Haunting My Ex’s Girlfriend

The day Ted and I broke up, we tore each other apart, leaving no shred of dignity. He’d spat, “Selfish and cold, no wonder your family’s all gone.” I’d shot back, “A spineless wimp, a grown-up baby, destined for failure your entire life.” We were young then, our love and hatred equally fierce, our words like knives, seeking out each other’s weakest points to stab. Three years had flown by since then. He was successful, already a bestselling author. He had a new girlfriend by his side. And I… I had already been dead for three years. The Reaper asked if I had any wishes. I thought seriously, then politely inquired, “Could I be Cassandra Miller for a few days?” She was Ted’s current girlfriend, and his fiancée. I wanted to see for myself how he truly loved someone. 1. Perhaps my wish was too outrageous, for even the Reaper fell into a long silence. He asked me in a calm tone, “You ghosts, once you’re dead, you’re dead. Why do you always hold on?” I stared at my toes, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his words. It wasn't like this at first. Three days before I died, I’d just had another huge fight with Ted. Over a trivial matter, and over countless past incidents. I’d pointed a finger at Ted’s nose and yelled, “Get out of my sight! Even if you crawl back on your knees like a dog this time, I won’t spare you another glance!” He’d sneered back, “Get out? I will. Eleanor Brooks. I’d rather be a dog than come back to a lunatic like you.” That very night, he packed his bags and moved out of our small rental home without a backward glance. Three days later, I suddenly craved hotpot. I texted Ted on my way to buy ingredients. “Hotpot tonight, what do you want to eat?” A few minutes later, my phone chimed. I immediately opened it. Against our intimate chat background, a line of cold white text appeared. Ted Bear: Talk to me when you’re dead. The next second, a large truck roared past, my phone flew from my hand, and the world spun. Pedestrians screamed in alarm, and I, ever curious, looked around. —Then I looked down and saw my own body. It wasn’t a pretty sight. A bit grotesque. The moment I realized I was dead, a strange sense of satisfaction surged through me. He’ll finally cry this time, I thought maliciously. I’d told him countless times not to talk about death all the time. Now look, he’d actually cursed me to my grave. I watched as my body was taken to the hospital by ambulance, then to the funeral home. The police informed Ted of my death. Silence lingered on the other end for a few seconds, then a slightly hoarse voice asked, “Is this some kind of joke?” He hung up immediately after. The second time the police called, he directly rejected it. It wasn’t until the police showed up at his door that he believed it wasn’t one of my pranks. He opened the door slightly, his eyes shadowed with lack of sleep, and politely declined the police’s request to identify the body. He said coldly, “We broke up. She has a half-brother; you should contact him.” A female officer who accompanied him said, “We’ve already contacted him. He’s also unwilling to come.” Hearing this, Ted raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “If even her own brother doesn’t want anything to do with her, why demand it of her ex-boyfriend?” With that, he slammed the door shut. I was so angry I nearly tumbled backward. That bastard didn’t shed a tear for me, and he wouldn’t even claim my body! We’d been together for five years, after all. Finally, with no one to claim the body, I was forcibly cremated by the funeral home. My soul returned to the Underworld. At that time, the Underworld’s reincarnation quotas weren't as tight as they are now. I happened to get a spot but decided to give it to a little girl who had died of bone cancer. I didn’t want to be reincarnated. If I reincarnated, my memories would be wiped clean, and Eleanor Brooks would completely vanish from this world. Just as Ted had said, I was selfish, heartless, disloyal, and my tongue was as venomous as a black mamba. I wasn’t a good person. But I still wanted to wait a little longer. Wait for Ted to shed a single tear for me. 2. In the beginning, after I died, I didn't really have any strong obsessions. I did think about Ted. But it was only to see him cry for me. Not to stage some sort of star-crossed human-ghost romance. Besides, the Underworld was strictly managed. Ghosts couldn't go up, and living people couldn't come down until their time came. Because of the annual decline in birth rates, reincarnation opportunities became scarce, and ghosts accumulated more and more. For everyone's mental and physical health, the