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Lovesick Ghost Tales
墨書 Inktalez
Chapter One
In the creed of Mighty Falcon, the first rule is "Do not believe in ghosts or gods."
They have traversed the dark sides of various cities, individuals who have licked blood from the edge of a blade, having witnessed too much life and death, betrayal and treachery. If concepts like karma truly existed, according to their beliefs, they would undoubtedly be among the first to face retribution.
However, in nearly a century since Mighty Falcon was established, they have encountered little misfortune, let alone retribution. When a mission fails, they analyze the reasons behind it; when faced with the unknown, they confront it head-on. With weapons in hand, they never panic, for they believe that fate is firmly in their own hands.
Thus, when tasked with bringing in a "spiritualist" to assist the organization in solving a case, Xin Yi was deeply dissatisfied and nearly got into a heated argument with the chief in the office. He knew he only needed to follow orders and bring the person over, but he couldn't shake off his inner turmoil.
Why should the cause of his brother's death be investigated by someone who merely talks about ghosts? The detectives were still alive and well.
His discontent was not acknowledged. The chief stood before his desk, coldly meeting his gaze and rebutting every accusation with logical counterarguments that left him speechless. In the end, he had no choice but to relent and took down the address to fetch the person.
"You don't need to be so angry," the chief suddenly said as Xin Yi was closing the door. "He is different from other 'spiritualists'; he possesses skills that we need."
Skills. Xin Yi scoffed inwardly. What skills could he possibly have? Could he bring Old Otter back to life? If he could do that, Xin Yi would gladly call him father.
With a heart full of dissatisfaction, he drove towards the address provided.
Mao Wen Village was the most remote village in Rongcheng. Once a necessary stop for those leaving the city due to an eight-hundred-kilometer stretch of uninhabited land ahead, it was once bustling with activity as a supply station. Back then, it was more vibrant than the commercial districts of the city, brightly lit and teeming with people. Many city merchants went to great lengths to secure a spot in the village, even spending large sums to buy mud-brick houses from villagers along the road to set up shop.
Mighty Falcon had once maintained a dedicated supply point here for convenience during missions outside the city.
However, fifteen years ago, when planning for a highway bypassed this area for construction purposes, several rest stops were built along the new route. Not long after the road was completed, the village fell into disrepair. Merchants withdrew; villagers who had moved to the city refused to return to their abandoned homes. Only those with emotional ties chose to stay behind and accompany the desolation. Occasionally, someone seeking adventure would take this route and stop at one of the dilapidated shops along the way.
This "spiritualist" had opened his shop in Mao Wen Village.
The note read: "077 Main Street, Mao Wen Village - Bunan's Shop - Song Bunan." It was torn from a notebook with hasty handwriting that did not belong to anyone in their organization. The careful manner in which the chief retrieved it from his folder suggested it had been personally written by this Song Bunan.
By the time Xin Yi reached the edge of the village, night had fallen. The bright moon and car lights illuminated his path but revealed an unfriendly road ahead. The long-neglected dirt road had become riddled with potholes due to years of wear and tear; combined with heavy rain from the previous day, it was muddy and sticky. A moment's carelessness could send his vehicle skidding into a ditch. He had no choice but to drive slowly and patiently forward, fearing that one impulsive move could leave his beloved car wrecked in this desolate place.
He despised all things old and dilapidated.
And before him lay a village that embodied everything he loathed.
The rough journey under the pale moonlight cast a mournful atmosphere around him. Crooked signs and crumbling houses only deepened his sense that this was an abandoned world—there were even no remnants of plants nearby. Occasionally, faint glimmers of light could be seen through broken windows of derelict houses, adding to the overall desolation.
The silence was suffocating, making Xin Yi feel a burning sensation in his stomach and a wave of nausea.
However, as he ventured deeper, he noticed a bright light emerging from the junction of the dark blue sky and the black buildings in the distance. The closer he got, the clearer it became that the light was orange and dancing. The air gradually shifted from the damp scent of earth to a complex mix, infused with the smell of burning paper and the distinctive stench of melting plastic.
Xin Yi quickly realized where the smell and light were coming from, and he instinctively accelerated his speed. He imagined himself as a moth drawn to the mysterious yet deadly fire that came with the solitude of darkness.
Shop No. 077 was located at the end of the street, its structure made of bricks and tiles, much sturdier than the other adobe houses. The passage of time had worn down its exterior significantly, giving it an old appearance, but its main structure remained intact and solid.
The white paint on the walls was peeling, revealing the red bricks underneath, while wild grass grew at the corners, about the thickness of a thumb, vibrant green against the backdrop of yellowed earth and gray stones. This patch of grass, so out of place in the desolate village, was even protected by a mini wall made of broken bricks, with a small bird-shaped glass drip irrigation tube beside it filled with clear water.
