And then my own vision goes black.
Panic fills me until I realize I’ve simply awakened and am looking around the girls’ bedroom of the dormitory. I sit up in bed, gasping, peering around me and waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Faint moonlight trickles in from behind the window blinds, and eventually I can see well enough to make out my surroundings. Zhang Jing sleeps peacefully in the bed beside mine, and beyond her, the other girls are asleep as well.
But something is different. Something strange tugs at the edges of my senses as I search and take in the darkened room. I’m experiencing it again—that same sensation from the dream, that thing that’s almost like a vibration but not. Only it’s much less intense. It doesn’t make my head hurt, and it’s fleeting, coming and going. As I look down at Zhang Jing, I notice that the sensation I’m perceiving seems to be timed with her breathing. I study her for a while, watching and trying to understand what I’m experiencing.
I have no answers, only the nagging thought that I must be overtired. Finally, I snuggle back into bed and pull the covers over my head to block out the moonlight. The sensation diminishes. On impulse, I take my pillow and put it over my head, covering my ears, and the sensation fades so much that I’m finally able to ignore it enough to fall asleep. This time, I have no dreams.
Morning comes, and we are awakened in the usual way: by a servant standing in the hall, turning a crank connected to a device that makes our headboards shake. But something is different today. Accompanying the usual vibration is more of that strange sensation, which I find shocking. It’s still with me. What I perceive now, as my bed frame taps against the wall, has a different quality to it. This is sharp and short compared to the long, drawn-out phenomenon created when the crowd opened their mouths. I kneel down, studying the shaking frame, trying to understand how it’s creating this other effect. Zhang Jing taps my arm, and I jump in surprise.
What are you doing? she signs.
What is that? I ask, gesturing to the bed. She looks at me, puzzled, and I notice the servants have stopped turning the crank. Gingerly, I shake the frame so that it hits the wall. To my surprise, I recreate the effect to a lesser extent and immediately look to Zhang Jing for explanation. What is that? I repeat.
What is what? she asks, completely baffled.
I strike the wall with more force from the bed, making the effect more intense. But Zhang Jing doesn’t seem to notice. She only looks more and more confused.
You don’t notice it? I ask.
She frowns. Is the bed broken?
The other girls have dressed, and some are already on their way to breakfast. Zhang Jing and I hurry to follow suit, carefully checking each other over to make sure our robes are straight and hair is pinned in place. We have the same fine, black hair, and it often escapes its pins. She can tell I’m still troubled and asks me if I’m okay as we walk to the dining room, but all I can do is shake my head by way of answer. Part of it is because I have no way to explain what I’m feeling. And the other part is that I very quickly become too overwhelmed to talk anymore.