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墨書 Inktalez
The thick fog hung over the valley like a heavy wall. After walking for about twenty minutes, Yang Su finally saw the entrance of Zhonglou Village. It was an old stone gatehouse, with two stone lions perched on top, weathered by rain and wind to the point that their original forms were unrecognizable. Beneath the gatehouse stood a crooked stall, where an oil lamp flickered with a dim yellow light in the mist.
An old woman sat in front of the stall, her back hunched like a crescent moon. She wore a faded blue cloth headscarf and was fiddling with a stack of yellowed Playing Cards under the lamp's glow.
"Excuse me, is this Zhonglou Village?" Yang Su set down his luggage, feeling a bit numb in his legs.
The old woman slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were cloudy, as if veiled by a layer of white mist, yet they seemed to see right through to one's heart. She trembled as she turned over a card, mumbling, "You've come, finally come..."
Yang Su's heart skipped a beat; wasn't that the very phrase he had heard on his way here?
"You must be Old Woman Zhong," he asked, steadying himself. Local folklore mentioned this fortune-telling old woman, who had been setting up her stall at the village entrance for decades.
Old Woman Zhong grinned, revealing her toothless mouth. "Oh, you recognize this old woman." Suddenly lowering her voice, she said, "I know you're here to find someone. But some people... well, they shouldn't be sought after."
Yang Su felt a tightness in his chest. He hadn't even mentioned that he was looking for his mentor.
Old Woman Zhong fell silent again, preoccupied with her Playing Cards. The oil lamp flickered erratically, casting her shadow on the wall that twisted and writhed as if it were coming to life.
A gust of wind swept through, dispersing some of the fog. In the distance, the outline of the clock tower emerged faintly, resembling a giant standing in the night.
As he walked along the stone-paved road deeper into the village, most of the houses on either side were old Qing Dynasty buildings with black tiles and white walls, many of which were in disrepair. The street was quiet; occasionally, weak light seeped through closed windows.
Yang Su stopped in front of an inn. The signboard reading "Ju Feng Inn" had lost its paint, and an old-fashioned Marlight hung at the entrance. He pushed open the door, and a copper bell rang dully.
"Is anyone here?"
A small, thin old man emerged from behind the counter, his face wrinkled like dried tree bark. "Are you looking for a room?"
"Yes, please prepare a room for me."
The old man rummaged beneath the counter and pulled out a yellowed registration book. "Just need to register..."
As Yang Su was about to write down his name, he suddenly caught sight of a familiar name in the registration book: Gu Linshan. The handwriting had already yellowed; the date was from fifteen days past Lunar December ten years ago.
"This guest..." The old man followed Yang Su's gaze and his expression changed abruptly; he hurriedly flipped over that page. "Write here instead; this page is new."
Yang Su casually registered on the new page and asked, "How long have you been running this inn?"
"A long time," the old man replied, his hand shaking slightly as he handed over the key. "You’ll be staying in the innermost room on the second floor; the stairs are over there."
The corridor on the second floor was narrow and long, with faded picture frames hanging on the walls that creaked when stirred by the wind. The door to the innermost room was slightly askew; it took several turns of the key before it finally opened.
The room was small and simply furnished: a wooden bed, a square table, and an old rattan chair in one corner. From the window position, one could see the top of the clock tower. Yang Su set down his luggage and took out his notebook from his bag. Flipping to a new page, he began to write:
"Zhonglou Village, arrival time: 8:40 PM..."
As the night deepened, the village grew increasingly silent. Yang Su put on his coat and stepped out of the inn, eager to explore the village under the cover of darkness.
The street was empty, illuminated only by scattered lights. He walked along the cobblestone path toward the clock tower, passing a small shop that still had its lights on. An old man was squatting at the entrance, smoking a pipe.
“Excuse me, sir,” Yang Su approached him. “I’m looking for someone with the surname Gu…”
“I don’t know,” the old man replied gruffly without looking up.
“Do you know anything about the clock tower?” Yang Su pressed on.
The old man suddenly stood up and turned to go inside. “It’s closed!” he shouted.
With a loud bang, the door was slammed shut. Yang Su stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, deep in thought.
He continued down the street and knocked on a few more doors. Some didn’t answer at all, while others opened just a crack to say they didn’t know anything. Only one house opened fully, revealing a girl of about ten years old.
“Little sister, I’d like to ask you…”
“Ying Zi! Come inside!” a stern voice called from within. The little girl jumped in fright and quickly shut the door. But just before it closed, Yang Su heard her whisper, “Don’t go to the clock tower at night…”
Suddenly, he caught a familiar scent of herbs in the air. It was exactly like what he had smelled at the clock tower. Following the scent, he discovered a pile of clutter in the corner of the small shop's backyard, with an old incense burner sitting on top.
The incense burner was made of bronze, its design ancient and intricate, covered in carvings of runes. The most prominent feature was the character for "bell" on its lid, its strokes twisted as if alive and writhing. The base of the burner had dark red stains that felt warm to the touch.
As he examined it further, he suddenly heard voices coming from inside the house: “Another one has come…” It was the old man's voice.
“Has Bloodline been matched?” a hoarse female voice asked.
“Unclear, but he can hear the bell toll,” came the reply.
“That’s enough. Notify Teacher Li; don’t let him…”
The conversation abruptly stopped, and Yang Su felt a chill run down his spine as if someone were watching him. He turned around to see a flash of white slip through the crack in the door. When he looked again, the white figure had vanished, leaving only faint footsteps behind—like someone walking barefoot on the ground.
He crouched down to examine the ground and found several shallow footprints. They were small, resembling those of a child, but strangely enough, they were blue and glimmered softly in the moonlight.
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