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墨書 Inktalez
I stumbled and crawled back to my drafty studio, and as soon as I bolted the door, I felt as if all the bones in my body had been pulled out. I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. It wasn't exhaustion; it was fear. That deep-seated terror washed over me like a cold tide, relentlessly crashing against my mind.
I trembled as I raised my right hand, using the faint morning light filtering through the window to fixate on the stain on my sleeve. No, it wasn't an illusion. The inky blackness was sinister, carrying a faintly sweet metallic scent, as if mixed with the blood of some living creature. I scratched at it fiercely with my nails, nearly tearing the fabric, but the stain seemed to have embedded itself into the cloth, its color even darker now. The cold sensation seeped through my thin spring shirt, penetrating my skin.
I couldn't stay here any longer! I had to leave—immediately! Remaining in Chang'an would lead to certain death! The power of those people was far beyond what someone like me could withstand!
I hurriedly packed my things, though there wasn't much to take. A few changes of clothes, some leftover paint and brushes… My gaze fell upon a smooth wolf hair brush for fine writing. After a moment's hesitation, I tucked it into my pocket. It was a tool for making a living; perhaps it could be exchanged for some travel money.
Before dawn fully broke, I slipped out of the door like a thief, heading straight for the nearest Spring Ming Gate. My mind was consumed by one thought: get out of the city, as far away as possible.
However, as I neared the city gate, something felt off.
At this hour in the past, while the guards were diligent in checking entry permits, they were nowhere near as stringent as today. Rows of armored soldiers stood watch, holding long spears and scanning every person attempting to leave the city with sharp eyes; even peddlers’ loads were being thoroughly inspected. An invisible tension hung thick in the air. Was it due to the escalating war in the north? Or was it because of me?
What sent chills down my spine was catching sight of several furtive shadows among those soldiers. They wore inconspicuous dark clothing and blended into the crowd's shadows, their eyes coldly piercing through every face like poisoned needles. For a fleeting moment, one of those gazes seemed to linger on me.
Almost simultaneously, an icy chill shot through that ink stain on my sleeve! The sweet metallic scent intensified, but only I could smell it.
My scalp prickled and my heart tightened suddenly. They were looking for me! This ink… it was like a beacon that they could sense!
I immediately lowered my head and slipped behind a nearby breakfast vendor's stall, pretending to browse for food while my heart raced so fast it felt like it might leap from my throat. My fingertips instinctively traced shapes in the air, trying to calm myself down but to no avail.
I couldn't go through the city gate; that would be walking straight into a trap.
I forced myself to stay calm and quickly recalled Chang'an's map in my mind. Those familiar streets, alley walls, and ditches… The eyes of an artist became my only reliance at that moment. No matter how vast Chang'an was or how pervasive the noblemen's spies were, there were always corners they deemed beneath their notice or too difficult to reach. In Chang'an lay a place where chaos reigned—a gathering spot for many desperate souls and illicit dealings—the Ghost Market.
I knew there were multiple entrances to the Ghost Market. The most concealed one was behind an abandoned old temple in the southern part of the city, leading underground; it was said to have been converted from an ancient drainage system. Normally priding myself on being above such places and fearing trouble, I would never have set foot there; but now, it might be my only chance at survival.
Resolute in my decision, I turned around immediately and moved along the shadow of the alley walls like a frightened mouse, darting quickly through winding alleys. I dared not take the main roads and kept a constant watch behind me, feeling as if cold eyes were lurking in the shadows. The icy sensation at my sleeve came and went sporadically; each time it returned sent shivers down my spine.
Several times I narrowly avoided colliding with patrolling guards by relying on my familiarity with the terrain and a bit of luck. By the time I finally reached that old temple, the sun was already high in the sky.
The old temple was thick with cobwebs, and the statues were covered in dust, leaning precariously. As I rounded to the back of the temple and pushed aside the overgrown grass that reached my waist, I indeed found an unremarkable entrance. It was dark and exuded a damp, rotten smell mixed with an indescribable stench of filth.
I couldn’t afford to think too much about it. Taking a deep breath, I crouched down and squeezed inside.
