Although the story never stated the color of the dress, from “white pig” and the praise that followed for the dress, it could be inferred that the dress was white.
But that’s not what He Shuyu said.
In her first phone call, He Shuyu claimed to see a girl in a red dress sitting alone on the seesaw; during the second call with the police, she explained her own words.
He Shuyu said she suffered from severe mental illness, and during episodes would blur the lines between her horror fiction and reality, and that she’d just been writing about a “red dress,” which was why she was seeing people in red dresses.
Yet, as just seen, in He Shuyu’s recent story, there was no mention of a red dress at all—not only that, nowhere in the story does the white dress turn red, not at the midpoint and not at the end. Both “I” and Grandma are still alive; there’s no sign of the horror cliché where a white dress is stained red with blood.
What’s more, the story was published too recently for memory lapses.
So Jiang Yan didn’t think this was a mistake.
The dress was white, but He Shuyu claimed it was red in the police call.
And since she mentioned the red-dressed girl in both calls—giving repeated false information—it was very likely she was having an episode both times.
Or, she was completely lucid both times.
If both calls were during an episode, then mistaking a white dress for red would make sense.
If she was lucid both times, then she was lying deliberately.
Considering He Shuyu’s death, Jiang Yan was more inclined to believe He Shuyu did it on purpose—
That she had a reason to lie.
So it was likely that He Shuyu encountered something then, but could not speak plainly for certain reasons. After her attempt at a hint was cut off in the first call, the second time she discreetly offered more information.
She wanted to guide the police to check her novel, to discover the inconsistency in her words; unfortunately, no one at the time bothered to verify her story.
Jiang Yan reread He Shuyu’s story.
She’d felt off about it when Shen Xiaoxiao read it earlier. Some lines felt awkward, and looking more closely now, that feeling only grew, with the points of discomfort becoming clear.
—The “intimate” relationship between “I” and Grandma was false.
On the surface, “I” and Grandma are close: stepping in when Dad chides Grandma, comforting her, running fingers through her gray hair—nothing wrong with that. But the story quickly takes a strange turn.
The first strange point is, “Grandma’s belly is so big today, I thought she was pregnant,” which isn’t a normal association at all, but rather a cruel, vicious guess.
One odd line could be a coincidence, but later “I” makes that malice concrete—guessing the dress was stolen from a shop, on the simple basis that “I” know Grandma never brings money out when buying groceries.
Grandma never had money, yet the family made her go buy food anyway. Dad got angry when she failed to bring it home. Clearly, this had been the pattern for some time: Grandma’s “buying” didn’t involve money; she fed the family by stealing.
It was for this reason that “I” naturally assumed the white dress was also stolen, and so “I” didn’t dare wear it, for fear of public ridicule or even being beaten. But still, “I” encouraged Grandma to wear it, and to satisfy Daddy’s questions, lied to Dad, saying the dress was bought by me for Grandma.
What was “I”’s intention? Hoping Grandma would be ridiculed or beaten?
Regardless, there was definitely no good intention.
And in the last few passages, after a thunderstorm wakes “I” up to find Grandma staring at me, the next day, “I” guiltily return the dress, implying Grandma had caught “I” stealing it, and to keep it from being stolen again, she watched “I” every night from then on.
There are issues beyond these four points, but they’re enough.
Jiang Yan tapped her phone lightly. If He Shuyu was really guiding the police to her story, what was her intent?
The intimacy in the story between “I” and Grandma is fake.
So…
Was she revealing that some intimacy in her own life was false?
The story could be interpreted in several ways, including supernatural ones, but ultimately, those are stretches of imagination. He Shuyu, in the brief window she had, would have wanted police to spot something obvious, not something too cryptic—and the most blatant thing was the fake intimacy.
Given that, the prime suspect in He Shuyu’s death became clear.
—Zhang Tian.
After all, when the call was made, the only other person with He Shuyu was her husband, Zhang Tian.
A marital relationship is one of the most classic forms of intimacy.
Thinking of this, Jiang Yan shared her theory with Shen Xiaoxiao. Since she needed to cooperate with Shen Huanhuan at the police station, she naturally wouldn’t keep secrets from her sister.
After Jiang Yan finished speaking, Shen Xiaoxiao blinked slowly.
The livestream chat was all [???]
