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墨書 Inktalez
The sunset resembled a crushed egg yolk, slowly sinking beyond the mountains.
Tang An'an trudged through a dense forest that twisted like a labyrinth, each step causing the fallen leaves beneath her feet to rustle softly.
Finally, around a bend, she spotted a dilapidated old house, standing alone like an elderly figure nearing the end of its days.
The wooden door in the front yard bore the scars of time, appearing long neglected; large patches of paint had peeled away, revealing its weathered surface.
Tang An'an carefully stepped over the overgrown weeds, each movement cautious as if afraid to disturb something hidden.
She raised her hand and gently knocked on the wooden door with her knuckles. The sound echoed in the stillness, reverberating in her ears and creating an eerie atmosphere.
Silence enveloped her; no one responded. Fortunately, the door was not locked. After a moment's hesitation, caught in an internal struggle, she slowly extended her hand and gently pushed the door open.
Inside the yard, everything was arranged neatly, and it was clear that the weeds had recently been cleared away—evidence that someone indeed lived here!
Tang An'an made her way down a somewhat muddy path in the yard, each step causing her shoes to sink into the earth with a soft squelch. With trembling hands, she slowly pushed open the door to the house.
The interior was dimly lit, shrouded as if by a thick curtain. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she gasped in shock at what lay before her—this gloomy little room was actually a mourning hall!
White curtains fluttered gently in the breeze, and there stood an altar with a spirit tablet prominently displaying "Beloved Daughter Lu Ziqi's Spirit Tablet."
A sudden gust of cold wind swept through, causing the candles on the table to flicker to life, their wavering flames resembling ghostly lights.
Tang An'an couldn't bear to stay another second. She covered her mouth with her hands and turned to run out in a frenzy.
As she reached the door, she unexpectedly collided with someone, the force of the impact sending her stumbling backward.
When she regained her composure, she saw a middle-aged man standing at the entrance with a hoe slung over his shoulder, looking at her with confusion. "Who are you? Why did you barge into my house?" he questioned.
"Are you... Lu Ziqi's father?" Tang An'an struggled to calm herself, brushing off the dust from her clothes as she slowly stood up, trying to keep her voice steady. "I’m a classmate of Lu Ziqi."
"Oh, I see. How is Ziqi doing at school?" The man asked casually, though a flicker of something unidentifiable crossed his eyes.
Could it be that he didn’t know Lu Ziqi was dead? How could he explain the mourning altar inside the house?
Tang An'an was filled with questions, which festered in her mind and eventually morphed into a frantic panic. She shouted, "She’s dead! Don’t you all know?"
"Dead?" The man looked surprised, then suddenly burst into laughter. The sound echoed oddly in the silent courtyard. "Little girl, I know Ziqi isn't very popular at school, but there’s no need for you to curse my daughter like that."
"Then why is there a tablet for Lu Ziqi in that room?" Tang An'an retorted defiantly.
"You must be seeing things." The man calmly set down his hoe and walked steadily toward the inner room. Tang An'an hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions, but her strong curiosity compelled her to follow him inside.
The interior was completely different from what she had just encountered. In the center hung a portrait of Caishen, and on a small stove below, water was boiling with a soft hissing sound. A woman with graying hair was silently tidying up the table, arranging freshly cooked dishes—there were no curtains and no tablets!
"See? Where's the spirit tablet you mentioned?" The man sneered at her dismissively. "Little girl, hurry back to school; I won’t let you harm my daughter."
Tang An'an stood frozen in place, her mind filled with confusion. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of the woman casting a glance in her direction. A cold glint flickered in the murky depths of the woman's eyes, like a chilling arrow in the dark of night.
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