Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
What is it like to witness a celestial battle up close?
The answer is: heart-pounding fear, worried that the chaos might spill over onto oneself.
He couldn't understand how Song Bunan, who had been chatting casually with the newcomer outside, suddenly found himself in a fight. The sound of furniture being shoved around echoed loudly, punctuated by the occasional crash of something heavy hitting the ground or slamming against the wall.
The kitchen was nearly as long as the main hall, and Song Bunan had thoughtfully designed shelves to hold various spices, neatly categorized for easy access. One could simply look up the code to find what they needed.
However, this design flaw became apparent now; the only safe corner for his boss to hide from the chaos was next to a shelf, his face twisted in worry as he crouched there. The rattling of jars above him felt more dangerous than the commotion outside.
“Bunan...” his boss sighed dramatically, “What on earth have you angered recently? Ugh... cough cough...” A bottle of soy sauce toppled over, its cap not tightened properly, spilling its contents all over his face, the bitter saltiness exploding in his mouth.
Song Bunan had no idea why this person had suddenly turned into a parkour expert in his shop, moving with the agility of a monkey, leaping and bounding even off the walls to evade capture.
The walls of Bunan's little shop were painted by his own hands and carefully maintained for nearly a decade; he wouldn’t even squash a bug on them for fear of leaving a mark. Now, however, they were marred with shoe prints, even on the beams above.
He rarely felt anger. After all, many emotions provided him with some positive feedback; even sadness offered unique insights. But anger made him uncomfortable, making his insides churn.
Yet when he saw those shoe prints, an overwhelming rage surged from his feet to the top of his head, leaving only an endless buzzing in his ears. He abandoned the chase and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. He forced a smile at his boss crouching in the corner and mouthed "Don't worry."
Now was his moment to hunt.
The newcomer ran with professional precision; their right hand stayed close to their pants seam. From the curve of their pocket, it was clear they were armed. But they remained silent, their frail body revealing familiar wounds on exposed skin. As they ran, their hat fell off, revealing vacant eyes that mirrored those of someone under control.
Indeed, they were from the lab. Song Bunan adjusted his stiff neck due to an awkward posture as the sounds of chaos faded away. He stepped slowly toward the counter and retrieved a long knife from behind the bar.
Though merely a decorative piece, facing this individual meant that as long as they didn’t pull out a Gatling gun from their pocket, he could win. “I don’t know who you are,” Song Bunan said while catching a glimpse of his fierce expression reflected on the blade—one that would earn him scolding for being impolite at home.
Before the chase began, he had tried to engage them in conversation about poetry and philosophy of life, even sharing insights about running a shop. Unfortunately, they just stood there without uttering a single syllable.
His dry throat led him to abandon curiosity and reach for a cup of water first. The mere act seemed to trigger them; without a word, they bolted away. Instinctively following their footsteps and trying to catch them to protect his precious shelves turned Song Bunan’s small shop into a chaotic chase scene lasting over ten minutes.
Song Bunan could swear that at first he only felt exhaustion; however, upon seeing his walls desecrated, all that remained was boundless fury and murderous intent.
The other party clearly sensed his shift in attitude as well; their stance changed from one of readiness to defense. They faced each other like cowboys ready for a duel across a table smeared with dust and shoe prints, each gripping their weapon tightly and prepared to strike at any moment.
The other party seemed to be waiting for an opportunity, their gaze fixed on his movements, their posture hunched like a poised leopard ready to pounce. Song Bunan disliked this kind of battle; both sides were merely waiting for the other to reveal a so-called flaw. But true strength does not leave room for flaws simply because one has the initiative.
As he discarded the scabbard, he stepped onto a stool and lunged at his opponent. In close combat, not revealing one’s weapon would be the gravest mistake.
Indeed, the other person could not smoothly draw their weapon from their pocket to counterattack and had to dodge instead. It was only when his next strike was upon them that they managed to pull out their own weapon.
It was a short dagger, its handle wrapped in frayed cloth that had mostly decayed, and the blade was severely rusted with visible damage, faint remnants of a pattern that once adorned it.
That pattern was something he could never forget.
The knife that was meant to cleave the opponent's skull veered off to the side and struck the nearby table with a thud, embedding itself deep into the wood. The opponent held onto the hilt, still in a defensive stance. Song Bunan met their gaze and spoke deliberately:
“Multi-City Alliance annihilation of Stealth Team member, report your code name.”
Xin Yi had tidied up his home somewhat, organizing a small bag of essentials for himself while tossing miscellaneous items from the living room into the storage room. Looking at the gray, unadorned house, he realized he had never thought to renovate it over the years to make it look more like a home.
