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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter Three
I knelt on the ground, tears silently streaming down my face. The winds of hell howled around me, growing stronger with each gust, carrying a stench of decay that sent chills through my bones.
“Ziming, where are you...?” I murmured to myself, my voice hoarse and barely audible, as if it had been scraped raw.
Suddenly, the surroundings began to twist and distort, as if an invisible hand was violently stirring everything around me. I was horrified to realize that I was sinking, the space around me swirling like a vortex, making me feel nauseous. When everything finally stabilized, I found myself in a scene that was both strange and familiar.
This is... my wedding venue?
Crimson satin hung high above, and bright red double "happiness" characters adorned the courtyard, dazzling my eyes. I saw myself dressed in a bright red wedding gown, standing at the front of the hall, the golden phoenix embroidered on my gown radiating joy. But the one sitting beside me was not my beloved Wang Ziming; instead, it was the frail and sickly man I had never truly regarded as anything more than a burden.
“No, this isn’t real...” I wanted to escape but found myself unable to move, as if something had frozen me in place. I could only watch helplessly as this absurd wedding replayed itself like a marionette.
The laughter of the guests echoed in my ears, each peal louder than the last, yet it felt particularly jarring, like daggers stabbing into my heart. Their faces gradually twisted into grotesque masks of horror, resembling demons crawling out from hell. To my terror, every face bore an eerie smile, their lips stretched to their ears, eyes glinting with a ghostly green light like will-o'-the-wisps.
“Congratulations to the newlyweds! Wishing you a hundred years of harmony!” The guests spoke in unison, their voices sounding as if they were coming from the depths of hell—chilling and bone-chilling.
Suddenly, a gust of cold wind swept through, extinguishing all the red candles. The bright red characters rattled in the wind. In the darkness, I heard a familiar voice filled with endless sorrow: “Wan'er, why are you doing this to me?”
It was Wang Ziming’s voice!
I turned abruptly and saw Wang Ziming standing at the door, his face as pale as paper, as if he had just crawled out of a grave. He held a small child in his arms; however, the child was a sickly shade of blue and purple, its tiny body cold and stiff—clearly lifeless for some time.
"I'm not doing it on purpose, Ziming..." I trembled as I spoke, my voice filled with fear and regret, tears blurring my vision, no matter how much I tried to wipe them away.
"You’re lying!" Wang Ziming's voice suddenly turned sharp, like a rusty knife. "You knew that the medicine that day was yours! You killed my child!" He advanced step by step, each footfall feeling like a weight pressing down on my heart.
I stumbled backward, wanting to explain, but tripped over something. Looking down, I was horrified to see the body of a child! Even more terrifying was that the child’s eyes were wide open, hollow sockets staring directly at me as if they intended to swallow me whole.
"No!" I screamed, trying to escape, only to find myself gripped by countless hands. Those hands reached up from the ground, cold and stiff, clenching my ankles like iron claws, dragging me toward hell.
"Lin Wan'er, your sins must be repaid with eternal suffering!" Wang Ziming's voice echoed in the darkness, each word striking like a death warrant.
The scene of the wedding began to collapse, transforming into a sea of blood as if stained crimson. I saw countless vengeful spirits crawling up from the earth; they all appeared as children, their faces twisted in grotesque smiles as they approached me like a pack of hungry wolves closing in on their prey. Each child's face bore an eerie grin, their eyes glimmering with a ghostly green light, as if they were will-o'-the-wisps intent on devouring my soul.
"Help! Someone save me!" I struggled desperately, my voice hoarse from screaming, yet I could not escape the entanglement of those vengeful spirits; they clung to me like maggots to bone, impossible to shake off.
Suddenly, a deep and hoarse voice whispered in my ear, laced with temptation: "Do you wish to be freed?"
I looked up to see a figure clad in black robes standing before me. His face was hidden in the shadow of his hood; all I could make out were his eyes glinting with an otherworldly light.
"I... I want to be free..." I choked out, as if grasping onto the last straw of hope.
"Then come with me," the figure said, extending a hand adorned with a black ring on his pale finger. "I can take you away from here, but the price..."
"What price?" I asked urgently, like a drowning person gasping for air.
The voice of the figure in the black robe carried a hint of eerie amusement. "Trade your soul for a chance at rebirth."
I hesitated. Rebirth? Was it really possible? But it came at the cost of my soul!
At that moment, the restless spirits of children crawled closer, their cold hands gripping my clothes, sharp nails piercing my skin, trying to drag me down into the depths of hell.
"I agree!" I shouted in despair, my voice filled with fear and determination. "I am willing to pay any price!"
The figure in the black robe let out a low chuckle and grasped my wrist. The instant we touched, a bone-chilling cold spread through my body, as if countless ice blades were swirling within me. I felt my soul being torn apart, slowly pulled from my body. The pain was so intense that I wanted to scream, but no sound emerged—only ragged gasps escaped my lips.
Just before my consciousness faded away, I seemed to hear Wang Ziming's voice echoing from afar, filled with endless resentment and curses: "Wan'er, you cannot escape..."
Darkness consumed everything, and I felt myself falling into an endless abyss.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself standing in a pitch-black corridor, eerie and chilling. The walls on either side were lined with mirrors, each reflecting different versions of me from various times—some joyful, some sorrowful, some crying, some laughing—like a silent film of my life. Each reflection seemed alive, staring back at me with various expressions that sent shivers down my spine.
In the deepest mirror, I saw a horrifying scene—myself disemboweled and hanging from an Old Huai Tree, crows pecking at my innards while blood stained the ground beneath. And beneath the tree stood Wang Ziming, cradling the lifeless child in his arms, an unsettling smile on his face...
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