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墨書 Inktalez
“Heavenly Eye is something one is born with; for others, it can only be awakened through the act of opening one's eyes. However, his situation is different from that of Heavenly Eye. Based on what he shared last night, it seems that his physical constitution has connected him to the old house, thereby activating an ability he already possessed. I asked Dong Qing to look into his Ba Zi, and it aligns well with the old house. Perhaps he is the ‘herb guide’ my master mentioned back in the day.”
As they traveled toward Song Bunan's home, Xiao Mei inquired about every detail regarding this potentially ghostly encounter, while also explaining to the temporary driver, Zhang Long, why she was so invested in this person. Despite having downed a large cup of coffee to prepare for a night of wakefulness, Zhang Long still yawned repeatedly. His mind remained relatively alert as he glanced at the road and asked questions. Instead of answering each question individually, Xiao Mei provided a general explanation:
“I’ve been going to the old house for over three years now. Aside from those I locked inside, only one house ghost has truly appeared before me, and he never communicates; he merely guides souls. Last night, when he mentioned shadows and mist, it matched what Shui Su had described. Moreover, my master’s ability to appear and save people indicates that this person is significant. Shui Su advised me to keep an eye on Song Bunan, at least until he returns.”
After finishing his last sip of coffee, Zhang Long nodded in understanding but suddenly recalled a question: “What’s that rascal Shui Su doing out there? It’s been over a year! The boss has been back for quite some time, yet he still hasn’t returned.”
Turning to look at Xiao Mei, he noticed that she was still focused on her phone without raising her head. She simply shook her head in response, not saying another word.
After sending a message to Xiao Mei, Song Bunan was about to open the door when he bumped into Song Buxian, who was leaving. Holding a briefcase, Song Buxian mentioned that he might have to work late tonight before standing by the elevator. After a while without hearing the door close, he turned back and saw Song Bunan standing at the door engrossed in his phone. Annoyed, he kicked him lightly and said, “Go home and play!”
Sitting on his own sofa while explaining the situation to Xiao Mei, Song Bunan felt that his typing speed had significantly improved tonight. The story about the elderly lady in the elevator wasn’t long, but each of Xiao Mei’s questions required him to recall details carefully and articulate his thoughts clearly. Especially when explaining how beautiful the hairpin on the old lady's head was; he even drew a diagram for clarity.
Looking up at the clock showing nearly midnight, he felt a chill in his empty house that made it rather dull. He had napped too much in the afternoon and wasn’t tired at all; instead, his back wound was itching intensely. As Xiao Mei informed him that she would take some time to arrive, Song Bunan decided to change the medication on his wound.
These injuries had accompanied him since childhood; even slight movements would cause them to reopen painfully enough that he could hardly stand straight, robbing him of much of his childhood joy. The only consolation was that he had developed an immunity to this pain over time; what once felt like sharp agony had become merely a mild discomfort in his mind. He had also learned how to treat himself effectively; applying specialized ointment from the hospital made him feel significantly better.
After removing his shirt, he began unwrapping the bandages and noticed something strange—perhaps due to nighttime fatigue—the bandages seemed covered with dirt. Besides the deep brown color left by medicinal ointment, there were many odd black specks mixed in like ash from something burned. The strong medicinal smell remained unchanged.
As he placed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on the first wound, a cold sting made him shiver as goosebumps spread across his body. Used to this sensation now, he hummed while cleaning each area thoroughly; however, when he pulled back his hand and looked at the cotton ball again, unease washed over him.
The cotton ball was also covered in black ash, and alongside the scent of alcohol was an odor reminiscent of burnt paper. Discarding the cotton ball and wiping again yielded more black residue sticking to it. Unable to see clearly what was happening with his wounds, he dropped the tweezers and took his phone into the bathroom. Turning on the light to inspect his back revealed not only familiar scars but also dark substances stuck within them.
What was worse was that these were located in areas difficult for him to clean alone. Grasping his phone and pondering who could help him at this hour proved fruitless; leaving it unattended could lead to infection or inflammation requiring weeks of recovery lying down. Reluctantly, he dialed Song Buxian.
Upon receiving the call right after arriving at work, Song Buxian initially intended to scold his foolish younger brother but held back upon hearing it concerned a wound. After asking about the situation briefly, he promised to return quickly. Meanwhile, Xin Yi, who had arrived earlier beside him, tossed some documents onto his desk without discussion and strode out decisively: “I’ll go check; you handle things here.”
