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墨書 Inktalez
Song Bunan sat at his desk, flipping through the black notebook with a rustling sound. The force he used was light, but his speed was rapid, as if he were trying to find something extraordinary among the few pages. He couldn't quite understand how this notebook was set up, and he felt puzzled about its contents and the viewing instructions.
As he prepared to read carefully what peculiar information had been designed for him as a "Special Individual," he noticed a line written in black ink on white paper: Please review the contents at an appropriate time.
What a vague suggestion for an appropriate time.
Faced with several blank pages, he took a deep breath and called Xiao Mei. When the person on the other end seemed to have just woken up from a dream, Song Bunan didn't hold back his questions and frustration: "Hey, Xiao Mei, what's going on with this notebook? I've only looked at a little bit of it! There's nothing inside! The rest are just blank pages! Where's the main content you told me about?"
The person yawning on the other end took a while to respond before slowly saying, "Well, I always find content when I look at it. If you can't see anything now..." He paused, seemingly pondering a solution. Song Bunan sat quietly at his desk, waiting for the follow-up. After what felt like an eternity, just as he was starting to feel drowsy, the voice came through again: "Try looking at it around midnight. I usually check it around two or three in the morning."
Having stayed up late no more than three times in his life, Song Bunan frowned and transformed all his displeasure into a huff: "Got it... Seriously."
He slammed the notebook shut and set it aside. As he stood up to stretch and prepare for some rest, he instinctively walked toward the refrigerator. Planning to drink a glass of milk before bed, he stepped out of his bedroom and saw a figure in the darkened living room. To be precise, it was a shadow; the only light source in the room came from the faint glow seeping out of his bedroom. The shadow stood hunched in front of the television, making it impossible to tell whether it was facing him or turned away.
Song Bunan swallowed hard and cautiously stepped back into his bedroom until he was sure he stood in the light before daring to speak: "Brother?" The shadow trembled slightly but didn't move its feet, instead inching closer. With each step closer the shadow took, he instinctively retreated three steps until his back pressed against the edge of his desk, leaving the shadow standing at the threshold between darkness and light.
This figure must be a ghost; Song Bunan couldn't discern any features typical of a living person. The only thing he could make out was its head and body. Remembering what the notebook said about how his current aura could attract ghosts, he couldn't help but scratch his head in confusion about what to do next. Ghosts wouldn't venture into lit areas, so this part of the house felt safest.
After taking a deep breath and slowly calming himself down, he straightened his back and repeatedly reminded himself that ghosts could be good or bad; perhaps this one was just confused by his presence. Having built up enough mental fortitude, he took a few hesitant steps toward the shadow but found himself unsure of what to ask. Finally, with a strained neck and in barely above a whisper, Song Bunan asked:
"Is there anything I can help you with?"
The shadow heard him and quickly responded. He watched as two dark limbs appeared to split from either side of its body as if they had been sliced open—corresponding to where its arms should be. Realizing that this friend had hands hidden for reasons unknown to him that only appeared when needed, he focused intently on analyzing what those two swaying arms were trying to convey.
Unfortunately, having always been terrible at charades since childhood, Song Bunan stared earnestly at the figure for quite some time without grasping any meaning. Frustrated by his lack of understanding, he thought of an idea that might not work: He picked up a pen and paper from his desk and mustered enough courage to walk closer to where light met darkness before gently pushing both items forward.
"Why don't you write it down? I can't understand your gestures."
The shadow halted all movement and stood silently outside the door. Song Bunan could feel its gaze upon him; an icy chill crept up from his feet to his spine, making his hair stand on end. Yet amidst this eerie atmosphere, he found that fear had dissipated since their initial encounter; instead, there was merely coldness without malice. Feeling strange about this sensation, he licked his lips and bravely took another step forward until he stood directly facing the shadow at about half an arm's length away. With utmost sincerity in his tone, he repeated: "Please write down why you're here; I'll do my best to assist you."
The room remained cold, but somehow the atmosphere felt significantly more relaxed. Perhaps Song Bunan's sincerity made the shadow realize that this person wasn't joking; slowly it retreated a bit further back until both it and the piece of paper vanished from sight.
