Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
I hid beneath the altar table in the ancestral hall, allowing the cobwebs to cling to my hair. The sound of Shen Yan's wheelchair rolling over the blue bricks came to a halt before the ancestral tablets, the moonlight distorting his shadow into that of a beast. "The girl your mother chose for you..." The Second Mistress's twisted silver hairpin pierced through the darkness. "That girl’s chest is so full she could feed three children; how could you..."
"She fed Father, didn’t she?" The blue flame of a lighter illuminated Shen Yan’s cold smile. He pointed to a spirit tablet that bore no name, only a date—exactly the rumored death anniversary of the Young Mistress.
I bit down hard on my wrist. The Second Mistress's embroidered shoes suddenly turned towards the altar. "I heard that girl was stripped of her bodice this morning? If you ask me, she should be locked up..."
"Mother." Shen Yan's voice dripped with venom. "Weren't you also dressed like that when Father brought you back from the opera?"
The sound of a porcelain cup shattering startled the nightingale perched under the eaves. Through the gap in the table, I saw the Second Mistress's well-maintained face crack with fine lines. As Shen Yan turned his wheelchair, half of his lower leg was exposed beneath his cloak—there were bite marks all over it, as if some beast had torn at him.
"On the eighth of next month, I want to see her contract of sale." As the sound of the wheelchair faded away, he added, "After all, I must avenge my future wife."
Dew from the tiles dripped onto my nape, and I suddenly recalled the burn scar on his collarbone from last night. Those scars were arranged neatly, resembling the shape of the candlestick of the eternal lamp in the ancestral hall.
As the drum sounded three times, the master burst through the door reeking of alcohol. Today he wore a belt inlaid with jade, carved into the shape of an infant suckling.
"Ying Niang..." He grasped my chin and dragged me toward the bed. "I heard you delivered medicine to the west chamber at noon?"
The embroidered shoes left chaotic marks on the brocade quilt. I stared at the intricately carved headboard, where a rusted copper nail was embedded—last night Shen Yan had used this spot; suddenly, the sound of his wheelchair rolling over blue bricks rang clear with a loud bang!
A porcelain pillow smashed against the bedpost. The master's murky eyes bulged as he tore open my clothing; I heard a heavy thud from next door.
"That little bastard is breaking things again?" The master suddenly became exhilarated; he pried my legs apart and shouted at the wall, "Listen well! Your mother used to call out like this!"
The bedpost thudded against the wall. I bit my tongue and fixed my gaze on Cheng Chen; there was a faded bloodstain there shaped like a bird in flight. Just as his ring scraped across my chest again, a sudden crash of breaking porcelain echoed from next door.
The sound of Shen Yan's medicine bowl clattering echoed in my ears. I counted those noises, as if tallying how many intact bones I had left. Until the master grasped my neck and pressed me against the window frame, the moonlight pouring in revealed a hole in the paper of the west chamber window.
A bloodshot eye was staring right at us.
As the clock struck four, thick smoke wrapped around the cries, tearing through the night. I ran barefoot down the corridor, my waistband loose and sagging at my waist. The fire dragon rising from the direction of the ancestral hall cast a red glow on Shen Yan's wheelchair, where he was lighting a cigarette with a lighter in front of the flames.
"Second Mistress is still inside!" The butler tugged at his sleeve.
The smoke rings that Shen Yan exhaled merged with the thick smoke. He turned his wheelchair, rolling over the butler's fingers, and chuckled amidst the screams, "What a beautiful fire, even more splendid than that one three years ago."
As I rushed forward, the flames were licking at an unnamed tablet. Suddenly, Shen Yan grabbed my ankle. Did he want to die too, just like Stepmother?
"Young Master!" The servant screamed, pointing to the sky. A burning beam crashed down with a thunderous roar. Shen Yan suddenly threw me to the ground, his loose sleeve covering my eyes as I felt the sticky wound on my back—blood from an old scar bursting open.
"Why..." In the heat of the fire, he suddenly bit my earlobe, "Why does your blood smell just as sweet as that child's?"
Comment 0 Comment Count