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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 48: Grudge (Part Eight)
As we stepped out of the temple, we saw someone squatting by the car, looking miserable and not moving at all.
"What happened to her?" I asked, and Qin Jian hurried over.
After some careful questioning, Chi Xinrong finally started to sob and shared what had happened to her.
Just as the three of us were entering the temple, Chi Xinrong, unwilling to stay by the car, attempted to follow us inside. At that moment, a dog covered in black fur charged at her, scaring her so much that she turned and ran.
Unexpectedly, seeing her run only made the dog more aggressive as it lunged directly at her.
Qin Jian, Gousi, and I looked around; there were no dogs in sight, not even a single hair.
Chi Xinrong pointed at the temple entrance and said, "The dog turned back when it saw you all coming."
Well, it seemed that while Fatty encountered a monkey's antics, Chi Xinrong was frightened by a black dog. Everything had its reason, so I didn't press the matter further. We comforted her for a bit, and eventually, it was Qin Jian who managed to get her to stop crying. We got into the car and retraced our route back.
I thought that after Zhao Di's incident, I wouldn't see Zhang Xian again. However, on our way back from Ten-Mile Temple with Gousi, I received a call from Zhang Xian.
I could hear her crying on the other end of the line. She had been trying to reach me but couldn't get through; Ten-Mile Temple had no signal, and one had to leave its vicinity to get any reception. This woman had a penchant for crying; it was both her strength and weakness. Amidst her sobs, I couldn't make out much of what she was saying—something about Zhao Di and perhaps a car accident.
Zhao Di had died in a car accident. Sometimes I wondered if it weren't for her call, Zhao Di wouldn't have met with such an unfortunate fate so soon. I hadn’t sensed anything amiss; perhaps my abilities were lacking.
Thus, Zhao Di's death also bore some responsibility on Zhang Xian's part. I thought maybe she called me because she felt connected to Zhao Di's situation—perhaps her conscience was pricked—and she wanted to pay respects to the deceased. So I brushed her off lightly, telling her that life goes on; as long as she lived well from now on, everything would be fine.
But unexpectedly, she cried even harder over the phone, expressing that she didn't want to live anymore. If I didn’t go see her, she felt she wouldn’t survive the night.
It was quite alarming; I wasn't one to be easily frightened.
Gousi and the others were filled with sympathy upon discovering that Zhang Xian was a woman. Ignoring my objections, they personally escorted me to Zhang Xian's clinic before leaving with a sense of relief. Because of Gousi's kind gesture, I missed the chance to congratulate Qin Jian on his reunion with his father, which I later learned took place at Ten-Mile Temple, where he recognized Master Qin Ye.
A father-son reunion is a good thing, but unfortunately, I was so caught up with Zhang Xian that I didn't send him any blessings at that moment.
When I arrived at the clinic, I saw Zhang Xian busy attending to an elderly woman.
From the side, I noticed that Zhang Xian had lost even more weight since I last saw her. Her complexion was paler than before, as white as the rice paper used for Paper Figurines.
Judging by her appearance, I could only sum up her recent fortune in twelve words: a face full of misfortune, Yintang darkened, and bad luck looming overhead. Another possibility was that she was overwhelmed by psychological burdens, making her seem increasingly anxious.
Zhang Xian seemed surprised to see me; she stood up in disbelief after comforting the elderly woman with kind words. After handing over the medicine, she hurried over to me.
No need for pleasantries; we got straight to the point. We both sat down across from each other. When she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, I was taken aback. I thought she was a doctor who understood the dangers of smoking, but it turned out she was also a smoker. I intended to refuse the cigarette she offered me but found myself accepting it uncontrollably. I had no intention of lighting it; it was merely a symbolic gesture as I asked, "You seem to have something on your mind?"
As soon as I spoke those words, I sensed Zhang Xian's unease for the first time. She unconsciously touched her knee and repeatedly adjusted her bangs.
Fortunately, having a cigarette in hand helped ease the tension. With a flick of her lighter, she ignited the cigarette and took a deep drag, smoking more fiercely than most men. She coughed violently until her pale face showed a fleeting hint of color from the effort. After stopping her cough, she forced a calm expression to mask her inner turmoil, as if there were too many words she didn’t know how to start—her gaze met mine briefly before darting away again, followed by a resigned sigh that fell into silence.
"You’re a Mortician; you must have seen your fair share of strange things," I remarked.
Knowing full well something must have happened to her, I feigned ignorance and asked, "What’s going on?"
Now it seemed that Zhang Xian could only use smoking to cover her inner unrest. She took another deep breath and slowly exhaled smoke before being choked into another fit of coughing. This time it was worse; tears streamed down her face as she coughed. I handed her a tissue; she thanked me and then shared that she had been having the same nightmare repeatedly. Lately, for some reason, she felt as if that fake Li Mingliang was still in the shop. Each time she woke from the nightmare, it felt like there was an extra person in the room, and she could even sense the cold breath of the fake Li Mingliang.
I couldn't dismiss Zhang Xian's experience as mere fantasy because her recklessness had led to the end of a vibrant life; she bore responsibility for her mistakes. Comforting her would be futile; this was her own burden to bear—others couldn’t help with what she couldn’t let go of. Then I told her a fact: Li Mingliang wasn’t real; he was fake—the real Li Mingliang was a doctor at the Mental Hospital.
"Real Li Mingliang?" Zhang Xian seemed surprised by this news for the first time and looked at me with disbelief.
I nodded and casually played with a pen she had used between my fingers as I replied, "Yes, actually this fake Li Mingliang’s real name is Zhao Di..."
Zhang Xian's vacant eyes were fixed on me, her mind seemingly elsewhere. Instinctively, she repeated, "Zhao Di? Her name is Zhao Di, so Li Mingliang doesn't exist, and she won't come to take revenge on me!" It was as if she were talking to herself, and her expression began to improve, taking on a slightly neurotic smile.
I genuinely feared that Zhang Xian might be on the brink of a breakdown. Seeing her like this filled me with a sense of foreboding.
What have I become? While trying to do my job well, I also have to deal with this kind of nonsense.
Thinking back to the time at Ten-Mile Temple, my phone had indeed not been turned off. We both knew the reason why Zhang Xian couldn't get through. I had a bizarre thought while at Ten-Mile Temple: could I possibly see my mother’s true form by some stroke of fortune? Unfortunately, aside from what I experienced in the Chanting Room, it seemed she had left no photographs behind—only a Tablet and the Ash Altar sealed with red cloth.
I considered whether Zhang Xian should visit Zhao Di at the funeral home; at least it would show some acknowledgment since Zhao Di's death was closely tied to her.
I had been waiting for Zhang Xian to ask something, but she suddenly fell silent.
After a long pause without any words, the atmosphere in the room became quite oppressive.
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