Youre Gonna Miss Me When Im Gone

In the world we inhabit, alongside plants and animals, there also exists a realm of spirits unseen, with their own society and agendas. They may seek revenge on enemies from life or aid those who were kind to them. The realms of the living and the dead are like parallel lines, never meant to intersect. Sorcerers are the professionals who prevent this intersection, using their special abilities to protect the living from the disturbances of the dead, maintaining a delicate balance. These sorcerers are common in our lives; perhaps among the roadside fortune tellers, there are a few who possess extraordinary skills.

On an autumn evening with a chilly breeze, the sun was about to set, and pedestrians were rushing to get home before nightfall. In the city center, the crowd was especially dense. Among them, one person was not very conspicuous; he was hunched over, with hay-like hair mixed with silver strands. From behind, he looked like a desperately ill middle-aged man. However, upon closer inspection from the front, this was an undeniable young man, about 20 years old, wearing framed glasses. His features were not delicate, but they were well-proportioned. His skin was fair, and there was a scratch on his forehead. Coupled with his slender body, he was an overall pleasant-looking young man. Nevertheless, he appeared quite dejected, with large bags under his eyes. His name was Mark Small, a sophomore at a university in Springfield.

His dejection had a reason; in the first month of the school year, misfortunes had been relentless. Not to mention insomnia and accidents, it was unthinkable that a grown man lost his underwear three times in a week. But what surprised him the most was that, in recent days, he had been sensing vague shadows moving before his eyes at night, as if someone was whispering. Yet, everything was illusory; as soon as he rubbed his eyes, these strange figures would suddenly vanish, leaving him utterly confused.

"Young man," a voice called out.

Mark turned to see the source of the voice, an old man setting up a stall under a tree. Judging by his attire and location, this was a fortune teller. Mark considered himself a person with considerable social experience; he never believed in such deceitful fortune-telling practices. However, since the old man was calling out to him, he decided to approach and take a closer look. Upon closer inspection, the old man appeared to be around 5 or 60 years old, completely bald, dressed in an old blue suit. When Mark looked into his eyes, he noticed that his eyes were entirely white, indicating that he was, indeed, a blind fortune teller.

Mark had been in a sour mood lately and responded curtly, "Yes?"

The old man squinted and said, "Young man, let me tell you a fortune for free."

"For free?"

"Yes, Ill give you a reading at no charge," the old man insisted.

Mark found it amusing and replied, "Old man, I dont believe in this stuff." He began to turn away.

The old man quickly added, "If you listen to me, Ill reveal a great secret to you!"

Intrigued, Mark leaned in, thinking that a secret, by nature, should be discreet and not overheard by others.

"Lets hear this secret first," Mark said.

The old mans expression turned serious as he squeezed his white eyes and suddenly turned his head towards Mark, saying, "Hehe, Im pretending to be blind~"

A large drop of sweat rolled down Marks forehead. Exasperated, he muttered, "Youve got to be kidding me." He was tempted to throw a punch, but as a modern university student, he restrained himself.

The old man grabbed Marks hand and looked at him earnestly. If they had been a pair of handsome men, some might have thought they were involved in a romantic relationship.

"Please, let me read your fortune!" the old man pleaded.

Embarrassed by the situation, Mark gave in and said, "Old man, make it quick, alright?" It felt like he was urging a prostitute to hurry up with a client.

The old man replied knowingly, "Since you mentioned Im old, of course it will be quick~"

He took out a set of turtle shells and placed three coins inside鈥攖hree fifty-cent pieces. Mark was bewildered; in his 20 years, he had seen many fortune tellers use turtle shells with ancient copper coins, but never with fifty-cent pieces. He voiced his objection.

The old man chuckled and said, "Where can I find ancient copper coins? A fifty-cent coin is also copper, and Ive even used game tokens before. Its all the same, no worries."

He vigorously shook the turtle shells, performing several cross rotations that rivaled a bartenders skills. After a single-handed flourish, he tilted the shells, spilling out two coins, but the third one didnt come out. The old man nervously peered inside and exclaimed, "Damn it, Ive lost another one."

Mark felt as if he had been struck by lightning, his feelings akin to when he first saw an internet celebrity鈥攖ransparent and helpless.

The old man continued, "No problem, I didnt really know how to use this anyway, but its a pity about the fifty cents."

Mark questioned, "If you didnt know how to use it, why did you shake it just now?"

"Just to stretch my bones after a day without any business," the old man replied.

"Damn it," Mark blurted out a foreign curse in his frustration.

