Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 36 Zhiwei?

Xu Yan's hand froze in mid-air, his blood turning ice-cold.

Countless fragments seemed to rush through my mind, but I couldn't piece together the whole picture, leaving only a terrifying realization:

The ghostly hand on his body was inexplicably entangled with some being deep within the tomb.

His chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder; he was breathing rapidly and wanted to shout, but his throat was so blocked that he couldn't make a sound.

His fingernails dug deep into his palms, and it was only through the stinging pain that he managed to keep himself from completely breaking down.

—Master…did he already know?
A flood of questions welled up in his mind, almost drowning him.

He forced himself to turn to the next page. The handwriting there was so blurred it was almost illegible, like traces left by the writer in extreme pain:

"...Never...never let them...reunite..."

Xu Yan's pupils suddenly contracted, and a chill ran down his spine.

He stared at the few blurry words, and his chest suddenly tightened, as if a cold hand had covered his heart.

Ah Zhe shuddered and lowered his voice: "Brother Yan... what exactly... is your master suppressing?"

Xu Yan did not answer.

Staring intently at those few lines of text, the pain and questions in my heart were more suffocating than the burning sensation of the ghostly hand.

Ah Zhe clutched the ink-stained notebook, his palms sweating, his throat tightening:
"Brother Yan... your master, he... he's the 'gravekeeper,' then... what about you? What exactly is your relationship with this thing?"

His question was like a rusty nail, piercing Xu Yan's heart.

Xu Yan slowly raised his eyes, his expression so gloomy that he almost didn't look alive.

He stared silently at the tattered handwriting in the notebook.

With each breath, the phrase "with flesh and blood as wedges, and eternal locks as chains" echoed repeatedly in my eardrums and bone marrow like a spell.

Ah Zhe's nerves nearly snapped. He staggered two steps, pressed himself tightly against the wall, and said in a trembling voice, "No...no, we have to leave right now! This place...this place is no place for a human being!"

Suddenly, the oil lamp crackled and flickered, casting long shadows that twisted into blurry, grotesque faces between the wall and the shrine.

The doll's glass eyes gleamed with a deathly light in the firelight.

It seems to be watching them.

Xu Yan's chest tightened suddenly.

He clearly sensed that from the dark depths behind the shrine, something vast and dormant was slowly turning over because of their intrusion.

The brick floor beneath my feet trembled, as if a distant heartbeat was being heard.

thump...

thump...

Ah Zhe's face turned deathly pale, and he was on the verge of collapse: "It...it saw us! Quick, find the exit!"

Xu Yan's fingertips gripped the tattered pages of the notebook tightly, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.

What exactly was Master betting on with all his might throughout his life?
And why is that ghostly hand inside his body?
His breathing suddenly became heavy. He slammed his notebook shut and said coldly, "Go."

The two were just about to turn around.

The oil lamp suddenly emitted a sharp crack. The flame instantly transformed into a thin, writhing, crimson tongue of fire, which shot out along the wick like a scarlet eye suddenly opening in the darkness.

The surrounding air suddenly turned cold, as if the entire shrine had been sealed off by some kind of force.

Xu Yan's gaze swept across the space, finally landing on the wall behind the shrine where the words were engraved.

The arrangement of those bulging sacks seemed somewhat deliberate.

He stepped forward, ignoring Ah Zhe's exclamation of "Be careful, it might be a trap," and laboriously pulled open the sack with his left hand.

Behind it, there was a low, rusty little door.

A faded, brittle yellow talisman was pasted on the door, yet it emitted a faint ripple.

"There's a way!!" Ah Zhe exclaimed in surprise, and stepped forward to pull out the talisman.

"Don't move!" Xu Yan hissed, trying to stop him. The talisman was more like an alarm or a marker.

He tried to push the small door.

creak-

The door was heavy but not locked, and the sound of rust rubbing against it was grating.

A crack appeared, letting out even colder, earthy air.

Behind it was a narrow, upward-facing passageway, its depth unknown.

"Go, go, go!"

"Wait a minute," Xu Yan stopped him.

He looked back at the ever-burning lamp and the shrine, walked to the lamp, tore off a dirty cloth, soaked it in lamp oil, and made a makeshift torch.

"What are you doing? Leaving this light on to guide 'it'?"

“If he still exists, this lamp might temporarily prove we’re not enemies. If it goes out, that might be the real problem,” Xu Yan said in a low, hoarse voice. He held the torch and bent down to enter the tunnel. A-Zhe muttered as he followed.

The passageway was extremely difficult to traverse, narrow and steep, with rough surfaces underfoot.

The torchlight was dim, and the darkness behind them resembled a gaping maw.

As he climbed, Xu Yan had several illusions that he heard very faint, damp, and cold childish cries beside him, as if the water boy was still silently following him in the darkness.

But when he turned around suddenly, the torchlight flickered, only illuminating A Zhe's face, which was covered in mud and filled with panic, and his frighteningly heavy breathing.

The muffled rumbling from underground seemed to faintly emanate through the rock strata, creating an eerie resonance with the stinging pain of the ghostly hand inside his right arm and the burning heat of the brand on his palm.

The Soul-Suppressing Iron and the Ghost Hand are maintaining a brief balance.

It crawled silently and laboriously for what felt like an entire century.

Finally, we reached the end of the road.

A thick wooden plank, with its edges translucent, blocked the way.

Xu Yan gestured for them to stop and listened intently.

Outside the wooden planks, all was quiet except for a faint rustling sound, as if something were rubbing against the ground.

He slowly pushed the wooden board with his left hand.

squeak-

A gap was slid open in the wooden board.

Brighter light flooded in, along with a familiar, faint scent of sandalwood and old paper.

Xu Yan's body suddenly stiffened, and his blood seemed to freeze instantly.

This taste...

This incredibly familiar, deeply ingrained flavor.

He peered out through the crack in the floor.

Rows of tall, familiar dark wood filing cabinets;
The ever-burning lamp in the corner;

The air was filled with the quiet scent of paper ash and medicine.

This is... the Forgotten Photo Studio?

He was so shaken that he almost collapsed to his knees from exhaustion.

My mind was in complete chaos, as if someone had severed the threads of my memories with a sharp blade.

That face...

that person……

Who is she? Why is she standing there?
It was so familiar that it made his heart ache, yet so strange that it frightened him.

From the counter direction, a very faint rustling sound came as talisman paper scattered on the ground.

Xu Yan suddenly looked up and saw her.

Chen Zhiwei.

But the name didn't initially come to mind.

He saw her, her face pale and translucent, her eyes wide, staring intently as they crawled out from under the floor.

Those eyes were trembling, screaming, but after struggling for a long time, he finally managed to dredge up a few vague memories from the chaos.

At this moment——

Ring... Ring... Ring...

The Soul-Suppressing Bell rang.

The crisp vibrations, like needle and thread, slowly mended his fragmented memories.

The amulet—that's what she slipped into her pocket;

He had flipped through his mother's photograph while she was sitting next to him;
On the diary, the line was carved by his own hand: "Today. To keep the appointment. I will return."

Furthermore, she wrote her name as an anchor.

Ding-ling… Ding-ling…

Each sound was like the threshold of memories being knocked open.

Xu Yan's pupils constricted little by little, and his chest heaved violently.

That face, those eyes, finally reunited with the name "Chen Zhiwei".

His throat tightened, and he almost lost his voice, but he still managed to squeeze out a hoarse call:

"Knowing the subtle..."

(End of this chapter)