Jin San never thought he could run so fast. If he were running with a rabbit, he believed the rabbit would definitely not be his match because he was running for his life, while the rabbit wanted nothing.

  The dry food was gone, and it was gone. Without dry food, he wouldn't die, but if the water was gone... Jin San felt he was about to die. His parched tongue constantly warned him of his life span, and his numb limbs could no longer support his emaciated body. Jin San had to fall straight down.

  The golden particles ruthlessly drilled into Jin San's sleeves, pants, hair, and even into his mouth and nose, but Jin San didn't care. He y on his back, half-closing his eyes, staring at the pale, pale sunlight, gasping with the st of his breath, bnkly lost in thought.

  Jin San felt lonely; anyone walking alone in the desert would feel the same.

  Jin San felt scared; no one would want to be accompanied by the indifferent, ruthless sand.

  Jin San felt death; everyone will eventually die.

  But Jin San didn't want to die.

  Jin San suddenly remembered the drumstick. It was safely tucked into his arms. With the st of his strength, he took it out. Jin San had once thought it was a useless thing, and he had once believed it to be an item that would bring him good luck. But now, Jin San understood it was nothing but an unlucky, ominous object. He threw it away.

  The drumstick drew an arc in the air and decisively pierced into the golden particles.

  Jin San closed his eyes.

  "Wonton! Wonton!"

  Wontons! Jin San suddenly opened his eyes. He was starving now, and without thinking, he stood up.

  Not far away, there was a light, flickering in and out. Jin San didn't hesitate and rushed toward the light.

  "It's getting te; I should be heading back. I′ll just give you this bowl of wontons," the old man said as he handed over a steaming bowl of wontons, the plump dumplings floating on top, releasing a mouthwatering aroma.

  Jin San's pupils widened instantly. He scrambled and crawled in the opposite direction, relieved that he still had the strength to run.

  The light disappeared. The old man selling wontons was gone. There was nothing left, as if nothing had ever happened. Jin San plopped down onto the sand. It was just an illusion—maybe he was so hungry that his mind was pying tricks on him. This was the desert; how could there be someone selling wontons? And that old man… he was already dead; he couldn't have appeared here, Jin San reassured himself. He lifted his head and gazed at the clear, mirror-like night sky. At this time, the desert always gave off a strange chill, and Jin San instinctively shrank his neck.

  "Have a sip of tea; this is fine Longjing," the voice came from behind Jin San. His body shook violently, and he turned his head slowly to look behind him...

  "Ah!" Jin San felt a sudden chill run down his spine; his hairs stood on end. With a single scream, his whole body colpsed onto the sand, as if it had been fttened like a pancake.

  The warmth made Jin San suddenly recall his childhood. He remembered when he was only seven years old, and his mother was still alive. That winter was very cold, but his mother held him tightly, giving his icy body a moment of warmth. Now, Jin San felt that same warmth again.

  A wooden tub! Jin San couldn't believe he was sitting in a wooden tub, surrounded by warm, clear water. A fragrant scent, indescribable yet pleasant, filled the air, instantly clearing his mind.

  A white towel gently slid up and down Jin San's rough, thick face, held by a small but strong hand. Jin San would never forget this hand. It had once cleared away all the accumuted dirt from his body; it had once struck every part of his skin. He had even once pced a broken silver coin into his hand. Jin San also clearly remembered that the person who owned this hand was now dead.

  Jin San ran quickly, not even bothering to put on his clothes. He knew that if he kept going like this, he would soon go mad. He desperately wanted to know what had happened, but no one would come to tell him. No one could tell him, because this was the desert. No one could survive in the desert; only ghosts could survive.

  Ghosts! Jin San suddenly shuddered. Could there really be ghosts? Could they really be ghosts? And if so, why had they come here? Why had they come to find him? Jin San was certain he had never killed them, as he was a timid person by nature, with his only real hobby being gambling.

  "This is the suit you ordered, made from the finest fabric," Jin San recognized the suit. It was the one that had once been on his body, but now it was being held by someone else's hand. Jin San also recognized this person—he should have been dead by now.

