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墨書 Inktalez
Since last night's terrifying experience, I haven't been able to close my eyes. The image of Zhou Yu's face, drenched in black blood, the bizarre encrypted messages on the tablet, and the symbols pointing to "Forget" and "Protect" that emerged from the Soul Rebirth Book—all of it tangled together, making it hard for me to breathe.
The official conclusion regarding Zhou Yu's cause of death has long been established—a typical traffic accident. The driver was fatigued and mishandled the vehicle. For a time, I accepted this explanation; though painful, it at least made sense. But now, I no longer believe it.
If it were just an ordinary accident, why did she end up like that? Why did the Soul Rebirth Book react so strangely? That book... it seems to be guiding me.
As I stared blankly at it, the twisted symbols on the cover gradually began to outline a blurry, dynamic image—a wheel, shattered glass, and... a familiar intersection. The very intersection where Zhou Yu had her accident!
My heart tightened suddenly. It wants me to go there? Why? I don't know. But I know I must go.
Not just to uncover the so-called "cause of death," but also to understand what transformed Zhou Yu into what she is now. What is it that led this cursed object to direct me there?
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my backpack and rushed out the door.
The intersection was still bustling with traffic, the sunlight blinding as if trying to dispel all shadows. Yet standing there, I felt a chill run through me.
All those painful memories surged back at once. I remembered that not long before the incident, Xiao Yu had excitedly planned with me that once she got a summer job, she would treat me to the most expensive ice cream in town and drag me to the mountaintop to watch the sunrise. She said she had sketched many starry skies and sunrises, just waiting for good weather.
At that moment, I had teased her for being fanciful and told her to focus on her studies first. Looking back now, that might have been her last time... being playful with me.
I forced myself to calm down and carefully observed everything around me. I had read the official investigation report many times; every detail was etched in my mind.
But this time, what I sought was not something that could be described by cold words. I closed my eyes, trying to… sense. It was a rather absurd thought, yet I proceeded anyway. The Soul Recalling Book in my backpack trembled slightly, a barely perceptible chill creeping up my spine. Then, I "saw" something. Not with my eyes, but through some kind of intuition.
At the edge of the sidewalk, beside an inconspicuous patch of greenery, I "felt" a sense of dissonance. There lay an unremarkable stone, on which seemed to be some almost washed away carvings from the rain. I crouched down and brushed away the dust with my fingers. It was that struggling bird-shaped symbol! The same one that had appeared on the Zhou Yuping board and in the Soul Recalling Book! But this symbol looked more hasty, more desperate than the one I had seen before. It seemed to have been carved in extreme haste and fear.
Next to it were smaller marks that looked like they had been scratched by some sharp object, chaotic and shapeless, yet conveying an urgent desire to communicate something. What had happened here all those years ago? Just as I tried to comprehend the meaning of these marks, a sudden wave of sadness surged within me. It was not my sadness.
I abruptly looked up at a slightly old residential building nearby. The windows on the second floor were tightly shut, the curtains drawn closed. Yet the Soul Recalling Book's tremors became exceptionally strong, almost as if it wanted to leap out of my backpack. It was guiding me… there? An irresistible force—or rather, a cold "command" emanating from that book—pulled at my body.
I could hardly feel my legs moving; I walked uncontrollably step by step toward that residential building. "What am I doing…" I heard myself mutter, my voice trembling with fear. The hallway was dimly lit, filled with a damp and moldy odor. The heat from the Soul Recalling Book intensified until it finally stopped in front of a tightly shut security door on the second floor.
A white obituary was posted on the door.
The deceased, Wang Shufen, was seventy-two years old.
An elderly woman who had just passed away?
As I stared blankly at the notice, I heard intermittent cries from inside, mixed with a man's impatient curses.
"Crying, crying, crying! All you do is cry! The person is dead; what good does it do? Hurry up and pack things up; selling the house is what matters!"
"Dad... but she was our grandmother..." A younger female voice retorted, tinged with tears.
"Grandma, grandma! How many days did you care for her when she was alive? Now you know to cry! Let me tell you, this house is mine to decide!"
A strong wave of anger mixed with profound sorrow suddenly and clearly entered my mind.
Then, I "saw."
An old woman in a burial outfit, her face gaunt, stood behind the security door, her expression sad and bewildered; her body... was semi-transparent.
Another one?!
I instinctively wanted to flee, but my feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground.
The "Soul Return Book" behind me suddenly weighed heavily, a dominating force pressing down on me until I could hardly breathe.