"To the main point, have you seen anything unclean lately?" the old man asked seriously.

"Unclean? I see that all the time," Mark replied.

The old mans eyes widened, "What? What have you seen?"

"All kinds of feces, for example. The toilets in the university dormitories are rarely cleaned, and with some students lacking basic hygiene, they dont even flush the toilets. Its very dirty. There have been times when Ive seen a pool full of..."

The old man was stunned for a moment, then said, "I meant have you experienced anything strange, like seeing ghosts!" He emphasized the word ghost with a heavy tone, his face tense.

Mark was startled by this and said, "No, I havent seen any."

The old man continued, "You havent seen any? I calculate that you are about to face a disaster. If you want to avoid it, I can exert some effort to exorcise the evil spirits for you. It will shorten my lifespan, so you should show some gratitude, shouldnt you?"

"In the end, its all about money. Ive seen enough of your tricks. Heh, I dont believe in your act. Im leaving," Mark said, getting up to leave.

"Ill see how you leave," the old man also stood up and said.

"Ill take... a car, huh?" Mark realized it was already dark, a moonless night, and only the dim light of the street lamps allowed him to see that there were few pedestrians left. Mark took out his phone and checked the time; it was already past 9 oclock. How was that possible? He had only spent 5 minutes with the old man; how could it be dark so suddenly? At that moment, a voice rang out, the old mans voice, distant yet close.

"When you realize something is wrong, come find me at the wasteland of South Hill Cemetery."

He turned his head, and the old man was gone. Mark was sweating profusely. Although he didnt quite believe in these things, the old mans words echoed in his mind: "Have you seen anything unclean?" Lately, he had indeed seen many hallucinations, but he always thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him and didnt pay much attention. Let the old fortune teller say it, and it really was quite eerie. And what about the disaster? Mark couldnt help but wonder, cursing, "Damn it, like a toad sticking to the sole of your foot, not biting but just disgusting."

There were no more buses, so Mark hailed a taxi. As the car started, the old man fell from the tree where he had been sitting with Mark, apparently having a tough landing as he rubbed his butt and complained, "Damn it, its not easy to make money these days. To be mysterious, I have to climb trees. But if this kid doesnt come to me, hes going to be in trouble." With that, he turned and left.

In the taxi.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"South Hill Cemetery," Mark replied, his mind full of the old mans words, inadvertently saying the cemetery instead of his school.

The driver was taken aback, glancing at Mark in the passenger seat. What he saw was a man with invisible eyes (due to large bags under them), muttering to himself but inaudibly. The driver began to sweat, wondering why someone would go to such a place so late. It wasnt ghosts or bandits he was worried about.

Feeling increasingly uneasy as the car drove through and increasingly remote roads, Mark turned to look at the driver, realizing the driver was a rugged middle-aged man. Mark quickly turned his head away.

"Damn, this isnt a black car, is it? Why am I so unlucky?" Mark thought to himself, instinctively touching the phone in his pocket.

His action was also noticed by the driver. "Hes not going for a knife, is he? Oh no!" The driver suddenly slammed on the brakes. Marks head hit the front console, and his last thought before blacking out was that it was indeed a black car, and then everything went dark. The driver opened the door and fled. Two minutes later, Mark regained consciousness, wondering where the driver had gone. He got out of the car and saw that it had stopped in a desolate area, the direct route to South Hill Cemetery. The autumn night was already cold, and the wind blowing through the leaves made the surroundings even more desolate. Although Mark was a tall guy, capable of drinking half a bottle of baijiu by himself, being left alone in the wilderness was still scary. He touched his phone, which was still there, and decided to make a call. Mark opened his M8 phone and called his best friend from university, Fat Jack.

"Fat Jack is always the most loyal," Mark comforted himself. "Hey, Fat Jack, Im in trouble, come over quick..."

"Bare Butt (Marks nickname), lets talk about it tomorrow, Im watching a movie," Fat Jack replied, hanging up. When Mark tried to call again, his phone was already off.

"The class president, I should call the class president," Mark thought. The class president was also a good friend of Marks. Whenever he had any dirty work he didnt want to do, he would call the class president.

"Hello? Class President? Its me, Mark..." Before he could finish, the call was hung up. The class president was afraid of being bothered by Mark again.

"In the end, I have to call the police," Mark thought, but his M8 phone, uncooperative as ever, turned off, out of battery. Mark cursed, "Chinese phones, damn it!"

Left with no help, Mark looked around and noticed the familiar yet strange figures again! They were the vague white figures!