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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter Two
After this sleep, it felt as if he had just returned from a fierce battle. Song Bunan felt like his body had been thrown into a blender and mercilessly whipped, and now, after being reassembled, it hadn’t even been given enough joint lubricant to ease the pain. He rubbed his neck and sat up from an unfamiliar place, looking around in a daze, only to realize he had no idea where he was.
The aftereffects of staying up late left his head pounding, and he could only start recalling the events of last night when he had ventured into the old house on the outskirts of the city. However, the style of this place seemed completely mismatched with that eerie old house.
He was lying on a sofa, with a table in front of him piled high with snack bags. The blanket draped over him was relatively new, carrying a faint scent of jasmine. The room wasn’t large, and due to the cramped arrangement of furniture and various items piled up, it felt quite congested.
As he sat on the sofa trying to remember how he had been chased by that ghost to the safety of the third-floor balcony, Song Bunan suddenly recalled that he had been led here by a boy using a flashlight. After entering the house and wiping his face with a towel, he had lost consciousness.
With this thought, Song Bunan jumped up to check if his body was intact. After feeling around all the places where something might have been taken away and finding nothing missing, he finally relaxed and sat back down. His backpack was tossed beside the sofa; upon opening it and confirming that nothing was lost inside, he began to think that this person must be a good guy.
Just as he was pondering why the boy who helped him escape from the Haunted House was here, he heard footsteps coming from above. Soon after, someone came down the stairs yawning—it was indeed the boy who had shone the light for him last night.
He looked young, wearing light green cotton pajamas, and his hair was tousled as if he had rolled around in bed during the night. Song Bunan noticed that the boy’s expression was already stern when he saw him sitting there; it became even more displeased.
Before he could thank him, the boy complained in a somewhat strange accent: “I’m telling you, are you all crazy? This place is already falling apart; why do you keep coming here to explore? What is it? Hiding my salary?”
Hearing this, Song Bunan opened his mouth to respond but tried several times without success. Finally, after much hesitation, he managed to say: “It’s… I mean ‘people like me’ and ‘here,’ and it should be ‘hiding salary,’ right?”
As soon as he said that, he knew he was in trouble. Sure enough, seeing the boy roll up his sleeves and walk toward him with an unhappy expression made Song Bunan feel even more anxious. “So you’re teaching me how to talk? Hey, do you have some kind of problem? I couldn’t sleep all night because I had to come get you down; now you’re nitpicking my speech! Is it not allowed for outsiders in Ze Li?”
Ducking behind the sofa backrest and using a cushion as cover from an impending slap, Song Bunan stammered: “No, no! I-I just… I’m not used to your accent! Please don’t be angry; I’m sorry…”
With the belief that as long as he apologized quickly, he wouldn't get hit, Song Bunan put down his pillow and performed a standard ninety-degree bow to apologize to the boy. There was silence on the boy's side for about ten seconds, and then Song Bunan could tell from the boy's tone that he had calmed down before slowly straightening up.
"You’re just really annoying," the boy said, yawning again as he plopped down onto a bench by the table. He pulled out a bottle of cola from under the table and gulped down half of it. Once he finished drinking and seemed to be in a better mood, he continued, "So what were you doing in that room? Playing Truth or Dare?"
When asked this, Song Bunan felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. He rubbed his neck and hesitated for a while before answering, "Not really. I came here just to find... an answer."
Song Bunan was someone who rarely dreamed. Throughout his childhood memories, whenever he fell asleep, there was no reaction or dream; upon waking, he had no recollection of any dreams. But whenever he did dream, it would always be about this house.
"Whenever I dream at night, it’s always here. I always enter through the front door, change into slippers right away after stepping inside, ensuring I'm only in my pajamas. Then I go to the study on the first floor to grab a flashlight and open every door inside. In some dreams, I can open many doors; in others, before I even reach the study, I'm swallowed by strange darkness. Initially, I thought it might be due to watching too many forums about this house that caused these bizarre dreams, but since this spring, I've been dreaming about it almost every night."
