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墨書 Inktalez
The old house ultimately fell into a heavy silence, a stillness so profound it felt almost tangible, as if the very air was thick with lingering dread. The jarring sounds of tearing, piercing screams, and frenzied howls seemed to be abruptly shrouded by an immense invisible curtain, leaving behind an endless void of silence, mingled with a faint metallic scent of dust and decaying wood that hung in the air, yet to settle.
Madam A Ling sat slumped on the cold bluestone slab, her gaze vacant, as if her soul had been completely extracted by the recent upheaval. When the town's security personnel hurriedly arrived, they were met with a scene of devastation—scattered remnants of Paper Shreds, a strange and silent life-sized puppet, and a woman who appeared lost and deranged. She offered little resistance as she was taken away, trembling all over, her lips repeating fragmented phrases: "It's not Sister A... Sister A has long gone... it's a monster... it wants to eat us... retribution... it's all retribution..." Her voice dwindled to a whimper, infused with despair and terror that sent chills through everyone present. No one could fully comprehend her words, but the bone-deep fear she exuded was palpable. Perhaps the "truth" she glimpsed was far more horrifying than anyone could imagine. As for whether she was connected to Granduncle San's "peaceful passing," that mystery sank deeper into obscurity along with her mental collapse.
The "dead" puppet became the most bizarre piece of evidence in the entire incident. It was carefully wrapped in thick white cloth and removed from the old house. I watched it being taken away; even though it lay motionless and its face was covered again, I could still sense an intangible chill emanating from it. That wooden face, caught in a moment of chaos with its rigid smile, had etched itself deeply into my mind. Its material was indeed unusual—neither metal nor wood—possessing a jade-like coldness while subtly revealing wooden grain patterns. The officials showed great interest in it, whispering terms like "unknown energy field" and "biological activity residue," ultimately sealing it away under the pretext of "pending scientific research." The attic that had imprisoned endless sorrow and malevolent thoughts was also marked with seals, becoming another untouchable forbidden area within the old house. Sunlight could no longer penetrate that small window to illuminate the Dust inside.
As for the Black Lacquered Wooden Box that had triggered all this calamity, after experiencing that harrowing moment, I no longer had the courage to touch it again, let alone fully open it to explore what lay within—the so-called Heart of the Sophora God. The mixed scent of decay, blood, and indescribable energy it emitted still haunted me. Ultimately, in the presence of several official witnesses, I personally sealed the gap I had forcibly closed with special wax to ensure it could not be easily opened in the near future. It resembled a ticking time bomb or a Pandora's box, solemnly packed away and sent to the provincial cultural relic protection and research institute. Later reports were vague at best, merely stating that preliminary tests revealed complex organic residues inside the box resembling some kind of dried plant.
I did not stay another night in that old house. Granduncle San's "inheritance" was too heavy; it was soaked in too many secrets, sorrows, and ominous signs. I hastily completed the paperwork to sell the old house along with all its contents at a discount to a distant relative in town. It was said he intended to renovate the house completely to erase those "unlucky" traces. Perhaps tearing down and rebuilding was indeed the best way to sever ties with the past. As I signed my name on the authorization document, what surged within me was not relief but an indescribable emptiness and fatigue. That experience had burrowed deep into my soul like maggots; it could not be easily erased by merely selling a house.
The day I left Huaiyin Town was blessed with rare sunshine. The sky was clear as if washed clean; sunlight poured down brightly upon the earth, dispelling days of gloom. As I sat in the car leaving town, I took one last look back. The old house lay hidden beneath layers of dense locust trees, revealing only a vague outline of its eaves. It stood silently there like an elderly figure weathered by time, swallowing all its secrets and sorrows deep within itself, returning to its original state as an ordinary Jiangnan residence. The Old Huai Tree in the yard remained lush and vibrant; sunlight filtered through its dense leaves casting fragmented dancing spots on the ground—not like before when they felt like countless prying eyes but rather exuding softness and tranquility. It seemed that with the demise of evil spirits and the sealing of secrets, this ancient tree entwined with the Lin family's fate for over a century also...
The car slowly started up, leaving Huaiyin Town behind. I did not know what ultimately became of A Yu. Did her tortured consciousness finally dissipate with the "death" of the puppet shell, granting her eternal release? Or would her obsessions and pains continue as some legends foretold?
Huaiyin Town grew smaller in my rearview mirror until it vanished from sight. I knew it would maintain its quaint facade as if nothing had ever happened. The townsfolk would continue their lives rising with dawn and resting at dusk; tales about Lin Family Old Residence might circulate for a while before being replaced by new gossip and gradually fading away. But having gone through all that, I could never again view those seemingly peaceful eaves and corners with my former perspective.
Some secrets perhaps should truly remain forever sealed within that silent Black Lacquered Wooden Box—deeply buried in time's Dust—unattended by anyone. Keeping distance from them is both a respect for both the living and departed as well as a necessary form of self-protection.
Yet occasionally, in those quiet midnight hours when dreams return unbidden, those scenes still come rushing back—the rigid smile of Paper Figurine in the hall, mournful wails echoing from the attic, Madam A Ling's twisted face, and that hollow yet eerie gaze from beneath the puppet's fallen mask... Startled awake in cold sweat, I feel as if I can still smell that faint aroma unique to Huaiyin Town—a blend of aged ink and unknown herbs.
And when I look down at my wrist's inner side—pale skin now marked by an extremely faint imprint resembling a small locust flower—it does not hurt or itch; during daylight hours it's almost invisible. But it's there—a permanent mark reminding me that I have forged an unbreakable bond with that shadowy Jiangnan Ancient Town and those chilling memories that may accompany me for life.
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