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墨書 Inktalez
The lingering terror from that night in the Hundred Ghosts Garden felt like a chilling presence, seeping into the small stone chamber where Mole and I were hiding. We both understood that we had stirred a hornet's nest, and it was likely an exceptionally large one. The out-of-control living statue and those strange carvings proved that the influence of the Ink Figurine Sect was far deeper and broader than I had imagined.
"We can't stay here," Mole's voice broke the oppressive silence, short yet resolute. His dark face showed little expression, but his vigilant eyes were clouded with unease.
I knew we couldn't linger. Ever since we returned that night, the ink stain on my sleeve would often turn inexplicably cold, as if invisible eyes were peering through layers of rock. My fingers would involuntarily trace the twisted outline of that living statue in the air, trying to comprehend its inhuman horror, only to be met with deeper chills and an unshakeable sense of sickly sweetness.
"This city of Chang'an is becoming increasingly incomprehensible..." I murmured to myself. No longer did I possess the single-minded desire for stability; after witnessing those events, the fear and confusion in my heart grew like wild grass.
Mole ignored my despondent words. He pulled out a small piece of hard flatbread from his pocket and broke half off for me. "Things have been unsettled in the city lately," he said between chews, his voice muffled. "There are rumors from the Jingzhao Prefecture that many people have gone missing—young men, women, and children alike. No traces left behind; when reported, there’s been no response. It seems someone is suppressing it."
A heavy weight sank in my chest. Missing persons? Connecting this to the cruel experiments of the Ink Figurine Sect... a terrifying thought emerged.
"Are you saying..."
"I don't know," Mole interrupted sharply, his gaze piercing. "But there are rumors in the ghost market that... a 'master' is preparing for a grand 'sacrifice,' needing 'materials.' It's said to be related to certain nobles in the palace seeking immortality."
Sacrifice? Materials? These two words pierced my ears like ice picks. Could those missing people have become... the "materials" for the living statues? A wave of dread crawled up my spine, making me shiver involuntarily. Amidst my fear, there was an unexpected flicker of anger, surprising even myself. Those people weren't "materials"; they were living beings!
"I saw..." a thought uncontrollably surfaced, "I can't just pretend I didn't see..."
Mole glanced at me with a complex expression, seemingly impatient but ultimately said nothing. He stood up. "Let's go. We need to change locations."
We moved with even greater caution than before. Mole led me through deeper and darker corners of the ghost market, even passing through some foul-smelling underground waterways I had never imagined existed. Finally, we settled in a deserted wine cellar deep within; it was more damp and shadowy than our previous stone chamber but also more concealed.
After we settled down, Mole disappeared for a while—probably to gather more specific information or handle his own matters. Alone in a corner of the wine cellar, I took out a small sketchbook and a piece of charcoal I had traded for with some last few items from a junk stall in the ghost market.
I needed to record everything—the twisted living statue, the sinister carvings on the pillars of Hundred Ghosts Garden, the cold gaze of the ink shadow... and this unremovable ink stain on my sleeve. Fear gnawed at me, but my instinct to document fought against forgetting. This might be my only form of resistance.
Just as I immersed myself in sketching those unsettling lines, Mole returned.
"In the West Market, there's a place called 'Exotic Treasures Pavilion.' They just received a new batch of South Sea spices and some rare mineral pigments." He spoke succinctly. "An informant said they've seen someone wearing similar robes there."
He was referring to the ink shadow.
My heart skipped a beat. A lead?
"Let's go." Mole didn’t give me time to hesitate.
The Exotic Treasures Pavilion was located in a relatively secluded corner of the West Market; its facade was modest, but inside it was another world altogether. Various rare treasures and medicinal herbs filled every nook and cranny, with rich and complex aromas wafting through the air. The West Market was already bustling with merchants; this shop felt particularly mysterious. Mole pretended to browse for herbs while quietly conversing with an elderly shopkeeper at the counter. Meanwhile, I strolled through the store under the pretense of looking at goods, my sharp gaze scanning every corner and every customer.
My attention landed on a shelf displaying various mineral pigments and ink blocks. As an artist, this was my expertise—different shades of azurite blue, malachite green, ochre... among them were several deep-colored ink blocks; one stood out for its exceptionally pure blackness that even seemed to emit a faint glow.
