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墨書 Inktalez
The cold scrutiny hidden beneath that gentle facade pierced my mind like a venomous thorn, leaving me restless day and night. Mole's words, "I know," weighed heavily on my chest like a boulder, making it hard to breathe. What exactly did he know? About Xuan Mo? About the Ink Figurine Sect? Or perhaps about the dark dealings lurking beneath the splendor of Chang'an? Or was it about the damned ink stain on my sleeve?
He remained silent, his vigilance almost palpable in the air. We were like startled birds, flitting through the dark, winding sewers beneath Chang'an. But this time, trouble had come knocking at our door.
It was in a damp, moldy abandoned dye house that we thought we had found a temporary refuge. However, the acrid smell of sulfur and dye could not mask the footsteps of our pursuers. They approached silently, like true "Ink Shadows," seeping out from the darkness.
There were more than two this time—at least five or six!
"Run!" Mole growled, shoving me aside as his short blade was drawn in an instant, ready to confront them.
In the darkness, all I could hear were the sharp sounds of clashing weapons and dull thuds. I was utterly helpless, hiding behind a massive dye vat, my heart racing as if it would leap from my throat.
Mole's skills were far more ruthless and swift than I had imagined. He moved like an enraged black panther in the confined space, each swing of his blade glinting with deadly intent. One Ink Shadow fell with a muffled grunt.
But fists cannot withstand many hands. One Ink Shadow circled behind Mole, thrusting a short dagger gleaming with dark light toward his lower back!
"Watch out!" I cried out involuntarily.
Mole reacted swiftly, twisting to evade the fatal blow, but the dagger still grazed his side, drawing forth a spray of blood. He let out a muffled groan, his movements faltering for just a moment.
That split second of vulnerability! Another Ink Shadow's blade sliced past his ribs!
Mole staggered back, crashing into the dye vat where I was hiding with a dull thud. His face turned pale as paper, cold sweat instantly beading on his forehead; blood gushed from the gap where he pressed his hand against his side.
"Go!" He gritted his teeth and pushed me forward once more while using his body to shield against the pursuing Ink Shadows.
My mind went blank; all I knew was to run! The sounds of battle behind me—the muffled groans from Mole and the icy shouts of the Ink Shadows—blended together like a dull knife slicing through my nerves. I dared not look back and had no idea where to flee; I simply ran wildly through the darkness.
I had no sense of time until the sounds behind me faded completely. I collapsed onto the ground like a fish out of water, gasping for breath with the taste of blood filling my throat.
What happened to Mole…?
A wave of immense fear and an unprecedented sense of guilt seized me. He was injured because he saved me! If it weren't for me, this useless painter, he might not have found himself in such peril!
Just as despair threatened to engulf me, heavy footsteps approached from afar. It was Mole!
He leaned against the wall, moving step by step toward me. His face was as white as paper, lips cracked; wounds on his side and ribs were hastily bandaged with torn cloth soaked through with blood. Each step he took seemed to be filled with excruciating pain.
“...Find a place,” his voice was hoarse and weak, barely audible.
I quickly scrambled to support him. His body burned with fever yet trembled slightly.
We leaned on each other as we navigated through the maze-like underground passages for what felt like an eternity until we finally stumbled upon an abandoned mortuary. Normally, I would avoid such places at all costs; now it was our only option. Inside lay several unclaimed coffins with thin skins; the air was thick with a mix of decaying corpses and burnt incense—a chilling and desperate atmosphere enveloped us.
I couldn't think of anything else. I laid Mole down in a corner. He passed out almost immediately, his breathing faint, and the wound continued to bleed profusely.
I had to stop the bleeding! I needed medicine!
But where could I find it? We were broke, and who knew how many Shadow Ink were searching outside? Mole's injuries were too severe; if this dragged on...
I paced anxiously, my fingers nervously tracing patterns in the air as I tried to clear my mind, but all I created was a tangled mess. My gaze inadvertently fell on the blood-soaked cloth strip at Mole's side—it was the piece I had torn off earlier to bandage his wound, made from... the cloth I had used that night at the Hundred Ghosts Garden to wipe off the remnants of the living puppet!
