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墨書 Inktalez
On Sunday, Song Bunan sent a message in the group chat saying he wouldn't be going to the hospital today because he had some personal matters to attend to. He suggested they meet early Monday morning at Jiang Family Hospital. Xin Yi didn't respond, but curiosity bubbled within him about what could be so important.
Song Bunan had suddenly decided to visit Mang Mountain on Saturday night. Lying in bed, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The moonlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting a white beam that unsettled him.
This unease stemmed from recent dreams. He hadn't seen the woman in the patient gown at the hospital again; instead, he found himself trapped in Mang Mountain. The dream began with a large tree at the mountain's peak, where the rope binding him was cut, and the talisman meant to attract nameless spirits was burned away, its ashes falling like gray snowflakes from the sky.
There was no moon in the dream; the sky was like a black cloth absorbing all light around it. Yet, a flickering lamp remained in his line of sight, always keeping the same distance as he walked forward.
The lamp guided him down the mountain. The graves that should have scattered around him were now gone, replaced by human figures. Semi-transparent white figures stood amidst the gray snow, their outlines stark against the dark background. They remained motionless; even when Song Bunan approached to observe them, there was no reaction.
Unable to discern their faces from afar, Song Bunan abandoned the idea of communicating with them and continued following the light down the mountain. The gray snow continued to fall, and as he neared the foot of the mountain, the figures on either side dwindled. He felt the temperature drop around him; his breath became visible in the cold air.
Though it was just a dream, it indicated that spirits were nearby. The rapid temperature drop suggested there were quite a few of them present. They bore no malice; these unseen spirits were likely gathering around him, trying to assess the situation. He felt only coldness and no negative emotions at all, indicating these spirits were peaceful.
Recalling his visit to Mang Mountain that day, Song Bunan speculated that this place had been entirely abandoned by those Ghost Messengers from the laboratory. Thus, both past and present spirits could finally appear and seek his help in this manner. His purpose of leaving ropes and talismans on the tree had been fulfilled.
The lamp eventually stopped in front of an abandoned building. He hurried closer and found it resembled a lantern from his shop but larger in size. The familiar patterns on it stirred a sense of recognition, though he couldn't recall where he had seen them before. The lantern ceased moving, allowing him to grasp it for light while sensing many "people" around him.
They still did not reveal themselves or express their needs. Song Bunan gazed into the darkness within the building, realizing he needed to enter.
However, on his first day, he woke up suddenly before reaching it; on the second day, he only made it to the entrance of a circular-roofed house; on the third day, he finally reached a tunnel entrance before being jolted awake again. After three consecutive days of frustration without achieving his goal, he decided to return on Sunday.
He didn’t go back to sleep but quickly grabbed his bag and headed out. By dawn, he had arrived at a pavilion on the front mountain. Sipping milk, he messaged in the group chat; predictably, Xin Yi was the first to reply with a simple "good" and then fell silent.
It seemed they weren't very familiar after all. Song Bunan sniffed and resolved to make more effort to improve his relationship with Xin Yi—at least enough for casual conversations outside of work hours.
Fortunately, it was a cloudy day. The uphill trek was arduous, but the cool breeze brought a refreshing comfort. Song Bunan quickened his pace, reaching the mountaintop just before noon. The rope on the big tree was still there, but the talisman had indeed been burned, its ashes scattered by the wind. He reached out to touch the rope, taking a deep breath to calm his mind and body, hoping to sense something from it.
With the help of Ghost Messenger, which had enhanced his sixth sense, vague figures soon appeared in Song Bunan's mind. Cloaked in black, their shapes were indistinct—these were the Ghost Messengers. This vision confirmed his suspicions: those who had lingered on the mountain had chosen to leave, allowing the long-suppressed spirits to regain their freedom.
After satisfying his hunger and thirst under the tree, he wrapped himself in a small blanket and fell into a deep sleep, an unusual occurrence for him as he rarely dreamed here.
He was awakened by a bird—a glossy-feathered crow that landed in front of him and called out with a hoarse voice. As he yawned and took a sip of water while preparing to fold up his blanket, the crow perched on his shoulder, its shiny black eye watching him intently.
"Thank you, little alarm clock," Song Bunan said, stroking his silky-feathered animal friend with genuine gratitude. The bird accepted his thanks and took off, flapping its wings as it disappeared into the treetops.
It seemed his friends couldn't wait any longer. In high spirits, he hurriedly made his way toward his destination.
Without distractions, even at the foot of the back mountain, his phone had signal. Xiao Mei's messages flooded in—she wanted milk tea but had no one to go with her—causing his phone to vibrate for quite some time. He decided to take a brief rest when he finally spotted the dilapidated building ahead, using the opportunity to recharge.
【I’m at Mang Mountain for work; I can’t be your companion until tomorrow morning.】
【...You’re traveling without me! You’re no longer my good brother!】 Just reading the text made Song Bunan imagine Xiao Mei’s roar.
【Traveling (×) Working (√), I came here with a notebook.】 He snapped photos as proof of his innocence.
