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墨書 Inktalez
"Send it to the city bureau for DNA comparison immediately!" Chen Guohua's voice startled the night owl. As he straightened up, he suddenly caught sight of a fresh scratch on the remnants of the wall in the ruins, forming a twisted character that resembled "Zhou," with the last vertical stroke still stained with wet blood.
In the autopsy room late at night, Chen Guohua laid out three hair samples under the microscope. The singed hair of Li Xiuyun, foreign hair sewn into the scalp, and a bundle of gray-white hair found at the fire scene displayed distinctly different medullary structures under four hundred times magnification.
"The hair sewn into the deceased's scalp comes from at least three different people," Xiao Zheng pointed at the scale structure on the display. "This gray-white strand shows severe wear; its owner is likely over sixty years old. And this black hair..." He suddenly gasped, "Look at the crystals in this medullary cavity!"
Chen Guohua's temples throbbed. Those glowing blue particles matched exactly with the characteristics of the hair from a Qing dynasty female corpse unearthed during a tomb robbery case he investigated three years ago.
Even more bizarrely, traces of Zhusha and Corpse Wax were detected in all foreign hair follicles. "The murderer performed a Yin Marriage ritual on the deceased," the old detective said as he loosened his collar, revealing an old knife scar on his collarbone. "Sewing hair from corpses of different eras onto a living person's head is an evil practice used by Xiangxi corpse drivers to extend life."
Before he could finish speaking, the shadowless lamp on the autopsy table suddenly exploded. In the darkness, the refrigerator door slowly slid open, and Li Xiuyun's corpse sat up, her braids sewn onto her head writhing like live snakes.
Chen Guohua's hand instinctively reached for his gun but froze—those ends tied with Huang Mu Zhu were seeping blood, forming a twisted character that resembled "Yuan" on the ground.
The next morning, in the alley behind a state-owned department store, Chen Guohua stepped carefully over ice shards as he re-examined the scene. At the end of a drag mark from a suitcase, several pieces of Sophora Tree bark were wedged between bricks.
He used a magnifying glass to examine them closely; the inner layer of bark was inscribed with tiny characters resembling sections of the Buddhist Rebirth Mantra. Even more chilling was that those inscriptions were written with ink made from a woman's long hair, which was still embedded in the bark fibers.
"Captain Chen! The Textile Factory sent an urgent item!" Xiao Zhao rushed over, his breath crystallizing on his eyelashes.
On the test report, DNA from the Coffin Shop's charred corpse did not match Zhou Fulai but showed a familial relationship with skin flakes found in Li Xiuyun's nails. Chen Guohua's pen left an ink blot on his notebook—how could a twenty-year-old apprentice have a relative over fifty?
Snow began to fall again. The old detective stood before the ruins of the Coffin Shop and pulled out a half-carved wooden comb. The comb's teeth suddenly sliced through his fingertip; as blood rolled over the carved character for "death," he heard a rustling sound behind him as if someone were scraping their scalp with a wooden comb.
He turned sharply to see that a braid had been tied to a charred beam above him at some point, gently swaying in the northern wind, its ends made of Huang Mu Zhu producing an ethereal sound.
In Zhou Fulai's work shed hung an old calendar, stuck on the eighth day of the twelfth month in Bingzi Year. Chen Guohua picked up a charred paper page with tweezers; beneath the blackened characters for "do not disturb," dark red stains spread out as if someone had dipped their fingertip in blood to draw a twisted comb.
"He goes to the Land Temple every eighth day to burn combs," Old Sun, who was guarding nearby, said while gripping his wine gourd, his cotton shoes leaving chaotic marks in the snow. "He says it's to send dowries to Yin Niangzi..."
Chen Guohua suddenly turned around, and Old Sun's murky eyes reflected the remnants of the ruins. "What about Yin Niangzi?"
The smell of alcohol mixed with a chill sprayed across the old detective's face. "Just those... from the Zhenxi Mass Grave..."
The old man suddenly choked, as if grasping at his throat. He staggered back and knocked over a fire bucket, the frozen water surface reflecting a figure combing their hair. The sound of a wooden comb scraping against Azure Brick echoed from all directions.
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