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墨書 Inktalez
As Lin Xueyao's diamond-studded nails dug into my wrist, the entire building suddenly lost power. The emergency lights sliced through her tear stains, resembling the tampered marks on a financial statement, while the lingering scent of Chanel No. 5 intertwined with the ashes drifting from the air conditioning vents.
"Mo Mo, can we forget those mistakes?" Her voice dripped with a sweetness five times too thick, as her lambskin-heeled shoes precisely crushed the blind spots hidden in my shadow. The bubbling sound from the water cooler at the end of the corridor overlapped with the noise from yesterday evening when she slipped something into my coffee cup.
I adjusted my glasses, the lenses reflecting the recording pen concealed in her armpit bag. The click of a carbon pen punctuated the remnants of a paper shredder as she stumbled and fell into a swivel chair with replaced parts, her skirt tearing in a way that perfectly mirrored the creases of the bid document I had destroyed last week.
"Three years ago, during the typhoon..." A mark on her collarbone suddenly oozed rose gold; I recognized it as the color of the stolen gilded seal ink from the finance department. As I pushed open the window, a gust from the twenty-ninth floor whipped her stray hair, with tips still holding onto ash particles from Manager Wang's office cigar.
Rip—
Her stockings tore open seven seams on the sharp edge of the filing cabinet, corresponding to the seven violations I had mentally noted during last week's meeting. I bent down to pick up a pearl button that had flown off, my fingertip brushing against a microchip embedded within it; hexadecimal codes flickered, revealing the email key she had sent to competitors.
"A Mo, if you don't forgive me, I'll jump off the rooftop!" She clung to the fire door like a line graph lost in financial data, her gesture of pressing a utility knife against her throat overlapping with last year's surveillance footage of a cashier who had committed suicide by swallowing gold. I undid the third button of my shirt, exposing scars from skin graft surgery; last year’s lip print still lingered on the corner of her critical illness notice when she had covered her mouth while laughing.
The exhaust fan suddenly exploded, its spinning blades severing three strands of her hair. As the sound of falling echoed seven times in the elevator shaft, I reached out to catch her slipping Hermès scarf, where an unusual cash flow code shimmered within its iris pattern.
"The third compartment of safe number eight." Her suddenly lowered voice cut through the pervasive scent of perfume, and as her manicured fingers pried open my cufflink, it shattered any remaining warmth of disguise. Amidst the mechanical clicks of the safe’s rotation, I heard the alarm sound waves from when my mother passed away at seventeen.
The fire extinguisher crashed to the ground, foam surging around her raised engagement ring. The laser engraving on its platinum inner circle stung my retina; it was a modified will’s notarization number. I pulled out my pen and flicked it, causing ink droplets to explode in mid-air, splattering across walls to spell out money laundering routes for overseas accounts.
"Manager Shen should take his medication."
Wang Mingyuan appeared suddenly with a health pot in hand, goji berries floating in boiling water forming patterns resembling those of the Commercial Crime Investigation Division's badge. He tapped his fingers against water droplets condensed on the cup's wall; instantly, an ant colony on the windowsill arranged itself into a power distribution map among various factions of the board.
I twisted open a pill bottle and poured out three white tablets; reflections on their foil backs showed screenshots of her chats with behind-the-scenes masterminds. As I swallowed them, my Adam's apple rolled painfully down my throat like I was choking on that engagement ring box she had thrown at me four years ago during a stormy night.
The floor broadcast suddenly blared with the fire drill alarm, and she seized the opportunity to press her lips against my second button. Beneath the rose-colored remnants, exclusive ink from the anti-theft printer began to seep out, slowly revealing the encrypted watermark of next quarter's investment plan. My fingers brushed against the old pocket watch in the inner pocket of my suit, and the crack in my mother's black and white photo perfectly bisected her pupil at that moment.
The entire glass curtain wall shattered with a resounding crash, and a fierce wind swept in, carrying with it a torrent of numbers from the capital market. As Lin Xueyao screamed and fell into my arms, I caught the scent of cold sweat rising from the nape of her neck—eerily reminiscent of the burnt smell when a short-selling report was incinerated.
"You have twelve unread will verification emails." As those words sliced through the stagnant air, the countdown for the database's automatic destruction program flickered a red light in her pupils. I tucked her scattered hair behind her ear, and the sharp end of a hairpin pierced my skin, drawing a bead of blood that matched the biological information from the last contact with the Ministry of Justice's missing seal.
At that moment, as an overload alarm blared from the elevator cabin, Wang Mingyuan's hand gripping the Zisha teapot suddenly bulged with veins. The Pu'er tea leaves at the bottom formed a crimson character for "decapitate," while water stains twisted into the final frame of my mother's ward monitoring before it was deleted.
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