"I usually jot down these dreams in a notebook, but since my first dream this year, I've gradually been unable to remember what happened in them. Upon waking up, I only have fragmented memories. But what connects them is that I always follow a sequence to open the doors in this house; once opened, it seems like there’s something I need to find and piece together. And starting from the first of this month, after I entered the study and grabbed the flashlight, a voice in my dream told me that I wasn’t truly needed and that coming back might be dangerous."
"Since then, I've still been dreaming, but each time I'm trapped in the study on the first floor. When I searched online for others with similar experiences, I found that they only had two or three dreams like this—not like me with over ten years of continuity. So I decided to take advantage of my graduation break to come here and see what was going on."
Facing this boy he had just met, Song Bunan felt an inexplicable sense of reassurance. He couldn't pinpoint where this feeling came from; it was just that this boy exuded a very safe aura. Perhaps it was because of his appearance; as he spoke these words while glancing at the boy occasionally, he noticed that the boy didn’t spare him any extra glances but kept focused on his phone, tapping away while occasionally responding with an "mm" to show he was listening. It wasn’t until Song Bunan finished speaking that there was a moment of silence before the boy asked, "So how did you get to Ze Li? I patrol outside every evening; why didn’t I see you?"
Taken aback for a moment, Song Bunan quickly recalled how he arrived there yesterday and checked his watch before piecing together a detailed explanation: "I probably got here around five yesterday evening. The car dropped me off at the intersection but wouldn’t take me further inside, so I walked in myself. Once inside, I found it much more dilapidated than in my dreams; however, the layout and arrangement were exactly the same. I went straight to the study. This flashlight was also found in the same spot as in my dream."
He took out the flashlight from his bag and placed it in front of the boy. From the boy's previously indifferent expression, Song Bunan could see some emotion—perhaps confusion but more likely skepticism. He knew it would be hard for anyone to believe him based on what he said alone, so he pulled out another flashlight: "This is one I brought myself; it stopped working after I checked it upon entering the yard."
The boy disassembled both flashlights and examined them carefully before looking up at him with an intense gaze filled with suspicion: "Now tell me in detail why you attracted whatever is inside there."
At this point, Song Bunan suddenly remembered something very important. He hurriedly pulled out his phone and handed it to the boy: "This is easy to explain! I just remembered that since six o'clock yesterday afternoon my phone has had no signal; I haven’t been able to contact my family since then. They must be worried since they can’t reach me... Could I borrow your phone to make a call?"
The expression on the boy's face became animated as he furrowed his brows in disbelief. "No way, Ze Li is only fifty meters away from the signal tower. The signal is super strong, okay? Is there something wrong with your phone?" With that, he reached over and snatched the phone, pressing the power button to light up the screen. At that moment, Song Bunan saw him roll his eyes. Then, after shaking the phone a few times, the boy said in a mocking tone, "Are you an idiot? How could there be a signal if your phone is in airplane mode?"
"Huh?" After taking it back, Song Bunan looked at the little airplane icon in the notification bar at the top of the screen, stuttering in surprise for a while. "This, this, this is airplane mode? I don’t really understand phones. I might have accidentally touched it when I took it out to check the time yesterday, thinking it was a no-signal indicator."
"..." He read the words "Are you an idiot?" on the boy's face and felt embarrassed to say anything more, so he handed the phone back. "How do I turn this off?"
"You really are an idiot."
After calling his younger brother at least fifty times and finally getting through, Song Buxian calmly greeted his somewhat dim-witted brother, Song Bunan, with measured words. The person on the other end sincerely apologized, and he decided to forgive him a little.
As he hung up and prepared to drive to pick someone up, his partner walked in carrying a folder. "Where are you planning to go?"
The folder was red and visibly thick with papers inside. He shot his partner a look that asked if it had to be resolved right now and received an affirmative answer: "Don't even think about running away; they’re pushing hard over there. Tell me where your brother is, and you stay here to work."
Trying to leave work early, Song Buxian couldn’t let his reluctance show on his face. He smiled as he took the folder and handed over the coordinates to his partner. "Bring him here; I’ll go home tonight too. This kid was unreachable all night; he’s going to get an earful when he gets back. By the way, his name is Song Bunan; I’ve informed him of your name, so just go straight there."
Watching his partner leave the office and close the door behind him, Song Buxian maintained a smile on his face but then punched the sofa cushion hard.
"I don’t want to work overtime!"
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