My name is Teng Zhao. Before I turned seven, I always lived in a world of solitude. I disliked interacting with others and was unwilling to pay them any mind, because everyone I looked at seemed to be wearing layer upon layer of masks. Their faces looked as though they were covered by several human faces; I could not see through them, nor did I wish to. And the worse a person's heart was, the more ferocious their visage, like the Evil Ghosts recorded in idle tales and unofficial histories.
I liked reading, writing, and playing chess. Doing these things could calm my heart. Before I turned seven, the person who accompanied me the most was Mr. Du. He was very good, yet when I looked at him, I still saw only a face covered by masks, unable to discern his truest side.
I knew that many people called me a freak. The family despised my twisted and solitary temperament, disliked my coldness, said I was a born stone man, impossible to warm.
