Chapter 2: The Unknown Email

Xu Yan’s life spiraled out of control the moment she heard that soft “click” at her door.

She had changed the locks. She had installed surveillance cameras. But nothing could put her mind at ease. Each evening after work, her first ritual was no longer tossing off her shoes or pouring herself tea. Instead, she inspected her apartment meticulously—like a crime scene investigator walking into a fresh case.

She checked the alignment of the power outlets. The angle of the curtain slits. The position of the refrigerator door—open slightly more than usual? The fog left on the bathroom mirror—too fresh? Too dense?

She questioned everything.

Sometimes she wondered if she was just being paranoid. But each nightfall pulled her deeper into an ocean of unease. It wasn’t just fear. It was the sinking feeling that someone had crossed a line, quietly and intimately—like a whisper brushing the back of her neck.

Then, something happened that confirmed her worst fears.

Three days ago, she had configured her security camera to stay on 24/7. But when she checked it yesterday morning, it was offline.

According to the log, the system had been manually shut down at 4:03 a.m.

But she hadn’t touched it.

She pulled out her phone and tried to access cached footage. All she got was a single error message on a blank screen:

“Device offline. Please check your connection.”

Her fingers tightened around her phone. She immediately called the camera manufacturer’s support line.

“It might just be unstable Wi-Fi,” the customer service agent said casually, almost lazily.

Xu Yan knew a brush-off when she heard one. The response only made her more certain: someone had been inside her home. Someone who knew not only her floor plan and habits but also that she was watching.

And they were watching back.

Still shaken, she sat down at her desk and opened her email. It was a simple enough routine—just checking for any updates from work. But nestled between her usual newsletter clutter and a company memo was an email from an unfamiliar address.

Subject line:

“You forgot me.”

Sent at 4:03 a.m.

The exact time the camera had gone dark.

The body of the message consisted of a single sentence:

“I turned the throw pillow back for you. Next time, remember to place it correctly.”

Xu Yan's hand trembled so violently that the mouse nearly flew from her grip.

She opened the email's technical metadata—hoping for any clue. But the sender had used a free email address hosted on an overseas server. Completely anonymous. Untraceable.

Her thoughts exploded like a landmine.

He had been inside.

Not just that—he understood what mattered to her. The throw pillow\... that was an almost embarrassingly personal detail. Xu Yan had a peculiar habit—every morning before leaving, she adjusted the cushions so they aligned symmetrically, their seams always facing inward.

No casual observer could have known that.

No thief. No prankster. No stranger.

Her breathing quickened.

She hovered her cursor over the “Report as Spam” button, then stopped. This person wasn’t trying to harass her, at least not in a conventional sense. He was sending a message—a quiet, terrifying declaration:

“I know you. I’ve been watching. I’m close.”

She took a deep breath and called Officer Wang—the same policeman who had handled her previous case.

His voice was sharp with alarm. “Don’t delete that email. We’ll forward it to cybercrime specialists. This is no longer just trespassing—we’re looking at premeditated stalking.”

His words gave her momentary relief. But the tension in her chest remained tight and unforgiving.

That afternoon, police escorted Xu Yan back to her apartment for another sweep. This time, they examined the electrical panel.

The results were chilling.

Someone had manually pulled the plug on her router, waited just long enough, and then plugged it back in. The memory card in her surveillance camera had been completely formatted. No chance it was an accident.

Officer Wang glanced at her and muttered under his breath, “This isn’t some petty thief.”

Xu Yan swallowed hard. “Then what is he?”

“A stalker. A voyeur. Or someone you know.”

That last possibility turned her stomach cold.

She reviewed her entire social circle. It was small—by choice. She had no enemies, no lovers, and no entanglements. She worked a quiet nine-to-six job at a design agency, doing layout work and never interfacing with clients directly.

Except one.

About a month ago, during a brief collaboration with an outsourced programmer, she’d had an unsettling experience. His name was Chen Qi.

He’d always looked at her a beat too long. His smile seemed polite, but it stretched too wide. And once, during a coffee break, he’d said something strange:

“You always sit by the window. Must be because you love the sunlight.”

It had sounded like idle small talk at the time. But thinking back... how did he know she liked sitting by the window?

They’d never had lunch together. Never met outside the office. He could only have known that if he’d watched her from afar.

Her fingers scrambled for her phone. She opened her chat history. His profile used a blank avatar and a generic nickname. She tried adding him again through his phone number.

“User not found.”

Her skin prickled.

Whoever he was, Chen Qi might not even be his real name.

Her thoughts were spinning when a sudden knock on the door made her freeze.

“Miss Xu? Property management. We need your assistance with something.”

The voice was clear, confident.

She crept to the peephole. A man in a grey work uniform and baseball cap stood outside. Head down. Face shadowed.

“I didn’t report any issues. Please leave,” she called through the door.

“There’s an anomaly with your gas meter. System flagged it—needs a check.”

“I said no!” she snapped.

A pause.

Then the man mumbled an “Okay” and turned to leave.

She immediately opened the security feed.

The camera had caught nothing of him approaching the door.

Only his descent—one brief clip showing his back retreating down the stairs.

And in that moment, she saw his face.

She didn’t recognize him exactly. But something about his eyebrows, the twitch of his mouth—it rang an ominous bell.

He was the same man she’d bumped into last month. The “maintenance worker” she’d assumed was legit.

He had returned. Different clothes. Different excuse. Same eyes.

Xu Yan didn’t sleep that night.

She sat on the edge of her bed until the sun began to rise, staring at the door, gripping the kitchen knife she kept beside her pillow. The illusion of control had shattered. She realized something terrible:

She was no longer the master of her space.

This man—this stranger—had her keys. Knew her rituals. Could bypass her devices.

He was like a ghost, slinking between the cracks of her life.

But even as she sat in paralyzed dread, another realization formed:

If she didn’t fight back, she would always be prey.

So at dawn, Xu Yan opened her laptop and began typing. Her search history filled up quickly:

“How to detect hidden Wi-Fi users.”

“Illegal home intrusion.”

“Cyberstalking detection tools.”

“How to trace IP addresses from anonymous emails.”

She wasn’t waiting for the police to save her anymore.

She was going to expose him.

This was no longer about safety. It was about taking back control.

Because now she understood: the stranger wasn’t trying to scare her away. He didn’t want to vanish like a burglar in the night.

He wanted to leave a mark.

And Xu Yan had just declared war.