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墨書 Inktalez
It was another beautiful day.
The sky, washed clean by water, had a few wispy clouds drifting by, and the sunlight bathed the entire city in a warm glow. Song Bunan stood by the window, gazing at the scenery outside while sipping his hot tea absentmindedly. The light bitterness slid down his throat, while the fragrant aroma surged through his nostrils, dispelling the fatigue of waking from a long sleep and filling him with boundless energy.
Rarely, he was awake before Xin Yi.
When he opened his eyes, the man beside him was still asleep, seemingly trapped in a bad dream. His brows were tightly knitted, and he wore a pained expression, even clenching his fists as if unwilling to let go. Song Bunan tried to pry open those tightly held hands but found himself unable to succeed. He didn’t attempt to wake him; instead, he took the advice of their brothers in the group chat and let him rest.
At eight in the morning—a time when he rarely opened his eyes after work—early to bed and early to rise was merely a phrase echoed by his parents and brother. It was difficult to put into practice. Yet here he was, standing on the balcony, sipping freshly brewed tea and contemplating what lay ahead.
The motives behind the laboratory were no longer as simple as helping a few Ghost Messengers find their bodies; they had nurtured their own ambitions in the shadows. Perhaps from the very beginning, the so-called method of achieving immortality was just a facade.
From the old documents he had obtained, it appeared that the family that vanished due to the emergence of Mighty Falcon was key to understanding everything. Based on the information at hand, it could be confirmed that it was indeed the Gu Family. However, he had been too young when that family fell, and there had been little opportunity for his family to connect with those in the city. The rumors he had heard were merely from Lin Mo Hui. Thus, it seemed that now he could only seek relevant information from the Jiang Family and Lin Mo Hui.
Without hesitation, Song Bunan headed to his study, opened his computer, and sent messages to both parties. While waiting for replies, he began searching online for clues about that incident from years ago.
Rongcheng was not an ancient city; it had been established less than two hundred years ago and initially served as an industrial area for coal mining. Thanks to its relatively short history, many things had not been lost through oral transmission. The transformation of this place into a city just a few decades ago was still fresh in people's memories; at least online records detailed its progress down to specific months.
He filtered for modern information and searched for details about Mighty Falcon's relocation here but found that any information related to Mighty Falcon during this period had been thoroughly altered. Every entry led only to the organization’s chronology without mentioning past events at all. Furthermore, anything concerning the Gu Family had been completely erased as if they had never existed.
This was abnormal. Leaning back in his chair and staring at the screen before him, Song Bunan could only conclude that someone was deliberately concealing these facts. But who would want to hide this information?
Was it those families involved in striking against the Gu Family? Did they wish to erase traces of their past so that future generations would remain unaware? If it were Mighty Falcon, did they erase this memory out of fear of retribution or simply to cover up their tracks? Or perhaps it was survivors from that family who chose to do so themselves to avoid reliving their painful history repeatedly? Yet when the laboratory had been publicly destroyed, weren’t those involved still alive as descendants of the Gu Family?
As no replies came from his messages, Song Bunan reluctantly tried various keywords again but found no clues at all. He slumped back in his chair, feeling defeated.
Clearly, even the materials found in dark rooms were incomplete. Important information had been deliberately omitted from simple summaries, leaving them with events but no knowledge of who participated in them. For instance, who had brought Mighty Falcon to Rongcheng?
Though Song Bunan occasionally engaged in selling intelligence, he despised these incomplete leads that felt like riddles without answers. Remembering such things made him feel like a cat tangled in yarn; the more anxious he became trying to untangle himself by pulling at threads, the tighter he became ensnared—after several rounds of this struggle, only he ended up hurt.
In moments like these, he would fall into self-doubt, wondering if it was due to not caring enough or perhaps caring too much that caused him to miss out on usable clues.
He was in a state of inner turmoil, his mind battling over whether he had missed any crucial details, while his hands and eyes continued to surf the internet in search of anything useful.
Suddenly, the dryness and soreness from prolonged use of electronic devices extinguished the excitement he felt upon waking to hot tea. Sitting at the computer, even typing felt like a monumental task, his fingers heavy as if weighed down by a thousand pounds. Frustration began to rise within him after countless mismatched titles and content, ignited by the sunlight streaming into the study.
He slammed his hand on the desk, decisively leaving the room to escape his troubles. Returning to the balcony with his teacup, he realized that the tea had gone cold. Meanwhile, the person in the bedroom remained asleep, undisturbed by his movements. Fortunately, their brow had relaxed, and they appeared much more at peace.
Perhaps they were no longer plagued by nightmares, Song Bunan thought, feeling a slight lift in his mood.
The clock had already ticked past eleven. He poured out the cold tea and headed into the kitchen, deciding that if lunch was ready before the other person woke up, he would wake them so they could eat before going back to sleep. The refrigerator still held food they had bought together that morning; with minimal preparation, it would make for a hearty lunch. Song Bunan hummed as he worked in the kitchen, attempting to dispel his earlier displeasure through cooking.
