Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 43 The Wandering Singer
Just then, his heart clenched suddenly, and it felt as if an invisible hand had torn open the depths of his mind.

A memory slips away silently, like old paper licked by flames, turning to ashes and disappearing without a trace.

He couldn't recall what Chen Zhiwei had said when she first handed him the talisman.

He only remembered her eyes, which seemed to hold a hint of a smile, but the specific details of her voice and tone were like ink that had been erased, and no matter how hard he tried to find them, he could never piece them back together.

A sudden wave of emptiness and disorientation washed over me.

He spread out his right hand.

The object, resembling both a beast's tooth and a key, lay quietly. Inside its dark gray interior, a faint light flowed slowly under the blood moonlight, like a closed eye or a sleeping prison.

It was icy cold.

Looking at the broken equipment and the half-sheet of photographic paper ejected from the camera, Ah Zhe's voice was hoarse: "Brother Yan... what exactly is the working principle of your camera..."

Chen Zhiwei stared at the camera, then at the blood-red moon outside the window, her chest heaving violently.

She gripped her sleeve tightly with her fingertips, and a rift seemed to be torn open in her eyes by the sudden shadow, flashing with fear and disbelief.

She opened her mouth, but ultimately made no sound. She simply lowered her eyelashes, as if afraid that someone would notice her momentary loss of control.

Zhou Wenbin stared at the restored wall, tears streaming down his face. He didn't know whether he was crying for his mother's relief or for the incomprehensible horror.

Xu Yan gripped the "key" tightly, the biting cold and the resonance in his right arm constantly reminding him of its importance.

The secret of the "Abyss" that his mother-in-law protected with her life, the price his master might have paid to know, and what the center might have been searching for all along... all lay coldly in his palm at this moment.

The old door of the Zhou family gently closed behind them, and in the last glimmer of light shining through the crack, one could vaguely see Zhou Wenbin kneeling before his mother's portrait, his back trembling slightly.

The soft click of the lock closing was like a heavy pause, temporarily separating the unspeakable grief and relief within the photo studio. However, the world outside the door was not their familiar destination.

With each step, it felt as if I had stepped into another dimension of twilight.

The blood moon hung in the sky, its light not bright and clear, but thick and blood-red, staining the streets, buildings, and vehicles with an ominous dark red.

A deathly stillness filled the air; the usual summer night sounds of insects and gentle breezes had vanished without a trace, as if completely swallowed and digested by this eerie red light.

The streets weren't deserted, but they were more unsettling than if they were completely empty.

Along the roadside, groups of two or three people squatted on the ground, carefully drawing one closed circle after another with white chalk or lime.

Silently, they threw yellow paper and gold ingots into the circle to burn. The leaping flames appeared dim and cold under the blood moon. The ashes of the paper swirled and rose with the non-existent heat, like countless black butterflies, rushing towards the red moon.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of burning paper money, mixed with an indescribable earthy odor, like the smell of an old grave being disturbed.

On the huge electronic screen on the exterior wall of the shopping mall in the distance, the once dazzling advertisements have disappeared, leaving only the emergency broadcast of the local news channel.

The female anchor's face appeared unusually pale and stiff under the interplay of the blood-red moonlight and the blue light from the screen as she repeated herself in a clear and articulate voice:

"...The total lunar eclipse is still ongoing, and the crimson moon phase may cause discomfort to some citizens. Experts advise reducing unnecessary nighttime outings..."

The broadcast echoed hollowly through the silent street, creating an absurd and horrifying contrast with the spooky, large-scale sacrificial scene before them.

Xu Yan subconsciously gripped the "key" in his pocket. It was colder than before, like a piece of ice yearning to suck in hot blood. The power within his right arm was no longer merely stirring, but under the blood moonlight, it stirred with an unsettling energy, almost bursting forth from his body, pulled by an invisible force, resonating with the cold object in his pocket.

The three walked silently through this eerie urban landscape, as if traversing a grand yet silent festival, completely out of place with everything around them.

Zhou Wenbin had already left, and they didn't say anything more.

Each person was internally pondering the eeriness and heaviness of the room they had just been in.

The dim streetlights flickered a few times before settling back down, as if reminding them that the world was still turning, but their eyes had already seen a side that ordinary people should never touch.

"Finally... it's temporarily resolved." Ah Zhe tried to break the suffocating atmosphere, but his voice was dry and weak. He subconsciously glanced back at the closed door of the photo studio, then quickly looked up at the oppressive red moon. "This moon is really weird... it gives me the creeps."

Chen Zhiwei wrapped her clothes tighter, a chill emanating from the depths of her soul making her shiver involuntarily.

“When the blood moon appears, monsters emerge…” she murmured softly, as if quoting or warning herself, “Grandpa’s notes mentioned that during the most Yin time, the boundary between Yin and Yang is most blurred… let alone the blood moon of the Ghost Festival.”

Chen Zhiwei's gaze swept warily over the silent figures burning paper money, and further away, the shadowy figures whose movements were like punctuated images repeating fragments of their lives.

The air grew thick with a chill, carrying the damp cold of an old tomb. It felt as if invisible, icy spider silk was brushing against their skin, bringing a tingling, needle-like itch, as if their own memories were being quietly eroded by this environment.

In the midst of this suffocating atmosphere, a suppressed, intermittent sobbing sound, mixed with a hoarse, off-key humming, came from a dimly lit street corner.

"Embroider a storm on the wandering clouds;
Embroider me on the crest of the wave, swaying gently with the current;
Embroider a bell on the mottled eaves;
Embroider another light.

That voice... carried a strange sense of familiarity.

"Embroider a memory of an old friend, softly echoing;"

Embroider a fan facing south;
Embroidered with the image of tea smoke swirling around the beams;

We grow old together and forget together.

Xu Yan's heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason.

He subconsciously moved his feet toward the source of the sound, and Chen Zhiwei and A Zhe followed nervously.

On a street corner, the back of a homeless man huddled in a ball trembled under the blood moon.

He was wearing tattered cotton clothes, his hair was greasy and matted, and he was facing the corner of the wall, humming a broken melody in a low voice. The tune... was the lullaby that Xu Yan's father often hummed when he was a child.

"No...don't come any closer..." The homeless man seemed to sense someone was there, lowered his head even further, and his voice was fearful and hoarse, "I...I couldn't help but sing a few lines, please don't hit me..."

Xu Yan felt as if struck by lightning, his blood seemingly freezing instantly!
This voice!

Though roughened by hardship and life's trials, the underlying timbre of that voice...

"dad……?"

Xu Yan's voice was dry, like sandpaper being rubbed, and trembled in a way that even he himself could not believe.

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(End of this chapter)