Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
The village library stood next to the ancestral hall, a dilapidated single-story building long abandoned. A rusty iron lock hung from the heavy wooden door, and spider webs covered the doorframe. I used the key I borrowed from the village chief to unlock the door, and as I pushed it open, it creaked loudly.
Inside, the light was dim, and a musty smell filled the air. I turned on my phone's flashlight, sweeping the beam across the room to reveal shelves lined with books. Most of them were covered in thick dust, some warped and moldy.
In the innermost corner, I discovered a locked glass cabinet. Inside were some ancient-looking stitched books and bamboo slips, along with an object wrapped in red cloth. The lock was new, a stark contrast to the room's decay.
As I pondered how to open the cabinet, footsteps approached from behind me.
I knew you would come here.
I turned around to see Zhou Jing standing at the doorway. Sunlight streamed in behind her, casting a long shadow on the ground.
How did you know I was here?
I saw you ask the village chief for the key. She stepped inside and pulled a key from her pocket. Do you want to see that cabinet? I have a key.
I stared at her in surprise. How do you have it?
This key belonged to my father. She opened the cabinet; he was the village teacher responsible for managing the library.
I carefully took out one of the stitched books. The cover read "Chronicles of Changling Village," with "Compiled during the Qianlong Era" noted below. Flipping through the yellowed pages, I found an account of the village's origins:
Changling Village was established during the Yongle period, surrounded by mountains on three sides and facing a cliff on one side, hence its name. When it was first built, there were about a hundred households, mostly refugees. Later, guided by a Taoist priest, an altar was built in the northern part of the village for worship to ensure peace for its inhabitants.
Where is this altar? I asked.
Zhou Jing shook her head. It has long been abandoned. But she lowered her voice; people in the village say that on nights of a full moon, strange sounds can still be heard from there.
I continued reading and found a disturbing passage on a torn page:
During the drought of Wuzi year, there was no rain for months. The village elders said that one boy and one girl must be taken on a full moon night to sacrifice to heaven in order to receive rain. The villagers followed this advice and witnessed blood rain pouring down.
The following content had been torn away. I flipped through several more pages and saw more similar accounts. Every time disaster struck, special sacrifices were held in the village, often involving children as offerings.
Is this true? I looked up at Zhou Jing.
She did not answer but retrieved the object wrapped in red cloth from the cabinet. Opening it revealed a handwritten notebook; on its title page were written "Records of Changling Village Sacrifices," followed by a name: Zhou Haishan.
Is this your father's notebook?
Yes. Zhou Jing's voice trembled slightly; he had been researching the village's sacrificial traditions before he died. This notebook might hold clues about his death.
I quickly skimmed through its contents. Zhou Haishan meticulously documented every sacrificial event he investigated, including ritual processes, meanings of symbols used, and unusual occurrences in the village after each sacrifice.
On the last page, I saw a hasty note:
Finally, the truth was revealed. This was not a ritual at all, but a deception that had lasted for hundreds of years. They exploited the villagers' superstitions, and in reality, it was all a facade.
The text abruptly ended here. The edges of the page showed clear signs of tearing, as if someone had hastily ripped away the remaining content.
When did your father write this?
It was the day before he had the accident. Zhou Jing bit her lip. That night, he said he wanted to talk to the village chief. The next day, the incident happened.
Suddenly, footsteps and voices came from outside. Zhou Jing quickly stuffed the notes back into the red cloth bag. Someone is coming!
We hurriedly put everything back in the cabinet and hid behind the bookshelf. Through a crack, we saw Zhang Shouren and A Hu walk in.
Have you checked everything? Zhang Shouren's voice was steady.
Yes, those records are still there, A Hu replied.
Is everything arranged for tonight?
Everything is ready. A Hu hesitated for a moment. What about that police officer?
Don't worry about him, Zhang Shouren sneered. In a few hours, when the moon rises, it will all be over.
Their footsteps gradually faded away. I looked at Zhou Jing; her face was pale.
What exactly is going to happen tonight? I whispered.
A blood sacrifice, she replied almost in a hiss. They are going to conduct a new round of blood rituals. This time, I think I know who the sacrifice is.
I wanted to ask more, but she made a shushing gesture. In the distance, the sound of bells from the ancestral hall echoed once again in the empty library. This time, there seemed to be an ominous portent within the chimes.
Comment 0 Comment Count