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墨書 Inktalez
“Heavenly Eye is something one is born with; for those who do not possess it naturally, the only way to acquire it is through the method of opening the eyes. However, his situation is different from that of Heavenly Eye. Based on what he told me last night, it seems that his physical constitution connects him to the old house, thus awakening an ability that was already within him. I asked Dong Qing to look into his Ba Zi, and it aligns well with the old house. Perhaps he is the ‘catalyst’ my master spoke of back in the day.”
As they traveled towards Song Bunan's home, Xiao Mei inquired about every detail regarding this potential ghostly encounter, while also explaining to the temporary driver, Zhang Long, why she was so invested in this person. Despite having consumed a large cup of coffee to prepare for a long night ahead, Zhang Long still yawned frequently, though his mind remained relatively alert as he glanced at the road and asked questions. Instead of answering each query individually, Xiao Mei opted for a more general explanation:
“I’ve been going to the old house for over three years now. Aside from those I locked inside, only one house ghost has truly appeared before me, and he never communicates with me; he merely guides wandering spirits. Last night, when he mentioned shadows and mist, it matched what Shui Su had previously described. Furthermore, my master’s ability to appear and save lives indicates that this person is significant. Shui Su advised me to pay close attention to Song Bunan, at least until he returns.”
After finishing his last sip of coffee, Zhang Long nodded in understanding but suddenly recalled something: “What’s that kid Shui Su doing out there? It’s been over a year; our boss has been back for quite some time, yet he still hasn’t returned.”
Turning to look at Xiao Mei, he noticed she was still glued to her phone without lifting her head. She simply shook it in response.
After sending a message to Xiao Mei, Song Bunan was about to open the door when he bumped into Song Buxian, who was leaving. Holding a briefcase, Song Buxian mentioned that he might have to work late tonight before standing by the elevator. After a while without hearing the door close, he turned back and saw Song Bunan at the door engrossed in his phone. Annoyed, he kicked him lightly and said, “Go home and play!”
Sitting on his own couch while updating Xiao Mei, Song Bunan felt that his typing speed had significantly improved tonight. Although recounting the incident with the elderly lady in the elevator didn’t take long, answering all of Xiao Mei’s questions required careful recollection and articulation. Especially when explaining how beautiful the hairpin on the old lady’s head was; he even drew a diagram for clarity.
Looking up at the clock showing nearly midnight, he felt a sense of loneliness in the empty house. He had napped too much in the afternoon and wasn’t tired at all now; however, his back wound was itching intensely. As Xiao Mei mentioned she would take some time to arrive, Song Bunan decided to change the dressing on his wound.
These injuries had been with him since childhood; even slight movements would cause them to reopen painfully, robbing him of a carefree childhood. The only silver lining was that he had become somewhat immune to this pain over time; what used to be excruciating now felt merely like a slight sting in his mind. He had also mastered applying medicine on himself; using specialized ointment from the hospital made him feel significantly better.
After removing his shirt, he began unwrapping the bandage. He wasn’t sure if it was just nighttime fatigue playing tricks on him, but it seemed like there were many dirt particles stuck to it. Besides the deep brown color left by medication on the white gauze strip, there were also strange black specks mixed in—like ash from something burnt. The strong medicinal scent remained unchanged.
As he placed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on the first wound, a cold sting made him shiver as goosebumps spread across his body. Used to this sensation by now, he hummed a tune while cleaning each area thoroughly. However, upon retracting his hand and glancing at the cotton ball, unease washed over him.
The cotton ball was also covered in black ash, and alongside the scent of alcohol was an odor reminiscent of burnt paper. Discarding the cotton ball and wiping again yielded similar results—black ash clung stubbornly to it. Unable to see clearly how bad his wounds were, he dropped the tweezers and took his phone into the bathroom. Turning on the light and looking at his back revealed not just familiar scars but also black substances stuck within them.
What annoyed him further was that these were located in hard-to-reach places for cleaning alone. Grasping his phone and pondering who could help him at this hour yielded no answers; yet leaving it unattended could lead to infection or inflammation that would force him to lie flat for half a month. Reluctantly, he dialed Song Buxian.
Just as he arrived at work and received the call from his younger brother, Song Buxian initially intended to scold him for being foolish but held back upon hearing it concerned an injury. After asking about the situation briefly, he promised to return quickly. Meanwhile, Xin Yi, who had arrived earlier beside him, tossed some documents onto his desk without consulting him and strode out decisively: “I’ll go check; you handle things here.”
