Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
In a humble wooden cabin deep within the dense forest, Ling Dajun curled up on a wooden bed. Ever since that day when Wang Pozi's family came to cause trouble, he had taken his son and hidden in the mountains, seeking refuge in this dilapidated shelter typically used by hunters.
The cabin was poorly constructed, with drafts seeping in from every corner. Ling Dajun had rushed out in haste, taking only a few thick garments and leaving behind even his blanket. The bed was too short for someone of his robust build, forcing him to curl up like a hedgehog in danger.
Nearby, a heavy military coat covered his son, the Two-Headed Monster Baby.
At that moment, Ling Dajun seemed to be under some kind of spell, his limbs sprawled out with his legs dangling limply over the edge of the bed. He was sleeping soundly.
If Ling Dajun were to wake up now, he would discover that beneath the green military coat lay emptiness. His son, the two-headed infant, sat cross-legged with his fleshy red hands forming gestures, his eyes slightly closed, eerily suspended in mid-air.
Suddenly, Zhu Sheng opened his eyes wide. They were pitch-black like ink. Gradually, the darkness receded like a retreating tide, revealing the distinctly black and white eyes typical of an infant.
Yet these eyes now bore an expression of adult contemplation. The agile little body that had been floating slowly descended back onto the bed. The Two-Headed Monster Baby wiped away a trickle of blood that had dripped from the corner of his mouth with his chubby hand.
His gaze turned fierce as he stared resentfully into the void.
In the cold winter night sky, a muffled thunderclap echoed, accompanied by what appeared to be colorful fireworks bursting forth—strikingly vivid against the dark backdrop.
The monk's expression grew serious; he hadn't anticipated that this creature would possess such power from birth—not only able to cast illusions from afar but also capable of battling wills across such distances. It was truly formidable. If left unchecked, it could bring about endless calamity, turning the world into Bodhi Hell.
"Amitabha."
The monk clasped his hands together and murmured a prayer. He took down a gourd from his waist and tilted it back to drink deeply; warmth surged through his throat.
His master had once borrowed from supreme Buddhism, using his life as a medium to calculate a sliver of hope for all beings. That was why he found himself in this remote mountain village.
Before passing away, his master had said: "You are my most favored disciple after all these years and have the deepest connection to Buddha. This time I have exhausted my efforts to glimpse a thread of opportunity; you are the variable in this game. Remember, good and evil are but a thought apart—a thought can lead to heaven or hell."
The monk casually gathered some straw and laid it on the ground, resting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs comfortably.
He was an orphan raised by his master. Thus, while they were technically teacher and student, their bond was akin to that of father and son. At that time, he was considered the most gifted disciple in the entire Temple; his master nurtured him as a future successor, making him quite prominent among peers.
At just eighteen years old, he descended the mountain to experience the world. Who among the young is not reckless? He fell in love with a woman he should not have loved, and for her, he killed many. But who, in their youth, does not burn with passion? Who does not despise evil? Who can tolerate even a grain of sand in their eyes? If he could not protect his own woman, what kind of man was he?
His master expelled him from the sect, and at that moment, he knelt and bowed three times, tears streaming down his face. Yet deep inside, he felt defiant. From then on, he wandered alone, drifting from place to place, living a carefree life where one person’s fullness meant no one else went hungry.
It was not until his master sent someone to find him that he was given such a heavy mission concerning the fate of all living beings.
Buddha said: "If I do not enter hell, who will?"
Thus, he came here, burdened with guilt towards his master and his own obsessions.
He then thought about his current situation. All he had to do was guard the mother of the creature until it was born. In a few days, that monster would reveal itself. Just as there were those who waited by the tree for a rabbit, he would wait by the corpse for the monster.
Whenever a Yuan Ling reincarnates, it must be nourished by its mother for seven days to wash away its ghostly aura and become an outwardly normal human.
Now that the monster had gone two days without nourishment from its mother, it would soon reach its limit. By tomorrow night at the latest, it would surely take action.
Fortunately, there was still some time left; he could not afford to be careless. Although it was generally true that newly born monsters were weaker, from their brief encounter tonight, it was clear this creature was an anomaly.
The long storm finally ceased, and sunlight shone on the vast expanse of snow, reflecting blinding rays.
