In a dimly lit antique shop that reeked of nostalgia and dust, Yu Wei found himself captivated by an unimposing vase—short and stout. Its surface was adorned with intricate, almost cryptic patterns, yet it was something more intangible that drew him in.
“What’s so special about this矮的vase?” Yu Wei asked the shopkeeper, who seemed as antiquated as his wares.
“Oh, it’s 灵异,” croaked Old Man Zhang, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and warning. “Rumor has it, once owned, it changes you.”
Yu Wei chuckled, “Changes me how? Will I perhaps become a taller version of myself?”
Old Man Zhang shrugged, the humor in Yu Wei’s question clearly lost on him. “You’ll see,” he muttered, voice ripe with conundrums as though dipped in a pot of 王小波风格的黑色幽默.
The vase was wrapped in newspaper articles proclaiming the coming apocalypse, which Yu Wei found amusing rather than foreboding. Cash changed hands, and with that, the vase accompanied him to his small apartment—where space was more like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces.
“You bought a ghost vase?” Mei Lin, Yu Wei’s roommate and eternal source of rational dialogue, lifted an eyebrow, her skepticism palpable.
“Why not? Keep things interesting,” Yu Wei replied, placing the vase on their cluttered table where it looked more at home than it ought to have.
“Interesting or haunted, pick one.” Mei Lin rolled her eyes before returning her attention to a psychology textbook, her chosen medium of escape from Yu Wei’s whims.
Days turned into weeks, and aside from a few bumps in the night which Yu Wei dismissively attributed to hungry mice, life continued its banal course. However, something inexplicable flickered beneath the mundanity. Yu Wei’s once rosy dreams now swirled with the monochrome dread of futility; a restless spirit seemed to lurk within him, as unseen as the vase’s supposed powers.
“So, have you changed yet? Perhaps you’ll develop an interest in house-cleaning?” Mei Lin teased one evening, gesturing toward their perpetually untidy living room.
“Only if this vase can clean itself,” quipped Yu Wei, although his laughter was tinged with unusual weariness. He eyed the vase, an unmoving entity that seemed secretively amused by the banter.
As weeks slipped by, the genuine change was in Yu Wei’s demeanor, not his height or cleaning habits. Overshadowing his once playful wit was a melancholia hidden within ironic sentences that no longer carried joy. Darkness pooled in the corners of his smiles, his laughter echoing with a hollow nuance that intrigued and worried Mei Lin in equal measure.
“You alright?” she asked one evening when Yu Wei’s gaze lingered too long on the short vase.
“I’m tired,” he sighed, stripping layers of sarcasm from his voice, revealing fatigue and pointless longing. The vase had promised a change, and thus far, only the glint of tragedy danced in his murmur.
Months passed, and the laughter that once defined Yu Wei’s presence morphed into whispers of resignation. One dreary morning, Mei Lin found the place eerily silent, the short vase sitting unchanged in its corner, its legacy complete. Yu Wei was gone, claimed by the very haunting humor that had been his muse.
Indeed, tragedy had woven its narrative through comedic seams, leaving behind a solemn lesson etched not on the face of the vase but in the echoes of Yu Wei’s untold dreams—a story of humor drifted into a haunting reality.
And the vase? It sat there—short, unyielding and silently waiting for its next owner. The shop still open, still inhabited by Old Man Zhang’s gleeful mysteries, recounting tales to the next curious soul willing to purchase a change.