Seeing Shen Xiaoxiao’s silly face, Jiang Yan all the more felt that Shen Xiaoxiao was only good at nodding and otter-applauding.
Sure enough, Shen Xiaoxiao soon started clapping: her face full of agreement. “I think so too! That recording from the bus was so weird—He Shuyu abruptly goes quiet, and that muffled ‘mmm’ sound was obviously someone covering her mouth—”
“Plus, I’ve watched so many true crime shows; the victim’s partner and the first person to find the body are always the prime suspects! Zhang Tian’s both! And because of He Shuyu’s mistake, their son is blind for life. Their marriage couldn’t have been good.”
Shen Xiaoxiao swung her legs on the bed, more and more convinced as she spoke, “Plus, He Shuyu developed a mental illness—even if it’s episodic, it must’ve affected their lives. The whole family even moved here because she wrecked that expensive machine. Zhang Tian killing his wife is super likely!”
Shen Xiaoxiao had already set Zhang Tian up as the murderer. “See if he took out a big insurance policy on He Shuyu!”
Jiang Yan glanced at her eager eyes; clearly, Shen Xiaoxiao had watched plenty of true crime, especially family drama types.
Shen Xiaoxiao sent the question to Shen Huanhuan and soon got a reply.
“No.”
Shen Xiaoxiao deflated.
Shen Huanhuan: “I checked that too, but Zhang Tian and He Shuyu’s relationship was very good. They’d known each other twelve years—from high school uniforms to wedding veils. He Shuyu couldn’t cook, so Zhang Tian always did the cooking. Before Zhang Xiaoliang’s accident, they were model spouses.”
Shen Xiaoxiao quickly asked: “What about after Zhang Xiaoliang’s accident?”
Shen Huanhuan: “According to the police’s interviews, the building owner, Wang Zhihua, praised Zhang Tian a lot, saying she often heard him comforting He Shuyu during episodes. Other tenants said he never left her and was very kind. I haven’t found anything on Zhang Tian.”
Shen Xiaoxiao puffed out her cheeks and handed her phone to Jiang Yan. “Look, Jiang Yan-jie.” She muttered, “That kind of stuff could be faked—maybe he just bottled it up. I still think Zhang Tian should be checked closely.”
Jiang Yan: “After dinner, I’ll ask the tenants.”
“Don’t forget me,” Shen Xiaoxiao said, fiddling with her phone, then started reading earlier chapters of He Shuyu’s novel.
Jiang Yan got thirsty and went to boil water.
The kettle was Shen Xiaoxiao’s—Jiang Yan didn’t know how she fit so much in her luggage. All sorts of modern tech, a folding table, desk lamp, digital binoculars, voice recorder, even seven or eight pairs of disposable slippers, and of course, the greatest number of snacks.
The suitcase lay open, filling the narrow hallway.
Since Shen Xiaoxiao said everything was fair game, Jiang Yan lingered on the snacks for half a minute, squatted and took a box of chocolate, looked up at her, then casually picked up a bag of cookies.
Shen Xiaoxiao tremblingly turned a page of the story.
Jiang Yan finished a box of chocolate.
Shen Xiaoxiao shivered through another story.
Jiang Yan brushed cookie crumbs off her hands.
Shen Xiaoxiao read to the end, chilled to the core.
Jiang Yan finished a pleasant nap.
Shen Xiaoxiao, dazed, clung to Jiang Yan’s arm, “J-Jiang Yan-jie, not a single red dress showed up in the whole book, and except for the last one, all the stories were folk tales, obvious and not subtle at all. It was really scary, but nothing was hidden. So He Shuyu must only have wanted the police to pay attention to the last one, not the others.”
Now Jiang Yan realized why Shen Xiaoxiao read the whole book—she’d thought it was because Shen Xiaoxiao loved reading scary stories the more afraid she got.
Since they were partners, Jiang Yan praised her readily: “Very good, very observant, thorough thinking, keep it up next time.”
Shen Xiaoxiao made a fist. “Okay!”
*
Night fell quickly.
Sunlight from the skylight disappeared completely; the building was pitch-black.
At 7 p.m., lights came on in the corridors from the first to fifth floors—low-watt bulbs, flickering and ready to die at any time.
