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墨書 Inktalez
If the life that Song Bunan once lived was merely a realm of mythical tales and ghost stories, now it had transformed into a reality due to his dreams and that old house. The contents written in this notebook addressed to the Special Individual not only shattered his imagination but also left him unable to discern truth from falsehood.
The original owner of the notebook had written content that seemed fabricated, yet based on his own experiences, it felt all too real. The notebook referred to that old house as the Long Family residence, and although the name of the second disciple was not mentioned, it clearly stated "Long Family Orphan."
"When my friend and I found him in this house, he was only three years old, hiding in a wardrobe and trembling. Seeing his youth and keen intellect, I asked if he would like to leave this place with me to learn some skills. The child clutched my clothing and asked if he could return home. I didn't know how to answer, but my friend carried him outside the garden and somehow persuaded him to join my sect."
"This house is situated in a Gathering Yin Land. The builders must have understood the principles of feng shui, turning this large garden into a haunted residence. The Long Family unknowingly moved into this place, becoming the foundation for that ghostly abode. Fortunately, the child's fate was not sealed; he had a family deity watching over him, which preserved his life. Because of this unique situation, my friend and I decided to enclose the garden as a wasteland to prevent the spirits within from leaving, though some risks remained."
"As a Long Family Orphan, he was filled with ghostly energy and could not live as an ordinary person. Thus, I imparted our sect's secret techniques to ensure his safety in the future. He learned about ley lines through our secret methods, but due to the drastic changes in his family circumstances, he harbored only resentment towards ghosts. Consequently, his actions became ruthless and devoid of mercy, leading him to lose sight of clarity."
"You are the Special Individual; you must have visited this house before it consumed all lives of the Long Family. Though you are tainted by ghostly energy, it does not threaten your life; you are merely afflicted by a stubborn ailment. Please rest assured; your ailment can be resolved if my friend or her descendants meet with you. I ask you to assist this house within your capabilities, break the curse of gathering shadows, and grant freedom to the spirits within."
"The spirits in this house are both good and evil; I believe you have encountered some of the malevolent ones. If you cannot recall when you met them, please reflect on any unusual occurrences in your life; that will reveal your connection to this house. I trust that during your time here, you will gain much..."
The content abruptly ceased, leaving him puzzled as he found that the entire notebook had reverted to its previous state of "Please read its contents at an appropriate time." Glancing at the clock revealed it was only one o'clock in the afternoon. Song Bunan shook the notebook in his hands but found no answers; feeling frustrated, he placed it back into the drawer and climbed onto his bed, hugging his pillow as he contemplated what he had just read.
Now he understood why that house had become a Haunted House; he learned about its history and gained valuable information about the Long Family. The next step was to recall whether he had encountered any of those so-called malevolent figures. Lying on his bed made him drowsy, especially with the warm midday sun flooding into his bedroom. After mulling over these thoughts for a short while, Song Bunan fell asleep amidst his confusion about the malevolent figures.
In dreams where only Dragon Garden existed before, he had never experienced dreaming during daytime sleep. Therefore, standing at the brand-new entrance of Dragon Garden now felt like a dream—a daydream.
The house before him seemed newly constructed; its grand entrance gleamed under sunlight with black iron decorations shining brightly due to their coating. The Western-style multi-story villa resembled castles seen in films, surrounded by blooming flowers and occasionally darting cats and dogs. In this dream state, he appeared quite small; beside him stood his mother who was laughing at something on her phone without acknowledging him.
He pulled away from her grasping hand and ran towards the entrance, attempting to squeeze through the gaps in the railing for a better look at what lay inside Dragon Garden. However, the gaps were too narrow; he could barely fit one arm through. After several fruitless attempts, just as he turned back to ask his mother what was happening, someone emerged from inside.
A woman.
It seemed that there wasn't enough budget for creating this woman in his dream; even though she stood right before him wearing red clothing, no matter how hard he tried to focus, her features remained indistinct. Feeling frightened by this naturally blurry effect of dreams, he wanted to turn back to find his mother but discovered that her face was also unclear. Yet how could he still know she was on a call and laughing?
Standing between these two women while watching his own hands grow smaller and rounder made him reminisce about when his hands looked like that.
