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墨書 Inktalez
Song Bunan had no idea how he ended up here. His memory lingered in the Jiang Family's restaurant, where he expected to see Uncle Meng's delicious dishes, not this bare room with its simple tables and chairs.
Before heading to the restaurant, he had been holding hands with his good friends Shui Su and Xiao Mei, who suggested they change clothes before eating. They told him to wait for a moment while they went to check what Uncle Meng had prepared that day. Xiao Mei even insisted on making him a cup of green tea. When he arrived, he found Uncle Meng bustling around in the kitchen, briefly handing him a cup and some tea leaves before returning to his work. Being considerate, he sat quietly in a corner, watching the tea leaves swirl in the cup. The day after parting ways with Brother Xinyi, he found himself missing him, wanting to visit Gu Family Courtyard and team up to give every fool in the lab a good beating.
Amidst his nostalgia, an unfamiliar member of the Jiang Family approached him with a cheerful greeting. "Bunan! Come here! I just discovered some new snacks; there’s a long line for them—try some!" Unable to refuse the warm invitation and seeing how appealing the box of snacks looked, Song Bunan exchanged it for the cup of tea he had prepared and popped a lotus-shaped pastry into his mouth.
And then everything went dark.
Had he been set up? The fatigue in his body hadn’t faded yet, and he felt uncomfortable with constant yawns. The windows were open, but they were at least three meters away from him. He couldn't see where the door was; the layout of the room was strange, not resembling any normal place.
He searched through his pockets but found no sign of his phone. All he could do was sit on a comfortable chair and reflect on whether he had offended anyone recently. Thoughts drifted from The Mortal Realm to Underworld, from Rongcheng to the outskirts, and then from his home to the now-defunct Mighty Falcon. He mentally listed at least a hundred people who might have reasons to target him. He grimaced at the bitter taste in his mouth from thirst, trying to determine where exactly he was.
It had to be one of the rooms in Gu Family Courtyard.
Outside, chaos reigned; shouts, gunfire, and sounds of fighting filled the air as if countless people were running around. Occasionally, heavy objects would crash to the ground. The only places in Rongcheng that could be this chaotic were probably Gu Family Old Residence or a busy market.
He closed his eyes in the dim light to rest and forced himself to recharge mentally. After gathering his strength, he stacked some tables and chairs to create a makeshift staircase leading up to the window. As he wobbled atop it and peered outside, Song Bunan couldn’t help but gasp.
The scene outside was far more brutal than he had imagined. Uniformed individuals were being chased by those clad in Patient Gowns; some who were slower were caught and had their necks snapped without even a chance to struggle—an appalling sight.
He quickly withdrew his head and crouched down in a spot where he wouldn’t be seen, deciding it was safer to stay hidden for now. Although he felt confident about escaping unharmed from this place, facing so many mindless human-killing weapons produced by laboratories made him uneasy.
Song Bunan tiptoed down the makeshift staircase and grabbed a sturdy leg from one of the tables, tucking it into his waistband as he focused intently on searching for an exit while contemplating strategies for how to defend himself if someone attacked unexpectedly.
It was already evening; if he recalled correctly, it had only been midday when he went to the restaurant. This meant that whatever drug they had used on him was potent enough to keep him asleep all afternoon. Soon it would be nearly a full day since Xin Yi and the others arrived here. As Song Bunan searched for clues, he wondered how many survivors could possibly remain amidst such fierce attacks.
The walls were completely sealed off. After circling around them without finding any gaps or openings, he noted how smoothly plastered they were. Using what little light there was, he examined them closely; aside from that window, there seemed to be no possibility of opening anything else. With nothing above him either, it seemed like going down was his only option.
The sunset came quickly, and with the loss of light, the room grew darker by the second. Song Bunan hurriedly crawled on the ground, searching for an exit. Finally, just as darkness enveloped everything, he felt an unusual protrusion.
The entire room was cylindrical, with a round ceiling and straight walls devoid of any light fixtures. The concrete encased the interior space, casting a gloomy and oppressive atmosphere. As he fumbled around, he moved the tables and chairs to the other side where nothing seemed amiss. Using his good night vision, he got closer to the ground and carefully examined the protrusion he had found. In a strange angle, he finally felt a faint breeze brushing against his face.
The protrusion was immovable. He struck it repeatedly with a table leg but saw no change; even when he pounded at the spot where the breeze came from, all he managed to do was chip away some concrete debris. It was a one-way door. Sitting on the ground, Song Bunan began to feel frustrated with the thought processes of those in this laboratory.
They were like leeches clinging to him—impossible to shake off or tear away. Despite his efforts to avoid them, he still found himself entangled. Now stripped of his gear and relying solely on tables and chairs to carve out a path for survival seemed nearly impossible.
