The Paper Fish (The Insomnia Series: Season 1)

Warning: This story contains scenes and themes that some readers may find disturbing. It includes:

• Body Horror and Self-Harm: Graphic descriptions of a character inserting his hand into his own body to manipulate his internal organs for pleasure.
• Graphic Violence and Gore: Scenes depicting characters being killed in grotesque ways, such as having their brains or spines removed.
• Psychological Horror: Themes of addiction, loss of self, and the protagonist's descent into a state of living death.

Reader discretion is advised.

For some context of this series, please click here. Click here for The Shredder (1 of 8 Insomnia Series, Season 1), My skin feels wrong (3 of 8 Insomnia Series, Season 1).

The Paper Fish

Li Xiuqi rested his chin on his left arm, his head bowed over the desk. With his other hand, he toyed with a paper carp.

The carp was no longer than a fountain pen, yet it was complete, from its head and tail to its dorsal and pectoral fins. Even its two delicate whiskers had been crafted with lifelike precision. It seemed to have been folded from a single sheet of A4 paper, the creases tight and seamless, the details meticulously rendered. If someone were to draw gills and scales on its white surface, it would be the very image of a living thing.

Li Xiuqi had found it at his doorstep, with no idea who had lost it—he couldn't imagine someone simply discarding such a finely made craft. Pinned against his door by a draft blowing through the hallway, it had caught his eye. Struck by its exquisite workmanship, he picked it up and brought it inside.

He considered adding details to the pure white fish—scales, an eye—but the memory of his abysmal artistic skills, combined with the sheer complexity of the task, made him give up. As a simple decoration on his desk beside the computer, it was already quite striking. He found himself daydreaming that its creator was likely a girl, one with nimble fingers and a delicate touch. Perhaps she lived in his building. It would be perfect if they had a chance encounter one day, this fish serving as the connection that brought them together.

After indulging in this fantasy, he placed the paper fish on a memo pad holder by his computer. On the uninteresting, messy desk of a shut-in, the addition of such a perfect object lent the space a sudden touch of vitality.

The next day, Li Xiuqi woke in a daze. His eyelids felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds, and it seemed he had only slept for two hours. He simply couldn't open them. He tried to roll over and sleep a little longer, but a primal instinct told him something was wrong. When he finally mustered the strength to check the time on his phone, a cold sweat drenched his skin. If he rushed to the office now, he might just make it in time for lunch.

Seeing several missed calls from his company, Li Xiuqi wanted to cry but had no tears. He didn't know how it was possible to sleep so deeply, to have slept through two alarms and the ringing of his phone.

Five minutes later, Li Xiuqi was dressed and ready to leave; shut-ins could be surprisingly efficient. As he walked out of his bedroom, a flash of white caught his eye. The paper fish was sitting on his bedside table, its head pointed directly at his pillow. He distinctly remembered placing it on his desk last night.

His confusion, however, lasted only a second. With no time to dwell on it, Li Xiuqi bolted out the door.

It was almost noon, so the subway was empty. He easily found a seat. He had considered a taxi, but what was the point? He was already impossibly late. Sitting on the train, he tried to invent a plausible excuse for his boss. But as he thought, he fell asleep again.

When Li Xiuqi next awoke, the subway had already run its route back and forth several times. At this rate, the best he could hope for was to arrive in time to bring his colleagues afternoon tea. He gave up on excuses. He wasn't going to work today. The thought, strangely, filled him with the reckless abandon of someone who has hit rock bottom, and the anxiety in his heart vanished.

He only wondered why he was so exhausted, as if he had pulled seven or eight all-nighters in a row. He felt he could probably fall asleep standing up.

Back home, another wave of drowsiness washed over him. Forgetting about food, he stripped off his clothes, wanting only to sleep. But when he saw the paper fish still on his bedside table, his heart skipped a beat. He picked it up and examined it closely but saw nothing unusual. Overwhelmed by sleepiness, he deliberately placed the fish back on his desk before collapsing into bed.

He slept dreamlessly. When he woke again, he finally felt refreshed. Though his body ached, his mind was clear, the heavy drowsiness gone. It was early morning; he hadn't overslept.

But when he picked up his phone, he was stunned: one hundred and thirty-four missed calls. Li Xiuqi rubbed his eyes. He wasn't mistaken. As he scrolled through the call log, he noticed something wrong with the dates. He checked the calendar and realized it was already the third day. He had slept for two full days and nights.