Having spent all afternoon inside, Jiang Yan had gotten used to the air and barely noticed the fishy smell anymore. She took off her mask and watched Shen Xiaoxiao fiddle with a self-heating hot pot at the folding table.
The sixth floor’s wiring wasn’t burned, so there was power. The lightbulbs were bright and with all kinds of snacks, the place was pretty comfortable.
“Jiang Yan-jie,” Shen Xiaoxiao chewed chicken feet, lips shining with grease, “how do you plan to get the other tenants to talk about Zhang Tian? Feels awkward to bring up.”
“Wait a bit,” Jiang Yan answered.
“A bit?”
“Mm,” Jiang Yan bit down on a lotus root chip, its sweetness softening her expression, “After tonight, it’ll be He Shuyu’s seventh day, and folk tradition says the dead return home for a final visit. If Zhang Tian really loved her as they say, he won’t miss it.”
Jiang Yan saw it clearly. The two purposes of this mission: find the cause of the energy disturbance and find the cause of He Shuyu’s death—determine if supernatural entities were involved.
For now, she had little lead on the first, not much on the second either, but at least a starting point.
So Jiang Yan planned to wait in the apartment.
—If Zhang Tian came, it would be easy to test him.
—If Zhang Tian didn’t, there was a reason to dig deeper.
Either way, nothing to lose.
Fortunately, the wait wasn’t long.
Barely had they tidied up dinner, when suitcase wheels could be heard in the hallway.
…
Zhang Tian had come to mourn He Shuyu while picking up leftover luggage.
He stood at the door of 604, staring at the light shining through the crack, hesitant.
He hadn’t thought 604 would be rented out so soon; usually, after a death, no one would rent such a place for a while…
Half of Zhang Tian’s face was hidden by darkness; the black plastic bag in his hand rustled.
Before he could decide what to do, the door suddenly opened, and a girl pale as a ghost poked her head out.
“Oh, so there is someone! I thought I heard things,” the girl said with a friendly smile. “You’re Zhang Tian, right? Aunt Wang said you might come today.”
Zhang Tian froze, then quickly understood. “Yes, sorry to bother you, I’m just here to…”
“I know, I know, you’re here to mourn your wife, right?” Shen Xiaoxiao cut him off, smiling. “Aunt Wang explained about this place when we rented it. We didn’t really want it, but she said renting this room meant a big discount, and we’re tight on money, so…”
“Anyway, my condolences, uncle.”
Sorrow was never truly shared, especially between strangers.
Zhang Tian was unmoved by her unempathetic tone, lowering his eyes. “Thank you. Since Aunt Wang explained, can I just get my things? I’ll be quick.”
“Of course.”
Shen Xiaoxiao stepped aside. Zhang Tian bent to enter, nearly 1.9 meters tall, but lean enough that he didn’t make the small room feel crowded.
The place was just as it had been that morning: dim lighting with nothing modern, the bed simply made with an old coverlet.
Zhang Tian’s eyes flickered behind his glasses; he exhaled discreetly.
“Hurry it up, uncle, I’ve got shows to catch,” urged Shen Xiaoxiao.
Zhang Tian nodded. He’d already moved most of his stuff; he’d be done in minutes.
He opened the wardrobe, stuffed in two coats and a pair of shoes, then headed to the bed—he remembered his son’s badminton racket was under there.
Zhang Tian knelt, bracing one hand on the floor, the other lifting the coverlet. Under the bed was black as pitch. He patted his pocket for his phone.
Just then, as he peered further under the bed, a cold hand suddenly landed on his.
The hand was deathly white, smooth, and had beautiful bones—though no one cared about that right now.
Zhang Tian broke out in cold sweat, thoughts racing to the dead He Shuyu, the offerings and paper money in his bag, and…
He took a deep breath and looked slowly under the bed.
A strange woman was lying on her side there, staring straight at him, unblinking.
His jaw dropped, but the chill in his back gradually faded.
The woman withdrew her hand. “Sorry, I thought you were a friend of mine.”
Zhang Tian turned to the girl behind. Shen Xiaoxiao hurried over, “I was wondering where you went. What are you doing under the bed? So filthy.”
“Something rolled under there, so I checked it out.”
Jiang Yan stretched out her hand: “Could you pull me up? My leg’s a bit numb.”
Zhang Tian politely offered a hand. Jiang Yan levered herself up. “Thank you.”
