The last time I ended up in Wui was in Secondary Four. For a while I was terrified of going to school and kept skipping. Even when I did sit through class, nothing got through to me. I couldn’t follow the topics my classmates talked about, and sometimes I’d end up being punished for things I hadn’t done. But someone had to be punished, and it happened to be me — I didn’t really mind. One day it was exactly like that: I was kept in detention for no reason I could understand, and I was actually glad of the chance to sit alone and read. I’d just finished the first chapter of a novel when I was allowed to leave, and somehow walked straight into Wui.
Maybe “walked into” isn’t quite right. Wui is a trap — it doesn’t happen by accident. But I wouldn’t realise this until the second time, years later. That first time, I shouldered my bag and left the classroom, came down the stairs as usual, and when I reached the next floor something about the layout felt familiar. I didn’t think much of it and kept going. But the next landing wasn’t the school office as expected — it was still Year Four’s floor. I was going nowhere.
I tried going further down: same result. I turned around and climbed up: same floor again. There were no exits except the stairwell. On each landing there was the same small window that required standing on tiptoe to see out. Whether I went up or down, the view outside was identical. In other words, I was trapped in a loop.
Strangely, I wasn’t particularly afraid — just a bit bored. I knew any effort to escape would be useless, so I just sat down on the stairs, took out the novel, and read on in the dim yellow light. I must have got through a few chapters before drifting off to sleep.
When I woke up I found myself propped against the wall, the novel open on my lap. I looked up: a boy was sitting a few steps above me on the stairs. Small and young-looking — probably Year One. I forgot I was trapped and stood up to leave. He just watched me walk down the stairs. When I got to the next floor and saw him there again, I snapped back to reality. He turned and said, in an unbroken child’s voice: “This is Wui. Don’t waste your energy. Sit down.” I knew he was right, and sat beside him. Though I’m not tall, he was even shorter.
“How long was I asleep?” I asked. He counted on his fingers and said: “About three or four minutes. Or you could say three or four days. Or three or four years.” I asked when he’d come in. He said he’d been here a long time. I asked: “How long?” And immediately realised the question was pointless. He just scratched his head and grinned. I looked out the window at the slanting afternoon light and said: “Time doesn’t seem to pass in Wui — no day or night. Being stuck here alone must be frightening, right?” He smiled and said: “Not really frightening. Just a little lonely.” I sighed and said: “I suppose you don’t know how to get out?” But to my surprise he said: “I do.” I stared at him. “You do? Then why are you still here?” He said: “I was waiting for you.” “For me?” He explained: “You need two people to open a gap. But only one can leave Wui. The other is destroyed.” I asked: “How do you know which one?” He shrugged. I pressed: “So what do you actually have to do?” He held out his hand and said: “Simple. Just touch. Well? Scared to die?” I shook my head and said: “No. I just don’t have a strong reason to go back”. He suddenly turned serious: “You have to go back.” I hesitated, reached out my hand, and he broke into a guileless smile.
When I came back, I looked everywhere for any trace of the boy — but no one had seen him, and there were no missing students in the lower years. Later, Dad helped me transfer schools, and school life went back to normal. Gradually I forgot the whole thing.
Until recently, when my mental health wasn’t great and I was scraping by on odd jobs — sometimes quitting, sometimes getting let go. After a café manager fired me, I hid in a mall’s back stairwell and cried. It was the place staff usually snuck off to smoke; the air was stale. I found myself walking down without thinking, floor after floor with no bottom in sight. Then I suddenly understood: I was in Wui again. I sat down on the stairs and gave up trying. Some time passed, and I heard footsteps coming up from below. A boy in a café uniform emerged from the shadows, his face lighting up.
“We’ve met in Wui again!” he said. Only then did I recognise him — the small boy from before. Now he was taller than me. I stared at him. “Weren’t you already —” He looked awkward and said: “I’m sorry. I lied to you.” I got angry: “Why did you lie? Wui is your doing, isn’t it? You pull people in and then say they need to touch you to get out. You little creep. How many girls have you pulled this on?”
He went scarlet and couldn’t speak. When I’d calmed down he said: “I told you that last time so you’d forget me. But it’s true that you need to make contact to leave Wui — I’ve done it with many people in here, all kinds. The truth is, there are countless loops of Wui running at once, trapping countless people. Over the years I’ve been finding them one by one and sending them back. The work never ends. It’s exhausting. The only thing that kept me going was hoping I’d meet you in Wui again someday. But at the same time I hoped you’d never fall into Wui again.”
I was speechless. I asked: “Then why do you stay inside? Can’t you leave?” He looked down. “Because I have no reason to go back.” When he said that, tears came without warning. I asked: “Really, can’t you go?” He said reluctantly: “Only if someone is willing to take over my work.” I asked how. He said: “I pass Wui to you — the same way I received it from someone else.” I barely thought about it before saying: “Let me stay. You go back.”
I leaned in, stood on my tiptoes, and before he could react, kissed him quickly on the lips. That’s a kind of touch too. In the briefest of moments I watched his expression move from surprise to joy, and felt his lips go from flinching to accepting.
And then I was back. He’d tricked me again. He had no intention of coming back. But at least I know he’s there — and the next time I fall into Wui, we’ll meet again.
SF’s Strange Ordinary was originally published in Chinese in ebook format in 2025. Following it’s serialization in English translation, an English ebook version will be published. If you want to buy the Chinese version (USD 7.99), please click the link below:
Translated from the Chinese original with Claude
Picture generated with Midjourney