  Jin San ran again, clutching the suit as he went. He didn't know how far he could run, but he was determined to run as far as he could.

  "You forgot your shoes."

  "Sir, do you like the performance I gave you?"

  ...

  Jin San decided to stop running. He sat down cross-legged on the ground. Across from him sat another ghost—Wu Laoqi.

  "Jin San, let's gamble," said Wu Laoqi, his face as pale as death, with not a trace of blood. Jin San could hardly see his lips move.

  "Alright, what are we betting on?" Jin San had grown tired of fleeing. He had forgotten his fear. All he wanted now was to rest, to truly rest, so he decided to accept the challenge.

  "High or low?" Wu Laoqi replied, his lips still unmoving.

  "I have no money," Jin San said truthfully, as he was now penniless.

  "We're not betting money." Wu Laoqi pulled out a bucket from his robes. Inside, white dice cttered rhythmically, making the sound Jin San had longed for. He missed that sound.

  "Leopard," Jin San knew without looking that with Wu Laoqi's skill, rolling a leopard would be a breeze. But Jin San still didn't know what Wu Laoqi was betting on. However, Wu Laoqi had already handed him the bucket. Jin San cautiously took it, fearful of touching Wu Laoqi's hand. He dreaded the icy cold of a corpse's touch. As soon as his fingers brushed the bucket, he quickly pulled his hand back. The dice rolled freely inside, and Jin San, gathering all his strength, smmed the bucket down.

  A five, a one, and a two. Jin San knew he was always unlucky with dice.

  "You win!" Wu Laoqi said.

  "What? I..." Jin San was taken aback. Clearly, Wu Laoqi had a higher roll. How did he win?

  "We're betting on who rolls the smallest. You won; this is yours." Wu Laoqi forcefully shoved something into Jin San's arms.

  Jin San looked down at the object in his hands, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He recognized it. It was bck, about a foot long and seven inches wide. Jin San knew exactly what was inside—it was a drumstick, tightly wrapped in bck cloth.

  Jin San was on the verge of tears. He remembered he hadn't brought the box. He remembered he had thrown the drumstick away. But now, it was back, and exactly as it was before. Jin San knew he was about to break down.

  "No! I don't want it! I don't want it!" Jin San screamed hoarsely.

  Wu Laoqi vanished, not even a shadow left behind. Only the indifferent golden sand particles surrounded Jin San, and everything fell back into silence.

  Jin San finally burst into tears, and he finally wet his pants—the very ones he had just put on.

  The box fell into the soft sand with a "thud."

  Jin San stopped crying. He clearly heard the subtle sound, and he knew there must be something hidden in the sand. Otherwise, the box wouldn′t have made such a noise when it fell. Jin San tightened his belt, bent down, and reached out, digging through the soft sand...

  Jin San couldn't help but ugh. He found it funny that such a thing existed in the desote desert. He ughed out loud.

  The rattle was quite delicate, with a red drum body, wooden drum face, and two red strings tying two pea-sized balls. Although it was a little worn, it still held its original form. Jin San suddenly felt nostalgic for his childhood, when his mother had bought him one of these. He still remembered the nostalgic sound it made as it swung.

  Jin San was about to pick up the rattle and listen to that nostalgic sound once more, but he couldn't move it.

  The rattle was stuck in the sand. It should have been easy to lift, but now Jin San found himself struggling, using a lot of force just to pull it out. If it wasn't coming out, there must have been something holding it down. Realizing this, Jin San began to dig through the yellow sand again.

  He first tilted his head back, then suddenly stood up straight. Now he understood why he couldn't pull out the rattle—it was being tightly gripped by a hand. But that hand seemed to have become nothing more than a skeleton, devoid of flesh. Another dead person. Jin San couldn't help but spit on the sand. He believed today must be the unluckiest day of his life.

  The finger twitched. Jin San believed he must be seeing things, but the finger twitched again...

  Jin San completely lost consciousness.