“…” Everything I just swallowed should have been said directly to you! Grinding his teeth in frustration, Song Buxian called back: “Xin Yi is going over; wait for him to let you in.”
After hanging up on his brother's call, Song Bunan lightly patted where it itched and thought it best to put on some clothes while waiting. Just as he grasped his shirt, there came a knock at the door. Assuming it was Xiao Mei, he walked toward it when suddenly his phone rang—displaying that it was indeed her.
Confused as to why she would call even after arriving, Song Bunan instinctively peered through the peephole and saw an elderly man standing outside in the dark hallway—the same one he'd encountered in the elevator earlier—maintaining a smile that appeared quite sinister due to the angle.
This sight genuinely frightened Song Bunan, causing him to step back several paces and hide behind a wall as he answered the phone; on the other end, Xiao Mei shouted urgently with an altered tone: “Don’t open the door!”
Almost simultaneously, Song Bunan saw the door slowly creak open as cold air rushed inside. He stood at the study door without thinking twice before dashing inside; however, before locking it behind him, that old man stood right before him—his grayish-blue face now terrifyingly close with what should have been a warm smile twisted into something dreadful.
The chilling aura mixed with an overpowering fragrance made Song Bunan’s body go limp as he collapsed onto the floor; everything around him began spinning uncontrollably. In an instant, that old man was behind him as coldness seeped into his back through his wound—an intense pain surged through him causing spasms throughout his limbs. As he lay on the ground in agony, he faintly heard footsteps approaching; upon recognizing it was Xiao Mei holding a short stick in hand, darkness enveloped him completely.
Dreams often come unexpectedly; just moments ago he'd been fainting from pain alone in his study yet now found himself standing outside his community without feeling anything at all. The street devoid of streetlights was pitch-black—so dark one couldn't see their own hand—and behind him, his neighborhood slowly faded into darkness until only a nearby trash bin remained visible.
Unsure of where he was or how he'd ended up here, Song Bunan attempted to retrace his steps home but soon heard bells ringing from afar down the street—a clear sound gradually growing louder as someone approached slowly from that direction. Despite being surrounded by darkness, this figure became visible—a person holding a yellow bell who swung it with each step they took toward him.
As the newcomer approached within ten meters, the sound of a bell suddenly grew louder. The clang startled him awake.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself still in his study, but the old man beside him had transformed into Xin Yi. Xin Yi was half-holding him, and aside from the pain in his back, his head felt dizzy and uncomfortable, a vague nausea making him want to vomit but unable to do so.
After drinking a cup of warm water, he felt a bit better. He attempted to sit up straight but was lifted instead. Xin Yi spoke softly in his ear, just loud enough for him to hear: "I went upstairs and saw the door open; the house is a mess. You were lying at the study door. I called your name, and you woke up. Did someone break in?"
Looking around, he noticed that the room was indeed in disarray, but upon closer inspection, his phone and belongings were still there. Song Bunan was sprawled on the sofa, and Xin Yi's phone was ready to dial 110 for emergency services. Not knowing what had happened after he fainted, he shook his head. "It seems like nothing's missing. My parents don’t keep cash at home, and the computer is still in the study; it’s just the living room that’s been ransacked. Xin Yi, I don’t think we need to call the police..."
With Xiao Mei not at home and no messages on his phone, he worried that involving the police might complicate things for him. He grabbed Xin Yi's hand to stop him from making the call and awkwardly changed the subject. "Xin Yi, my back hurts a lot; can you help me take a look?"
Perhaps it was Song Bunan's tear-streaked face that disrupted Xin Yi's resolve; he decided against calling the police and focused on examining Song Bunan's injuries instead. The flesh on the boy's back had split open with several bleeding wounds. Though they wanted to take him to the hospital, Song Bunan refused, lying flat on the ground while sobbing quietly as he held up a pair of tweezers. "Xin Yi, just help me apply some medicine; it’s not serious enough for a hospital."
Song Buxian soon returned home, wearing a cold expression as he surveyed the room. Taking advantage of Xin Yi’s distraction while he treated Song Bunan's wounds, he stepped outside and retrieved a piece of paper wedged in the fire escape door before tearing it up and tossing it into the trash.
"He probably fell after burning himself again; nothing seems to be missing from the house. No need to call the police. We should try not to work late at night anymore; this idiot will definitely get into trouble being home alone."
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