I noticed that there was one person missing from the photos, which wasn’t easy for me because most of the pictures were taken during the bonfire party, where there were many people and it was chaotic. The reason I noticed this is that in the stack of photos I had seen earlier, Lanting had a lot of pictures with another woman, but in this stack, there wasn’t a single one.
“Where did that illustrator go?” I asked. “The one with the name that sounds like ‘Dao’?”
“Dada.”
“Right, where did she go? Did she leave midway?” I looked at her and asked, feeling uneasy, as if something might have happened to someone in their journey. However, she was smiling brightly in the photos. If something had happened to her best friend, how could she still smile like that? I would have to reconsider her character.
Lanting bit her lip and said, “She didn’t leave; she’s right here with us.”
I looked at the photos, making a gesture of confusion.
Lanting continued, “Or to be more precise, she is in these photos—”
I kept looking at her, “But she’s not here.”
“She is here; she’s in most of the photos. She’s someone who loves to take pictures. Many times when I took these photos, she was the focus.”
Suddenly, I began to understand what she was trying to convey, but I couldn’t believe it. I looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
She went on, “But after I developed these photos, I found that she didn’t appear in any of them. Even in those photos that I was absolutely certain were taken for her, she was nowhere to be found.”
I gasped, looking at the photos. My first thought wasn’t whether this was possible, but whether she was playing with me. I’ve often heard that authors of mystery novels can become so absorbed in their work that they lose touch with reality. Could it be that Lanting was so overwhelmed with deadlines that she couldn’t distinguish between reality and fantasy?
But when I looked into her eyes, I didn’t see any confusion.
“Could it be that you made a mistake? Did your friend intentionally avoid the camera? I once read a novel where a person’s friend went missing, and when he wanted to find a photo of that friend for a missing person’s notice, he discovered that this person had never left a clear image, always avoiding the camera or showing only a profile in all the pictures.” I said, trying to convince myself that this was real and to suppress my urge to leave. “In the end, they discovered that the friend was actually a spy, trained to avoid being photographed.”
“That novel was written by me,” Lanting looked at me. “That was just a novel, and it’s not easy to completely avoid all cameras in real life.”
“But…” Lanting suddenly made a gesture: “Old Guan, I know you don’t believe me. I’m not telling you this to make you believe; I just want to ask you, in photography, under what circumstances could this phenomenon occur?”
I wanted to mention dreams, but I held back. After thinking it over, I decided to go along with her, and I said seriously, “Is your friend perfectly normal? Can you see her?”
“Of course,” she nodded. “Otherwise, I would have gone crazy by now.”
I said, “Theoretically, the reason a camera can capture images is based on the same principles as human vision. Therefore, anything the human eye can see should also be able to be photographed. The image of a person is created because light reflects off their body and then onto a light-sensitive device. To ensure that a person does not appear in a photograph, one would have to prevent the light reflecting off that person from being exposed in the photo.”
Her eyes lit up: “So, is it possible?”
I shook my head slightly: “Certain specialized lenses can achieve this, like the much-discussed ts camera from a while back. However, such lenses are unlikely to penetrate the human body because penetrating clothing is simply passing through a layer of fabric. The human body is much more complex, consisting of bones, skin, fat, and muscle. If one could penetrate these, then the background behind a person—books, chairs, sand, etc.—would also be penetrated, which would render the photograph meaningless. Moreover, lenses are indiscriminate; if your friend cannot capture it, neither can anyone else.” I stated firmly, “Therefore, the phenomenon you mentioned is not physically possible.”
Her eyes dimmed, and she sighed but did not appear overly disappointed.
I continued, “These photographs look completely normal, with no issues at all. I believe they cannot have been tampered with. If you insist that there is a missing person who should be there, then it can only be explained through spiritualism, which is even more incredible. So, this matter can only be attributed to your misunderstanding.”
She shook her head, took a sip of tea, and said, “Is there really no possibility of achieving such an effect, even if it’s very complex?”
