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Silent Lacquer Box
墨書 Inktalez
My name is Lin Wei, and I make a living restoring ancient paintings and calligraphy. A document of inheritance summoned me, a distant descendant estranged from my family, back to the nearly forgotten Jiangnan Ancient Town—Huaiyin Town—and to the Centennial House left behind by my Granduncle San. Upon entering, I was not greeted by the warmth of kinship but rather by a pervasive chill in the air and the unsettling smiles of seven Paper Figurines on the Altar Table. They say Granduncle San passed away peacefully, yet the faint scratching sound at the window in the dead of night, the moving shadows of the Paper Figurines, and the intermittent sobbing of a woman from the locked attic on the second floor all silently tell another version of the story. Deep within the old house, I discovered a silent Black Lacquered Wooden Box, heavy as if it held the deepest and darkest secrets of this residence and even the entire family. This inheritance likely holds more than just a house.
The moment I stepped into Huaiyin Town, the air felt heavier. I had returned to inherit Granduncle San's old residence. My parents had passed away early, and Granduncle San was my only direct elder in this world, though we were not close. His death came suddenly, leaving behind this house located deep within the town.
August in Jiangnan should be unbearably humid, yet there was a coolness permeating this old house. As I pushed open the creaking wooden door, a mix of aged wood, dust, and an indescribable herbal scent rushed at me. The sunlight was fragmented by tall walls and an overgrown Old Huai Tree in the yard, casting flickering patches of light on the bluestone slabs like glimpses into hidden corners.
The house featured a typical corridor layout; each room led deeper into darkness. Aside from a few dust-covered old pieces of furniture, what stood out most was the Black Lacquer Offering Table in the center of the hall, neatly arranged with Seven Paper Figures.
These were not your ordinary rough offerings; these Paper Figurines were exceptionally crafted with clear features, dressed in faded traditional garments—men, women, and children alike—all bearing an eerie, formulaic smile. They stood silently as if they had been waiting for a long time.
A shiver ran down my spine. Granduncle San had no children and had lived alone for many years; what purpose did he have for these Paper Figurines? According to the lawyer, he had passed away peacefully in his sleep. Yet the atmosphere in this house exuded an indescribable sense of oppression and eeriness.
That night, I settled into a small room near the entrance. As midnight approached, it felt as if the old house had come alive. Faint sounds drifted from outside—like someone moving about in the yard or wood whispering secrets. I tried to ignore it.
However, in the early hours of dawn, I was jolted awake by a distinct "tap-tap" sound. It didn’t seem like knocking but rather… someone gently scratching at the window with their nails. I held my breath and peered through the dim moonlight outside; there was no one at the window. Yet that sound persisted, growing closer until it finally stopped.
In the darkness, I felt an invisible pair of eyes watching me. The eerie smiles of those Paper Figurines invaded my mind without warning. I sat up abruptly and grabbed my bedside lamp (the only modern appliance I had brought) to shine towards the source of the sound!
The beam swept across an empty space. Only in the corner lay a Tongzi Paper Man that should have been on the Altar Table; somehow it had fallen there, its smile glaring under the light.
How did it get there? A chill shot up my neck. This old house was likely more than just "cool." Was Granduncle San's death truly just a matter of "passing peacefully"?
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