A chill ran down my spine as I leaned in closer.
In the dim moonlight filtering through the broken window, I saw that the strip, stained with Mole's blood and some unknown filth, not only bore a dark red hue but also... had some extremely viscous, semi-transparent liquid that seemed to be slightly writhing?
The liquid emitted a faint glow, reminiscent of fireflies' tails, flickering in the darkness. An indescribable aura emanated from it—partly a form of extraordinary vitality, yet tinged with a hint of decaying sweetness.
What was this substance?!
I cautiously extended my finger to touch the glowing liquid. The moment my fingertip made contact, a rush of icy yet strangely warm energy surged into my body!
Buzz!
My brain jolted as if something had been unlocked. Everything around me suddenly became incredibly clear—I could hear the distant sound of patrol drums from the market at night, smell the dust from cobwebs in the corner of the mortuary, and even vaguely "feel" the cold stillness of the coffin beside me... and outside the mortuary, lurking in the darkness were several faint yet malicious presences!
It was Shadow Ink! They were still nearby!
At the same time, an indescribable sense of power began to spread through my limbs. My mind felt more alert than ever; all fatigue seemed to vanish.
"Absorb... it..."
A vague voice, indistinguishable in gender, echoed directly in my mind, carrying an irresistible allure.
"Power... survival..."
Was it an illusion? Or...
I quickly withdrew my hand, staring in terror at the tiny residue of glowing viscous liquid on my fingertip.
Demon Essence!
The term sprang uncontrollably to my mind. Master Xuan Mo, the Ink Puppet Sect, living puppets... This was what they sought or perhaps what created all of this! Was it for immortality? Or to wield a power capable of overturning everything?
I looked at Mole, unconscious and teetering between life and death, while feeling that surging, tempting power within me and hearing whispers that wouldn't fade away.
A mad thought emerged.
If this substance could grant living puppets such terrifying strength, could it... save Mole?
But what about the cost?
I recalled the twisted, deformed living puppet, the dark red stains beneath Master Xuan Mo's fingernails, the inhuman howls and hollow eyes. To become like that? I, Wu Daozi, would rather die as a human than turn into that kind of ghostly thing!
But Mole… he cannot die! He did it for me…
My heart felt torn by two hands; on one side was the desire to survive and even gain power, while on the other was the ultimate fear of mutation, of becoming a monster. I once thought that maintaining my integrity amidst the palace's treachery was wisdom, but now, faced with this evil beyond reason and the peril of my savior, what did wisdom even mean?
“Use… it…” That whisper echoed again, clearer and more enticing.
What should I do? What should I do?!
I looked at Mole's pale face and then at the faint glimmer at my fingertips. Sweat trickled down my forehead, dripping onto the cold ground.
Finally, trembling, I pulled out the small sketchbook and charcoal from my pocket—no, charcoal wouldn’t do. I needed a brush.
I searched my body and found an old brush hidden in my inner pocket… short and almost worn down to nothing. It was the very brush I had used when I first learned to paint, and I had never been able to throw it away.
I took a deep breath, as if making the hardest decision of my life.
Then, with the tip of that worn brush, I carefully and slowly dipped it into the small amount of glowing, viscous… demon essence on the cloth.
The moment the brush tip touched the essence, a stronger, almost dizzying sensation surged into my mind. Countless chaotic images and sound fragments flashed by—howls of strange beasts, flowing ink, painful struggles, and Master Xuan Mo's cold yet compassionate eyes…
I fought against the dizziness and nausea, steadying my trembling wrist.
What should I draw with this? A talisman? I didn’t understand any of this mystical art. Or perhaps…
A thought flashed through my mind. I looked at Mole’s tightly closed eyes and remembered his gaze—always vigilant and indifferent but had saved my life at a critical moment.
I hovered the brush tip above Mole’s closed eyelids; that faint light swayed in the darkness like a demon’s temptation.
I could feel my hand shaking, my heart pounding like a drum. I didn’t know what would happen next—healing? Mutation? Or… something worse?
But I knew there was no turning back now.
The brush tip gently descended.
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