I replied, “You must be mistaken.”
She smiled bitterly: “I wish I were mistaken, but this is something I experienced firsthand. Just because you say I’m wrong doesn’t mean I can deceive myself.”
I looked into her eyes and suddenly felt a surge of anger, sensing that this must be some kind of trick. No matter how serious her expression seemed, it felt like a prank. She must have chosen the one among us who appeared most gullible to play this joke on.
Jin Yong once said that the more beautiful a woman is, the more likely she is to lie. I am a sensitive person, and because of my sensitivity, I am naive. Therefore, I was often subjected to such tricks during my school years. I believed I could see through such lies immediately, but I did not expect to be fooled even after reaching adulthood.
I looked at her, trying to suppress my anger and think about how to handle this situation, how I could extricate myself from it.
Lan Ting continued, “Teacher Guan, don’t dwell on it. Just consider it a joke. However, I hope you can help me with another favor. Could you connect me with your friends? I want to go back to Badain Jaran.”
I frowned, “Go back again?”
“Waiting for a travel group takes too much time. You just said you have good connections there. I hope you can introduce me to a few reliable people to take me in. I want to return to Gulongjing and climb that rock to see what’s up there that could lead to such questions.”
“I need to think about this,” I said, feeling quite unreliable. She wanted to go back into the desert, and it seemed she wanted to do so quickly. For such a bizarre request, she was seriously asking for my help, which was a bit concerning. After hesitating for a moment, I mustered the courage to say, “Miss Lan, I think you should see a psychologist. Long-term writing can lead to distorted judgment; I’ve been through that process, and I feel like you might be a bit obsessed.”
I hoped she would get angry, maybe slap me or throw her coffee in my face, so at least our conversation could come to an end.
But Lan Ting sighed, as if she suddenly lost interest in talking to me. Her face turned pale as she packed up the photos and said in a soft voice, “Thank you, Teacher Guo. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” With that, she stood up to leave.
Suddenly, I felt a bit uneasy and asked, “Do you need me to take you back?”
She shook her head, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. I thought for a moment and pressed on, “Why don’t you just ask Daodao what she actually saw? Why go back into the desert?” Lan Ting walked out of the teahouse without looking back and said, “It’s already impossible.”
Back home, I replayed the entire situation in my mind, feeling that something was very off.
There are many extraordinary people in this world, and their reactions to things can be very different. I don’t know if others can accept such matters, but I absolutely cannot. Since this event really happened, I can’t pretend it didn’t.
I thought about calling the publisher to inform him about it, after all, he is the one with a vested interest. But then I remembered I promised Lan Ting not to tell anyone, so I put the phone down. However, I still felt uneasy.
First of all, my 30 years of life experience told me that such things are usually pranks, so I initially believed this was fake. But looking at her expression, she didn’t seem to be joking. The most likely situation was that her mental state had become abnormal.
This wasn’t the first time I had encountered such a thing. My uncle, for instance, wrote novels about the Cultural Revolution and later developed depression. Writing can easily lead someone to obsession, so our family chose photography instead and avoided written creation.
I needed to make sure someone close to her was aware of this situation—someone who cared about her and wouldn’t make her feel embarrassed about the secret. But I wasn’t familiar with Lan Ting, so who could I turn to?
Then I thought of Daodao. As the main character in Lan Ting’s bizarre story, she was not only Lan Ting’s friend but had also traveled to the desert with her, making her a suitable person to approach.
The reason I recognized her in the photos was that she had a connection to my magazine. So finding her wouldn’t be difficult. After considering it, I picked up the phone and asked my editor for Daodao’s number.
My editor, annoyed at being disturbed late at night, hesitated when I asked about the name.
“What do you need her for?” he asked cautiously.
“That’s none of your business,” I replied impatiently. “Just tell me quickly, or do you not want to sleep?”
“I deleted her number a week ago.”
