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墨書 Inktalez
Blood dripped from the old man's throat onto the porcelain jar of Loquat Syrup, while Shen Yan's prosthetic limb joints emitted a grinding sound as if gears were stuck. The Second Mistress suddenly grabbed a blood-stained swaddling cloth and stuffed it into her mouth, chewing with a guttural whimper reminiscent of a wild beast.
"Back then, you were just like this, mother..." The old man's jade ring suddenly revealed an old scar that resembled a blade, "It's a pity she thought she was still a child until her death!"
I clutched the tattered letter and retreated to the side of the antique shelf, the glass lamp casting a distorted reflection of the Second Mistress—she was using silver scissors to cut open her qipao, revealing her abdomen, which twisted like a centipede. When Shen Yan's dagger pierced the old man's shoulder blade, I clearly saw within that scar the bluish-purple fingers of an infant.
"Yan'er, be careful!"
The Second Mistress's scream mingled with the sound of shattering porcelain. The old man suddenly tore open his outer garment, revealing a tattoo over his heart that coincided with the date on the tattered letter in my sleeve. Shen Yan's pupils constricted as he recognized that it was indeed the death anniversary of Birth Mother Qin Wanyun.
"The Twin Sons' life-exchange technique has become..." The old man laughed madly, coughing up clots of blood, "Using your mother's blood to prolong life, using your legs to suppress it—now it should be this girl’s turn—"
As the blade flashed by, I felt a sudden pain in my neck. Shen Yan's cloak wrapped around me as we crashed through the window frame; the Second Mistress was stabbed in his right shoulder, droplets of blood splattering onto my bare chest and forming lotus shapes. When the Watchman struck the fifth watch, we rolled into the indigo dye vat of the Dye House, his blood turning an eerie shade of deep purple.
For seven days thereafter, Shen Mansion closed its doors to visitors. I curled up in the bed in the west wing, listening to the chanting outside—the Second Mistress had invited ninety-nine monks to pray for that severed infant finger.
On the seventh evening, the Second Mistress entered with a medicine bowl. The peony tattoo on her newly inked collarbone was infused with medicinal fragrance, but at its center was a character for "inkstone."
"Yan'er personally prepared this Loquat Syrup." She scooped up a spoonful of amber liquid, "He said you were staring at her bite marks on her thumb at night—they perfectly matched the teeth imprints on Shen Yan's wheelchair armrest. At that moment, the chanting outside reached its peak; the Second Mistress suddenly tore open her clothing, revealing her breasts covered in purple-red bruises: 'When that child bit someone, it was exactly like when Yan'er was little.'"
As the prayer beads scattered, I caught sight of blood-stained satin in the corner. Last night, Shen Yan had used this very fabric to wrap Lecherous Scoundrel's severed hand before dragging it into the Dye Vat through the side gate.
When Shen Yan's blade sliced through the third lantern, I caught a whiff of rust mixed with blood. The Second Mistress’s newly changed crimson qipao brushed against the bloodied satin; silver scissors were positioned at her lower back—amidst the chaos earlier, it was this weapon that had cut my belt.
"You little vixen." Lecherous Scoundrel's severed hand still twitched; as he coughed up blood before losing consciousness, he spat out words that dripped with malice: "How many have you nursed...?"
As Shen Yan's prosthetic limb crushed his throat, I clearly heard the sound of a baby's cry emanating from the metal joints. That sound was identical to the wails of the fetal corpse in the ancestral hall, sending shivers through my body.
"Close your eyes." When Shen Yan's cloak wrapped around me, it brushed against my skin. The metallic scent suddenly thickened—splinters from his severed leg pierced the fabric, leaving lotus-shaped bloodstains on the inner side of my thigh.
The Second Mistress's fan suddenly blocked my view. Her freshly curled hair fell over Shen Yan's shoulder as she traced her finger along his Adam's apple. "Yan'er, how fortuitous that you’ve come. Did you perhaps attach a bell to yourself?"
It was then I noticed that at the slit of her qipao, she had tied a silver ribbon that swayed to the tune of "You Yuan Jing Meng." This melody was favored by his birth mother. As I washed the bloodstains from my chest by the well, the shadow of a copper basin suddenly appeared. He was disassembling his prosthetic limb, the metal joints soaking in blood, emitting an eerie blue glow.
"They weren't wrong," he said, suddenly gripping my nape and forcing me to look into the well. "You are indeed serving both father and son at once."
Strips of torn fabric floating at the bottom of the well suddenly wrapped around my wrist, embroidered with the character "Qin." As I struggled, my collar opened, revealing a vermilion birthmark on my chest—exactly where it appeared in Shen Yan's birth mother's portrait.
Shen Yan's breathing grew heavy. His remaining limb pushed against my knees, and bloodied bandages tightened around my neck. "Do you know why your father keeps you? Because your blood can alleviate..." A sudden crash echoed from the front hall as porcelain shattered. When we rushed in, we saw the Second Mistress using silver scissors to slice open her freshly tailored white blouse, covered in fresh bite marks. "Yan'er, look! This peony embroidery resembles those on the coffin..."
As Shen Yan's body trembled, she stepped back, her bleeding neck retreating as she accidentally stepped on a padlock that led into Shen Mansion that day.
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