Li Xiuqi sat frozen in bed, the absurdity of the situation washing over him. Including the previous day of near-lucidness, he had slept for nearly three full days. Panic began to set in. Had he developed narcolepsy?

The thought pushed all concerns about his job from his mind. He had to get to a hospital. As he scrambled out of bed, he saw it again: the paper fish was on his bedside table, its whiskered head pointing right at his pillow.

Goosebumps erupted across his skin. He remembered with absolute certainty that he had put the fish on his desk. Had he sleepwalked?

But if not sleepwalking, had the fish moved on its own? That thought was far more terrifying. He stared at the exquisitely crafted paper fish, his heart pounding. Upon closer inspection, he saw two faint, greyish-black marks on the once-pure white paper, right where the eyes should be. They looked like a pair of fish eyes, and they seemed to be staring coldly at him.

A fresh chill ran down his spine. This paper fish was wrong; it was not a benevolent thing. For a moment, he was paralyzed, unsure of what to do. Leaving it felt like harboring a malevolent spirit, yet the thought of tearing it apart filled him with a hesitant fear.

As he wavered, the paper fish on the bedside table moved. Li Xiuqi, who was staring right at it, cried out and jumped back. The fish slowly floated up from the nightstand, twisting its body and flicking its fins and tail as if it were a real carp in water. It began to swim slowly through the air.

Li Xiuqi's eyes nearly popped out of his head. His mind went blank. My God, he thought, I’m witnessing a real-life paranormal event.

The paper fish "swam" toward him and positioned itself directly before his forehead. He felt pinned by its bizarre, unblinking stare. The next moment, whether from the extremity of his shock or some power the fish exerted, his vision went black, and he fainted.

When Li Xiuqi next awoke, he had no idea how much time had passed, nor did he care about the paper fish now resting quietly on his bedside table. He scrambled to the refrigerator. As he forced down some food, he glanced at his phone. Sure enough, another three days had gone by. In total, he had slept for six and a half of the last seven days. With no food or water, he was on the verge of collapse.

He knew enough not to eat or drink too quickly. He crumbled bread into milk and slowly ate the paste. His long sleep had minimized his body’s metabolic rate, so his condition wasn't yet critical. Strength slowly seeped back into his limbs.

As he sat on the floor eating, the paper fish wavered out of his bedroom and floated before him. Its eyes were now fully formed, as if meticulously drawn with fine ink—round, clear, and strangely lifelike. They even looked a little cute.

His mind, dulled by exhaustion and hunger, no longer registered the fish as particularly frightening. At that moment, even if the twin gods of death had appeared before him, he doubted he would have felt much fear.

He stirred his paste and stared at the fish. Slowly, he reached out, trying to cup it in his hand. But he watched as the little fish passed right through his palm as if it were a phantom.

His sluggish mind still didn't find this frightening. Instead, he let out a curious "Huh?" and tried to grab it again. He failed. This time, however, he saw what happened. It wasn't that the fish was a phantom, but that his own hand, as it drew within an inch of the creature, became like water. The fish swam through this "water," and of course, water cannot hold a fish.

He finally felt a flicker of unease. But curiosity quickly eclipsed it. He had watched a part of his body turn to water, had seen tiny ripples form as the fish passed through, yet it had returned to normal instantly. He felt no discomfort, no strange sensations at all. The experience was utterly bizarre. As his strength returned and his mind cleared, his interest in the paper fish grew. Besides, it didn't seem to have any ill intentions.

Maybe this isn't a malevolent object, he thought, but a divine one. He stared at the fish as it occasionally swayed its tail in mid-air. It was definitely paper, just… alive.

"Let me touch you," he said suddenly, reaching out again. This time, he gently cradled the slightly wriggling paper fish in his palm.

Looking at the obedient fish in his hand, a brilliant smile spread across Li Xiuqi’s face.

Fired for a week of unexcused, unreachable absence, Li Xiuqi didn’t care. His mind was consumed by his new pet. He no longer slept for days at a time, though his sleep had lengthened to at least ten hours a night. His slumber was deep and dreamless, the quality so high he dismissed the change.

