Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 66 The Eighteen Gates Secret Records

After running for an unknown amount of time, Xu Yan finally stopped next to an unfinished building when he was absolutely sure it was safe.

The night wind howled, and the city lights in the distance appeared and disappeared, as if in another world.

He took a deep breath and placed the heavy satchel on his lap.

The bag was cracked and emitted a musty smell of cinnabar and herbs, as if it had been buried in a coffin for many years.

He unfastened the clasp.

There were only a few items inside:
Several old copper coins, with faint dark marks on the edges of the coins, as if they had been baked by fire, or as if they had been worn close to the body for many years.
A piece of dead wood bound with a red rope. The wood grain was extremely fine and as hard as iron, but the red rope was of indistinguishable age and seemed to be slowly oozing an inappropriate dampness.

And a yellowed handwritten copy.

The book was very thin, thread-bound, but the cover had no title.

With only vigorous and eerie brushstrokes, a staircase extends downwards, flanked by tightly closed doors, each bearing different symbols, some resembling animal patterns, others like eyes.

At the end of the stairs, a thick blot of ink was about to drip, as if it led straight to a bottomless abyss.

Just as Xu Yan was about to turn the page again, the pages suddenly jolted, as if they were disgusted by his touch.

But in that instant, Xu Yan felt an extremely faint and eerie sense of familiarity, as if the aura of this book had appeared for a fleeting moment in his father's study a long, long time ago.

The book suddenly closed, and the "downward-extending staircase" on the cover abruptly rose up, radiating a dazzling ink sheen.

"You are not the person it is looking for."

A deep voice emanated from the depths of the pages, like countless ghosts simultaneously sneering.

Xu Yan dismissed it as a hallucination. His fingertips trembled slightly as he turned to the first page.

The moment his fingertips touched the yellowed pages, the stepped pattern on the cover seemed to come alive, stretching infinitely before his eyes!
His vision went black for a moment, and when it came back to light, he found himself standing on an endless, dimly lit staircase, surrounded by tightly closed doors on all sides.

An invisible force pushed him toward the first gate of hell.

He turned around and saw his shadow twisting wildly on the wall, gradually detaching from his body and turning into a ghostly claw reaching for his back!
The next instant, the staircase-like runes on the pages transformed into chain-like shadows, suddenly wrapping around his wrists, icy cold and relentlessly suppressing him!

Xu Yan groaned, his finger bones turning white, almost as if they had been broken.

He clearly felt a force trying to drag his soul into the pages of the book as "the price for being a trial reader."

"Click——"

In the critical moment, his photographer muscle memory was activated; instead of brute force, he sought the "focus"!
His gaze instantly locked onto the most unstable and energy-dissipated "node" of the shadow chain. He brought two fingers together as if holding a camera, focused all his energy on one point, and whispered, "Freeze!"

This is not an attack, but a capture.

It forcibly freezes that chaotic "moment".

The air suddenly froze, and an invisible "freeze-in" force field spread out, causing the chain-like shadows to linger in mid-air, like afterimages captured in a photograph.

"...Freeze-frame?"

A low murmur came from the pages of the book, as if confirming something.

Immediately, the chains snapped and broke, turning into black mist and dissipating.

The stepped pattern on the cover faded again, and the ink gradually seeped into the paper.

The book finally fell silent, slowly opening again on his lap, as if acknowledging his right.

At the same time, a low, murmuring sound, half-crying and half-laughing, echoed from deep within the spine of the book:

"Remember...you are the thirteenth..."

Xu Yan gasped for breath, his hands were covered in cold sweat, and his heart was pounding like a drum.

On the pages, the four characters “Eighteen Secret Records” suddenly bleed with dark red marks, like dried blood being moistened again.

Immediately afterwards, the first twelve names appeared on the page one by one, then quickly faded and disappeared, as if they had been crossed out.

Finally, a blurry, distorted symbol slowly coalesced, seemingly a celestial rune representing "thirteen," and was then branded onto the title of the book.

Xu Yan felt a slight heat in his right palm, as if he had been recognized as successful.

He vaguely understood:

Without the ability to "freeze a moment," he would probably have been dragged into the pages of the book and turned into a corpse.

As he continued reading, the first few lines sent a jolt through him:

"The Eighteen Secret Records are not the path of compassion, but a journey against the tide."

Exploring the depths of the netherworld, one gate after another, barrier after barrier. The Shadow Gate is the beginning, the Mirror Gate is the end.

Those who practice this art should know that the body is not their own, and the soul resides in the realm of Yin and Yang.

"At the end of the eighteen levels, one may gain control of the underworld, or... be doomed to eternal damnation." The handwriting was not static; the ink seemed to move slightly between the pages, as if it were alive.

Xu Yan's heart suddenly tightened, as if countless cold eyes were staring at him from behind the words.

His recent experience was like a bloody demonstration for him.

Xu Yan was breathing rapidly, but she did not close the book.

He continued flipping through the pages.

It records the rituals, taboos, and methods of passage for each "door":

The first level, the [Shadow Gate], relies on shadows; if you cannot capture the "shadow," you will be swallowed by it.

The second layer, the "Mirror Gate," reflects the heart; if there is a demon in one's heart, the mirror will devour one.

[Blood Gate]

[Tongue]

……

Layer upon layer, profound and austere.

Xu Yan was startled.

--I see.

He suddenly recalled the way Zhou Wenbin had summoned the ghosts earlier; those shadows and whispers coincided with the taboos in the book.

That wasn't the "True Secret of Walking in the Underworld" he mentioned, but rather a fragment of a technique he learned from this book of eighteen secret manuals.

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

If even Zhou Wenbin can summon a vengeful ghost with just "half a page," then what about the eighteen gates recorded in the entire book... if they were truly mastered?

Xu Yan steadied himself and turned the page again.

The more I read, the more I felt a strange sense of resonance.

The book repeatedly emphasizes: "We must freeze the 'moment' and capture the glimmer of hope in the crack of the door."

His photography is all about capturing the moment.

This means that for most others, reading this book would lead to certain death; only he could leave a photograph as evidence in front of the "door," thus securing his only way out.

His mind felt as if it had been slashed by a sharp blade; his thoughts abruptly ceased, leaving only a pale void.

Just as his heart was tightening, the whispering voice came again:

"Remember... you are the thirteenth."

Immediately afterwards, a cold footnote seemed to ring in my ears:

"The first twelve... were all buried at the gate."

Their lingering images still linger in the book.

Xu Yan's heart clenched, and he abruptly turned to the next page.

Sure enough, blurry human figures appeared between the pages.

Some were bent over and crawling, as if struggling to move forward; some had their faces contorted, torn apart by ink stains; and some were desperately pushing the door open, only to be frozen in place forever at the threshold.

Their existence is not an illusion, but a real "afterimage" imprinted on the pages of the book.

Cold sweat trickled down Xu Yan's back.

This book is not a "record," but an epitaph built from the ashes of death.

None of the first twelve people who read it were able to get out of it.

And now, I've been forced to take over the thirteenth position.

This is not a coincidence, but... a destined bond.

He turned to the last page.

Tucked between the pages of the book was a black jade cicada.

The jade cicada was as thin as a cicada's wing and icy cold to the bone.

The text is covered with runes, which are of the same origin as the characters in the book.

When Xu Yan's fingertips touched the jade cicada, a chill instantly shot from his palm into his heart, and he gasped sharply.

(End of this chapter)