Fortunately, Song Bunan's house resembled what he imagined a "home" would be like. He picked up his small bag and checked the time, planning to head directly to the village to pick someone up.
It was just before dusk as he traveled, watching the sun slowly set. The sky was a brilliant blend of orange and lavender hues—an exquisite sight he had seen countless times yet never truly appreciated.
“Go observe nature.” This was something Song Bunan had told him. In those first two days at the hospital dormitory, they hadn’t discussed anything about missions; they merely chatted about life habits in a casual manner. Compared to Song Bunan’s interests, his own life felt stagnant—like still water that wouldn’t ripple even if hail fell into it.
The person lying in the adjacent bed remained silent for quite some time after hearing this. Just when Xin Yi thought they had fallen asleep, Song Bunan spoke again: “Go observe nature. If you’re human yet uninterested in what humanity has created, then you will surely appreciate what nature has crafted for humanity—trees, flowers, birds, fish, insects, sun and moon—these are all repetitive yet unique.”
At that moment, Xin Yi thought Song Bunan’s thoughts on this matter were quite lively. However, it wasn’t until the next day when he instinctively looked toward the rising sun that the word "beauty" took on its most vivid form in his mind.
Behind him lay a dark sky while ahead, the horizon gradually brightened; light streamed like countless birds flying through the blue night sky toward another side. Perhaps due to Song Bunan's psychological suggestion, he realized he might indeed come to love nature. Had he never noticed it before because he hadn’t met him? Xin Yi couldn’t understand.
“Where are you?” Just before reaching the village, his phone suddenly rang with a call from his boss. Upon answering, he could tell from their tone that something was off. “The captain said you were collaborating with that little mystic; are you still together or have you separated?”
“I’m about to find him; what’s going on?” Xin Yi wondered why his boss suddenly asked about this. Before he could get an explanation, his boss continued speaking from the other end: “The captain and I are tracking down personnel who escaped from the lab. He said your trip to the hospital is already known by upper management at the lab and that they intend to retaliate since you killed an important figure. Your whereabouts have been swept away from our clues; those people should be looking for Song Bunan now.”
Xin Yi frowned and asked the boss how many people they were dealing with, while hastening towards Bunan's shop. "I'm not sure. The ones who escaped from the lab are just minor characters. They have some information, but it's not detailed. I called you to support him; we can discuss the rest later."
As he hung up, he could see the outline of the shop in the dilapidated village. He hurriedly got out of the car but couldn't push the door open. Peering through a gap, he found the interior in disarray—broken tables and chairs littered the floor, with one table blocking the entrance.
He called but received no answer. Pressing his ear against the door, he could faintly hear Song Bunan's phone ringing from somewhere deep inside. Turning to head for the back door, he noticed it was wide open, and there stood Song Bunan in front of a lit fire, a lifeless body sprawled at his feet.
The man had a rusty dagger plunged into his chest, his neck twisted at an odd angle, eyes wide open and lifeless, staring at Song Bunan. The person who had left wearing light-colored clothes was now covered in blood, his glasses missing, and a faint red mark streaked across his face.
"Are you okay?" Xin Yi's throat felt dry as he instinctively crouched down to examine the corpse. Judging by appearances, the man couldn't be over thirty years old, standing about six feet tall, with numerous wounds on his emaciated body. A tag was strung at his tailbone, starting with a capital T.
"He's from the lab," Song Bunan said, tilting his head as he watched Xin Yi inspect the body, a hint of anger in his tone. Meeting those bright eyes made Xin Yi curious about what he would say next. "He dirtied my wall and wrecked my table. It's infuriating."
"So you killed him?" Xin Yi stood up and noticed that what burned in the fire wasn't paper like before but rather broken furniture. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood mixed with gasoline.
The questioned party suddenly became agitated, vehemently recounting the other's misdeeds—from his silent arrival to scaling walls and smashing tables in the shop—leaving no detail unmentioned, including the Paper Fire Shop owner affected in the kitchen and the shattered spices.
"Of course I admit that I caused the injury on his neck, but I didn't stab him in the chest," Xin Yi knew his expression must have shown disbelief. Seeing this, Song Bunan raised his hand in an oath, insisting that he broke the man's neck purely in self-defense. "I couldn't let him stab me for real."
Noticing Song Bunan's unmistakable guilty expression, Xin Yi sighed helplessly and asked how they were going to deal with the body.
"Burn it! You don't think this big pit is only for burning paper, do you?"
Comment 0 Comment Count