“Let me return the favour and help pack.”
“No need, I’ve got it.” Zhang Tian bent to grab the racket under the bed and put it in his bag.
The whole act had just been a pretext to help with the packing—now that Jiang Yan had gone under the bed, she had to see it through, so she wandered over to the bookshelf.
With a frown, Zhang Tian followed, “There’s really no need.”
Jiang Yan picked a few books off the shelf, smiling, “Don’t mention it.”
Zhang Tian looked unhappy—he never liked people taking charge—but manners prevailed, so he said nothing.
But in a twelve-square-meter room, minus the furniture, three people moving around were crowded in the extreme.
Jiang Yan, holding three or four books, ambled over to Zhang Tian. As she squeezed past Shen Xiaoxiao, her arm crashed right into her.
Bang!
Jiang Yan’s arm loosened, books tumbling to the floor.
Shen Xiaoxiao yelped and apologized; Zhang Tian closed his eyes, kept his cool, and crouched to pick up the books.
As he retrieved the second, a loose slip of paper fluttered down, landing by Jiang Yan’s foot.
Before Zhang Tian could react, Jiang Yan had already bent down and picked it up.
There was writing on the slip.
“My husband cheated.”
“He doesn’t love me.”
Jiang Yan’s voice was a little husky, full of implication; she read the two short sentences clearly, then looked at Zhang Tian in puzzlement. “This is…?”
Zhang Tian dropped his gaze. The writing was unmistakably He Shuyu’s.
Emotion flickered in his eyes; Jiang Yan watched him, noting, “You look chilly.”
“…A bit, that’s normal in these buildings at night,” Zhang Tian calmly put the slip away, face back to normal.
“My wife often suspected I’d leave her after she got sick; you might not understand at your age, but married couples often face trust crises.”
He picked up the last book. “Fortunately, the police already investigated and found no reason to suspect my love for her.”
Shen Xiaoxiao shrugged, still acting nonchalant: “Who cares about your problems?”
Zhang Tian finished packing. With their permission, he placed some offerings at the door: fruit, chicken, duck, fish, all with cilantro on top.
Once done, he said quietly, “If you could throw these away in the morning, I’d appreciate it.”
“We don’t believe in that stuff anyway,” Shen Xiaoxiao waved, “I’m off to watch my shows, goodbye.”
Zhang Tian left. Jiang Yan took out the trash, following behind. As they reached the building entrance, Aunt Wang was playing cards with other tenants. She saw Zhang Tian and waved from afar.
Zhang Tian, mind on that slip of paper, barely nodded and walked straight out of the building.
Jiang Yan watched him go, tossed the trash, and didn’t leave right away.
Aunt Wang, noticing, got curious, put her cards down, and came over. “What happened? Didn’t get along?”
“Zhang Tian came for He Shuyu’s First Seven, right?” She glanced at the sixth floor. “If you feel creeped out by the offerings, you can toss them farther away—no big deal. Who still does all that superstitious stuff these days!”
Jiang Yan shook her head. She lowered her eyes, suddenly rubbing at the back of her right hand. Red marks quickly appeared, like a rash, stark against her pale skin.
Before Aunt Wang could ask, Jiang Yan looked up abruptly, her eyes brimming with tears.
Aunt Wang was stunned.
She might love gossip and little perks, but she wasn’t unkind. She quickly asked, “What’s going on, girl?”
Jiang Yan dropped her gaze to her toes, speaking softly, muffled, “He… just touched my hand.”
The instant she finished, the stream was stunned.
[???]
[Huh? When did he touch you??]
[I’m dying, oh my god]
[But you were the one who touched his hand HAHAHA]
[Still, this must be for information—kind of a sacrifice, I guess (?)]
[Special circumstances call for special methods hahahaha]
[But… not only did Jiang Yan touch her own hand, but she also put that slip in the book herself!!]
Having planned and staged everything, even faking evidence to startle Zhang Tian, Jiang Yan stayed in full character, head down and teary-eyed, all for the mission.
Aunt Wang stared, silent.
Jiang Yan kept scratching at the back of her hand, as if to scrape off a whole layer of skin. Aunt Wang finally couldn’t stand it, putting out a hand to stop her, “Touched your hand? Couldn’t it have been a misunderstanding?”