【Tui——I’ll spread the word that you’re off traveling instead of working.】
【Go ahead! Pikachu! If you don’t spread it, you’re a dog!】 Song Bunan stuck out his tongue at Xiao Mei in spirit, already picturing how excited she would be when they met tomorrow morning.
Looking up, the light was blocked by the dense canopy of trees, and the surroundings had already slipped into early evening. Song Bunan took out a simple lantern he had made from his bag, lit the candle inside, and held it in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward the building.
The temperature gradually shifted, dropping to a familiar chill. With his excellent night vision, Song Bunan strolled through the tunnel he had not carefully observed last time.
The tunnel's decor was quite simple; every two meters along the arched ceiling hung a high-wattage light bulb, while the walls were adorned with wire boxes painted the same color as the walls, blending almost seamlessly into the darkness. The doors that had been tightly shut during his last visit were now all open, revealing gaps of varying sizes through which darkness spilled out, even more profound than that of the tunnel outside. A few windows were scattered open, looking even more dilapidated than before.
The mats on the ground had been mostly torn apart; someone with poor eyesight might easily trip over them.
The chilling malice that once lingered had completely vanished. Song Bunan strolled deeper into the tunnel, occasionally glancing back to see only an extension of the same scenery fading into darkness. He did not wish to enter those rooms; he felt an instinctive aversion to what lay within, even shying away from getting too close.
The light from his lantern flickered as he ventured further in, its color gradually shifting from orange-red to green. This candle came from Underworld, and green signified that the surrounding spirits were willing to communicate with those who approached. Song Bunan did not stop but walked straight to the end of the tunnel.
There stood a ruined mural.
Colors lay scattered among the debris on the ground; the wall felt as if it had been hacked at with knives and axes. Irregularly sized and varying in depth, wounds marred ninety percent of the artwork, leaving only small fragments barely surviving in between the cuts. Even with light shining closely upon it for careful inspection, he could not discern what was depicted.
Song Bunan knew little about painting; he felt a fleeting sense of regret before dismissing it from his mind. He turned around and sat down on the ground, placing the lantern beside him. He took out a notebook from his backpack and opened it up neatly, raising his gaze to confront the scene before him as he softly said, “Come out.”
Most spirits retained their appearances from life; aside from their transparency, they bore little difference from ordinary people—except for those who intentionally made themselves appear frightening or those who remained in their most tragic forms due to their horrific deaths. Having encountered all types of spirits before, Song Bunan would not be afraid even if one crawled toward him holding its own head.
Before him appeared numerous souls clad in Patient Gowns, evenly distributed among men and women of all ages in a line. Among them were also several individuals dressed in Mighty Falcon uniforms. Song Bunan raised an eyebrow and waved for those few to come closer.
“Just died?” he asked curiously. The spirits looked at him with vacant eyes and slowly nodded.
Song Bunan asked all the questions he was curious about, and the several ghosts answered him earnestly. The other old spirits, who were clearly accustomed to their spectral state, leaned in to listen quietly, occasionally urging them to speak faster.
Their date of death was revealed the day after the problem arose within Mighty Falcon. Song Bunan used his imagination to almost reconstruct the situation they had encountered on the spot.
"You were killed by your own people. Those individuals are connected to the laboratory and used you for experiments right here, but it failed." His conclusion was met with agreement, as several ghosts nodded in unison, affirming that he was correct.
"No wonder," Song Bunan chuckled. "No wonder those Ghost Messengers chose to leave." Hearing his murmurs, a ghost approached him to inquire about what he meant.
"When I came here last time, I could feel you around but at a distance, as if something was keeping you confined. The Guiding Soul Rope and talismans left on the mountaintop weren't used by you until after the people from Mighty Falcon died here. Only then could I sense your summons, being called in my dreams several times. The failure of their experiments means this place can no longer be used; staying here is just a waste of time."
"I was wondering why they built the laboratory here. Now it makes sense; there are so many graves in this mountain and countless Wandering Soul. Whether for experiments or cover-ups, it's an excellent location. With the assistance of those Ghost Messengers, the souls of the murdered individuals are trapped here and won't be noticed by those below for some time."
"What a scheme," Song Bunan scoffed. He looked at all the ghosts and tore a piece of paper from his notebook. Using a brush dipped in Vermilion Ink, he drew a symbol on it. "Your requests can only be reported below; this is a locating talisman. Once burned, a competent Ghost Messenger will come here to take you away. If anyone doesn't want to leave, just exit this building. I can't help you much more; I can only continue investigating the laboratory matters in hopes of finding a resolution."
The ghosts gathered here were mostly those harmed by the laboratory. After Song Bunan finished speaking, they began to move. A few young ones disappeared without hesitation, while some older ones approached him, chattering about what items they wanted him to pack and burn for them.
"Alright," Song Bunan replied cheerfully. He had them line up to express their requests while he wrote them down in his notebook. "As for the few from Mighty Falcon, will you be going down or returning?"
Hearing this, several shook their heads gently and vanished before everyone's eyes.
"Those young ones must be quite reluctant," lamented an elder spirit.
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