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Death Inn
墨書 Inktalez
Chapter One
The cold wind of Lunar December sliced across my cheeks like a knife. I stood outside the Government Office, staring at the notice that read "Missing Person Announcement," a wave of unease washing over me.
As the newly appointed county magistrate, this case had become a thorn in my side. A month ago, Zhao San, a worker from Dechang Trading Company, had gone missing on his way home, leaving no trace behind. What should have been a routine missing person case had turned complicated due to accusations against the trading company's owner of murder for profit. The Prefect was furious and ordered me to collaborate with the neighboring county to investigate and solve the case swiftly to clear the air. However, months had passed without any progress; we visited Zhao San's hometown, inquired at inns along the route, and spoke with passersby, yet we remained stuck in a quagmire with no leads.
"My lord, there are more reports of missing persons from the south of the city," my Advisor said as he hurried over, breaking my reverie. He handed me a stack of complaint papers, his expression grave. "They are all missing cases, with similar methods used—absolutely no clues..."
I took the papers, frowning deeply. In recent months, similar cases of disappearance had occurred one after another, causing widespread panic among the townsfolk. Rumors spread like wildfire, claiming that demons and monsters were at play, making it so that people dared not venture outside at night. Just as I was about to examine the complaint papers closely, an eerie song caught my attention. The voice was intermittent and fluctuated in pitch, sounding both mournful and mocking, sending chills down my spine.
Following the sound, I saw an elderly man with white hair staggering down the street, mumbling indistinct words. His clothes were tattered, his steps unsteady, and his eyes vacant as if he were a soulless husk. Passersby hurriedly stepped aside, casting fearful and strange glances at him as if he were the embodiment of plague.
"That's Old Zhang from the west side of town," my Advisor whispered beside me, his tone tinged with disdain and fear. "He suffers from somnambulism and often rambles like this."
I considered turning away; after all, what clues could the ramblings of a madman provide? However, the old man suddenly stopped in his tracks and fixed his hollow gaze on me. It felt as though his empty eyes pierced through my body to gaze upon some distant and terrifying place. A shiver ran down my spine as an inexplicable sense of dread washed over me.
"The inn... the people at the inn..." he muttered to himself in a hoarse and low voice, as if echoing from the depths of hell. "Blood... so much blood..."
I jolted at his words and stepped forward urgently. "Old man, what inn are you talking about? What blood?" My voice trembled with tension.
But it seemed he didn't hear me; he continued to speak to himself. "Zhao San... poor Zhao San... he just wanted to go home for the New Year..."
That name made my heart skip a beat. Zhao San—the very worker who had gone missing! Could it be that this deranged old man knew something?
“Old Zhang, have you seen Zhao San? Do you know where he is?” I asked urgently, my voice rising involuntarily.
However, the old man drifted away like a fleeting ghost, swaying as he walked off. His mutterings gradually faded into the wind, leaving me standing there, filled with confusion and unease.
“My lord, Old Zhang is always like this, saying nonsensical things. Don’t take it too seriously,” Advisor advised, a hint of helplessness in his tone. “How can we trust the words of a sleepwalker?”
Yet I felt that things were not so simple. How could a sleepwalking old man know about the missing Zhao San? What did his ramblings about an inn and blood mean? My intuition told me that there must be some important clues hidden within.
Early the next morning, just as dawn broke, I brought people to Old Zhang's home. The room was dim and damp, filled with a musty smell that was suffocating. The old man lay asleep in bed, his breathing weak, as if it could stop at any moment.
“Old Zhang only wakes up in the evening; he sleeps all day,” his son told me, looking haggard. “Ever since he developed somnambulism, he’s been like this—delirious and rambling.”
I decided to wait. Perhaps when Old Zhang woke up, he could provide more valuable clues. I found a teahouse near his home, sipping tea while anxiously waiting. Time ticked by slowly, and my heart grew heavier.
Sure enough, as the sun set and darkness fell, Old Zhang opened his eyes. But his gaze remained vacant, as if still dreaming or wandering in another world.
“The inn... the inn in town...” he began to mumble again, his voice hoarse and weak. “The innkeeper isn’t a good person... in the courtyard... in the courtyard...”
My heart raced: “Which town? Which inn? What’s in the courtyard?” I pressed eagerly, afraid of missing any word.
“Qing Stone Town... Fu Lai Inn...” Old Zhang's voice grew fainter, as if it might cut off at any moment. “Underground... all underground...”
After saying this, he fell back into a deep sleep, as if he had exhausted all his strength. But this information was enough; Qing Stone Town was on Zhao San’s route home, Fu Lai Inn... underground... A flash of insight crossed my mind—could it be…
"Sir, you can't really believe this, can you?" Advisor said, disbelief etched across his face. "How can the ramblings of a sleepwalker be taken seriously?"
I gazed out at the darkening sky, my mind already made up. "Prepare the horses. We will set off for Qing Stone Town tonight."
Sometimes, the truth hides in the most unexpected places. Perhaps the ramblings of a sleepwalking old man could be the key to unraveling this case.
Little did I know that what awaited me would be a truth more terrifying than any nightmare...
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