She Paid $170,000 for a Boy Who Didn't Exist

Filling the Session

Xiao Huang first walked into that shop when she was fourteen. A classmate told her there was a script, one-on-one, and the DM would keep looking at you the whole time. The air conditioning ran cold that day. The hallway was narrow, the walls covered with posters for murder-mystery games. The DM wore a black shirt and held a cup of warm water. She was afraid of the dark. The script had a lights-out section, and she dug her nails into her palm. He handed her the warm water. The cup wall touched her fingers. He said, "It's hot, slow down." She didn't drink. She held it, and her palms grew sweaty.

After that she went every Saturday afternoon. First she saved her allowance. Later she saved her breakfast money. The script was called Obsession. He played someone obsessed only with her. When the script ended, players had to return their props. He took off the ring and placed it in her palm. Silver, with sweat on the inner band. He said, "Bring it back next time." She clenched the ring and walked out of the shop, then bought oden at a convenience store. The radish burned her mouth. She bit into it and thought of the veins on his wrist.

The second time, she did badly on her monthly exam, fifty-eight in math. She didn't dare go home. She sat on a bench in the residential compound. Her phone buzzed. He sent a voice message. She opened it. There was no sound, only rain. She listened for three minutes. Sometimes, through the rain, she heard him turning pages. She didn't reply. Later she told him that she had sat on the bench until ten that night. He said, "I know. I only hung up after the rain stopped." She didn't ask how he knew. She only saved that voice message. She had also saved his cough, the click of his lighter, him calling her by her script name.

The third time was her birthday. There was a new monologue, only for her. He said, "Last time you said your cat was named Niangao. The day Niangao went missing, you looked for three hours." In the script, he spoke to the candle and said, "Niangao will come back." She lowered her head. Wax dripped onto the tablecloth. He reached out. His thumb brushed the tablecloth. He didn't touch her. That day she wore white shoes. There was mud on the toes. She went home and scrubbed the shoes until one in the morning. The stomach medicine was by her bed. She didn't take it.

The script ran into its seventh hour. The lights dimmed. He came closer. She smelled the laundry detergent on his collar. His hand rested on the back of her neck, his thumb pressing at her hairline. She closed her eyes. The door was pushed open. A staff member called, "Next session, get ready." He stepped back and went to adjust the lights. She sat where she was, the back of her neck burning. When he came back, he was holding a bottle of mineral water, beads of water on the plastic. He said, "That part just now, you reacted well." She took the water and didn't drink. The beads slid down and fell on her skirt, a small round dot.

She began to steal. First loose change from drawers. Later a gold necklace. Her mother's gold necklace was on the top shelf of the bedroom wardrobe, in a red velvet box. She moved a stool and reached it. Dust lay on the velvet box. She took it to a gold shop. The owner weighed it and quoted a number. She took the money and went to the shop. Three hundred and fourteen transactions. She didn't know the number 314. Her mother later printed it out. She only knew that every time she scanned the code, her phone buzzed. Like that rain voice message. She owed one hundred thousand. She borrowed from classmates, from internet friends, from a person who said, "You can pay in installments." She didn't dare calculate.

The day her mother found out, Ms. Chen opened the wardrobe. The red velvet box was empty. She asked Xiao Huang. Xiao Huang stood in the living room, phone in hand. Her mother's voice trembled. Xiao Huang said, "I used it." Her mother asked, "Used it on what?" Xiao Huang didn't say. Her mother reached for her phone. Xiao Huang pushed her. Her mother hit the shoe cabinet. A shoebox fell. Xiao Huang shouted, "You don't understand at all." She ran out the door. The stairwell light was sound-activated. She stamped her foot. The light came on. She ran down. Her shoelaces came undone. She didn't look back.

Her mother sold the apartment. It wasn't big, two bedrooms and a living room. The day the buyer came to look, Xiao Huang was in her room. She heard her mother say, "None of the furniture stays." Later they moved. She stood in the empty room. There was dust on the floor. Where the jewelry box had been, on top of the wardrobe, there was a clean rectangle. She looked up. Her phone buzzed. The shop sent a message: There's his session tonight. Come fill it? She stared at the line. The stomach medicine was in her bag. She didn't take it. She turned the phone face down on the windowsill. On the windowsill was a pothos. Its leaves had turned yellow. She watered it. Water leaked from the bottom of the pot and dripped onto the floor.

She didn't reply. The next day, she went to a print shop. She screenshotted her purchase history, page by page, and printed it out. Three hundred and fourteen transactions. A4 paper, front and back, twenty-seven sheets in all. She counted them three times. The print shop owner asked, "This many?" She said, "Mm." She took the papers home. Her mother was in the kitchen. She put the papers on the dining table. Her mother didn't speak. She said, "Mom, let's go ask them for a refund." Her mother looked at the papers. She said, "Eat first." Her mother served rice. The bowl was old, with a chip on the edge. She ate two bowls.

They went to the shop. The manager said, "The script is marked for ages twelve and up. No refund." Her mother said, "She's sixteen." The manager said, "She wanted to play." Xiao Huang stood beside them. She saw the poster in the shop. On the poster, the DM wore a black shirt. She thought of that cup of warm water. She said, "I want to call the police." The manager said, "Go ahead." They went to the police station. The police took a statement. Later the culture and tourism bureau got involved. The shop agreed to refund ten thousand. Her mother said, "More than that." Xiao Huang didn't speak. She walked out of the police station, the prop ring in her hand. Silver, with sweat on the inner band. She walked to the trash can and threw it in. The trash can was green. She didn't look back. Her mother called from behind, "Let's go." She said, "Coming."