The Chicken Spirit Comes

After all thirteen resumes vanished into the void, Tu Ran let herself go.

Mid-morning, having stayed up all night binge-watching dramas, she ordered takeout, cracked open a can of beer, and from there, things spiraled.

After three cans, she lay sprawled on the carpet, limbs splayed.

Guilt crept in as she reflected on her decadent days.

"Heavens, grant me a job!" she roared in frustration, then, two seconds later, was ashamed of her own stupidity. She kicked an empty can, rolled over, and fell asleep with her head on the fuzzy carpet.

Between waking and dreaming, she saw a bird's beak two centimeters from her face—grayish-white, long and slender, curving downward into a sharp hook.

Tu Ran thought of fried chicken.

"Should order some fried chicken... for lunch... fried chicken..." she muttered dismissively, rolled over, turned her back, and kept sleeping.

The soft carpet was a bit lumpy, but she managed to slip into a dream.

In the dream.

"Rip... tear... tear..."

Too noisy.

She couldn't sleep soundly.

Her stomach felt a bit chilly.

That shouldn't be.

Tu Ran thought fuzzily; the apartment had heating, and she was wearing pajamas, after all.

Her eyelids were heavy; she forced them open a slit to see what was going on.

The sight that greeted her made her break out in a cold sweat.

An oversized chicken head was bowed, focused, pecking at her belly. A hook-like beak held a strip of cloth, which it flicked in an arc, landing on her face.

Her mind snapped to full alertness.

Her body temperature told her that her stomach was now exposed, and the chicken spirit's next peck would surely hit her gut.

Through the gap in the cloth, its long, sharp beak, like a bamboo skewer, tilted up slightly, its neck arching in a natural curve.

It was doing its final warm-up to gut its prey.

Without hesitation, Tu Ran instinctively rolled away.

Gray-yellow dust kicked up behind her, along with a noise like nails hammered into wood.

She avoided being skewered like a candied hawthorn.

Her agility surprised even herself.

A body that had barely scraped by on fitness tests for five years of college now felt light and powerful.

Tu Ran didn't dare look back; she scrambled to her feet and sprinted forward.

As she ran, she pinched her palm with her nails.

"Tu Ran! Wake up!"

"If you don't wake up, you'll be eaten!"

"Wake up!"

Tu Ran thought she was running fast, but she underestimated the chicken spirit.

A sudden gale whipped up, and a sharp, eerie cry like an infant's wail came from behind, rattling her eardrums.

Her scalp went numb; she sensed the sound came from the strange bird behind, and more terrifyingly, it was growing closer.

Ahead, there was nothing but a nearly vertical, bare peak—no other cover.

She had nowhere to flee.

With a whoosh, the bird flew overhead, its shadow engulfing her, then landed in her path, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Tu Ran skidded to a halt, swallowed, and backed away warily.

If this was a dream, it was too vivid.

The monster before her wasn't just a two-person-tall oversized chicken spirit.

Its shape was more like a falcon, with glossy black wings and a muscular, wild body. Unlike a hawk, it had long, blade-like horns on its head, like a rhinoceros.

She had never had such a realistic dream.

As she studied it, it tilted its head and studied her.

It seemed puzzled why its lunch, which had no breath moments ago, suddenly stood up and escaped from its beak.

Their eyes met in midair for just 0.1 seconds, then Tu Ran turned and ran.