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墨書 Inktalez
The sobbing from the attic lasted only a moment before it vanished, as if it had never existed. But I was certain it was not an illusion. In this old house, there was another "presence" besides me, locked away in that dark attic.
Was it human? Or... something else? I dared not think too deeply. Fear gripped me, and I nearly tumbled down the stairs in my haste to escape, locking all the doors and windows of the guest room behind me before curling up in bed, trembling.
That night felt exceptionally long; any rustle or whisper sent chills down my spine. I heard no more strange sounds, but the feeling of being watched lingered like a shadow.
When dawn broke, my fear began to subside, and reason started to return. I could not sit idly by any longer. Whatever was in the attic, I needed to uncover the truth. But that Copper Lock...
I recalled that my profession was artifact restoration. Perhaps I could try to open that lock? But I had no tools at hand. It seemed I would have to start with Granduncle San's belongings.
Forcing myself to calm down, I resumed my search through the main house. This time, I was more meticulous, leaving no corner unchecked. Finally, in a very concealed compartment beneath the bed in Granduncle San's bedroom, I felt something cold and hard.
It was a rectangular Black Lacquered Wooden Box.
The box was small, about a foot long and half a foot wide, its surface smooth and devoid of any decoration, yet exuding an ancient and somber aura. The lid was tightly secured with no keyhole; it seemed to be fastened using some special mortise-and-tenon structure. I tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge.
My intuition told me this box was crucial. Granduncle San had hidden it so discreetly that it must contain something important. Perhaps it could explain the house's strangeness or even... the secrets of the attic.
I took the Lacquer Box into the well-lit hall and began to examine it closely. Drawing on years of restoration experience, I noticed that there seemed to be extremely fine gaps and regular scratches at the junction between the lid and the body of the box. This did not resemble ordinary joinery; it appeared more like a clever lock that required a specific sequence or technique to open.
As I focused on studying the Lacquer Box, the light in the hall seemed to dim momentarily. Instinctively, I looked up.
I saw that the Seven Paper Figures on the Altar Table had subtly changed their orientation without my noticing. Their heads were slightly turned, their hollow eyes all fixed on the Lacquer Box in my hands. The eerie smiles on their faces seemed to carry a hint of warning.
My heart raced, and I nearly dropped the Lacquer Box.
These Paper Figurines... they seemed to not want me to open this box!
Recalling last night's fallen Tongzi Paper Man only solidified my belief that these seemingly lifeless Paper Figurines were definitely problematic. They—or whatever controlled them—were closely tied to this Lacquer Box and the secrets of this house.
Was it some kind of "guard" left by Granduncle San? Or... a form of "imprisonment"?
My gaze returned to the Lacquer Box. Its surface was as smooth as a mirror, faintly reflecting my face along with those still figures on the Altar Table. The faint herbal scent in the air seemed to intensify slightly, mingled with a hint of... something reminiscent of aged ink cakes?
This fragrance was peculiar; it felt familiar... Yes! It reminded me of when I restored some Ming and Qing dynasty paintings—the scrolls occasionally emitted such a scent. Was it some special insect-repellent or preservative material? Or did it serve another purpose?
This Lacquer Box, along with those Paper Figurines and the mysterious presence in the attic, formed an invisible web that trapped me within this eerie old house. And it seemed that the key to unraveling everything lay within this silent Lacquer Box in my hands.
Taking a deep breath, I resolved to ignore those Paper Figurines' "warnings." I had to open it.
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