Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 52 Rouge and Withered Bones
That silent, synchronized "laughter" was more chilling than any scream.

A Zhe felt a chill run from his tailbone to the top of his head, his teeth clenched so tightly he almost cried out for his mother.

The branding mark on the back of his hand suddenly burned, forcing him to stand up straight, but sweat had already dripped down his back and into his waistband.

He suddenly had an absurd thought: if he really died here, would the news report say "there are other suspicious circumstances in the case of the missing courier"?

Under the gaze of countless empty eyes, Xu Yan's right arm emitted a faint hum.

It's not a warning, but more like a pleasant resonance.

His stomach churned, but his fingers gripped the seam of his trousers tightly. He suddenly remembered his mother's portrait from when she was young: her smile was so blurred that it was almost unrecognizable.

If his memories are stripped away, what will he have left? An empty shell? Like the deliverymen in the battle?
His gaze was fixed on the billowing, condensing thick black smoke.

The rustling sound became clearer and clearer.

The red wedding dress slowly emerged from the black smoke.

The nails, painted red with balsam juice, were gently struck by a silver bracelet, the sound as cold and hard as a tombstone being blown by the wind.

Dozens of ghostly figures in the courtyard bowed their heads and hunched over at the same time, as orderly as an army, and the air was filled with a suffocating sense of submission.

A Zhe felt a chill run down his spine and muttered under his breath, "Even wealthy families don't put on such a grand show when their daughters get married..."

The bride's head was covered with a heavy red veil, obscuring her face; only a blurry, drooping outline could be seen.

She walked very slowly, each step silent, as if her feet didn't touch the ground.

Her posture was stiff, yet she possessed a strange, rhythmic quality, as if guided by invisible threads, and she walked straight toward the dazed groom in the center of the formation.

As she appeared, the dozens of ghostly guests in the courtyard suddenly closed their gaping, empty mouths.

At the same instant, all the ghostly figures bowed slightly in her direction, lowering their heads and displaying a silent posture of absolute obedience, even fear, like subjects paying homage to their queen.

As she approached, the smoke from the burning black incense sticks at the edge of the array grew thicker and rose straight up, as if guiding her.

The dark red blood beads on the ground throbbed more rapidly and brightly, emitting an even stronger, sweet, and pungent odor.

A Zhe felt a sudden, intense ringing in his ears, as if countless tiny sounds were screaming in his mind, or like high-frequency static noise, interfering with his thinking.

The radio in his backpack, which had long been broken, suddenly emitted a very brief, abrupt, mournful sound before falling completely silent, emitting a wisp of burnt smoke.

The bride stopped in front of the groom.

She lowered her head slightly, as if "examining" the living man who was about to become her husband.

The groom's body trembled even more violently, and he made a "hoarse" sound, as if he was dying, from his throat. Physiological tears even seeped from the corners of his eyes, but he still could not move or make any decent sound.

At that moment, a short, hunched figure emerged shakily from the ghostly shadows.

It was the ghost of an old woman dressed in dark funeral clothes, her face as withered as a walnut. In her hands she held an old wooden tray with an equally old wooden comb wrapped in red thread on it.

The old woman floated to the bride's side and chanted a strange hymn in a hoarse voice, like the sound of rubbing against rubble:

"Combing from head to toe, yin and yang go hand in hand..."

"When the second comb is finished, all grudges and grievances will be put to rest..."

With each line she sang, she would symbolically comb the bride's long hair that was draped over her back with the wooden comb.

Her long hair was dry and brittle, like straw, and had no luster.

"Combing my hair three times until I grow old, until the Yellow Springs... we'll be carefree together..."

As the old woman's ghost chanted "Three combs until old age, together we roam freely in the Yellow Springs," a line suddenly popped into A Zhe's mind:
"Is this combing hair or chanting scriptures?!"

He swallowed hard and tried to move his feet, but found that his feet were stuck and he couldn't move an inch.

This should have been a heartwarming moment when a mother combs her daughter's hair before her marriage, but here it has become eerie and terrifying, filled with ominous curses.

The hair-combing ritual is complete.

The old woman's ghost retreated.

The bride slowly, extremely slowly, raised her pale hands and reached for the red veil on her head. The atmosphere in the entire courtyard instantly became extremely tense.

All the ghostly figures with their heads bowed seemed to freeze in place.

Xu Yan's heart was in her throat.

He didn't know what lay beneath the veil—a rotting face? A blank skin? Or… He dared not imagine.

However, the bride's hand stopped when it touched the edge of the veil.

She then took out two items from her wide sleeves.

In the left hand is an ancient bronze mirror with blurred edges and a dull appearance.

In his right hand was a small, equally old pair of scissors, the blades of which were faintly blackened.

She raised the antique mirror, but the mirror was not facing herself; instead, it was reflecting directly onto the limp groom.

The moment the bronze mirror reflected the groom's image, he screamed in agony, as if a piece of his soul had been ripped off.

Ah Zhe's hair stood on end, and he stammered, "Brother Yan... this mirror is much more dangerous than an X-ray..."

A deeper fear surged within Xu Yan: the screams sounded exactly like the silent screams he had heard in his dream.

At the same time, the bride gently cut the invisible "line" between the mirror and herself with the scissors in her other hand.

“Soul-capturing... mirror…” A Zhe gasped, his voice trembling with extreme fear, “She’s extracting his soul! Severing his ties to the mortal world! This… this is going to keep him here forever!”

Xu Yan suddenly realized that this ghost marriage was not a wedding, but a vicious ritual that devoured the living and turned them into ghosts!

Can't wait any longer!

Just as he was about to break free of the formation, the bride suddenly raised the mirror, turning it so that it was aimed directly at him.

—The illusion suddenly intruded into my mind.

He saw himself dressed in red funeral clothes, sitting blankly in the center of the altar; Ah Zhe knelt below, burning paper money, his voice trembling as he cried out, "Brother Yan, may you rest in peace..."

That scene was so real it was breathtaking, as if it would come true in the next instant.

"This is my life, don't touch it!"

He roared, as if his chest was being torn apart.

His right arm immediately became burning hot, and the bluish-black lines writhed wildly, as if countless hands were struggling beneath his skin, trying to drag his soul away.

His five fingers spread out uncontrollably, as if trying to grab the mirror's light.

"Brother Yan!"

Ah Zhe shouted.

The bride's scissors suddenly rose, a black light engulfing everything, aimed at the invisible connection between the mirror and Xu Yan.

In that instant, Xu Yan's heart tightened: if she were to cut it, not only herself, but also A Zhe would be dragged into it.

He bit his tongue hard, forcing back a sliver of clarity.

“Aaaaaah…!”

He let out a beastly roar, twisted his right arm, and instead of grabbing the mirror, smashed it to the ground.

boom--!
A dark blue shockwave, originating from the fist, exploded with a deafening roar.

That power was no longer devouring, but a chilling will to "end," sweeping directly across the blood array beneath their feet.

The runes suddenly dimmed, and the blood droplets dried up and turned black, as if their life force had been drained in an instant.

The pulse of the entire formation was forcibly torn off!

(End of this chapter)