Below lay a narrow, slippery stone staircase winding downward. The air was thick and murky, a nauseating blend of sewer stench mingled with cheap cosmetics, low-quality liquor, and decaying herbs that nearly suffocated me. After what felt like the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, I emerged into a vast underground space.
This was the Ghost Market.
Dim oil lamps hung from the low rock walls, their flickering light barely illuminating the path beneath my feet. Surrounding me were various makeshift stalls selling all manner of dubious items: rusty weapons, chipped porcelain, oddly colored herbs, and even someone whispering about “fresh” human teeth… My stomach churned. Was this really the Chang'an I knew, bustling with visitors from all over? Beneath this glamorous facade lay such a festering sore!
An oppressive and dangerous atmosphere pervaded the air. Everyone wore hoods or wide-brimmed hats to conceal their faces, moving hurriedly with wary and numb expressions. Occasionally, glances were cast my way—those of scrutiny and greed directed at this “new face.”
I instinctively tightened my old robe around me, trying to blend in as much as possible while keeping my head down. All I wanted was to find a place to rest for a moment and gather some information.
“Hey, new here?” A raspy voice called out beside me.
My heart sank as I looked up to see two raggedly dressed thugs blocking my path. They wore malicious smiles on their faces and toyed with rusty daggers in their hands.
“You look soft and tender, not like someone from around here,” said the one with triangular eyes as he sized me up. “Do you understand the rules?”
I felt a chill run down my spine. The “rules” in this place were nothing more than extortion. The thought of “better to avoid trouble” surfaced again; I just wanted to get away quickly. “Brothers, could you let me pass? I’m just passing through and need a place to rest.”
“Rest?” The one on the right, his face all fat and sneers, laughed coldly. “This is the Ghost Market; you can’t just come and go as you please! Hand over some money!”
My heart sank further. I barely had a few coins on me; last night’s “urgent summons” had left me empty-handed. Suppressing my fear, I tried to explain, “I… I don’t have much money on me.”
“No money?” The triangular-eyed thug leaned closer, sniffing at me as his gaze turned even greedier. “I see your clothes are old but of good quality. And what’s that hard thing you’re hiding?”
It was over. I instinctively clutched the wolf hair brush hidden in my robe.
“Search him!” The fat thug commanded, and both men lunged at me with malicious intent.
I was no match for them; in just a few moments, I was pinned to the ground. The wolf hair brush in my arms was roughly yanked away.
"Oh, what a nice brush!" the triangular-eyed man said, weighing it in his hands. The smooth luster of the brush handle still shone in the dim light. "Looks like you're a scholar? What a pity, trying to make a living here; a brush doesn’t have the same weight as a knife!"
Despair instantly seized me. Was I to be stripped of even the last shred of dignity and hope? I struggled, but it was futile.
Just then, the triangular-eyed man seemed to think of something and chuckled, "Never mind, looking at you like this, I doubt you’ll yield any profit. Here’s the deal: I’ll take this brush as your toll for passage and point you in the right direction."
I froze, my struggles ceasing.
"Head east. In the far corner, there's a cripple called Black Crow. He can help you find a place to stay and gather some information." The triangular-eyed man toyed with my brush. "But he only accepts money or... valuable information." He paused and lowered his voice. "If you’re really in a hurry and don’t mind spending some cash, you could inquire about someone called ‘Mole’, a Kunlun slave. That guy, if you pay enough, is said to dare steal even from the forbidden gardens; he’s got quite the reputation!"
With that, the two men swaggered away with my brush.
I climbed up from the cold ground, my body covered in mud and my face stinging with pain. My arms felt empty, just as my heart did. That brush had been with me for nearly ten years...
But I was still alive. For now.
I touched my aching sleeve; the ink stain felt like a parasite, reminding me of the imminent danger I faced.
Mole... Kunlun slave...
That name felt like a lifeline, clutched tightly in my heart. I made my way toward the eastern corner indicated by the triangular-eyed man, stepping cautiously through the darkness. The path ahead remained shrouded in shadows, but at least I had a vague direction to follow.
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