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Lovesick Ghost Tales
墨書 Inktalez
As the phone charged and powered on, a flood of unread messages appeared, all from Xin Yi. From the first message asking where he was to the last reminder that dinner was in the fridge and to heat it up before eating, each text made Song Bunan break into a cold sweat.
It was already past one in the morning. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Song Bunan clutched his phone, typing and deleting a single sentence repeatedly, too anxious to send it. He pondered how there could be a man who was clearly pursuing his brother yet constantly showcased his charm in front of him. Compared to Song Buxian’s tendency to lecture with just three sentences, Xin Yi’s demeanor was far more appealing.
This infatuation left Song Bunan with little courage to act naturally around Xin Yi. Should he pretend not to see the messages and reply tomorrow, or should he explain himself now?
“Ugh…”
His constant sighing finally caught Xiao Mei's attention. Now wide awake, he shifted his focus from his mobile game to Bunan, curiosity piqued. “What’s going on? You’ve been sighing nonstop. Did your girlfriend get mad?”
Upon hearing this, Song Bunan looked up, his face a portrait of sorrow and confusion, as if he were heartbroken but couldn’t pinpoint why.
Xiao Mei turned off his game and moved to sit beside him on the bed. He casually took a glance at Song Bunan's phone screen. Numerous messages popped up in black text on a white background, the last one timestamped just after midnight. Expecting drama, he read through them only to find them dull: “I thought it was a breakup message; turns out it’s just your brother checking on you for not coming home. What are you tangled up about with Ze Li? Just tell him you’re out with me tonight and won’t be back. And you could’ve just said your phone died earlier; why act like you’re heartbroken without knowing why? It’s strange.”
This only made Song Bunan’s expression more conflicted, as if his brain was struggling to form a rebuttal while his mouth failed to cooperate. Watching him furrow his brows so tightly they could crush a fly, Xiao Mei chuckled while typing on the phone. Soon enough, a message appeared in the chat: “I went out for lunch with friends this afternoon and didn’t notice my phone died while playing games. I just charged it now; don’t worry about me, brother! I’ll heat up dinner properly when I get home tomorrow! Mwah!”
Caught off guard by the sudden appearance of “Mwah,” Song Bunan felt his scalp tingle and rushed to stop Xiao Mei, but he was too late. By the time he snatched the phone back, the message had already been sent—and within seconds came a reply: “Okay.”
Blushing like a boiled shrimp, Song Bunan flopped onto his bed, whining about how he couldn’t face anyone now, resembling a girl who had just started dating but ran into her parents before checking into a hotel.
Xiao Mei was baffled by this reaction and smacked Song Bunan’s rear end playfully. “Stop wailing! It’s annoying! It’s just a message to your brother; why act like you’ve been insulted? That’s lame.”
Song Bunan scrambled up from the bed and explained everything to Xiao Mei with surprising eloquence—how this person wasn’t his brother but someone who liked him instead.
As Xiao Mei listened, his expression grew increasingly perplexed. The beginning of the story about Xin Yi being at the hospital was fine; it made sense that he came at his brother's request to take care of this sickly patient. But when Song Bunan began analyzing that Xin Yi treated him well because he liked his brother, Xiao Mei realized how serious things had become.
Now looking at Song Bunan again—this ordinary-looking guy with glasses—Xiao Mei felt every cell in him screamed “I’m an idiot,” bolded and highlighted. He couldn’t decide whether to call Song Bunan brainless or simply ill-suited for romance. And what about Xin Yi? He seemed like an introverted fellow still playing coy despite being older—seriously? In this day and age? There were plenty of people in their twilight years dating younger partners without issue.
Once Song Bunan finished explaining himself thoroughly, Xiao Mei mimicked his earlier sighs dramatically before patting him on the shoulder with an effort to suppress laughter. In a calm tone, he said, “Get some rest; I’ll have Zhang Long take you home tomorrow morning. Your electric bike is still at Ze Li's place; next weekend you might have to give me a ride to Dragon Garden.”
