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墨書 Inktalez
The elder sister, who scoffed at the profession of "Tomb Raiding," surprisingly had once explored the "Foreigners' Grave," which left me utterly astonished.
Funeral Feng Shui is an ancient practice of our Chinese ancestors, so what could possibly be extraordinary about the "Foreigners' Grave"? My only impression of it was from movies, depicting a desolate graveyard haunted by crows, where each grave was as plain as a turnip in a hole—nothing remarkable. It couldn't even compare to the mysterious underground world described by Old Qiao, which was on an entirely different level.
Thus, my interest lay not in the "Foreigners' Grave" itself, but rather in the part of my elder sister's life that I had not experienced. I recalled how she had once disguised herself as a Witch, claiming to be "Huang Fuzi." Old Qiao's peers must have been quite skilled; otherwise, how could they have deceived Third Granduncle Master?
Thinking of this made me anxious about my sister's past adventures. I wished I could dive into her mind and see what she had gone through.
She shot me a sideways glance, seemingly guessing that I was comparing her to Old Qiao. She clarified, “Don’t get it twisted; I’m nothing like that guy.”
There was no escaping it; she always seemed to see right through my thoughts. Yet, I felt a surge of delight within me—this was our unique understanding.
While I shared a similar rapport with my junior brother, it felt entirely different from this subtle connection with my sister. No comparison could be made; they were worlds apart.
In high spirits and forgetting my surroundings, I said, “Of course! He’s Tu Fuzi, while you’re a Western scholar. You’re more cosmopolitan than he is rustic.”
She shot me a playful glare and didn’t want to waste any more breath on me. Instead, she continued, “Actually, the 'Foreigners' Grave' isn’t that complicated. It’s just a square coffin shop where the deceased took all their valuables with them. Unlike our ancestors who cared about appearances and had to build several side chambers for burial goods. So, foreigners prefer to raid our tombs while we look down on theirs. Wealthy foreigners often have gold and silver jewelry as burial goods, while poor old men like to feign sophistication by burying paintings they either created or had copied from famous masters. Of course, there are genuine pieces sometimes, but they’re rare and usually acquired through dubious means during their lifetimes. However, these items decay faster than corpses and are practically worthless.”
She paused for a moment before continuing, “I once opened the coffin of a Spanish Missionary that was so poor it made a clinking sound when I touched it. The only noteworthy burial item was a Bible tightly grasped in the hands of the old missionary—it was in such terrible condition. That poor missionary was just a pile of bones. But then I noticed something odd: all his bones were shattered. There was a crack in his skull that ran from the back of his head all the way through to his chin. It struck me as strange. Such fractures looked like he had fallen from a height with his face downwards; however, if that were true, the broken parts should have started at the nose and spread outward without affecting the back of his head. Conversely, if he fell face up from high above, the primary injury would be at the back of his head without any damage to his nose…”
I listened intently and couldn’t help but interject at this point: “Could it be that he fell headfirst, completely upside down?”
The Senior Sister shook her head as she analyzed, "If he had fallen headfirst, his skull should have shattered like a watermelon, breaking into several pieces. How could there only be a single crack?"
I nodded, recalling how Xia had effortlessly split a watermelon with his bare hands; it was indeed true.
She continued, "Just when I was at a loss for answers, that Bible provided me with a clue. I noticed that the missionary's right thumb was completely embedded in the Bible. A not-so-obvious piece of evidence was that there were remnants of Bible paper stuck to the bone of his thumb. If you didn’t look closely, it would be easy to overlook. An ordinary person could hardly grip a three or four-centimeter thick book with just one finger, and as a devout believer—(regarding 'devout,' I initially thought that anyone who would travel across the ocean to become a missionary in China must have the utmost reverence for Jesus. However, I soon realized my understanding of 'devout' was far too simplistic)—in a clear state of mind, he would never treat the Bible with such disrespect. The Bible holds an unparalleled position in the hearts of Christians; it is considered the word of God. Therefore, the only explanation is that this Old Missionary was likely in a state of severe mental distress, possibly enduring some inhuman torment, reacting instinctively without awareness."
Hearing the phrase "inhuman torment," I couldn't help but think of the paintings on the wall, and goosebumps immediately covered my body: "Original sin?"
"Exactly," she replied. "Beneath the Old Missionary's bones, I discovered a piece of human skin that had been specially treated and preserved quite well. On the back of the skin was a drawing made with dove's blood and vermilion ink, depicting a bizarre machine. At first glance, its structure resembled an air pump for bicycles but was much larger and featured a T-shaped tube that could move up and down freely. Below this tube connected a large hemispherical iron cap resembling a motorcycle helmet; embedded along its curved surface was a sharp, curved blade that could slide back and forth in conjunction with the movement of the T-shaped tube. Beneath this machine was a massive iron framework topped with six or seven cylindrical rollers, each embedded with rows of nails pointing upwards, forming rectangles."
"The Executioner would heat the rollers and iron cap through quenching before pouring molten lava over them. The victim only needed to lie flat on the iron frame and fit their head into the hemispherical iron cap. Then, as the Executioner pulled up on the tube, the victim would roll upwards on the rollers along with the iron cap. At this point, their back would be glued to the hot molten material fixed on the iron cylinder, and as their body was pulled upwards, their skin would be brutally torn away. Simultaneously, their head trapped in the iron cap would be subjected to dual pressure from both the cap and blade; over time, it would eventually burst... After enduring this torture, the Old Missionary did not immediately die; instead, his bones were crushed by the rollers until they shattered completely. Even so, he held on to his last breath and endured further suffering in his coffin willingly as penance for washing away original sin, yearning for his soul to be purified."
For a moment, I couldn't find any words to say; my head felt dizzy and heavy.
Suddenly, she spoke again but in an entirely different tone: "However, he cannot be considered a qualified believer; his soul will never find peace after death." (To be continued.)
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