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James felt dizzy, his legs heavy as if filled with lead, yet he still managed to stand up unsteadily, bracing himself against the bathroom sink, breathing heavily. The voice echoed in his mind, each word piercing into the depths of his soul like a sharp blade. He was horrified to realize that he had unconsciously begun to agree with everything the voice said. It spoke of the truths he had long suppressed, thoughts he could not admit to himself.
"That's right..." he murmured, his gaze momentarily vacant as a mad desire began to grow within him, tearing at the last remnants of his rationality.
However, reason ultimately pulled him back to reality. James shook his head violently, forcing himself to wake up. He could not succumb; he could not let those dangerous thoughts take control. No matter how much dissatisfaction and longing he felt inside, reality remained cold and unforgiving. He knew that some things were simply unattainable, no matter how much he wished for them.
"No, it's impossible!" James suddenly shouted into the air, his voice trembling with anger and despair. His eyes were filled with a sense of helplessness, as if he were battling an invisible enemy, trying to expel that intangible voice. "Some things I can't do even if I want to! I'm old! I'm past my prime!"
He stepped closer to the bathroom mirror, staring intently at his weathered face. Deep wrinkles and gray hair mercilessly told the tale of time's passage; there was no longer any confidence or vitality in his eyes. He knew that no matter how powerful he once was, all that remained now was a gradually aging shell.
"I... have nothing left but money and a bit of tarnished reputation!" James gritted his teeth, his tone laced with immense pain and resentment. The dreams of his youth and past achievements now seemed so pale and powerless in the face of time.
He gasped for breath, his chest rising and falling violently as anger and frustration surged within him. At that moment, he suddenly turned around and slammed the bathroom door shut; the door thudded heavily against its frame, as if that sound could shut out all chaos and those maddening thoughts behind it. He stood before the door in silence, as if that voice had vanished along with its closing.
He let out a heavy sigh, as if expelling all the fatigue of his soul, then dragged his weary body toward the living room, each step slow and laborious. His heart remained turbulent; reason and that mad desire were pulling at him, preventing him from finding peace.
When he finally reached the sofa, it felt as though all his strength had been drained away. He collapsed onto the couch, covering his face with his hands, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. He kept telling himself that those crazy voices were not real—just figments of his imagination. Yet somewhere deep inside him, he still could not shake off that uncontrollable longing and resentment.
James slumped on the sofa, his gaze vacant and filled with exhaustion and helplessness. His chest continued to rise and fall rapidly as he forced himself to close his eyes in an attempt to make that voice disappear completely. However, when he opened his eyes again, his gaze involuntarily fell upon the handbag on the table. It suddenly seemed strikingly prominent, as if some invisible force was tugging at his attention.
He sensed a faint metallic scent wafting from the handbag, carrying a strong smell of blood. That scent vaguely mingled with a hint of decay, as if a dark red book lay quietly inside the bag, waiting to be opened and revealing its hidden secrets. James's eyes widened; his breathing quickened involuntarily as fear and excitement surged within him. He knew that book was unusual—it should not exist—but it was drawing him in as if whispering seductively: "Open me; see what secrets lie within..."
"No... no way..." James shook his head vigorously in an attempt to dispel this impulse. He rubbed his eyes hard, trying to calm himself down. He refused to be controlled by this unknown power; instead, he picked up his phone and put on reading glasses, intending to use knowledge from reality to answer the questions swirling in his mind. The voice of that student continued echoing—"Blood Moon Cult"—he needed to investigate this strange cult and uncover its truth.
He opened the browser on his phone, his fingertips trembling as he clicked on the search engine, his heart pounding like a drum, his mind still in chaos. James took a deep breath and began typing "Blood Moon Cult" using pinyin. However, his hands were already unsteady, and with the anxiety and fear swirling inside him, he frequently mistyped, entering the wrong letters over and over again.
He deleted and retyped repeatedly, growing increasingly impatient. Each mistake only added to his anxiety, making it harder for him to focus. His fingers trembled on the phone's keyboard, clicking randomly, producing letters that made no sense.
"Damn it!" James cursed suddenly, throwing his phone down onto the sofa in frustration. His hands were no longer as nimble as they had been in his youth, and the tension he felt made it even harder to control his movements. The feeling of losing control filled him with rage, as if he had been cornered. The anxiety and helplessness ignited a fire within him, yet no matter what he did, he couldn't calm the chaos inside.
He felt trapped—unable to shake off the student's words from his mind, unable to resist the allure of the book in his bag, unable to find any answers that could bring him peace.
James shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the fear and agitation. He forced himself to calm down, taking a deep breath that filled his lungs and slightly suppressed the uncontrollable turmoil. "It's just a damn book..." he murmured to himself, trying to convince himself that there was nothing terrifying about it.
"Why am I reacting like this?" James took a deep breath again, pressing his hands against his forehead as he repeatedly asked himself this question. He had once been a calm and rational scholar; why was he now losing control over a book of unknown origin? This shouldn't be his reaction. He tried to convince himself that all of this was just a result of his excessive nervousness and anxiety; no matter how strange the book looked, it was just an ordinary book.
Gradually sitting up straight, he felt his heartbeat stabilizing. Although there was still some unease within him, he knew he could no longer avoid it. He had to face it and unravel the mystery of the book; perhaps only then could he truly rid himself of the confusion in his heart.
James's hand slowly reached for the bag on the table. As his fingertips brushed against its edge, he felt a slight chill that made his palm tremble. He was still anxious inside, but reason told him it was just a psychological effect—there was nothing to fear. He slowly unzipped the bag; the zipper emitted a harsh sound in the quiet space, as if silently reminding him of the secrets about to be revealed.
The air inside the bag seemed to freeze for a moment; as he opened it, a faint metallic smell wafted out again, filled with decay and blood. James's heart raced once more as his fingers hovered at the opening before finally reaching in with determination to touch the cover of the book.
The dark red cover was cold and rough, as if solidified from being soaked in blood. The book lay in the bag like a heavy stone pressing against James's palm. Its weight was heavier than he had imagined, seeming not just like physical weight but also carrying some pressure and secrets he couldn't comprehend.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," James forced himself to say again, taking a deep breath as he slowly pulled the book out of the bag. As it fully emerged into the air, the metallic smell intensified, filling the entire room and surrounding him. The dark red cover shimmered faintly under the dim light, causing James to feel slightly dizzy.
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