Underworld developed a software called "Soul Dance." For a daily payment of ten million Netherworld coins, you could observe one hour of a living person's life. This living person had to have been closely related to you when you were alive, and their private life would automatically be censored when it involved intimate details. In short, as long as you paid, you could choose anyone you wanted to watch – family, friends, mortal enemies… fully satisfying your voyeuristic desires. Back then, I used Soul Dance to spy on Ted for an hour every day. I knew that when a loved one dies, some people don't immediately feel grief. In psychology, this is called emotional detachment, a self-protective mechanism of the brain. Ted might be like that. He might not have realized I was dead yet. That I would never infuriate him again, or argue with him, or complain about his dirty socks lying around, or unreasonably ask him why he didn't pour me a hot drink when I had my period. It was okay, I could wait for him. I waited for him for half a year. Until he got a new girlfriend. His new girlfriend was very different from me. I was a programmer working nine to five, spending my days typing code in front of a computer. She was a member of a top national ballet company, tall and graceful, with a bright and elegant face. When she smiled, her eyes seemed to ripple with charm. She was also a fan of Ted’s books. She wouldn’t, like me, tell him every day that his writing was a pile of garbage. I watched them together, watched her make colorful, nutritious meals for Ted, watched her playfully coax Ted into taking walks with her. The smiles on Ted’s face gradually increased. He seemed like a completely different person, no longer the reclusive writer with zero self-care skills, whom I worried would starve to death at home if I went on a three-day business trip. He learned to do chores, noted her birthday and period in his planner, and even, at her casual mention of feeling unwell, proactively cut ties with an online friend he’d known for over a decade. —That’s when my obsession began to grow wildly. I couldn’t accept it. I hated it to death. Hated that after five years of dating, he’d found someone new just half a year after we broke up. Hated that after my death, he could nonchalantly start a new life, not shedding a single tear for me. And I hated even more that his new partner was so excellent and beautiful, with not a single resemblance to me. It was as if… Eleanor Brooks as a person had been completely negated by Ted. I was like a desperate gambler, clutching Soul Dance every day, desperately trying to find evidence that he didn’t truly love Cassandra Miller. Until I owed Soul Dance a huge sum of money and was kicked out, forced to work for the Reaper to pay off my debt. Only then did I honestly admit that Ted had indeed changed his heart. It wasn’t emotional detachment. It was just that he had stopped loving me a long time ago. After all, reality wasn't a novel; no one would endlessly pine for a deceased ex. So, it seemed he hadn’t done anything wrong either. 3. The Reaper let out a long sigh, looking at me. A few days prior, the Underworld’s office system underwent a major overhaul, and I had worked overtime through the night to help him fix a critical bug, assisting twelve thousand ‘holdouts’ in their reincarnation. He owed me a favor. But I couldn't exploit that. I hung my head even lower, saying in a small voice, “It’s okay if it’s not possible.” He said, “It’s not impossible…” “It’s just, out of the options for an Underworld civil servant, a permanent position in the Ministry of the Dead, or a good reincarnation, are you sure you want to choose this?” I said, “I’m sure.” I knew I was foolish, and I knew I had chosen the worst option. But what makes a person human is their inability to always remain rational. The Reaper nodded. He had seen too many lovesick souls, so he wasn't surprised. He said, “Fill out an e-form, state the reason as ‘visiting family,’ and remember to cc the Head of Ox and Chief Horse.” “Once the e-form is approved, we will send a dream to Cassandra Miller. As long as she agrees, you can use her body to live in the mortal world for seven days.” …The entire process was so formal it felt absurd. My mouth tasted bitter, and I asked softly, “What if she doesn’t agree?” Such a bizarre and ridiculous request. The Reaper said, “Then you’ll just have to choose one of the three options above.” I returned to my dwelling. For three years in the Netherworld, I had lived by the River Styx, sharing a home with the ferrywoman. She was brewing her soup. Seeing my gloomy expression, she asked the reason, then