment and turned the Old City area into a tourist attraction.
Our house was pulled down to build multi-storey buildings, restaurants and apartments."
"Shen Yan and I lost our shelter. We ran out of food. Soon winter came and we caught a fatal disease. We failed to
survive. Shen Yan was