Behind the house was a fire that seemed to envelop everything around it. Flames danced visibly above the roof, and waves of heat crashed over him like an ocean tide, attempting to ignite every cell in his body.
Even without his coat, wearing only a tank top felt unbearably hot. He chose to head straight toward the flames; experience told him that there would be no one inside at this hour.
The first thing that caught his eye was a stretch of barren land extending infinitely until it met the horizon, completely flat without any undulations or obstructions. Turning toward the source of heat revealed a massive fire that seemed ready to burn a hole in the sky. The red-gold curves reached upward desperately, as if determined to compete with the moon for brightness.
Xin Yi could already feel his exposed skin tightening painfully from the heat; sweat poured out relentlessly, soaking through all his clothes as if he had been thrown into a dry sauna.
He had never seen such a huge bonfire before. Natural elements appearing in such grand forms often carried connotations of danger, but now he felt nothing but awe, as if this flame had scorched his very soul.
Xin Yi watched as the fire illuminated his surroundings; flames even obscured part of the moon, and black smoke seemed to have tarnished that silver disc. Yet he knew clearly that neither the moon above nor the desolate land in the distance would be affected. Only he stood there before the flames, being thoroughly roasted.
Perhaps due to how rare this scene was, Xin Yi felt that all his negative emotions and physical discomfort from earlier had washed away with his sweat, leaving behind only a dry shell relishing in the burn.
At the base of the fire where it should have been brightest and most blinding was instead obscured by a circle of stone walls. There was an opening facing toward the house where someone stood at that moment, tossing items resembling packages from outside into the heart of the fire one by one.
Bending down—picking up an object—throwing it into the flames. The person moved like a robot programmed to repeat these actions tirelessly. They didn’t even wipe away their sweat. A sense of admiration welled up within Xin Yi as he wondered what this person must be feeling. Were they so accustomed to being scorched that they no longer cared? Or were they simply resistant to heat?
This person must be Song Bunan; he could be certain of that.
He stood under the eaves, watching as reality warped and shimmered in waves from the heat. For a moment, he felt as though this individual existed in another realm entirely. But this feeling had nothing to do with spirits; it was merely an appreciation for witnessing such vibrancy in this desolate expanse.
The moon's pale light in the sky felt weak; night’s darkness too common in this world often accompanied silence that bred dissatisfaction. Many negative emotions stemmed from this oppressive atmosphere. Yet now, amidst this silence danced a red-gold monster whose vibrant life force ignited all discontent, turning every suppression into ashes scattered into dust.
This truly stirred excitement within him; humanity's instinct to seek warmth and light surged forth at this moment. He knew it was dangerous yet could not suppress his eager desire to merge with it.
Xin Yi felt confident in his self-control. He knew he could ignore his body’s instincts and resist external temptations. So he stood firmly in place, quietly observing while allowing his thoughts to swirl amidst his inner turmoil.
He didn't have to do anything now, just wait for that person to return to the human realm.
The wind brought by time blew away all wrapped existence. When that person’s movements came to a halt, Xin Yi knew that the life of the flame had reached its peak, and what followed was a downhill journey. The red-gold monster grew smaller and smaller, the thick smoke dissipating, as the stone wall transformed into an abyss, pulling it back into the human realm.
Meanwhile, the one waiting for the monster's death picked up a long stick from the ground just as the flames were about to vanish. He thrust it into the stone wall and began to stir. The air disturbed by his actions allowed the monster to regain a flicker of life; it struggled to burn away its last remnants of existence, hoping for one final chance.
But time offered no opportunity; it merely blew wind into the stone wall, lifting its remains high and scattering them into the darkness with reluctance and regret, as if they had never existed.
That person also returned to the human realm with the wind, putting down the stick and walking toward him.
The newcomer looked quite disheveled. Black curls clung to his head, sweat mixed with ash smeared across his face obscuring his skin color; wiping his brow only made his face appear dirtier. His light gray linen short sleeves were soaked through, droplets falling from his hem with each step, while mud and black grime coated his shoes and pant legs, making him look like a beggar who had just rolled in the dirt.
He absolutely cannot sit in my car! This was Xin Yi's first reaction upon seeing Song Bunan.
The person before him was filthy and ragged, yet those round eyes shone brightly under the moonlight, resembling a pool of water reflecting the starry sky, evoking a sense of joy. However, his voice was not pleasant.
"Who are you?" The words emerged from his parched throat in a raspy tone. Xin Yi withdrew his scrutinizing gaze and met his eyes, stating he was looking for Song Bunan.
"Oh, that's me. Let's go inside." The man was not polite at all; he stepped through the back door of the house first and casually pointed to a table for him. "Have a seat; I'll tidy up a bit. The food is in the pot; help yourself."
With that, he turned and entered a small compartment, and soon the sound of running water could be heard.
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