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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 5: Fateful Path (Part Eleven)
The balcony was not very large, cluttered with some miscellaneous items, among which old newspapers took up a significant space, along with a few old benches and scrap cardboard. This was likely left behind by the elderly resident, preparing to sell it all for some pocket money. According to Mo Feng, this small balcony should not be used for storage.
Moreover, doctors tend to have a peculiar obsession with cleanliness; they are particularly fond of tidiness. Perhaps it is because the people they encounter are often from special circumstances. To them, everyone falls into one of two categories: either they come to the hospital because they are ill, or they refuse to see a doctor despite being unwell. There are also those whose illnesses remain hidden for a long time. Thus, in the eyes of doctors, apart from themselves, everyone else could potentially be their patient.
Given this perspective, it follows that these patients are more or less unwell, and anything touched by sick individuals is considered dirty.
I had not realized this before, but after Chi Xinrong integrated into the hospital community, she even got herself a dedicated bowl for eating. Whether traveling or visiting friends—or even going to Qin Jian's house—she insisted on bringing her own bowl. She had been influenced by the cleanliness of the doctors and had unknowingly become one of them.
Enough of that; Zhang Xian was still waiting for me. I asked her, "Who was the first person to see Zhang Youjian when he died?" As I posed the question, I had a hunch it might be Mo Feng.
Sure enough, Zhang Xian's answer confirmed my suspicion. "It was Mo Feng."
Mo Feng saw Zhang Youjian hanging there and was so shocked that he lost his composure? I pondered this while resting my chin on my hand.
Zhang Xian couldn't wait any longer and anxiously asked, "Is there something wrong?"
"I can't say for sure yet, but I want to know how you all interacted during your trip," I replied. Seeing that Zhang Xian seemed confused, I elaborated with examples: "For instance, did anyone have conflicts or arguments? Or perhaps someone found something dirty in a particular spot along the way? Traveling can be unpredictable like taking a bath without knowing how deep the water is; strange things are bound to happen. Think carefully—could any of these scenarios have occurred?"
Zhang Xian listened thoughtfully and shook her head. "We followed a normal route and didn’t encounter anything particularly strange with anyone. There was a temple along the way; we don’t really believe in ghosts or gods, so we didn’t pray to Mud Buddha. We just joked around in the temple."
"Did you record any videos?"
Zhang Xian immediately pulled out his phone and handed it to me. "Yes, at first they specifically asked me to take photos and videos, then select some good ones to print as pictures for everyone to keep. They also recorded some videos to save for later viewing."
He passed the phone to me, and the screen displayed their joyful faces, laughing heartily. The person recording the video was Zhang Xian himself, seemingly crossing a small ditch, which resulted in the footage being captured from an unusual angle. Each person's appearance looked distorted; the heavier ones appeared even bulkier, while the slimmer ones had double chins. Everyone was beaming with joy and having a great time! Just when I thought this segment of the video was about to end, a vague white shadow suddenly drifted out from behind the last person.
I quickly paused the video at that moment. To the naked eye, it looked like a flash of white light. I lowered the phone and brought it closer to Zhang Xian. "What do you think this is?"
Zhang Xian looked surprised. "I remember this video; it was taken when we first arrived at the tourist spot, and it was dark then, so there shouldn't have been any light or shadows..."
"This isn't just light or shadow." If I wasn't mistaken, that white flash should be a ghost or perhaps something more sinister. I didn't share this thought with Zhang Xian. Just as I was about to check the second video, Uncle Mo approached us with a stack of papers in hand, looking anxious.
"Zhang, there's tea in the living room; you two should drink it while it's hot."
"Thank you," Zhang Xian politely nodded at him. As he stepped back, I found it odd that Uncle Mo was holding those papers; I thought he might have something important to tell us. Seeing my curiosity about what Uncle Mo was holding, Xian couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Uncle Mo doesn't have many hobbies—he doesn't play Mahjong, doesn't enjoy sword dancing or calligraphy, and he doesn't like going to tea shops either. He just loves buying lottery tickets. Those papers are his self-created winning number predictions. He often argues with Feng about this; he’s so frugal with food and clothing but spends money on this instead."
"Buying lottery tickets is a form of gambling disguised as funding for sports development. As long as one isn't excessively addicted and just plays for fun, it's not a big deal. Everyone needs a hobby in life besides their beliefs, right?"
"Yeah."
"Enough about lottery tickets; let's talk about Mo Feng." Just as I was about to steer the conversation back on track, my eyelids twitched uncontrollably twice, followed by an unsettling feeling creeping in. It felt wrong—something must be happening in this house.
I raised my hand to stop Zhang Xian from continuing the discussion about Mo Feng and motioned for her to follow me outside onto the balcony and then into the living room. Old Man Mo sat on the sofa with a sorrowful expression, looking composed. He seemed fine; perhaps it was someone in the bedroom who was in trouble?
I hurriedly dialed Qin Jian's number. Don’t blame me for being foolish; after all, wasn’t Qin Jian in Mo Feng's bedroom making some kind of call? In fact, as soon as Zhang Xian and I left the balcony for the living room, I sensed something was off. A persistent wave of Evil Energy lingered throughout the house—this wasn't just any ordinary ghostly presence but rather a negative influence caused by something that had almost reached a critical point.
It was expected that Qin Jian's phone call would not go through after a while. I couldn't help but feel a surge of anxiety as I rushed toward the bedroom door. To my surprise, Zhang Xian had already made it there before me. She seemed to struggle as she pulled the door open, and in an instant, a cold white light shot out, piercing through the air. I shouted, "Stop! That's the light leading to the Gate of Hell!" At my shout, Xian trembled and quickly closed the door, trapping that eerie light inside.
At that moment, Mo Old Man sprang up, rushing over with urgency. "What's going on? What Gate of Hell?"
In reality, the Gate of Hell was omnipresent; as long as one reached a certain level of cultivation, they could open a passage to it using Evil Arts barrier techniques. If I wasn't mistaken, this lurking Evil Sorcerer intended to drag Mo Feng, Qin Jian, and Chi Xinrong into the Gate of Hell.
I was mentally preparing myself for the situation at hand when the old man suddenly asked his question. Zhang Xian moved her lips but ultimately didn't grasp the meaning behind my urgent words. She looked at me, unsure how to respond. There were too many complicated matters at play, and given the old man's age, he couldn't handle any more shocks. The best course of action was to send him away for now. I needed to seal off this passage to the Gate of Hell. With that thought in mind, I calmly said to him, "Old man, you go study the lottery; we’ve got this covered here. So please don’t worry."
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