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墨書 Inktalez
Sang Ji glanced at the corpse of Mao Junjie lying in the corner as he left, then looked at me and said, "This kid finally died. What a pity..."
I was being dragged out of the dark prison. I pretended to struggle a bit, but my body felt weak and limp, making it easy for my captors to let their guard down.
Once outside, I realized it was daytime; the sun was blazing. When I turned back, I discovered that the place where I had been imprisoned was a hidden cell dug out beneath the Stilted House.
The country's climate was incredibly humid and hot, making my skin feel sticky and uncomfortable. After adjusting to the light outside, I knocked out my captor and dragged him into a pile of firewood under the Stilted House to hide him.
This place seemed to be deep within a dense forest, with only three sparse houses. They were built in a U shape, leaving the eastern side completely exposed.
It seemed that practicing such dark arts would not be accepted in any country. That must be why Sang Ji hid away like a rat in this kind of place.
I began checking each house one by one. The first one was to the north; it wasn't the Stilted House but an ordinary Thatched House. A wisp of white smoke drifted out from the window. I listened carefully for a long time until I was sure there was no movement inside before entering. As soon as I opened the door, an exceptionally delicious aroma wafted toward me, as if some meat stew was simmering.
"Gollum... Gollum..."
The sound of bubbling soup echoed through a curtain. In the center of the room hung many pieces of meat, dark and resembling smoked ham, suspended in midair.
The floor was slick with grease, dripping from the hanging meat and accumulating below.
I walked cautiously; with so much oil on the ground, I almost tiptoed to avoid slipping. After walking in for a while, I lifted the curtain and saw a massive iron pot.
The soup inside was murky and milky white, with glistening oil bubbles. Unknown pieces of meat boiled violently within.
Beneath the pot roared a fierce flame, and beside it stood a figure wrapped entirely in black clothing. The person was covered tightly with black cloth, leaving no part of their eyes or mouth exposed. Whenever the fire flared up, they mechanically tossed dry wood from a nearby pile into the flames. When the fire settled again, they stood still like a robot.
They showed no awareness of my intrusion as an outsider.
Ever since Miao Yayun had tied me up and brought me to the south, nothing had gone smoothly for me; I had been cold and hungry. The rich aroma of meat stew filled the room, stirring my hunger painfully.
I struggled to resist the urge to drool as I picked up an iron ladle, hoping to scoop out a bone or something to satisfy my cravings. To my shock, when I plunged the ladle into the pot, what surfaced terrified me.
A baby's head bobbed up with the boiling milky soup, its hollow eye sockets staring blankly at me. Alongside it were dismembered hands with bits of flesh still clinging to them, surfacing intermittently in the boiling liquid.
I couldn't hold back any longer; I dropped the iron spoon and began to vomit.
This Sang Ji was truly inhumane, utterly perverse. How could he possibly cook the bodies of infants to eat? Suddenly, I recalled the smoked meats hanging outside. Surely, they couldn't be animal flesh, but rather human flesh!
I continued to retch, oblivious to the fact that the figure hidden behind the black cloth had ceased adding fuel to the fire.
I fled outside, gasping for fresh air, and only then did I begin to feel a little better. I made my way towards the southern room.
The southern room was still empty. As I pushed the door open, I noticed this room was exceptionally clean. It was a large space with an altar in the center. Thin wisps of smoke curled up from an incense burner, and on the altar were numerous dolls that looked eerily lifelike. From a distance, I couldn't tell what material they were made of.
These dolls wore various expressions—some smiled while others frowned—each one vividly animated. They varied in size; some were as small as half a palm while others were about fifty to sixty centimeters tall.
A gust of wind blew through, slamming the door shut with a loud bang. The temperature in the room plummeted sharply. I tightened my clothing, suddenly recalling that I had clearly closed the door when I entered.
So where did that sound of closing come from?
“Giggle... Ha ha...”
The laughter of children echoed throughout the room. I couldn't help but shiver and bit my middle finger, smearing blood across my eyelids.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself surrounded by a group of children with pale faces and strange smiles. They clung to my head, hung around my neck, wrapped around my legs, and one even began to crawl into my pants.
I clasped my hands together and recited the Six Character Mantra. The spirits entangled around me seemed to fear Fo Xi greatly; they all scurried away in a panic, baring their teeth and growling at me.
Some had their limbs twisted behind them like grotesque creatures crawling on the walls; others had mouths that split open to their ears, revealing deep throats within; some had eyeballs dangling from their faces, accompanied by their crimson tongues flicking about.
The dead become ghosts; such illusions could not frighten me. I murmured "Amitabha." Everything before me quickly faded away and transformed back into what it had looked like when I first entered.
The incense continued to burn, its red glow flickering softly. The dolls on the altar remained unchanged in their positions. Yet as I gazed at their faces, an overwhelming sense of displeasure washed over me—a profound dissatisfaction.
Guman Child—such dark sorcery truly existed. One must understand that the formation of a Guman Child inevitably involves a wronged infant's death. The Three Souls and Seven Spirits are forcibly detained in this world by Xiang Tou Shi, enduring endless torment before being sealed within the Guman Child by the practitioner.
Among them, infants who died during childbirth carry the heaviest resentment. After extracting a stillborn from its mother’s body, it is placed in a specially crafted coffin made of locust wood and roasted daily with corpse oil for forty-nine days. Thus is born a Guman Child—a veritable killing machine.
It was clear that Sang Ji was hiding in this place with the purpose of creating Guman Children. I later learned that behind every Guman Child lay immense profits, an irresistible temptation of money.
Many stars and celebrities from Hong Kong and Taiwan had secretly raised Guman Children for various reasons, all driven by fame and profit.
Looking at the porcelain dolls lined up on the altar before me, I wished I could immediately tear Sang Ji apart. Each child represented the crystallization of their parents' love, arriving in this world filled with hope and affection.
Who would have thought that they would not even be allowed to die? Before experiencing the beauty of life, they were instead nurtured by the evils of this world, continuing to exist in another form, tainted by humanity's darkness.
Like animals in a circus, they were beaten into submission, terrified and abused. They could only act cautiously according to the instructions given.
I gasped for breath as I burst out the door, eager to confront Sang Ji, but froze as soon as I stepped outside.
Sang Ji was standing right there!
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