Meanwhile, Zhang Long stood outside Xiao Mei's door waiting for him to return so they could discuss plans for tomorrow. He watched as Xiao Mei emerged from Song Bunan's room with clenched fists and an expression full of mischief before quickly shutting the door behind him and bursting into laughter as if he had just heard an earth-shattering joke.
Zhang Long didn’t dare ask what happened; instead, he sat down patiently until Xiao Mei calmed down enough to regain composure. Once settled, Xiao Mei's eyes were red from laughing and crying simultaneously, making his face shine under the light.
“I have to tell you about Song Bunan—he’s such an airhead! The person chasing him is practically ready to carry him home, yet he’s analyzing that this guy is nice because he likes his brother! Seriously, why does such stupidity exist in this world…”
Zhang Long licked his dry lips; wanting details but feeling discussing someone else's gossip wasn’t right, he decided to change the subject instead. But Xiao Mei was too caught up in excitement and grabbed Zhang Long's hand eagerly. “Let me tell you all about it; it’s super interesting!”
There was no escaping it… Zhang Long silently apologized to Song Bunan in his mind as he straightened up with utmost seriousness and said: “Please!”
The night enveloped the house like thick ink; restless spirits unable to leave roamed within its walls, howling and raging as if threatening those standing outside while simultaneously pleading for help.
The figure wore a White Cloak, and as the breeze lifted the edges, it revealed a Black Leather Jacket beneath. The moonlight filtering through the clouds cast an ethereal glow on him, mingling with an unsettling aura that evoked fear.
The courtyard appeared even more dilapidated at night, overrun with wild grass and scattered debris. Shadows lurked in corners where moonlight could not reach, and within those shadows, ghostly figures danced—graceful yet eerie. Any ordinary person witnessing this would be terrified and eager to flee.
Yet he stood entranced by their movements, captivated as if in a trance.
"You cannot leave because of the restrictions," he said softly, his voice carried by the wind to every corner of the old courtyard. The ghostly dance halted at his words, and Roar fell silent. In an instant, the area was enveloped in stillness; even the wind ceased its whispering.
This silence seemed to displease him, for he clicked his tongue lightly before continuing, "Now that I have broken the restrictions of that small house, you still cannot emerge."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small golden bell, slipping the red cord around his left middle finger. If anyone had been standing nearby, they would have noticed that the bell did not glimmer in the moonlight; instead, it appeared to absorb it, growing increasingly misty under its glow.
Yet it remained undeniably gold, no matter how hard the moonlight tried to cast a pale blue hue upon it.
The ghostly figures noticed the bell and swiftly vanished into the darkness. The spirits that had gathered moments ago to continue their howling scattered in an instant. Only one figure remained—a man formed of white mist—standing quietly before the Mansion's entrance, as if observing him or perhaps gazing at the moon.
"Will you not stop me?" He cradled the bell in his palm and bowed respectfully to the elder. The old man leaned on his cane and shook his head gently.
"Rest assured, he is mine; I will not let him come to harm." After bowing once more to the elder, he looked up only to find that nothing remained at the Mansion's entrance.
The moon was obscured by drifting clouds, and the ghostly figures ceased their dance; the decaying courtyard fell back into silence.
Approaching the small house, he noticed a dagger embedded in the ground with only its hilt visible, surrounded by dark stains on the earth. The scent of blood lingered—blood that reeked of death and resurrection.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside without turning on any lights.
The air inside still held a faint trace of life but was predominantly filled with an overpowering stench of Yin Qi. There was nothing of value here, he thought.
"I'm back." His voice echoed in the empty room before dissipating into silence. He knew who he was addressing and understood what this declaration would bring about; yet at this moment, he needed just that little bit of support.
Before danger could approach, he easily made his way outside the courtyard. Standing in a place untouched by turmoil, he gestured for silence towards the figure inside the small house.
"Don't tell him," he said with a smile. "Heaven knows, Earth knows; you know, I know—that's all that matters."
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