Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
Jinling Ghost House Records
墨書 Inktalez
In the tenth year of frost, Jinling City lay shrouded in blood-red moonlight. The Huizhou-style mansion, with its five entrances and three courtyards, was filled with the scent of paper money. Thirty-six soul-guiding lanterns hung from the eaves, swaying in the autumn breeze, casting mottled ghostly shadows on the blue bricks.
In the main hall rested a coffin made of golden silk nanmu wood, its surface illuminated by candlelight that flickered over the spirit tablet of Li Zhongwen, President of the Jinling Chamber of Commerce. The gilded characters appeared to writhe as if alive on the coffin lid.
" uncle Zhao, do you really think the master can return?" The Seventh Concubine leaned against the doorframe of the mourning hall, her crimson Dan Kou scraping against the brass door knocker. Her Qipao was slit at the side, revealing a leg wrapped in glass stockings that glimmered coldly in the wavering candlelight.
"Last night, I distinctly heard scratching from inside the coffin. Could it be..." Old He, hunched over in a gray shirt, added incense to the bronze cauldron. Three wisps of blue smoke twisted together in midair like a braid. "Madam, be cautious; the yin energy is strongest at midnight..."
Before he could finish, the copper bell at the eaves suddenly shrieked in unison, startling all seven perpetual lamps on the offering table into darkness. Amidst the rising cries of the womenfolk, a series of knocks echoed from the vermilion door—three long and two short.
uncle Zhao's bony hand rested on the latch as he recalled the divination he had received at Jiming Temple days prior. "An old tree encounters spring and still sprouts anew; a dim lamp without flame still gathers light." The Barefoot Monk had thrust an oiled paper bag into his hands, insisting it would be of great use tonight at midnight.
The paper bag now burned hot against his chest, five sharp protrusions pressing through his coarse shirt. The door creaked as it opened slightly, and blood-red moonlight spilled onto the bluestone steps.
A man wearing a black felt top hat stood with his head bowed. His gray satin long robe was embroidered with Bagua patterns. In his left hand, a golden compass spun wildly like a top, while his right cradled a yellowed register.
As night wind lifted his robe's hem, uncle Zhao caught sight of a string of human teeth hanging from his waist. "Wuliang Tianzun," the man intoned as he removed his hat. A centipede-shaped scar on his left cheek writhed under the moonlight. "This poor Daoist has traveled to Purple Gold Mountain and sensed your house's malevolent energy surging towards Dou Niu..."
Suddenly, he flicked his sleeve and produced a yellow talisman. The paper ignited upon meeting the wind, and blue smoke coalesced into Li Zhongwen's visage. "President Li's lifespan is not yet exhausted; there remains a chance for resurrection."
The Seven Concubines huddled behind the intricately carved moon gate, whispering among themselves. The Third Concubine's jade bracelet clinked against the doorframe, shattering into pieces that mixed with her soft complaints: "The last Taoist from Baiyun Temple tricked us out of two boxes of silver dollars..."
"This one looks even more sinister..."
"I say we should just divide up the inheritance..."
"Can this immortal truly save our master?" The Seventh Concubine suddenly stepped forward, her pearl necklace twirling around her fingers stained with Dan Kou. "How many silver dollars are needed to hold a ritual? Would a check from Nanyang Bank suffice?"
The Taoist's pale face broke into a smile as the compass needle abruptly stilled. "Madam has misunderstood."
He shook out seven Vermilion Talismans from his sleeve, the edges of the talisman paper seeping with dark red stains. "Yin Si has issued a decree; to return to life, a substitute must be found. Who is willing to burn this talisman..."
Before he could finish speaking, the Seventh Concubines retreated into the inner courtyard like startled birds. One of the Seventh Concubines stumbled on the threshold, her golden-thread embroidered lotus shoes instantly covered in fragrant ash.
"I am willing to take their place!"
uncle Zhao suddenly knelt down, his forehead striking heavily against the blue bricks. "This worthless life was saved by the master from the hands of river bandits at the Huai River..." A sharp pain suddenly pierced the back of his neck; it was the Taoist priest helping him up, his fingernails leaving three bloody marks on his wrinkled skin.
The fingertips were as cold as winter well water, stirring memories of that snowy night twenty years ago—when the master was shot and fell from his horse, blood as chilling as ice.
Comment 0 Comment Count