offered comfort. “The human heart is very complex. From what I see, Ms. Miller might not refuse.” I asked, “Why?” She uttered a few words: “To make you completely give up hope.” The wind along the River Styx was exceptionally sharp, occasionally mingled with the wails of resentful souls. I remained silent, lowering my head to help her with the soup. Three days later, the Reaper’s secretary came to find me. “Cassandra Miller’s dance troupe is currently on tour in Norway. The boss wants me to give you access to study her behavior and mannerisms, so you don’t give yourself away the moment you take over.” I asked, “She agreed?” The secretary shook his head. “Don’t rush, the review officer is on leave. The dream-sending procedure is still ongoing, but you’ll definitely get an answer within two weeks.” I was used to it. The Underworld’s efficiency had always been low, otherwise, it wouldn’t have accumulated over a hundred thousand ‘holdout’ ghosts unable to reincarnate. I followed the secretary to the Rebirth Passage, watching him input a sequence number into his tablet. A sudden fear struck me. What was I doing? Why was I going to meet Ted as Cassandra Miller, turning myself into a clown? And even if I did meet him, what then? Would I confront him and yell at him, or would I sit down and finish that hotpot we never got to eat? I felt timid. I was about to tell the secretary I wanted to change my wish. Before I could open my mouth, he looked up and gently pushed my back. The world spun. When I opened my eyes again, the streets were pristine, traffic flowed slowly, and shop windows gleamed. Unfamiliar faces passed by me, speaking words I didn’t understand. Oslo, Norway. Cassandra Miller appeared clearly in my sight, no more than a meter away from me. 4. She was beautiful. Her hair was raven black, her eyelashes long, and two dimples graced her cheeks, promising a smile before she spoke. Her years of dance training gave her an exceptionally distinct aura. At this moment, she was wearing a bright red down jacket and a fluffy white hat, smiling and talking to her companions. I felt a moment of unreality. “Tomorrow, let’s try that Korean restaurant downtown, I heard it has really high ratings on Google Maps.” “We have another performance the day after tomorrow, aren’t you afraid of gaining weight?” “Oh, just a little bit!” They giggled as they passed by me, bringing with them a vibrant, living scent. It was as if an invisible thread pulled me, making me unconsciously move closer to Cassandra. “Cassandra, when we go back home next week, will your boyfriend pick you up?” Cassandra pursed her lips, a faint smile on her face. “He probably will.” One of her female friends teased, “Can you get the famous author to sign autographs for us then?” “Yes, yes, sign one for each of us! I’ll take it back and show off to everyone.” “Cassandra, I want a personalized autograph!” Cassandra readily agreed, “No problem, I’ll tell him.” I quietly followed behind them, my thoughts drifting back to the past. Back then, Ted had just earned his first royalty check. Not much money, two hundred dollars, enough for us to share a hotpot. We ate until our bellies were round, then stumbled unevenly through the snow-covered streets. As we walked, he suddenly crouched down, using his finger as a pen, and signed his name in the snow for me. His cheeks were red from the cold, but his eyes were bright, and he excitedly said, “Do you think when I become famous, people will fight for my autograph?” I vaguely said yes, pulled him up from the ground, and brushed the snow from his clothes. I told him, “When that happens, sign a bunch for me. I’ll sell them at the fish market.” He smiled and said, “Okay, I’ll sign a whole roomful for you, you can sell them slowly.” —Now Ted was truly famous. But that signature left in the snow had long since melted away. On the third night, Cassandra Miller’s final performance in Norway also concluded successfully. During the curtain call, she circled the stage like a little swan, then gracefully took a bow. The entire hall erupted in thunderous applause. That night, she made a video call to Ted. I didn’t dare listen. As a ghost, I hid on the balcony, staring blankly at the snowflakes softly falling outside. The secretary appeared beside me. “The procedures are complete. The dream will be sent tonight.” I asked him, “Can I change my wish?” He glanced at me, his voice cool as he asked, “Do you think the Underworld is your personal playground? That you can do whatever you want?” I meekly shut up. He didn’t rush off either, but sat beside me, watching the snow outside the window. He suddenly said, “Eleanor Brooks, you’ve