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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 7: In Danger Together
The eerie blue flames seeping through the gaps in the container gnawed at the rain curtain, creating jagged cracks. Zhou Yi's breath was caught in my eardrum, like rusty gears grinding over shattered glass. The blood droplets seeping from his combat suit slid down the glass of the filing cabinet, leaving a dark red trail over the 1998 autopsy report number for Mother.
"Step on my back!" Zhou Yi tore open the blood-stained sleeve to wrap around my wrist, the dull thud of shrapnel embedded in his shoulder mingling with the acrid smell of melting iron doors. The fresh knife wound below his collarbone oozed a metallic scent, mixing with the damp moldy odor that filled my nostrils, reminiscent of the antiseptic used in delivery rooms twenty years ago.
The sound of torrential rain pounding on the tin roof was like thousands of fetal heart monitors going off simultaneously. When Zhou Yi fell into the sewage pit, the splashing mud filled my boot, and the USB drive hidden in my sock pressed against my skin, burning hot—inside those scanned consent forms for embryo experiments, Lin Yichen's signature matched exactly with that on the divorce agreement.
"Open your eyes!" I bit my tongue, smearing blood across his cracked lips. The blood droplets crystallized on Zhou Yi's eyelashes fell into my collar, their scorching touch reminding me of that night when the fetal heart monitor flatlined, and the warmth of Mother's blood dripped onto my eyelids.
As the sound of military boots crushing shards of glass drew closer, Zhou Yi suddenly flipped me down beneath the machine tool. The dull thud of bullets piercing his left shoulder mixed with the sound of bones shattering, reminiscent of the paper's sobbing as an examination report was torn apart. His heated breath brushed against the birthmark on my collarbone: "Miss should learn... to cool down the barrel."
Rainwater mixed with his blood seeped into the hidden compartment of my platinum necklace, and the burning pain from a microchip pressed against my chest reminded me of those embryo specimens in the Lin Family's secret room. The engraved numbers on the glass jars pierced my vision, perfectly aligning with the embossed digits on my birth certificate.
"You knew all along?" My fingers gripping his collar sank into the satellite phone buttons; the latest call log displayed an extension number from the top floor of Lin Family Tower. Blood froth coughed up by Zhou Yi splattered onto the scar on my palm, its shape eerily overlapping with abnormal data graphs from Mother's examination report.
Sparks from a distribution box illuminated his old burn scars on his neck; the pattern of the Lin Family Crest flickered ominously like a living creature. Suddenly, a cold voice from Lin Yichen came through a walkie-talkie belonging to our pursuers, mixed with static and a lullaby that Su Ya hummed while trying on her wedding dress.
The roar of a rusty conveyor belt starting up shook loose water accumulated on the ceiling, and Zhou Yi pushed me into a gap filled with expired anesthetics on a shelf. As he threw a knife that pierced through a pursuer's throat, I felt Mother's lipstick mark on a medical registry from 1998— that crimson smear bled into Lin Yichen's signature like an unhealed wound.
"Don't look!" Zhou Yi's bloodied palm covered my trembling fingertips, calluses from gun use scraping against bruises inflicted by Lin Yichen. From deep within the shelf, a glass bottle suddenly rolled out, revealing embryos curled up in fetal positions reminiscent of how I slept as a baby.
The sound of a bulletproof vest tearing mixed with the brittle clatter of shell casings hitting the ground; when Zhou Yi's bloodied chest pressed against my back, I suddenly deciphered a Morse code hidden within his heartbeat—it was exactly three years ago on Mother's death anniversary when he tapped out "survive" against a pine tree in the cemetery.
As the torrential rain broke through the ceiling, he pushed me into the shadow of the distribution cabinet. The rough texture of his combat suit brushed against my lips, awakening buried memories—the ash from Lin Yichen's cigar had once fallen onto the cream of my birthday cake when I turned three. Suddenly, the glow of a phone screen illuminated the darkness, and the sender's code was the email address that Mother had deactivated on the day of her funeral.
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