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墨書 Inktalez
After escaping the collapsed passage, we took a moment to rest in a small room. It appeared to be an archive, surrounded by metal cabinets. The air was filled with the musty scent of old paper.
My companion opened the bag left by A Hu, revealing a stack of yellowed papers and a notebook. The pages were densely filled with names and dates, the earliest one barely legible, with only a few numbers faintly visible.
These are the missing persons, my companion said, his voice trembling slightly. A Hu has been documenting them over the years.
I examined the names closely; most were children, all around ten years old. Next to each name was a blood type and a strange code.
Wait, Zhou Jing pointed to one of the pages. Look at this mark.
It was a red circle with Japanese characters written beside it. Although the ink had faded, the certification stamp stood out prominently.
These marked children, Doctor Zhao said softly, are all carriers of special blood types.
Suddenly, I noticed there was more content on the back of the list. It was a hand-drawn relationship diagram, connecting different names and organizations with lines. At the top was a box labeled "Sun Association," with a dozen points scattered below. Next to the node for Changling Village, there was a question mark drawn in red ink.
These organizations, I pointed at the names.
They're just fronts, my companion said. On the surface, they appear to be medical institutions or welfare homes, but in reality—
He didn’t finish his sentence as hurried footsteps echoed from outside. We quickly hid behind the metal cabinet.
Have they searched everywhere? It was Zhang Shou’s voice.
Yes. Someone answered in Japanese, but we haven’t found the list yet.
We must find it! Zhang Shou insisted. The organization can’t wait much longer.
Shan Jun, the person speaking Japanese lowered his voice. Do you think it could be A Hu—
Call me Zhang Shou! Zhang Shou interrupted sharply. Remember, no Japanese here!
The footsteps gradually faded away. I looked at my companion; his expression was grave.
Mountain? I whispered.
He shook his head, signaling that now wasn’t the time to talk. But I noticed his hands were trembling as if that name had stirred up some terrifying memory.
Once we were sure there was no one outside, we continued to flip through A Hu’s notes. The front page read: Dedicated to my grandfather; may he forgive my cowardice in heaven.
The contents of the notes were unexpected. They weren’t simple records but an investigative report. A Hu had been secretly gathering evidence over the years in an attempt to uncover a buried history.
Year after year, I read softly, before the Japanese army retreated—
The rest of that content had been torn out. But in the notebook's pocket, I found a photograph. In it stood a group of people in lab coats at the entrance of a bunker; their expressions were serious and their demeanor arrogant. The young man at the front wore distinctive glasses that looked exactly like Zhang Shou’s.
"Don't look anymore," she said, quickly taking the photo. "Some truths are not meant to be known right now."
Just then, the overhead light in the archive room flickered. We looked up and saw a crack in the ceiling, with moonlight spilling through the gap.
"This is bad," Doctor Zhao's face turned pale. "The moon is almost directly overhead."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means the ritual is about to begin," she said urgently. "We have to stop them!"
But before she could finish, a deep horn sounded from a distance, resembling some kind of ritual signal. This was followed by the sound of synchronized footsteps, as if a group of people were moving in a specific direction.
"They're heading to the altar," she said. "They want to complete the final sacrifice."
We exchanged glances, realizing time was running out. Just as we prepared to act, the lights in the archive room suddenly went out completely. In the darkness, the moonlight became glaringly bright, illuminating the documents and casting a grim shadow over everything.
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