Perhaps it was related to having no childhood memories; he couldn't recall an age when those chubby little hands existed. After all, since gaining consciousness, he'd always been told he looked like a thin stick due to issues with his back.
Moreover, deep down he knew this was a dream; after pondering age without resolution, he decided not to think further but instead sought ways to wake himself up. In past dreams before waking up there would always be signs—like encountering monsters or being thrown off rooftops unexpectedly. It seemed that death was often key for awakening in dreams. But now there was nothing around him—just two increasingly indistinct women chatting together.
Summoning courage, he called out "Mom" while staring at one of the indistinct figures whose outline faded away as soon as he spoke—like mist blown away by wind. The woman who had walked out from the house also wavered slightly before vanishing completely. With their disappearance came a transformation of the house back into its dilapidated state; what had been a pristine entrance now appeared crooked and unstable as if it could collapse with just a sneeze.
His body did not revert back to adulthood; hesitating whether or not to enter inside again led him to feel an oppressive sensation from behind. He hurried forward several steps until reaching the entrance before turning around—only to find what should have been trees and low grass behind him replaced by bare ground where stood that green-faced monster with a wide mouth he'd encountered last time.
The monster stood not far behind without making any other movements; though it lacked eyes, Song Bunan could sense its intense gaze fixed upon him.
He recalled Xiao Mei mentioning that this creature was a house ghost; having researched what house ghosts do beforehand made Song Bunan less fearful now since he hadn't done anything destructive towards the house. He straightened up bravely facing it and asked: "What time is it? Why am I seeing this place during daylight?"
The green-faced monster slowly approached him until it stood parallel beside him on all fours like a spider—but far more imposing visually than any spider could be. At such close proximity allowed Song Bunan to see its features clearly: its mouth stretched across its face filled with three rows of teeth; its lips were flesh-colored against its blue skin making them stand out even more prominently—there was even a thin black line running vertically down its center.
The house ghost swayed its head as if observing him closely; as it drew nearer still Song Bunan caught whiffs of water.
The rich scent reminded him of freshly rained grass—moist yet mixed with hints of greenery—a refreshing aroma that eased some tension within him despite being incongruous with its presence. This scent soothed Song Bunan who already enjoyed post-rain fragrances immensely.
He extended one chubby little hand toward the house ghost saying: "I’m Song Bunan."
However, his outstretched hand went unnoticed as after sizing him up thoroughly—the house ghost straightened itself up then walked past him into the courtyard effortlessly passing through solid objects before gradually becoming transparent until vanishing completely.
Looking around again left only himself standing there; Song Bunan retracted his hand rubbing his face feeling like music would suit this moment perfectly—but unsure whether to choose Little Cabbage or Erquan Yingyue.
With no way back through that entrance nor any visible path around him—the dream trapped him within an impasse without indicating what purpose it served—was it merely meant for sightseeing at daylight within an old haunted residence?
The surroundings were eerily quiet, with only his breathing for company. It felt a bit boring, but more than that, it was lonely. Fortunately, he sat still, waiting for this dream to change on its own, silently urging himself to wake up. However, the more he thought about it, the more irritated he became.
In a fit of frustration, he decided to check if there was anything in his dream pocket that could alleviate his boredom. He thrust both hands straight into his pockets and indeed found something in his right pocket—a rope-like object that felt cool to the touch.
It was a woven red string, with a pendant attached. Not being familiar with jewelry, he could only guess that it was a piece of jade carved into the shape of some animal. The pendant was too small for him to discern what it depicted even after examining it for a long time. Still, having something to fiddle with was better than nothing, so he decided to mimic his father's habit and began to twist it around in his fingers.
The jade pendant felt incredibly delicate, a small piece gliding between his fingertips as he moved. It was both cool and smooth. Unconsciously, as he rubbed the jade, drowsiness began to creep in; his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and his mind started to fog over. Yet, Song Bunan still retained some awareness and thought to himself that since he was already dreaming, could there be such a thing as a dream within a dream?
Lost in such musings, sleepiness consumed the last remnants of his rationality. Overcome by drowsiness and losing his sense of balance, he fell backward but felt his head hit something soft.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his bedroom, sunlight streaming down on him. However, the time had already turned to three o'clock.
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