“It wasn’t a misunderstanding. When he was reaching under the bed for his stuff,” Jiang Yan said quietly.
“I saw he was having trouble, so I offered a hand, and he held it and kept touching it. He’s so tall, I didn’t dare pull away, and he just kept at it…”
Aunt Wang was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly clicked her tongue. “See, I knew it! Zhang Tian is supposed to be highly educated, always busy at work—how could he be that nice?”
“Sheesh, He Shuyu had plenty of problems, and he still had time to help that woman in 303—”
Here, Aunt Wang realized she’d said too much and stopped abruptly.
She glanced around, comforting Jiang Yan, “Don’t worry, girl. He won’t be back anyway—treat it like a dog bite. That saying’s true, if a dog bites you, you can’t just bite it back, right? It’s okay.”
Jiang Yan rubbed her eyes and responded softly.
After Jiang Yan left, Aunt Wang watched her trudge off and thought, still a kid after all.
Even if the girl looks scary during the day, when hurt, she still cries… and Zhang Tian…
Her intuition had been right—Zhang Tian and the woman in 303 definitely had something going on!
Aunt Wang quickly put it aside as her card partners called her back.
After leaving Aunt Wang, Jiang Yan climbed the stairs, pausing halfway to roll her neck; her eyes were clear, and the red mark on her hand had all but vanished.
She’d just reached the fifth floor when Shen Xiaoxiao, waiting on the landing in anticipation, ran up, “You took forever with the trash—I was about to come get you.”
She looked Jiang Yan up and down, made sure she was fine, and let out a sigh.
Jiang Yan: “Let’s talk inside.”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “Mm!”
Back in their room, Shen Xiaoxiao dug out cartons of milk to calm her nerves, threw one to Jiang Yan, and, a bit smug, said: “So? Wasn’t my acting pretty good—cold and heartless little beauty!”
Jiang Yan gave even higher praise than that afternoon: “How could you be so great?”
Shen Xiaoxiao beamed. “You were perfect too!”
“All right.”
Shen Xiaoxiao straightened up. “Okay.”
Jiang Yan had no interest in playing the compliment game and cut to the chase: “Zhang Tian did cheat.”
Shen Xiaoxiao didn’t ask for her reasoning, just clapped: “Task number two—solved!”
“Must be, right? Zhang Tian cheated and then murdered his wife of so many years.”
Jiang Yan shook her head. “But he loves his wife.”
Shen Xiaoxiao froze; the stream viewers were also stunned.
But Jiang Yan was sure of her judgment. Her ability was to see people’s desires; when setting up the slip, she’d relied on Shen Xiaoxiao’s family drama crime show tips—first line: “My husband cheated.”
Then extended that logic with: “He doesn’t love me.”
When she read the slip to Zhang Tian just now, pausing between sentences, his desire burst forth, covering her eyes and mouth—but not her ears.
She’d seen it before: the desire meant he wanted to blind her, make her believe his lies, and give no rebuttal.
But in the second sentence, his desire retracted, and right after, he said, “Fortunately, the police proved I loved her.”
So, at that moment, Zhang Tian had stopped trying to deceive her and felt no guilt about loving He Shuyu.
Jiang Yan summed up: “Zhang Tian cheated, but he believes he loved He Shuyu.”
“He Shuyu wasn’t murdered by him.”
*
Shen Xiaoxiao rubbed her face, a bit let down, but accepted it.
While eating dinner earlier, Jiang Yan had explained their plan, dividing their tasks so Zhang Tian wouldn’t get suspicious of them taking 604, and to expose his real feelings about He Shuyu.
Jiang Yan had promised that just seeing the slip, she could tell if Zhang Tian was lying—so to Shen Xiaoxiao, Jiang Yan was now a psychology expert able to read every tiny eye movement. What else could she do? She was just a little otter who could only keep clapping.
“Fine,” Shen Xiaoxiao pouted, “There really are jerks like that on the news—cheating just for thrills, claiming their wife is true love, and the mistress is just spice, acting like everyone wants them, and when exposed, crying and refusing to divorce…”
She cut herself off, then asked obediently, “So if Zhang Tian’s not the culprit, what do we do now?”
The card game outside had ended; silence reigned.
Jiang Yan checked the time: “That’s it for tonight.”
