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墨書 Inktalez
Consciousness floated up like a stone submerged at the bottom of a cold ink pool, rising slowly and painfully.
First came the pain. Every limb and bone ached, as if countless icy needles were piercing me repeatedly. There was also a strange, lingering burning sensation concentrated in my chest and fingertips, remnants of the deepest contact with the demon essence. The whispers in my ears had not faded; they had merely transformed into distant, indistinct background noise, like countless vengeful spirits murmuring deep within my soul.
I coughed violently, choking on the air thick with smoke and the scent of blood.
When I opened my eyes, chaos greeted me.
The slope of Yansheng had partially collapsed. The makeshift altar lay shattered, the ground marred with cracks and charred spots. The air was heavy with a pungent burnt smell, along with the unique sweet and decayed scent of demon essence—though it had diminished significantly, it still clung stubbornly to the atmosphere.
The high platform had completely crumbled, and the pulsating black mass was nowhere to be found, leaving behind a vast, bottomless pit rimmed with horrific slime and shattered bones. Master Xuan Mo was also gone. Had he been consumed by that uncontrollable force? Or had he escaped amidst the chaos? I didn’t know, nor did I want to know. As long as he was temporarily out of sight, that was enough for me.
Surrounding Yansheng slope lay the incomplete corpses of living puppets, along with some bodies of ink shadows. Most had lost their "vitality," becoming stiff and twisted "artifacts." Yet beside some corpses were neatly arranged arrows that did not belong to the Ink Puppet Sect, their fletchings marked with subtle insignias and signs of having been dragged.
My heart sank. Someone had come here. After we fell unconscious, another force had intervened to clean up the scene. The nobles hidden in the palanquin had vanished along with their servants and the palanquin itself, as if everything from last night had been nothing but a nightmare. They erased all traces of their existence, leaving behind this devastated Yansheng slope and an indelible mark—me.
Mole!
My heart stopped as I sprang up from the ground, ignoring the excruciating pain coursing through my body as I frantically searched through the ruins.
“Mole!!” I shouted hoarsely, my voice echoing across the desolate hillside.
Finally, beneath a broken stone wall, I found him.
He lay curled up like an abandoned child. His face was pale, his breath so faint it was almost imperceptible. His dark short outfit was stained with blood and dirt beyond recognition; gaping wounds marred his sides and ribs. His neck… though not broken, clearly bore severe injuries, tilting to one side. Scattered on the ground were several peculiar little beads he always wore around his neck.
He was still alive! Just… unconscious!
A wave of mixed joy, fear, and boundless guilt washed over me in an instant. I rushed over, trembling as I reached for his breath; that faint flow felt like a lifeline.
“Hold on… Mole, hold on!” I babbled incoherently as tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. This was the first time I truly cried after believing I had seen through worldly affairs and hardened my heart—not out of fear but because… of something else.
I carefully laid him flat and tore off a relatively clean inner lining from my robe, clumsily attempting to bandage him again. As I did this, I caught sight of my hands. Underneath my nails mixed with my blood and dirt from the ground were those indelible ink stains that felt like a curse.
The stains from Xuan Mo might have been burned away by the backlash of the ritual, but mine seemed to have etched deeper into my skin. The fear of those ink stains hadn’t vanished; it merely settled within me, becoming part of my body and soul—a constant reminder of everything I had endured.
I looked around amidst the wreckage and found a charred fragment that was neither metal nor jade, adorned with twisted beastly patterns. Was it a remnant of Xuan Mo's black seal? I picked it up carefully wrapped it in cloth. Then I found that page stained with blood—the “evidence” I had drawn—though trampled into obscurity, the dark red beneath my nails remained glaringly vivid. I tucked them away along with that tattered sketchbook into my embrace.
These were all the evidence I had left. But I knew that while these items might prove Xuan Mo's guilt, they could never shake those true masterminds hidden behind the high walls of Daming Palace—those who might even implicate border town princes in their schemes. The Ink Puppet Sect might have been severely wounded; Xuan Mo might have temporarily vanished—but as long as the foundations of this grand Tang dynasty rotted beneath its surface and greed for power continued to breed, similar tumors would keep emerging.
The so-called Kaiyuan prosperity might already be at its end; beneath this splendor lay hidden crises waiting to overturn everything!
I gazed at Mole still unconscious before me, surveyed this ghostly wasteland once more, then lifted my eyes toward Chang'an City in the distance—still bustling and festooned in false peace.
A decision took shape in my heart.
I must leave.
With Mole, with these secrets, I will depart from this place that once filled me with longing but ultimately brought only endless fear and disillusionment. I may not be able to uncover the entire truth or shake the foundations of those colossal entities, but at least, I can survive.
Survive, and then... record it all.
"I have seen it... and I cannot pretend I haven't," I whispered to myself, as if speaking to the unconscious Mole.
"This cursed thing... must be drawn."
With that trembling yet still powerful "ghost hand," tainted by demonic essence.
I did not know where to find a safe haven, nor how to heal Mole's wounds. But with all my remaining strength, I lifted him onto my back. He was heavy, weighing me down to the point where I could barely straighten my back, each step pulling at the hidden pain left by the demonic essence within me.
I did not look back; step by step, I trudged down the path of despair, leaving this land of death behind.
As I emerged from the wilderness and stepped onto a small road leading to an unknown destination, the setting sun slowly sank behind the western mountains.
The clouds at the horizon were stained a thick blood red, silently foretelling the impending strife and slaughter.
The afterglow of the sunset stretched my shadow long across the dust-laden road. A solitary, stooped figure bore another whose fate hung in the balance, behind me loomed the still magnificent yet treacherous city of Chang'an, while ahead lay an expanse of unknown darkness.
I looked down at my hands; the indelible ink stains on my fingertips glimmered with a dim light in the fading sunlight.
Chang'an, farewell.
Underneath this resplendent Chang'an lies sin; I have come, I have seen, and I... am recording it all.
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