The large shadow disappeared suddenly before him. Confused, Song Bunan peeked out from his bedroom like a thief trying not to be caught and scanned every corner within sight. Where did it go? He twisted his neck in search of any trace of the shadow's presence but found nothing except darkness beyond furniture shadows. Moreover, with its disappearance came a return to normalcy in the room's temperature that had noticeably dropped when he opened the notebook.
As Song Bunan intended to head back toward the refrigerator again but hesitated with his head still poking out from behind the doorframe when he heard keys turning in the lock at home. Peeking out once more revealed soft yellow hallway lights spilling onto the doormat as his brother entered carrying a laptop bag. When the living room lights flicked on, illuminating everything around them, there was no trace left of whatever had just occurred.
Noticing Song Bunan peeking out like some sort of sneaky creature from behind the doorframe, Song Buxian fixed him with an indifferent stare as their eyes met for about a minute before Song Bunan finally emerged from his bedroom with an innocent smile saying: "Hey brother! You're back!"
"Where else would I be?" Song Buxian set down his bag and hung up his coat before speaking with disdain: "Why aren't you resting properly at home? Where did you go this afternoon? I wanted to take you out for dinner but couldn't find you."
Oh? So you came back earlier? This thought remained unspoken as Song Bunan chuckled nervously: "I just went out for a bit with some friends; I got home around seven or so. By the way brother, did you confirm with brother Xinyi that I'm going to work with you guys? Have our parents been informed?"
In response came only a scoff as Song Buxian settled onto the sofa and pulled out some folded papers from his bag before slapping them onto the coffee table: "Xinyi planned to confirm this matter with you this afternoon while signing contracts but since we couldn't reach you... I brought them back for you to review first so we can finalize everything before reporting over there."
While internally complaining about why they didn't just call him instead, Song Bunan sat down beside him on the sofa and picked up one of those contracts for inspection. Faced with such formal documents—though knowing deep down that his brother wouldn't deceive him—he still found himself feeling apprehensive due to parts he didn't fully understand.
However, when he saw the salary-related terms, Song Bunan couldn't help but ask, "Brother, why is my salary only this much?" Earning just fifteen hundred a month was less than what he made from those odd jobs during college. Upon hearing this question, his brother merely smirked with a hint of sarcasm, snatched the contract away, rolled the paper up, and playfully smacked it against his head, producing a sharp crack.
Song Bunan covered his head, and amidst his shock, a small temper flared up. "Why did you hit me! I was just asking a reasonable question! If you don’t want to explain, fine…!" He stood up in anger, intending to storm off to his room. However, before he could even get past the coffee table, he heard his brother's voice—one that had always terrified him since childhood—commanding, "Come back!"
He remembered that whenever his brother spoke in that tone, it usually meant he was about to explode with anger and berate him thoroughly. Back then, their parents wouldn't intervene until after the storm had passed; one would tell Song Buxian to be gentler with his younger brother while the other would remind him not to cry and to reflect on where he went wrong. The last time he got scolded was for refusing to participate in military training at university.
Standing there without turning around while waiting for the impending scolding, Song Bunan bit his lip and adopted a stubborn posture, determined not to back down. Sure enough, he heard movement behind him—first the rustle of clothing as his brother stood up, then suddenly felt a strong grip on the back of his collar that yanked him down onto the sofa. Normally, such a pull would have been harmless if he had landed on a cushion; however, that morning Song Buxian had dismantled all the cushions and tossed them into the washing machine. They were now flapping on the balcony like flags.
Consequently, Song Bunan lost his balance and fell back against the firm sofa frame. The worst part wasn't just the impact; it was that a protruding area of flesh had been dislocated due to the friction and tore at the point where it connected to his skin.
The pain from the tear was exponentially worse than a regular cut, especially since there was still medicinal powder on the bandage outside. In an instant, Song Bunan gasped in agony and couldn't even spring up to minimize further injury; he could only clench his fists in an attempt to endure the pain.
Then he found himself forcibly pinned down on the sofa. As his shirt was lifted up, he heard a loud intake of breath followed by an outburst of curses from his brother that showed no mercy.
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