Chapter 1: The Gift
I’ve always liked birthdays. Not because of the presents or the attention—but because it’s the one day people pretend to care.
This year, I turned twenty-four. And my best friend gave me a gift.
A jar.
Not a cute handmade one, not some Pinterest-sourced craft. Just a plain white ceramic jar with a strange red wax seal around its lid—like someone was trying too hard to make it look mysterious.
I should’ve known something was wrong the moment I touched it.
“Open it!” Erin grinned, eyes gleaming like she knew a secret.
“Looks cursed,” I said half-jokingly, examining the crude wax markings.
“Come on, it’s part of the vibe.”
So I broke the seal.
Inside wasn’t candy. Or jewelry. Or a tiny letter.
It was a crumpled piece of waxed parchment, stained like old blood. And on it, in spidery, smudged ink, was a name.
**Chen Cici.**
My name.
My blood ran cold.
“What the hell is this?” I hissed.
Erin’s smile faltered. Her hands trembled. “Don’t be mad…”
“You put my name on a creepy scroll inside a sealed jar—for my birthday?! What the actual—”
“I didn’t mean to—Cici, I swear I didn’t know it was cursed at first! Some guy online said if I opened the jar and passed it to someone else, I’d get paid. I was desperate. I just—”
I dropped the scroll back into the jar like it burned.
“You gave me a cursed object?” I said, each word sharp enough to cut.
Erin’s face turned ghostly white.
She didn’t deny it.
“You were supposed to be my best friend.”
“I—I had no choice! I tried to pay someone to take it, but no one would. And then I remembered... your birthday was coming up...”
“So you wrapped a curse and called it a gift.”
“I thought—maybe you’d pass it on too. That’s what the guy said. That’s how it works. Whoever opens it gets cursed. But you can transfer it—if you lie.”
My heart pounded like a war drum.
“You wanted me to trick someone. Like you tricked me.”
Erin burst into tears. “I didn’t want to die, Cici! I was terrified!”
I stared at her for a long moment.
Then I lunged.
I slammed her into the wall, one hand gripping her collar. Her eyes went wide, breath choking in her throat.
“Fifty thousand yuan,” I said coldly. “That’s how much you got for this, right?”
She nodded frantically.
“Give. It. Back.”
“I—I spent it.”
“Then borrow it. Sell your stuff. I don’t care. You brought this on me, so now you’re going to pay.”
She sobbed harder. “Cici, I’m sorry—I really didn’t—”
I pushed her back and let go.
“Get out,” I said. “And if I die, I’ll come back just to drag your sorry soul down with me.”
She ran.
And I was left with a cursed jar that had my name inside it—and no clue what it meant.
