★Immersive Suspense and Absurdity
A whirlpool-like absurd story, with a sense of horror that goes beyond suspense. The eerie writing quickly draws readers into the novel's scenes, making them feel as if they are right there in the moment.

★Profound Satire That Provokes Deep Reflection
The stories often start from the everyday lives of ordinary people, with keen observations of life's details and in-depth analyses of the living conditions of people from all walks of life. Each story hits the nail on the head when it comes to human greed.

★Uncovering Deep-Seated Fears in the Human Heart
Night crying is an innate nightmare for humans. Everyone has something they are afraid of, and the real mystery lies within the human heart.

★A Roller-Coaster Reading Experience
The stories are full of twists and turns, with clever plots that echo from beginning to end. The endings are always completely unexpected.

The title of the book is taken from the ancient Chinese classic "Classic of Mountains and Seas". "Night crying" is a term from traditional Chinese medicine, referring to a condition where a baby sleeps peacefully during the day but cries restlessly at night. In this book, it can be understood as an innate fear that humans are born with.

This isn't just my story.
It carries your experiences, her dreams, and his wisdom. I merely weave them together and give them voice.
Only with you, me, and him does this story become whole.

This isn't a simple tale — it contains everything you seek.
Perhaps you've had an inexplicable experience, forever searching for answers. Here, you'll find them.
Perhaps a nightmare haunts you, impossible to shake off. Here, you'll see its true face.
Perhaps you simply crave terror. Here, you'll surely shudder to your core.
Perhaps you love suspense. Here, your heart will dangle, never finding rest.
Perhaps mysteries fascinate you. Here, you'll have your fill.
Perhaps you yearn for love. Here, you'll discover it.

These pages hold too many grotesque and horrifying scenes — they may unsettle you. If your nerves aren't steel, tread carefully.

This isn't empty mystique.
Nor alarmist rhetoric.
This is reality.

Zhi Li Yingshao, female, medical school professor. Her writing permeates with a gripping, visceral eeriness that transports readers into her nightmares.

Preface　　　　　　　　　　001

Love of A Goldfish　　　　002
The Corpse Fisherman　　　035
Eighty Thousand　　　　　　055
Chopped Chili Fish Head　　079
Old Wang Next Door　　　　108
A Caress of Misfortune　　130
Mao-Style Braised Pork　　162
The Red Wedding Gown　　　177

Love of A Goldfish


That was an extremely rare goldfish. That was a priceless antique. Those were three women who inspire all sorts of wild and imaginative thoughts.
Faced with all this, how would he choose?


1. Wooden Spoon Town
Let me tell you a love story.
To be precise, it's a story about one man and three women. Oh, and there's also a goldfish.
Sounds complicated?
Don't worry, I'll make it clear. Trust me.


This story is quite long — it'll take about the duration of a meal to finish, provided you eat slowly and your appetite isn't too small. At the very least, you should eat more than what a goldfish would.
Love stories should be long. Anything that can be told in a few sentences isn't love — it's a one-night stand.


The story takes place in Wooden Spoon Town.
There's an old street there, lined with century-old houses — black tiles, white walls, carved beams, and heavy wooden doors that exude an ancient charm.
To the north of Wooden Spoon Town flows a river, its water so clear you can see the bottom. Such fine water shouldn't go to waste, so someone diverted it into their courtyard to raise goldfish. On idle days, holding a cup of tea while watching goldfish swim leisurely in the pond was pure bliss. Gradually, everyone followed suit.


The people of Wooden Spoon Town are laid-back, fond of tinkering with interesting hobbies. Besides raising goldfish, some keep crickets, sing Peking opera, walk birds, raise dogs, collect walnuts, hunt rabbits, or even train falcons. In Wooden Spoon Town, having no money won't earn you scorn, but having no interests means having no friends.
The townsfolk's manners, like their houses, belong to a bygone era.


After graduating, Wu Hua couldn't find a job. Through a relative's referral, he ended up working at an inn in Wooden Spoon Town. It was said to be the local inn. After getting off the train and taking a minibus, he finally arrived.
The sun had already set, the dim light making Wooden Spoon Town seem somewhat unreal.
From afar came a "putt-putt-putt" sound, like a tractor. Soon, a strange motorcycle rounded the corner and pulled up in front of Wu Hua. It was an old-fashioned army-green bike with a sidecar. The rider was a gaunt man around thirty, with long hair and cold, shadowed eyes.
"Need a ride?" he asked, his accent thick and tone odd.
Wu Hua inquired, "How much to the inn here?"
"Five yuan."
Wu Hua climbed onto the motorcycle.
The sky darkened abruptly, as if foretelling something.
Perhaps because it was dinnertime, the streets were empty. The cobblestone path twisted endlessly, flanked by houses with drawn curtains — most of them black, eerily so.
In the distance, mountains lay quietly, their outlines resembling a woman with an unshapely figure.
A few minutes later, the motorcycle stopped.
Wu Hua got off and paid.
Before him stood a solitary, modest courtyard nestled against a mountain, backed by an impenetrable pine forest. A red lantern hung at the gate, swaying in the wind like the eyeball of some prehistoric creature, casting a horror-movie ambiance.
The gate was wide open, light spilling out.
Wu Hua stepped inside.
The courtyard housed a three-story building — old, boxy, and rigid. Ivy claws crawled aggressively over its walls, engulfing it completely, lending a sinister air. Two more red lanterns hung at the entrance, one with a burnt-out bulb.
A signboard stood nearby, bearing bold red characters: The Inn.
Only then did Wu Hua realize that "The Inn" wasn't an adjective — it was the inn's actual name.
Interesting choice.
He entered the building.
Inside was a hall with two heavy wooden tables and chairs. In one corner was a tiny room with a dimly lit, minuscule window. Above it hung a wooden plaque painted with three red characters: Registration Office.
Wu Hua peered through the window. A long table held a dust-covered monitor and registry books. A man slept facedown on it, his sparse hair gray-white. Behind him stood shelves stocked with daily necessities and snacks. In the corner was a large fish tank — inside, what seemed to be a motionless goldfish floating near the surface, its form obscured by the angle.
Wu Hua knocked on the window.
The man jerked awake. Around fifty, his pockmarked face resembled weather-beaten granite. He cracked the window open. "What do you want?"
"I'm Wu Hua. My uncle referred me."
The man seemed to recall, then said, "You came fast. Come in."
Wu Hua circled to the door and pushed — it didn't budge. As he waited, metallic clunks sounded from inside: Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
The iron door had seven bolts.
It creaked open slowly. The man yanked Wu Hua inside, swiftly relocking it: Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
All seven bolts were secured.
The cramped room smelled of mildew and something faintly fishy. Wu Hua glanced at the tank — where a bizarre-looking goldfish floated eerily still.