Ling Dajun stretched lazily; he had never slept so comfortably before. He looked down at his son beside him. The child’s long eyelashes fluttered slightly; occasionally his mouth made sucking sounds as he breathed lightly, just like any normal baby—pink and tender. If it weren’t for that other head staring at him intently from beside him, sending chills down his spine, Ling Dajun might have thought these past days were just a dream—his wife had not died, and his son was normal.
Ling Dajun quietly got out of bed and took down the steaming kettle from the fire to prepare some rice porridge. He stirred it vigorously with a spoon until it reached an even consistency before squatting down beside the bed. He scooped a spoonful and blew on it gently while coaxing, “Come on now, son. It’s breakfast time.”
The other head seemed to understand and began sucking on the porridge from the spoon.
Ling Dajun watched his son eat with delight and smiled broadly. Through these past two days together, Ling Dajun had grown less fearful and discovered some patterns. Although both heads shared one body, they each had distinct personalities. The gentler head always enjoyed the porridge while the other head wore a fierce expression filled with hostility.
Moreover, Ling Dajun recalled that when they were first born, Zhu Sheng's head had been the gentler one. However, ever since they escaped into the dense forest, Zhu Sheng's head had transformed into one filled with rage.
Were the two children playing a soul-swapping game?
The next morning, the monk was awakened by the bustling voices outside his door. Rubbing his eyes, he squinted to see that the weather was clear.
A crowd had gathered at the entrance, a mass of people.
"The master is truly remarkable; he actually slept with a corpse for an entire night."
The monk cursed inwardly: Damn it, you’re the one who slept with the corpse; your whole family must have slept with it too.
"The master is noble and self-sacrificing, willing to protect our village's safety at all costs. Truly admirable."
The monk grumbled again in his heart: What the hell, Poor Monk is alive and well; how did I sacrifice myself? Where’s the sacrifice?
"The master is like a celestial being; even the demons and monsters would avoid him. Look at last night—none of the children in every household got into trouble. That’s thanks to the master's hard work overnight."
The monk felt quite pleased with the villagers' flattery. He scratched his head and waved to the crowd outside, embodying the demeanor of an important leader giving a speech. "Exorcising demons is Poor Monk’s duty, but as you all can see, it’s not just mentally exhausting; it’s also costly."
He led everyone forward a few steps, pointing at the formation he had set up last night, much like a tour guide waving a red flag—if only he had a loudspeaker in hand. He pointed at the corpse and explained, "This corpse harbors intense malice; if not handled properly, it could turn into a blood-sucking zombie. To ensure peace in our area, Poor Monk used all his personal magical tools. Don’t underestimate this formation’s simple materials; they have been consecrated and blessed by High Monk. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be able to contain this corpse."
The crowd nodded in agreement but then looked at the monk with innocent expressions.
Frustrated, the monk wondered what was wrong with these people. Did they not understand how to read expressions, or were they just pretending to be clueless? He pulled Zhao Heitie aside and whispered, "You’re the only smart one in the village; you can’t let Poor Monk suffer losses like this."
Zhao Heitie was taken aback and didn’t respond.
The monk continued, "That monster will return tonight. Unfortunately, Poor Monk has urgent matters to attend to and can’t stay any longer."
Before he could turn away, Zhao Heitie grabbed him. Clearing his throat twice, he addressed the crowd, "The master is truly righteous; he has saved us from peril. We must not forget his kindness. Moreover, these magical tools are consumables; if we use them now, what will the master have left to save others in the future? Therefore, I propose that each household contribute some money so that the master can acquire more magical tools to help save more people. This way, we can also accumulate virtue and do good."
As soon as the topic of money was brought up, the crowd erupted in chaos. A few cunning individuals thought about taking advantage of the confusion to slip out of the room, but they were quickly silenced by the village chief's next words.
"Anyone who is unwilling can leave now, but I cannot guarantee that nothing will come to your homes tonight."
At this statement, a hush fell over the crowd.
Then, one by one, voices of agreement began to rise.
"This is something we ought to do."
"How can our family be absent from such a virtuous deed?"
The monk appeared calm and composed, giving a thumbs-up to Zhao Heitie with his hand hanging at his side.
Comment 0 Comment Count