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Xu Wenshan grabbed the Azure Blue Porcelain Vase and hurled it forward, shattering the porcelain against a bronze mirror. The reflection of Zhou Huaisheng in the mirror suddenly transformed into the Hair Combing Old Woman, her wooden comb sweeping through the air, bringing with it a chilling wind.
Xu Wenshan rolled aside to evade her attack, and from a hidden compartment in his lower back, a ledger fell out. The latest entry read: "Bing Shen Year, March Third, received seven taels from Xushi Shengren Yin Fa."
He found himself at the Qinghe Hydrological Station's abandoned well. Moonlight crawled over the moss-covered walls as Xu Wenshan descended using a hemp rope, bits of Sophora wood shavings cascading down upon him.
At the bottom of the well lay seven red lacquer coffins, each coffin lid fastened with seven jade thimbles. When he illuminated the nearest coffin with his phone, the female corpse inside suddenly opened her eyes—it was the Tea House Old Shopkeeper's granddaughter, with blood still seeping from the Yin Shu woven into her hair.
"Just one more to go." The voice of Widow Lin echoed from above. In her hand, the Tailor's Scissors gleamed coldly. "Mr. Xu, this hair..." The scissors suddenly whirled downwards, grazing Xu Wenshan's ear before embedding themselves into the Coffin Board, their blade catching half a gray-white braid.
Xu Wenshan felt around for remnants of Thunderstruck Wood at the bottom of the coffin; embedded within its grain was a scene from the Eastern Gravefield of Chaos: in 1996, during a fire, Zhou Fulai held a female corpse in his arms, and on her right hand's ring finger was Widow Lin's jade thimble. The back of the photo bore a blood-written message: "Yin Yang Person Borrowing Corpse to Return Soul Technique, Forty-Nine Years Cycle."
Suddenly, the well water began to boil, and blood seeped from all seven coffins at once. As Xu Wenshan grasped a braid to climb up the well wall, he saw Zhou Huaisheng standing among a grove of Sophora trees, forty-nine wooden combs suspended in formation, each comb tooth entangled with strands of wandering souls.
Widow Lin pressed her scissors against her own throat; under the moonlight, her jade thimble cracked open to reveal half of a carved wooden comb sealed inside.
The clock at Qinghe Tailor Shop chimed three-quarters past midnight. Xu Wenshan focused on the carved wooden comb at the bottom layer of Widow Lin's Makeup Box. He recalled Chen Guohua's annotation on the autopsy report from twenty years ago: "Every strand of hair is soaked in Yin Debt." The comb teeth glimmered with a green sheen under the kerosene lamp; their spacing was precise as if measured by a ruler—this was key evidence in the Li Xiuyun case.
"Mr. Xu knows how to comb hair too?" Widow Lin's scissors brushed against his neck as they passed by, severing a hemp thread that hung from the beam above. As the thread fell to the ground, it splattered fine ash; Xu Wenshan caught a whiff of corpse wax mingled with locust flower—a scent that permeated every piece of fabric in this shop.
Feigning interest in the dressing mirror, he secretly snapped a photo of the wooden comb with his phone. Suddenly, mist clouded the mirror's surface, revealing Zhou Fudi in the Textile Factory changing room: female workers were using this very wooden comb to style their curls. As the comb teeth scraped against their scalps, blood beads emerged; those bloodstains flowed along the mirror into reality onto his dressing table.
"In winter nights of '96, this comb sold seven pieces." Widow Lin tapped her thimble against her Makeup Box; emerald inlays flashed with a corpse-like green glow. "The buyers were all girls with damaged hair." She abruptly tugged at her collar to reveal braids sewn into her collarbone—stitching identical to that on Li Xiuyun's scalp using the "Double Dragons Playing with Pearls" technique.
Xu Wenshan's hand instinctively reached for his Self-Defense Spray but froze. A figure brushing their hair passed outside; the kerosene lamp cast their shadow onto the printed curtain where he could see strands tied with Huang Mu Zhu dripping with viscous fluid.
Widow Lin suddenly extinguished the oil lamp; in darkness, her breath brushed against Xu Wenshan’s ear: "The Zhou Family is here to collect interest on the seventh comb."
It was an overcast morning during Yin hour. Xu Wenshan curled up in Qinghe Tailor Shop’s attic, beneath him lay the wooden comb stolen from Widow Lin’s Makeup Box. Rainwater dripped through gaps in the tiles onto the comb teeth below, gradually revealing blood-like patterns in the accumulating water.
He pulled out a Swiss Army knife and wiped the back of the comb. Beneath the scorch marks of Thunderstruck Sophora, small engraved characters revealed themselves: "Bingzi Year, Hai Hour, borrowed Yin Fa four taels and nine coins."
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