“We read the novel He Shuyu wanted the police to see; we know what false intimacy she meant. Her call and death were too close in time—she almost certainly didn’t die by accident.”
“As for whether Zhang Tian’s cheating had anything to do with her death…”
Jiang Yan took out her toiletries. “We’ll think about it tomorrow—it’s after nine, I’m going to bed.”
Tonight was He Shuyu’s First Seven—they were bound to be short on sleep, so better to rest early.
Soon, the room was quiet; only the sound of peaceful breathing remained.
…
Meanwhile, upstairs, Cheng Guang was nodding off. But 709 was unique: the one who’d died was a dog. Cheng Guang had never witnessed a dog’s soul return, so he wasn’t sure he should sleep.
First, this dog had killed someone—it was impossible to know if it still had reason. Even if it provided a clue, could it be believed?
Second, the original owner of 709 was dead. What would a dog’s soul return to do—there was no one left to bid farewell to.
So he wasn’t even sure if the dog would return to 709. Torn between sleep and vigilance, he tossed and turned until past eleven.
As the bells tolled, Cheng Guang got up and checked the talismans he’d hidden behind the certificates again. Talismans could sense blood and would activate passively—as long as the dog didn’t attack, both would be fine.
Sure that he’d done all he could, he decided to nap for a while.
When next he woke, it was 2:30 a.m.
Seeing the time snapped him awake. He hurriedly took a vial of eyedrops from his pocket and dripped some into his right eye.
Everything went black.
He blinked, then closed his eyes, enduring the sting in his eye.
The drops let a psychic see ghosts for four hours—expensive, two millilitres per talisman, and the side effects were serious.
Normally, a spirit just separated from its body can only interact with those it had deep ties to in life; only over time, corrupted by the world, can it attack others.
That means, for total strangers, a new spirit is harmless; the living can’t see, and can’t be attacked by, a spirit.
But there are exceptions: these drops, or similar talismans.
Ghosts can already touch the living, and these drops let you see, touch, and even attack a semi-transparent, materialized ghost—see it, touch it, smell it, even fight it.
But once a ghost notices you can see it, it can now attack you outright.
There’s an inherent cause-and-effect in this—so opening the third eye is a dangerous, double-edged sword.
Cheng Guang had spent half a year on psychic shows and understood this: best to pretend to roll over naturally, figure out where the dog was, what it was doing, then close his eyes and go back to sleep.
After a few breaths, the pain eased, and he slowly opened his eyes.
All he saw was blackness.
So dark that he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, nothing but abyss, like a black hole ready to swallow him.
Still groggy, Cheng Guang didn’t think much of it—but when he rolled towards the door, he suddenly remembered he’d left the desk lamp on.
He’d set it to the dimmest level, but it still shed light enough to see.
So where was the light?
Did he sleepily turn it off?
Frozen in place, he reached for the lamp. Without light, he couldn’t see anything; maybe the lamp was broken—Shen Xiaoxiao really was unreliable—and as he fumbled, he found the lamp on the bedside.
He relaxed, but before he reached the switch, he hissed and jerked his hand back.
“Hiss—!”
He shook his hand in pain.
He’d touched the bulb by accident—after hours of use, it was hot enough to burn him. He sucked air through his teeth.
But the pain just got worse, and with the air growing thick with the reek of blood, his only wish was to wrap things up and leave this haunted place. Careful not to make noise, he rolled over, raised the covers, huffed again on his palm—then his movement froze.
“……”
His eyes widened in horror—he’d just realized the problem.
How could the bulb be so hot, but no light?
And…
Where was the breeze? Why couldn’t he feel any air?
Before he could puzzle it out, a drop of something reeking of blood and rot dripped onto his face.
Cheng Guang didn’t actually feel the drip hit, but he smelled the stink pass his nose. Instinctively, he wiped his face, but his hand froze midair. Suddenly, he felt it: it was like a rainstorm hitting his face—one, two… sticky, stinking, countless droplets fell on him, and Cheng Guang began to tremble.
He understood now. Thankfully, not too late.
Fighting his paralyzed body, he managed to scratch his neck and slowly pull his hand back under the covers.
Then he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth.
Now, there was only one option left: pretend nothing was wrong and wait for dawn.
Because the moment the dog realized he could see it, he would die.
Because right now, its jaws were clamped around his head.