Lin FenXiang couldn't help but pace back and forth in his room. His mind racing a thousand miles per second as he spun on his heels and traced every inch of the room.
What was that? Just what was that?!
How did his painting distort to that extent?! He had clearly never painted Mother Lin smiling. Then, why did the painting turn out that way?
How did it happen?
The fact that his mind screamed at him to believe it to be a hallucination was maddening.
It was certainly a paranormal incident!
It had to be. If anything, Drystan would be the first to believe in the existence of ghosts. For he, himself, was nothing more than a ghost of past lucky enough to occupy a place in the present.
This prospect was insane, yet made so much sense.
Was there some sort of curse on him? Or a lingering spirit around him? A ghost of someone who had followed the painter all the way to China?
He had no way of knowing for sure.