Chapter Nineteen: Welcome, Liu Mengchao (2/2)

The doll shop did not leave a pleasant impression on Liu Mengchao. It felt as if one were walking through a bustling market, only for the world to suddenly fall silent; instead of the sweltering heat of summer, a series of chilly gusts swirled around him.

The people—or rather, the dolls—around him were smiling, their expressions blank and vacant.

Liu Mengchao stopped and examined the dolls closely. In the dim, twilight-like interior, some stood, some sat, and others lay reclined. Some had their eyes wide open as if startled, others had their lids half-closed in deep contemplation, and some seemed to be in a profound slumber.

Most of these dolls were crafted in the image of beautiful young girls, though there were also boys and animals among them. Some creations even blended human and beast features.

It was not just the dolls; the walls were covered in numerous paintings.

How should one put it? The dolls, the paintings, and the lighting together created an atmosphere that was both quiet and desolate. Although Liu Mengchao knew full well that these dolls were inanimate objects, in a moment of trance, he felt as if, on the other side of the world, a group of souls was faintly reaching out to him through these vessels.

"This is truly... unexpected."

Liu Mengchao continued walking until he reached the end of the room. It was not a wall, but a small staircase with a tiny note attached to it.

"Please proceed this way."

Liu Mengchao smiled slightly and decided to follow the instruction.

It was a basement.

As soon as he descended the stairs, a basement filled with dolls appeared before him. Though he had grown somewhat numb to temperature, he felt a sudden chill upon entering, as if he had stepped into an ice cellar. A biting, sluggish cold hung in the air.

The lighting was not much different. Liu Mengchao looked up; the light was still the dim, dusky glow of twilight, though perhaps a shade paler than the light upstairs.

"Leg... hand... arm..." Liu Mengchao paused, reading the labels of the items scattered on a workbench one by one. "Head, torso."

It was not just the workbench; chairs, display cases—wherever he looked, he found limbs of these dolls. Like a haunted house in an amusement park, Liu Mengchao realized that whenever he lowered his head or focused his gaze, he would easily spot a hand or a foot hidden in the gaps. Most of the dolls here were unfinished, yet as Liu Mengchao stood in the center of the basement, the sight possessed a strange, aesthetic beauty.

It was like broken stained glass pieced together into an abstract masterpiece. It might not suit everyone's taste, but it held a unique, compelling charm.

That said.

Liu Mengchao stopped in front of his favorite doll.

Her appearance was remarkably similar to the girl displayed in the window. She stood alone in a niche, missing only her right wrist.

*Hoo...*

Liu Mengchao exhaled a long breath and shook his head before continuing. Standing before that doll, he had felt a fleeting sensation that the missing right wrist was turning into the cold breeze of the basement, gently and slowly stroking his face.

The basement was not large—certainly not as large as he had imagined.

He reached the end.

Looking at the final exhibit, Liu Mengchao could not help but laugh.

It was a coffin—a large, Western-style coffin, waiting quietly for him to approach.

As he moved closer, Liu Mengchao looked at the doll inside.

She had no eyes.

Her eye sockets were hollow and black, but her limbs and head were perfectly formed. She looked like a girl from a fairy tale, dressed in a pale, thin gown, lying quietly in the coffin.

Driven by an inexplicable impulse, Liu Mengchao reached out and slowly, carefully brushed the doll's hair aside.

He recognized this face.

Mei Misaki.

"Beautiful," Liu Mengchao remarked with genuine admiration. He released his hand, and the red hair fell back down, obscuring the doll's left eye.

"Do you not dislike things like this, Liu Mengchao?"

"Mei Misaki?" Liu Mengchao laughed suddenly, speaking to the doll. Then, he shook his head, pressed his palm against the doll's face, and sighed. "No warmth. It’s a pity she isn't real."

"Perhaps real people are just dolls themselves," Mei Misaki's voice came from behind the doll, as if the doll had spoken to refute his argument.

"I know that isn't true," Liu Mengchao said, leaning forward slightly. "These dolls don't carry your scent, Mei Misaki!"

Without waiting for the girl behind the curtain to react, Liu Mengchao reached out and pulled her out from her hiding spot.

Mei Misaki.

Her short hair fluttered slightly. Her right eye widened in surprise as she looked at Liu Mengchao, who was holding her hand. She pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

"Don't you want to ask me what kind of scent this is?"

"Is it the scent of a human?" Mei Misaki did not look at his face, but turned her head toward the doll in the coffin, sighing softly like a ghost.

"No," Liu Mengchao said, taking her other hand and sandwiching her hands between his own. "It is the scent of a longing for warmth. The scent of someone who fears loneliness and is crying out."

Silence.

Mei Misaki pulled her hands away from his grasp with effort and hid them behind her back, lowering her head to look at her toes.

"Liu Mengchao, acting this way is very frivolous."

Hearing this, Liu Mengchao laughed.

"A doll wouldn't say such things," he said, reaching out to touch the face of the doll in the coffin. "They only need someone to stroke their faces often and provide them with warmth to survive. But humans are different."

Still, there was silence. Mei Misaki's expression did not change, but Liu Mengchao knew his words had hit home; her breathing had grown slightly heavier.

"Stroking a face can bring warmth to a doll. But for a human, if you cannot touch the soul, any amount of consolation is like clothing in winter."

"Clothing?"

"Yes. Once you take it off, the cold strikes even faster. And the heart dies much faster than before."

The silence deepened. Mei Misaki did not want to speak, but images flickered slowly and resolutely in her mind. Her sister, Misaki Fujioka—the sister who looked exactly like her—was just like that doll in the basement.

Two dolls pressed together, each becoming an indispensable part of the other.

*My poor other half...* The phrase echoed in Mei Misaki's mind like a ghost. Fortunately, Liu Mengchao was in front of her.

Her fair, slender hand, as if carved from white jade, was now held by him again.

"Can you feel the warmth?" Liu Mengchao asked with a smile, ignoring her puzzled gaze. "Although I don't know your past, looking into your eyes, I don't think you are that kind of person."

"What kind of person..."

Mei Misaki's gaze shifted from the conjoined dolls to the man before her.

"Someone who loves loneliness. Even though you enjoy the quiet, you also crave friends."

"Hmm..."

She nodded slowly, allowing her hand to remain in Liu Mengchao's. The faint warmth radiating from his palm seemed to have a magical quality, making her feel as if her entire being was warming up.

"Friends, then..."

"Yes, friends," Liu Mengchao said, taking a letter from his soaked clothes. "This is a letter of introduction. I will be staying at your house for this semester. I'll be counting on you from now on."

The letter had not been dampened by the rain, and the name at the top was clearly visible.

Mei Misaki read the name softly, syllable by syllable.

Liu Mengchao.

"Welcome, Liu Mengchao."