He was so hungry. The cold floor made his backside ache, so he shifted to a chair and leaned over the table, feeling his empty stomach gnawing at him painfully. When idle, his mind raced with thoughts of what he desperately needed but didn’t have. Rationality urged him to come up with an actionable plan, yet his brain joyfully listed food items to emphasize his discomfort.
The dual assault of reason and hunger drove Song Bunan to a breaking point. Suddenly, he sprang up in the center of the room and shouted in frustration, trying to attract any attention towards himself. He no longer cared whether it was those in patient gowns or uniforms outside; as long as someone alive came through, he could trade that person’s life for his own escape. Others’ flesh might be unappetizing, but in this situation, it would suffice for survival.
After his outburst subsided, he slumped back into the chair, feeling defeated. The energy spent on madness drained him more than remaining still; now he felt even hungrier.
He longed for cookies, chocolate milk, and a slice of cream bread sprinkled with coconut flakes… Song Bunan closed his eyes and wished that when he opened them again, those foods would be laid out before him. Ideally, he’d also escape this hellhole—any prison with a bathroom would do.
“Click—” A faint sound of machinery became strikingly clear at that moment. Song Bunan’s eyes shot open as he held his breath and gripped the wooden stick tightly, positioning himself to deliver a heavy blow to anyone who might enter.
After waiting for what felt like an eternity without anything else appearing, he noticed that the hollow in the center of the floor remained open wide as if inviting him in.
He could see that below was a passageway with handrails; a dim light flickered at the end of a long dark tunnel like a star caught in the night sky—so unreal.
Song Bunan could almost imagine what lay beyond; it seemed his madness had worked—at least it had alerted whatever entities resided in the laboratory that he was still alive. He tucked the stick into his waistband and decisively descended the stairs.
The ladder was steeply carved; its width barely allowed him—a somewhat slender adult man—to squeeze through. He used his hands to grip the steps for stability while probing downward with his feet. After only a few steps, exhaustion set in quickly. His stamina drained much faster than that of an average person; usually well-fed, he could manage two hours of activity but now felt dizzy from hunger while climbing stairs—it felt like torture.
Stopping halfway down to rest, Song Bunan bit into his arm for pain to jolt him awake. Confirming that the light below had grown significantly larger, he wrapped his hand in his sleeve and slid down the stairs in an extremely risky manner.
At the end of the staircase was a sloped ramp, entirely covered in soft padding, with a large sponge at its end. He came to a gentle stop halfway down, looking up to find an extravagantly decorated tea room.
Beside the tea table sat a middle-aged woman with graying hair, dressed in a white lab coat that seemed out of place in such an environment. She was calmly brewing tea and, upon seeing him, showed no surprise. With a smile, she poured two cups and slowly began to speak, “We finally meet.”
“According to the family hierarchy, I should address you as Aunt,” Song Bunan thought of her identity in an instant. He leaned against the wall to stand up, enduring the dizziness from low blood sugar before gradually moving to the tea table, not forgetting to place his cane beside him.
The woman’s smile widened at his words as she brought out three or four plates of exquisite pastries from a nearby wooden food box. One of them was shaped like a lotus flower, causing him to raise an eyebrow. She noticed this and cheerfully moved that plate in front of herself, taking a small bite.
Song Bunan observed that beneath her lab coat was a beautifully designed fitted long dress with an ancient style. Her hair was styled in delicate curls, clearly done not long ago. Although her makeup couldn’t hide her wrinkles, the perfectly chosen lipstick color made her appear mature and beautiful. Her every gesture exuded elegance—a beauty that time could not steal away.
“I always thought that Gu Family's Second Son was a man,” he remarked. While he appreciated such beauty, he felt no fondness for the woman before him. He unceremoniously sampled the delicate pastries; they tasted just like those served during lunch—delicious but overly sweet. The tea, however, was excellent—slightly bitter with a hint of sweetness that filled his mouth and nose with fragrance, effectively balancing the sweetness of the pastries.
His comment did not displease her; she refilled his cup with tea and said in a gentle voice, “That was my husband, just a scapegoat who died long ago.” Her eyes sparkled with admiration and joy as she offered him another flavor.
“They say that children in the funeral industry are cute and clever. I didn’t believe it at first, but now that I see you, I truly do. No wonder the old man from the Jiang Family likes you so much.”
“You flatter me. I just get along well with his children; it’s simply love for what they love,” Song Bunan replied candidly as he took another pastry and popped it into his mouth. The woman’s happiness grew at his ease as she pulled out a handkerchief to help wipe his mouth.
“Such words! Who wouldn’t like clever children? Watching you eat reminds me of my son; he eats just like you—enjoying every bite and looking adorable while doing so. I made all of this. Is it good?”
“Delicious! And these haven’t been sweetened; they’re better than what we had at noon.”
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