“…” Everything he had just swallowed should have been said directly to you! Grinding his teeth in frustration, Song Buxian called back: “Xin Yi is going over; you wait for him at home.”
After hanging up on his brother's call, Song Bunan gently patted where it itched while considering whether putting on clothes would be better when suddenly there came a knock at the door. Thinking it might be Xiao Mei, he walked over just as his phone rang—displaying that it was indeed her.
Wondering why she would call after arriving so soon, Song Bunan instinctively peered through the peephole and saw an elderly man standing outside in darkness—the same one from earlier in the elevator. He wore a smile as he stood there; however, due to the peephole's angle, his expression appeared quite sinister.
That sight genuinely frightened Song Bunan, causing him to step back several paces into a corner before answering his phone. On the other end of the line, Xiao Mei shouted urgently with an altered tone: “Don’t open the door!”
Almost simultaneously, Song Bunan watched as the door slowly creaked open, cold air rushing inside immediately. Standing at the study door without thinking twice about it, he bolted inside; however, before locking it behind him, that old man stood right before him—a grayish-blue face staring directly into his own with what should have been a friendly smile now appearing terrifying.
The chilling aura mixed with an overpowering fragrance made Song Bunan’s body go limp as he collapsed onto the floor; everything around him began spinning uncontrollably. In an instant, that old man was behind him; coldness seeped through his wound into his back as an unusual pain surged through him causing spasms throughout his limbs. Lying on the ground in confusion as footsteps approached him brought clarity when he recognized that it was Xiao Mei, who held a short stick in her hand—he lost consciousness amidst all this pain.
Dreams often come unexpectedly; one moment he was fainting from pain in his study at home and then found himself standing outside in front of their community without feeling anything at all. The street devoid of streetlights was pitch-black—so dark one could hardly see their hand in front of their face—as behind him their neighborhood slowly faded into darkness until only a nearby trash bin remained visible.
Unsure about what was happening around him and wanting to retrace his steps home based on memory led nowhere as distant jingling bells echoed from afar down the street. The sound grew clearer as someone approached slowly from that direction—a figure emerging from within darkness became visible holding a yellow bell which jingled with each step taken forward.
As the newcomer approached, the sound of bells suddenly grew louder. With a clang, it jolted him awake.
Opening his eyes, he found himself still in his study at home, but the old man beside him had transformed into Xin Yi. He was half cradled by Xin Yi, and aside from the pain in his back, his head felt dizzy and uncomfortable, a vague sense of nausea making him want to vomit but unable to do so.
After sipping a cup of warm water, he felt a bit better. He attempted to sit up straight but was lifted instead. Xin Yi spoke softly in his ear, just loud enough for him to hear: “I went upstairs and saw the door open. The house is a mess, and you were lying at the study door. I called your name, and you woke up. Did someone break in?”
Looking around, he noticed the room was indeed in disarray, but upon closer inspection, his phone and belongings were still there. Song Bunan was sprawled on the sofa, while Xin Yi had already dialed 110 on his phone. Unaware of what had happened after he fainted, he shook his head. “It seems nothing is missing. My parents don’t keep cash at home, and the computer is still in the study; it’s just the living room that’s been ransacked. Xin Yi, I don’t think we need to call the police…”
With Xiao Mei not at home and no messages on his phone, he worried that involving the police might complicate things for him. Song Bunan grasped Xin Yi’s hand to prevent him from making the call and awkwardly changed the subject: “Xin Yi, my back hurts a lot; can you take a look?”
Perhaps disturbed by Song Bunan’s tear-streaked face, Xin Yi decided against calling the police; he felt it was more important to tend to Song Bunan's injury. The boy's back was marred with gaping wounds where flesh met skin. Though he wanted to take him to the hospital, Song Bunan refused, sobbing softly as he held up a pair of tweezers. “Xin Yi, just help me apply some medicine; it’s not serious enough for a hospital visit.”
Song Buxian soon returned home, wearing a stern expression as he surveyed the room. Taking advantage of Xin Yi’s focus on treating Song Bunan’s wounds, he slipped outside and retrieved a piece of paper wedged in the fire exit door before tearing it up and tossing it into the trash.
“He probably fell when he got up after burning himself again; nothing seems to be missing from the house. No need to call the police. From now on, let’s try not to work late at night; this idiot is bound to get into trouble alone at home.”
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