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墨書 Inktalez
Before dawn, Yang Su woke up. The events of the previous night had kept him awake, that pale ghostly face lingering in his mind.
Outside, the fog was thick, obscuring even the houses across the street. He put on his coat and left the inn, hoping to check out the clock tower before it got light.
The streets were empty, a faint herbal scent wafting through the mist. He walked along the cobblestone path, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
Turning a corner, the silhouette of the clock tower gradually came into view. The warning tape he had seen yesterday was broken at some point, fluttering in the wind. The clock tower loomed tall in the morning fog, like a giant standing still.
The old man who usually guarded the tower was not at his post. Yang Su circled around the clock tower and found only a pile of disorganized debris. He crouched down to inspect it and discovered several burnt red candles and some ashes from paper money. He dipped his finger into the ashes; they were still warm.
"What are you looking for?"
A hoarse voice suddenly came from behind him. Yang Su turned to see the Keeper of the Bell Tower hunched over, holding a rusty iron bucket.
"What are you doing?"
"Burning paper," the old man grunted. "What needs to be burned must be burned." He suddenly fixed his gaze on Yang Su. "Did you hear it?"
Yang Su paused, "Hear what?"
"The bell." The old man's eyes sharpened. "I can tell you heard it. That's why you're here at this hour." He set the iron bucket down with a dull thud. "Do you know why the warning tape is broken? Because it can't stop those who are meant to come."
Yang Su's heart raced. "What do you know?"
The old man didn't answer; instead, he pulled out a handful of paper money from the bucket, lit it on fire, and tossed it onto the ground. The flames illuminated his gaunt face, giving it an eerie quality. "My name is Zhang San Shui, and I am the seventh Keeper of the Bell Tower."
"Then you must know..."
"I know nothing," Zhang San Shui interrupted him. "I only guard this tower and burn paper." He paused for a moment. "However, if you really want to know, come find me tonight at midnight. Now, you should leave."
"Why tonight?"
"Because today is Initial Seven." Zhang San Shui's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "At midnight on every Initial Seven, the bell tolls loudest."
In the morning, Yang Su found the village's elementary school. He wanted to check out that strange painting in the Art Room again but discovered that the school gate was tightly locked.
Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly heard commotion coming from inside the teaching building. Peering through the iron bars, he saw a group of elementary students rushing out in panic, followed by several teachers.
Zhou Yue stood in the corridor, loudly reassuring them: "Don't panic! Everyone go to the playground first!"
Yang Su made his way to the back door and climbed over the wall to get in. The playground was chaotic; children were crying and shouting.
"What happened?" he stopped one of the teachers running past.
The teacher's face was pale. "Third Grade Classroom..." She pointed upstairs. "Water suddenly started seeping from the wall, and it's red..."
Yang Su hurried up the stairs and found the Third Grade Classroom. Zhou Yue was inside, and when she saw him enter, her expression changed. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard something happened," he said, glancing at the classroom wall. There were indeed dark red stains seeping through, giving off a smell reminiscent of rust. Strangely, the stains formed some crooked symbols.
"Those symbols..." he leaned in for a closer look.
"Don't look!" Zhou Yue grabbed his arm. "You shouldn't be here."
"These symbols look a lot like the ones on the window of the Art Room."
Zhou Yue's hand trembled slightly. "You don't understand. This classroom..." She took a deep breath. "Thirty years ago, someone died here."
"How did they die?"
"They say it was a hanging suicide. It was a female teacher." Zhou Yue bit her lip. "That female teacher... was my mother."
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