The aroma of food suddenly reminded him of his empty stomach after a morning spent searching for clues without eating. His belly growled loudly enough that even with the range hood on while he cooked, he could hear it protesting. Perhaps his earlier outburst was simply due to hunger; he concluded this with certainty.
His phone vibrated lightly—nothing serious, he thought—so Song Bunan decided to finish cooking before replying. However, before he could get even one dish out of the pan, a barrage of notifications from a small square device demanded his attention. The dishes were left in the pan as he picked up his phone to find dozens of messages from Lin Mo Hui.
All of them contained photos of paper documents, yellowed pages showing signs of wear that vaguely related to several families from years past. Not wanting to strain his eyes further, he decided to call her directly and bluntly asked if she had the originals. If she did, he would go pick them up in the afternoon.
On the other end of the line, the woman let out a low chuckle that didn’t sound like her usual cheerful self. She only stopped laughing when it became unsettling for him. Cautiously, he asked what was wrong and why her laughter felt so eerie.
“This is my father’s diary; I just found it among his belongings. You’d better come over tonight; I have a story to tell you.”
A story? After hanging up, Song Bunan felt an ominous premonition settle in his chest. Considering Lin Mo Hui's usual demeanor, he suspected this story would be closely tied to his current investigation and might even overturn some truths.
Should he bring Xin Yi along tonight? He peeked into the bedroom and saw the man sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing at him with an intense look. This startled Song Bunan, who quickly withdrew his head and bumped into the door frame. Rubbing his sore cheek, he felt an embarrassing sense of being caught in wrongdoing wash over him.
His phone usually blared calls at full volume; Lin Mo Hui's voice must have echoed throughout the room. Judging by Xin Yi's expression, it was clear he had been awake for some time and had heard everything.
Cautiously peeking back around the corner, Song Bunan asked how much Xin Yi had heard. The man was changing clothes and replied without turning around: “Everything.”
“So are you coming with me tonight? To Sister Lin’s restaurant,” Song Bunan stepped closer to help adjust Xin Yi’s collar while unexpectedly still holding a spatula. Xin Yi returned to his usual calm demeanor as he fastened his buttons and headed toward the bathroom. He casually mentioned that he needed to meet with their boss first and would join later once that was done.
Curious about what business he had with their boss, Song Bunan glanced at Xin Yi’s phone when it was handed over to him. The message interface displayed a text from someone saying: “I found all your information at Mighty Falcon; come pick it up tonight but don’t come back.”
He felt his eyelids twitch involuntarily at the words "Don't come back," and instinctively glanced at the other person's expression. To his surprise, they appeared far more composed, calmly brushing their teeth while also worrying about the situation in the kitchen.
Could sleeping for just one night really restore him to his previous state so effectively? He couldn't help but keep this thought in mind, planning to discuss it with a few brothers later, as yesterday's performance from Xin Yi indicated that his current hysterical outbursts would actually be a reassuring reaction.
"I should finish earlier than you tonight. Send me your location when you're done, and I'll pick you up," the person who had finished washing up and returned to cooking said, causing Song Bunan's hair to stand on end. Ignoring whether he could cook or not, he grabbed his phone and started typing frantically in the group chat, expressing his suspicion that Xin Yi was driving him crazy.
However, no one responded to him; only Xin Yi approached with a bowl of rice, asking if he wanted a full bowl or half.
Song Bunan maintained a calm facade, but inside he was dancing in despair, wanting to grab the other’s collar and demand answers—how could they remain so unflappable? How could they not even vent their frustrations?
But he didn’t dare. At that moment, regardless of what state Xin Yi was in, he couldn’t afford to rub salt into the wound. Frustrated, Song Bunan collapsed onto the bed, tangling his hair into a mess and angrily tearing at Xin Yi's pajamas that lay on the bed.
"That's new," Xin Yi said suddenly, coming over to rescue the pajamas from his grasp. With an expression that seemed to see through the world’s troubles, he met Song Bunan's gaze and assured him that he currently had no negative emotions at all and that he should not worry.
This explanation was no different from saying nothing at all. Song Bunan felt speechless. Yet if anyone else were present to witness their emotional states at that moment, they would undoubtedly conclude that Song Bunan was the one struggling and on the verge of collapse, never suspecting anything of Xin Yi.
With a sigh, Song Bunan released the pajamas and said, "Well, it is what it is. Let’s eat first."
"You woke up quite early today," Xin Yi suddenly asked during the otherwise quiet meal, prompting Song Bunan to look up at him. With his mouth full of rice, he mumbled that he had slept soundly last night and woke up well-rested.
"Bunan," Xin Yi said seriously as he picked up a piece of green vegetable for him. "I've decided to leave Mighty Falcon."
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