“Why did you delete her number?” I frowned. “Aren’t you going to work with her anymore?”
“Old Guan, do you really not know or are you just pretending? It’s best not to joke about such things.”
“She committed suicide, just a week ago.”
“Committed suicide?”
“Yes, she committed suicide in her apartment a week ago. I thought you usually kept up with the news.”
I was speechless; his tone didn’t sound like he was joking at all. I realized this was true.
After hanging up, I fell into deep thought, feeling a bit uneasy. It’s possible to encounter one unreliable thing in a month, but if you come across two in just a few hours, and they are closely related, then something serious might be going on.
I stared blankly for a long time before opening my computer and going to Baidu to start searching for information. I first checked the news and, unsurprisingly, it was flooded with articles. I hadn’t opened my computer in so long that I didn’t expect something like this to happen.
I couldn’t bear to read too much information. The news stated that the deceased teacher had been struggling with her mental state, and at the bottom of the article was a photo that seemed to be from the scene.
It was a shot of the foyer of a studio apartment, and I immediately noticed something was off. In this photo, I saw that the walls of the foyer were covered with pictures.
The news didn’t mention this detail; I didn’t know if it was selective omission or just oversight. The image was only 300×300 pixels, so I couldn’t see much more. But those photos sent chills down my spine.
A very oppressive feeling arose in my heart. I remembered Lan Ting’s expression at the time and her bizarre story, and my fingers began to tremble involuntarily. Although I wanted to tell myself that this was likely just my imagination, I couldn’t help but start to doubt my own judgment at that moment. Could it be true?
I continued searching, trying to find other versions of the phenomenon Lan Ting mentioned regarding the ancient Tongjing.
However, apart from the usual mysterious travelogues written by ordinary travelers, there was almost no other information about Tongjing in Baidu’s database. As for the rumors about people who couldn’t be captured by cameras, I struggled to find the right keywords. After a long time, I finally found a story about a farmer in Hebei who could never get a photo of himself, which even made it to television. The astonishing conclusion was that his camera was broken, and once it was repaired, everything was fine.
Most of the information I found was just copies and reposts. The advantage of the internet age is the rapid spread of information, but this speed also leads to an overwhelming amount of repetition.
I shut down my computer, feeling restless and unsure how to deal with my emotions. I hesitated there, feeling quite miserable.
That night, I thought about it all night and finally decided that I had to see Lan Ting one more time and talk to her again to figure out what was really going on. I called the publisher to ask for the address of her hotel and then drove there.
To my surprise, when I arrived, I found that Lan Ting had already checked out. The receptionist said she had left in a hurry that morning and that the front desk had called a taxi for her because she was catching a flight.
I recalled her words from yesterday and immediately felt a sense of foreboding. Remembering that her accommodation costs were covered by the publisher, I quickly approached the finance department and investigated the payment records for Lan Ting’s room. Sure enough, I discovered that she had booked a flight to Inner Mongolia through the hotel the night before.
She had actually set off, and she did so very quickly. I couldn’t help but feel a deep regret; after all, I should have offered her some assistance yesterday. I could have arranged for a friend of mine in Inner Mongolia to pick her up, which would have at least allowed me to know her whereabouts, regardless of her state. I should have realized that even without my help, she could make her way back to Badanjilin. In today’s society, as long as one has money, many things are not a problem, and she undoubtedly had a lot of money.
I glanced at my watch; she had left very early, but the airport gates close 20 minutes before departure, so she should have just taken off. At that moment, perhaps with just a different thought, I could have changed something. But I didn’t do that; after all, Lan Ting and I had only just met, and I didn’t feel any obligation to take responsibility for her.
In the days that followed, I still thought about this incident. I was curious about how things would develop, but from that moment on, Lan Ting never appeared before me again, and her novel contract with the publisher ultimately fell through. Just as my memories of her began to fade, a young boy knocked on my door, bringing with him a photo album and an incredible story.