He discovered the fish's singular ability: any matter within a certain range of it would turn water-like, allowing for passage before seamlessly reforming, completely undamaged. This even applied to the air around it, enabling its swim-like flight. In effect, the fish was always in water; no physical object was an obstacle.

Through constant practice and "communication," Li Xiuqi learned to control this power. When touching the fish, a part of his body could borrow the ability. He could now pass his hand through a wall, though his entire body was still too much for the fish's limited range. Even so, it thrilled him.

One day, he practiced by clasping the fish, extending three fingers, and passing them through the wood of a drawer. He had to focus, to control the ability and prevent it from affecting everything indiscriminately. After several tries, he successfully retrieved a coin. He toyed with it, thinking, Is this power meant to turn me into a pickpocket? It seemed so petty. If the fish's power were stronger, he could rob a bank vault. Now that would be a thrill.

As he daydreamed, his hand accidentally passed through his own thigh. He paused. With a slight mental command, he gently caressed the muscle within. It didn't hurt; instead, a tingling numbness spread from the point of contact. A perverse idea sparked in his mind.

He slowly inserted his hand into his own abdomen. His fingers slid over his organs—warm, slick, their gentle peristalsis sending a strange thrill through him. He gently scratched his intestines. The nerves there were far less sensitive than his skin, but the sensation was deeper, more prolonged, a peculiar pleasure that radiated through his entire body.

Panting, he moved his hand downward, using an online anatomy chart as a guide, until he located his bladder and prostate. Gently squeezing and kneading them sent a dual sensation—the urgent need to urinate and another, entirely new feeling—an intense pleasure that shot straight to his brain. With one hand kneading his organs from within, his other hand began stroking his instantly erect penis.

A moment later, a finger from his inner hand probed the base of his penis. In concert with his outer hand, the unparalleled pleasure catapulted him to a climax of unprecedented intensity.

Spent and nearly collapsing, Li Xiuqi fell deeply in love with the magical ability and the new sensations it provided.

Then, a sobering thought struck him. He leaped up and ran to a pharmacy, returning with a pile of antibiotics. It had dawned on him that he had just stuck his unwashed hand inside his own body. It was a suicidal act.

After a few anxious days, whether due to the antibiotics or sheer luck, no infection took hold. Relieved, he was again consumed by the memory of that extreme pleasure. He began again, but this time he was meticulous, scrubbing his hands and arms like a surgeon.

A few days later, scales began to appear on the fish’s body. The dark, greenish-black patterns slowly surfaced, intricate and mysterious. As they did, the range of the fish's ability expanded. He could now affect an area the length of his forearm.

But his sleep grew longer. His skin became pale and dry, and his strength waned.

Li Xiuqi ignored it. He didn't understand what was happening, and since there was no pain, he saw no reason to worry. He was sinking deeper into his strange addiction, unable to pull himself out. His internal manipulations grew bolder. He began pulling his intestines out of his body, wrapping them around his penis. The dual pleasure from both organs, amplified by the touch of his hand from within, was a terrifying act that brought extreme stimulation. If this made him a pervert, he had already embraced it.

When the paper fish grew a full set of scales, Li Xiuqi was sleeping sixteen hours a day. The fish's power could now encompass his entire body. He had become a man who could ignore any physical obstacle.

And so, he could finally visit a bank vault.

The first time he emerged from a bank with a backpack full of cash, he trembled with excitement. It was just too easy. Pass through the wall, take the money, pack it, and pass through the wall again. He wore a mask and sunglasses; even if he was filmed, the police would have no way of finding him.

Banks became his regular haunt. He never took much, just a backpack's worth. The fish's range was still limited, and his physical strength was deteriorating; he doubted he could carry more.

But sometimes he wondered. He was sleeping nearly eighteen hours a day, leaving him only six waking hours. After browsing the internet, eating, and using the bathroom, it was time for bed again. What did he need the money for? He had already bought the most expensive luxury apartment in the city. A car? He hardly went out. Travel? Impossible with his condition. Women? After getting rich, he had hired the most popular prostitute from a famous nightclub, only to find that the pleasure she offered paled in comparison to his own internal and external self-pleasure.

So, what else was there to do?

The question gnawed at him. He had money, he had power, he had a pleasure perhaps no one else in the world could experience. What was left?

He knew his condition was likely an incurable side effect of the paper fish. Even with all his money, he had no desire to seek treatment. What would be the point? Sleeping eighteen hours a day was a blessing; it saved him from the crushing emptiness of his waking hours.