A memory and emotion that did not belong to me forcibly surged into my mind.
It was Grandma Wang Shufen's.
The hardships she faced raising her son alone when she was young, her love for her grandchildren, the loneliness of her later years filled with illness, and... her deep regret for not being able to see her children one last time before passing away, as well as the pain of their constant bickering over property.
"My savings book... in the bedside table... third drawer... underneath... for Xiao Bao... to use for college..."
An old and frail voice echoed directly in my head.
I opened my mouth and found myself uncontrollably repeating those words in a hoarse and slightly breathless tone:
"...savings book... bedside table, third drawer... for Xiao Bao..."
After I finished speaking, I was stunned myself.
Why did I know this? Why was I speaking in that tone?
The argument inside abruptly ceased.
A few seconds later, the door swung open with a loud creak.
A man in his forties with an unfriendly expression glared at me: "Who are you? What nonsense are you spouting here?!"
Behind him, a young girl and a boy peeked out, their faces filled with confusion and wariness. I was at a loss for words, my mind blank. How could I explain? Should I say that I could see their recently deceased grandmother, and she had sent me to deliver a message? They would think I was insane!
At that moment, I noticed the man. His gaze toward me was filled with suspicion. But when I uttered the words "bankbook," the corner of his eye twitched imperceptibly, his lips pressed tightly together. His gaze… yes, it darted quickly to the nightstand beside the bed. It was just for an instant, but I caught it.
My damned habit of analyzing people's expressions kicked in again, telling me—he believed it, or rather, he preferred to believe it.
"You… how do you know?" the young girl asked tremulously, tears still staining her cheeks.
Before I could come up with a reasonable explanation, the middle-aged man suddenly shoved the girl aside and rushed to the nightstand, yanking open the third drawer. He rummaged through it frantically.
Then he held up a small bankbook, his face lighting up with ecstatic joy before quickly masking it with a look of profound sorrow. "Mom… Mom! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"
He turned to glare at me fiercely. "Who are you? Are you trying to scam me? I swear, get out of here! Otherwise, I’ll call the police!"
I watched his clumsy performance and glanced behind him at the translucent figure of the old grandmother. The sadness in her eyes seemed to deepen. She reached out her hand as if to touch her son, but her hand passed right through him.
Then her figure began to fade slowly, eventually dissolving into specks of light that vanished into the air. She really… disappeared. Just like that… she was gone?
Before I could fully process this realization, a wave of intense headache and nausea hit me again. The feeling of helplessness from the grandmother's decline in her final moments—the longing and disappointment for familial connection—still swirled in my mind, making it hard for me to stand.
Would some of my habits… some of my thoughts… be influenced by these lingering emotions? Would I… cease to be myself?
This sense of losing control over my body and mind filled me with a deep-seated panic.
"Police! There’s someone causing trouble here!"
While I was lost in thought, the middle-aged man had already pulled out his phone and started shouting loudly.
The police car arrived quickly.
The officer who stepped out was not the ordinary beat cop I had imagined. He was tall and solidly built, wearing a dark jacket. His face bore the marks of weariness, yet his eyes were exceptionally sharp.
He scanned the messy room and then looked at me, his brow immediately furrowing.
"What happened?" His voice was deep and hoarse, carrying an undeniable authority.
"Officer! It's him!" The middle-aged man pointed at me, embellishing the story with dramatic flair, painting me as a fraud attempting to exploit the old man's death for financial gain.
I opened my mouth to explain but found myself unable to say anything. What could I say? That I saw a ghost? That I was controlled by a tattered book?
The officer listened, his gaze never leaving me, scrutinizing me with piercing eyes. I instinctively tried to read something from his micro-expressions, but in my extreme anxiety and the aftermath of emotional turmoil, my judgment felt dull and chaotic.
All I could see was the corner of his mouth turned down and an expression in his eyes filled with… disgust? Or perhaps something deeper?
"What's your name? Show me your ID." He stepped closer, his tone firm.
I gave him my name and pulled out my ID from my pocket, handing it over. He took it, glanced at it, then shifted his gaze back to me, making me feel like a piece of evidence stained with filth.
Suddenly, he leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a volume only we could hear: "Another one of these damned things… never-ending!"
His voice was filled with suppressed anger and a profound weariness, even tinged with a hint of… fear?
I jolted at that realization. He… knew something?
"Come with me to the station." He straightened up, his tone leaving no room for argument, the wariness and disdain in his eyes intensifying.
I knew then that I was in serious trouble.
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