become like a rabbit.” Docile, quiet, completely unaggressive. The old me wasn’t like this. Back then, I’d dared to smash a keyboard on my harassing boss’s head, dared to chase away hoodlums bullying Ted with a mop, dared to curse at malevolent ghosts teasing child spirits. But then Cassandra Miller appeared. She made me realize I wasn’t a swan. I was just a rabbit with dull fur, ugly, and utterly without merit. The snow stopped. The secretary stood up. He said, “Eleanor Brooks, I hope the next time we meet, you’ll be a little happier.” He vanished from the spot. I stood alone for a moment, then drifted back inside. That night, Cassandra Miller lay in bed, deeply asleep. Suddenly, her brow furrowed, and she abruptly opened her eyes. Though she couldn’t see me, her gaze landed precisely on the corner where I was. A very complex expression crossed her face. “I agree,” she whispered. 5. I had no idea why Cassandra Miller agreed. Was she a saint? Had she lost her mind? Why would she let her boyfriend’s dead ex-girlfriend possess her body to approach her boyfriend? Or was it just as the ferrywoman said, she wanted me to completely give up hope? Cassandra Miller seemed to have no intention of explaining to me. She probably already knew I was near her. In the days before returning home, she was talking to herself. She chattered about various precautions. “I don’t eat greasy or spicy food, and I only drink purified water.” “After this tour, I’ll have a month off when I get back. I don’t usually like going out, but I go to the practice studio every morning.” “I also have a dog named Lucky, I sent him to a kennel before I went abroad, remember to pick him up for me.” She paused, then added, “Recently, a younger guy has been pursuing me. Help me keep it a secret, don’t let Ted know.” “If he keeps texting, just ignore him. Give him the cold shoulder.” Me: … I boarded the plane home with her. And even took a moment to enjoy the empty first-class seat. After we landed, Cassandra Miller didn’t rush to get her luggage. Instead, she went to the restroom to wash her face and put on makeup. Today, she was wearing a white turtleneck sweater, and she was applying lipstick in front of the mirror. It was a very light shade, like sugared cherry blossoms. I was watching, mesmerized, when I suddenly heard her say, “Ted said he’d pick me up. He should be here by now, I think.” She sounded like she was talking to herself. After putting away her lipstick, she went to retrieve her checked luggage. I knew she was saying it for my benefit. My heart was a jumble of emotions, and I stood frozen for a while, until that invisible thread pulled me, and I listlessly floated behind her. We got the luggage, walked through the dense crowd, rounded a few corners, and crossed a long moving walkway. —Then we reached the exit. My heart pounded like a drum, and I instinctively held my breath. My eyes couldn’t help but scan the crowd of people waiting, yet I was terrified of seeing him the next second. Cassandra Miller was also looking around. Soon, pushing her suitcase, she strode purposefully towards a bubble tea shop on the side. A tall, lean man was waiting in line there. His back was to us, wearing a fitted black trench coat that accentuated his slender waist. She walked up and covered his eyes, giggling, “Guess who?” I stared at his back, my eyes wide. The man, with a hint of helplessness, turned around— In that instant, my soul felt as if it had been harshly tugged by an invisible force. The next second, a warm touch came from beneath my palm. He gently pulled my hand away, saying with a hint of indulgence, “Cassandra, stop messing around.” He called out someone else’s name. But it didn’t matter. After three years, his face appeared clearly before me once again. Deep-set eyes, a high bridge nose, skin as pale as snow, which would flush with a deep blush if kissed. Ted. I couldn’t help but tremble all over. He frowned slightly, released my wrist, and reached up to check the temperature of my neck. “Are you very cold? Why are you trembling?” I stared at him blankly, my throat feeling constricted, unable to utter a single word. I let him pull me away from the queue, and then he pressed a warm cup of bubble tea into my hand. He asked worriedly, “Cassandra, are you okay? Why aren’t you speaking?” “Didn’t you say the performance went smoothly?” I gazed at his face greedily. Although my eyes were sore and swollen, I couldn't bear to look away. He had lost a lot of weight, and matured considerably. But overall, he was still the Ted I remembered. “I’m fine,” I finally found my voice, a catch in my throat. “How are you?” “Ted, are you okay?”