On another boring day, he stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of his mansion, extending one hand through the glass to feel the wind.

The fish's scales were complete. Patterns had appeared on its fins and tail, and its gills were now faintly visible. He wasn't sleeping more—still eighteen hours—but his body felt much stiffer. His skin and muscles had a strange, brittle quality, as if his joints might crackle and snap with a simple stretch.

There was nothing to do. He rarely even masturbated anymore; his nerves had grown dull. He could poke himself with a needle and feel only a vague, distant pressure. He could barely feel anything.

Logically, his condition was terrifying, but strangely, he felt no panic. An odd "seen it all" mentality had taken root. The world no longer held any sway over him. He could think of no reason to be afraid, nor any reason to remain.

"Maybe I'll rob a bank again," he thought. Only in a vault, using his power, did he feel a flicker of that old excitement, that sense of omnipotent joy.

This time, however, he met with an accident. The series of bizarre, inexplicable thefts had not been made public, but they had put the banking and police systems on high alert. Surveillance footage of a masked man passing through solid walls had earned the culprit a nickname in the police department: "The Taoist Phantom." Security in all major vaults had been massively increased.

Li Xiuqi chose a bank at random. As he was slowly walking out through a wall with a backpack of cash, he ran right into a police patrol. He and the four officers stared at each other, both sides stunned.

The police reacted instantly. They drew their guns, shouting, "Don't move! Get down!"

A smile stretched across Li Xiuqi's stiff, pale face. Now, this is a little interesting.

He continued to walk forward. Warnings and a warning shot were ignored. Finally, an officer fired at him.

The bullet passed through his body, creating a small ripple, and struck the heavy vault door behind him.

His entire body like water, Li Xiuqi walked slowly up to the stunned officer. He raised his hand and plunged it into the man's head. In that instant, his own body became solid, while the officer's head turned to liquid. He kept walking, pulling a trembling mass of brain out with his hand and casually tossing it on the floor.

The other three officers were paralyzed by the horrifying scene. They had never witnessed anything so grotesque, so impossible. But Li Xiuqi was filled with a dizzying excitement. He had finally realized that killing was the most thrilling use of his power.

He walked past the second officer and casually pulled his spinal column from his body. The man's torso went limp like a sack of flour, his ribs collapsing onto his pelvis, his head dropping into his chest cavity as he twisted into a grotesque shape.

Li Xiuqi noticed the fish's power had surged. He could now instantly liquefy the joints connecting a man’s bones. Before, he would have had to tear the spine out by force, a feat his weakened body could not have managed. He glanced at the paper fish in his other hand. The last of its gills were almost fully visible.

He looked at the snow-white spinal column, clean of any flesh or blood, and threw his head back and laughed. He shouldered the spine like a grotesque trophy and walked toward the two remaining officers. When he finally emerged from the vault, two more bodies lay on the floor, their hearts resting beside them.

Back home, Li Xiuqi’s body was like a wooden puppet, drained of all color. Even his eyeballs were turning white. He sat on his sofa with a sound like crumpled paper. He no longer looked human. The paper fish, however, circled before him, as vibrant as a living thing.

After an unknown amount of time, the gills on the fish were complete, as if drawn by an invisible pen. A spiritual light flashed across its body, and it swam joyfully in two circles.

Suddenly, a man appeared in the room—sturdy and rugged. He glanced at the fish, pointed a finger, and a fine electric net flickered around it. After a brief struggle, the fish went still, and the man caught it in his hand.

He made the fish disappear and took out a jade-like talisman. "Hey, it's me," he said into it. "Yeah, the Spirit-Devouring Paper Fish is recovered... Couldn't find it at first, seems it was reverted to a paper puppet. Some unlucky guy found it and had his life essence continuously drained, so it's recovered now... Where are Old Zheng and Little Tang? The most important one, still no sign?... Okay. Sigh, who did that guy piss off? Field mission failed, equipment scattered everywhere, and we have to clean it up... Right, I get it, let the freaks investigate. I'm just venting. I almost feel sorry for the guy. He probably still has no idea who he provoked, or just how terrifying our organization really is..."

He glanced at the motionless Li Xiuqi. "Right, the unlucky guy. Should I bring him back?... Yeah, he's turned into a paper man."