"Good eye," a gentle voice came from behind me. "This is 'Xuanlong Ink,' said to be made from thousand-year-old submerged wood heart combined with secret methods—unlike any ordinary ink."
I turned around and saw a middle-aged Taoist priest in a finely tailored dark robe standing behind me, smiling gently. He appeared to be in his forties or fifties, with a slender face and meticulously groomed three strands of long beard. His eyes were calm and warm, exuding an air of compassion. If it weren't for the chaotic atmosphere of the Western Market, I might have mistaken him for a revered scholar favored by the emperor, frequently visiting the grand halls of the Ming Palace.
"Are you also a fellow practitioner?" I forced a smile, feeling an inexplicable tension in my chest. For some reason, I sensed that there was something unnameable hidden behind his gentle gaze.
"Just a little knowledge," the priest replied with a slight nod, his eyes resting on me as if casually assessing my demeanor. "I am Master Xuan Mo. Given your bearing, you must be quite skilled in painting? I am looking for a special type of vermilion, with a rich, dark red hue. I wonder if you have any advice?"
Master Xuan Mo... There was nothing particularly special about that name. His tone was very natural. Perhaps I was being overly suspicious? Had the ink shadows and living puppets frightened me so much that everyone looked like a villain? I silently mocked myself.
Just as I was about to respond politely, he reached out and gently twirled one of his long beard strands that had fallen when he nodded.
It was that gesture.
My gaze inadvertently fell on his fingers.
His fingers were long and clean, well-maintained.
But—
In the crevices of his nails lingered an extremely fine yet glaring—dark red stain!
That color! It resembled dried blood mixed with ink stains!
Boom!
My mind went blank in an instant, as if struck by lightning.
It was it! That color! In that secret mansion, I had witnessed that figure in an ink robe using a thick brush dipped in a viscous liquid from a stone bowl that emitted a foul, sweet odor—dark red and nearly black—drawing beastly patterns on a living person! The core pigment used to create the living puppets!
I abruptly lifted my head and looked again at Master Xuan Mo.
He still wore his gentle smile, his eyes calm and undisturbed. But deep within that tranquility, I caught a fleeting glimmer of icy scrutiny! He was observing me too!
In that moment, I felt as if I had fallen into an ice cave; my limbs went numb. I could sense my face must have looked terrible, and breathing became difficult.
It was him! It had to be him! This seemingly refined Taoist priest was a key figure in the Ink Puppet Sect! He might even be… the mastermind hidden behind the court's powerful figures!
I forced myself to look away, lowering my head and pretending to cough twice to mask the almost escaping gasp of shock.
"Apologies, Master... cough cough... I don't know much about vermilion... I'm afraid I can't be of help." My voice trembled dryly; I wasn’t sure if he could detect anything unusual. I dared not look into his eyes again or at those hands stained with traces of sin.
"Not at all," Master Xuan Mo replied gently, his voice devoid of any emotional fluctuation. "It was my oversight."
He seemed unfazed by my awkwardness; perhaps he had already seen through everything but chose to remain composed. He nodded slightly and turned toward another spice counter, walking leisurely as the hem of his robe traced an elegant arc.
Only after his figure disappeared behind the shelves did I dare to breathe deeply; cold sweat had already soaked through my clothes.
Mole appeared by my side without me realizing when. His sharp gaze swept over my pale face and glanced briefly in the direction where Xuan Mo had vanished, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Let's go," he said in a low voice.
I stumbled after him as we exited the Exotic Treasures Pavilion. The sunlight outside was glaring, yet I felt an icy chill enveloping me.
That Daoist… Xuan Mo… his image, the dark red stains beneath his nails, and his seemingly compassionate yet cold eyes had imprinted like a curse in my mind.
A large-scale sacrifice… missing people… the Ink Figurine Sect… Master Xuan Mo… and the possible connections to forces within the palace behind him…
The clues seemed to connect, but the outline of the truth was even more terrifying and despairing.
I grasped Mole's arm, my voice hoarse with fear. "Mole… that person… that Daoist…"
Mole stopped and turned to look at me. His eyes still lacked warmth, but there seemed to be an added weight of seriousness.
"I know." He spoke just three words, yet they felt like a heavy stone crashing down on my heart.
He knows? What does he know?
Fear and questions pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe, blocking my throat so that I couldn't utter a single word.
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