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墨書 Inktalez
The back of the Human Skin was indeed filled with Blood Characters, and at the signature, there were seven different handprints.
Suddenly, lightning flashed outside. In that brief moment of light, uncle Zhao saw that each eye socket of the Human Skin was embedded with a grain-sized Golden Buddha—the very one that the Seventh Concubine wore all day long!
The monk jabbed the Golden Buddha with his bamboo staff, and a foul-smelling Heavenly Blood splattered across the walls, revealing seven twisted ghostly faces in the blood rain.
"They are not alive," the monk said as he tore open the Seventh Concubine's Qipao, exposing the stitched seams at her waist. "This Corpse should have been buried ten years ago; it survives by absorbing President Li's Yang energy."
Suddenly, the stitched seam burst open, and hundreds of white ants crawled out, forming a blurry human face that vaguely resembled a Taoist priest.
uncle Zhao recalled his master's dying murmurs, and his blood ran cold. He dashed toward the eastern study, where his master had dealt with confidential matters during his lifetime.
As he smashed open the copper lock, a musty smell mixed with the stench of blood hit him hard. Moonlight streamed through the air vent onto the desk, illuminating an open ledger that glowed faintly green.
uncle Zhao trembled as he flipped to the last page; the record from July 7th of the Sixth Year of the Republic plunged him into an icy abyss: "Purchased seven Yangzhou Slim Horses for seven thousand silver dollars. Zhang Tianshi performed a soul-switching ritual using seven drowned female corpses as vessels..."
The ink here was obscured by large splotches of blood, but he could faintly make out words like " Life Extension " and "Backlash." A yellowed photograph slipped from between the pages—it was a young version of his master posing with a woman dressed in bridal attire from Seven.
The faces beneath those bridal veils were unmistakably those of the Seven Concubines!
From the attic came an ethereal play script: "I thought a painted skin could cover bones; who knew that karma would eventually catch up..." uncle Zhao collapsed to the ground clutching the photograph, finally understanding why his master never allowed the Seventh Concubine to step out of the mansion even once.
Suddenly, Seven's slender figures appeared on the window sill; they hummed a tune while slowly raising their hands, their skin peeling away like gloves to reveal stark white bones beneath.
The torrential rain washed over Li Mansion's glazed tiles, and the copper bells at the eaves rang out like shattered bones in the wind.
uncle Zhao curled up in a corner of the study; on the photograph in his hand, Seven's brides were oozing Heavenly Blood, soaking the rice paper ledger into a dark red hue.
The distant play script echoed closer: "At midnight's drum and dawn's gong, painted skin brides must cross the river..."
"Do you know this house was once a execution ground during the Qing Dynasty?" The Barefoot Monk stood at the door without uncle Zhao noticing, his bamboo staff adorned with blood-stained copper coins. "In autumn of Guangxu Year Twenty-Three, Seven Yangzhou Slim Horses were executed here by slow slicing."
He lifted up a carpet to reveal blackened fingernails embedded in the gaps between blue bricks. "The resentment has solidified into Seven Fiends; it needs living Yang energy to suppress it."
uncle Zhao suddenly recalled that winter night in the Sixth Year of the Republic when his master returned from Yangzhou with seven Red Lacquered Wooden Boxes, claiming they contained antique calligraphy and paintings. That night, dogs in the stable barked incessantly; a night watchman said he saw women in bridal attire combing their hair by the well.
Now it dawned on him—those boxes probably contained those seven female corpses!
"Master, save me!" uncle Zhao grasped at the monk's clothing but tore off half a sleeve—beneath that tattered cloth was rotten Skin and Flesh!
Retreating into the moonlight, the Barefoot Monk revealed a skeletal visage beneath his conical hat. "I should have attained Nirvana ten years ago, but I borrowed the Buddha's Remains to extend my life for the sake of containing the Seven Fiends."
Between his fingers, he held a Buddhist Rosary made from seven human teeth. "Quickly go to the Cellar and retrieve the Five-Clawed Golden Dragon before Midnight..."
Before he could finish his sentence, a figure flew in from outside, entangling itself around the monk's neck—Hong Ling.
uncle Zhao turned to look, his blood running cold. The Seven Faceless Women hung upside down in the rain, their wedding dresses dripping with black water, exposed finger bones gripping the Beam. They spoke in unison, their voices like rusty blades scraping against porcelain bowls: "Old man... we've found you..."
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