In the pitch-black secret passage, blue ghost insects provided a warm glow.
Ninth had wanted to take Chu'he along for more "fun," but as they ventured further, no dangerous traps lay in wait to claim their lives.
He held Chu'he's hand, lips pressed together in mild displeasure.
That Master Jin must have skimped on the mechanisms—would it have killed him to set up more traps?
Chu'he, however, felt no disappointment. Her spirits remained high as she skipped along beside Ninth. "Ninth, maybe what Master Jin said about poisoning is true. We should hurry and find a way out before midnight to warn everyone."
Ninth wasn’t in a rush, moving through the dim passage with effortless ease, as if strolling through a garden.
Chu'he shook his hand. "Ninth."
With little enthusiasm, he replied, "Fine."
A fork in the path appeared before them. Chu'he hated making such choices, and when she glanced up, she saw the boy idly picking at his short flute, visibly bored.
After mustering her emotions and clearing her throat, Chu'he suddenly clasped her hands to her cheeks, eyes sparkling. "Ninth carried me through the air for so long and dodged all those traps—you're amazing! You must be the most incredible person in the world! With you here, we’ll definitely find our way out soon, right?"
Her bright eyes shone with genuine admiration, brimming with such fervent affection it was as if she wanted to devour him like a delicious pastry.
Ninth immediately lifted his chin, a trace of pride seeping into his voice, though he feigned indifference. "Of course. These paltry traps aren’t even worth my time."
Chu'he clasped her hands together, eyes twinkling. "Wow, Ninth is the best!"
She had an inexplicable, boundless trust in him.
Under her relentless praise, Ninth’s heart swelled. In her eyes, no matter how insurmountable the world’s challenges seemed, his presence alone could solve them all.
Suddenly invigorated, he bent down, pressing a finger to Chu'he’s lips with a soft "Shh—"
Chu'he held her breath, falling completely silent.
Ninth then took a strand of her black hair and let it drift in the air. The faintest current brushed through, barely discernible, but enough for him to trace its movement.
"This way."
He took Chu'he’s hand and led her down the left passage.
The moment they stepped inside, torches along the narrow walls ignited by some hidden mechanism, their orange-red flames banishing the darkness. The glowing ghost insects scattered, retreating into unseen corners.
Chu'he spotted it first. "There’s a room up ahead!"
Ninth asked, "Shall we take a look?"
She nodded.
Pushing the door open, they found the candles inside similarly lit, illuminating the eerie furnishings. Shadows flickered, casting a sinister atmosphere.
In that instant, Chu'he flinched, and Ninth pulled her into his arms.
"Ghosts!"
Ninth chuckled softly, patting her back. "Such a scaredy-cat, Chu'he. Look again—are they really ghosts?"
Hiding behind his silvery-white hair, she mustered her courage and peered through the strands. The figures were paper effigies.
Clad in vivid red—more like garments soaked in blood—their stiff faces bore crookedly painted features. When the candlelight swept over them, their shadows swayed violently on the walls, lending them a truly ghastly appearance.
The paper figures were posed in various positions—some seated, others standing, and one even lying on the bed as if asleep.
Gradually calming, Chu'he lowered Ninth’s hair. "Why are there so many paper effigies here?"
Ninth glanced around, smirking. "Maybe someone’s nostalgic for childhood games of make-believe."
Chu'he took two steps forward but found the pervasive paper figures too unsettling. She retreated, gripping Ninth’s hand tightly and dragging him along for courage before daring to inspect the surroundings.
Ninth tilted his head slightly, observing her fingers—cold but clutching his like a lifeline.
A low laugh escaped his throat, but he said nothing, letting her lead as he matched her hesitant pace.
She was such a coward, yet brimming with curiosity.
Adorably foolish.
Chu'he’s gaze landed on the effigies’ ankles. "Their feet are chained!"
Though mere paper, their legs were bound by cold metal shackles that gleamed ominously in the candlelight, as if anchoring them in place.
Her body tensed again, and she instinctively pressed closer to Ninth, squeezing his hand harder.
"Why would anyone do this?"
"They say there’s a vile curse called 'Soul Imprisonment.' You make a paper effigy, smear it with the blood of the deceased, and trap their soul inside."
Ninth’s voice dropped to a whisper beside her ear. "Chu'he… what if these effigies have trapped spirits watching us right now? Do you think they’d want to claim a replacement?"
As he finished, he blew lightly on her ear, like a ghostly breath.
Chu'he shrieked, leaping away. "I don’t wanna be a replacement!"
Ninth grinned, arms already open, expecting her to crash into him.
Instead—
Thud!
Her fist connected squarely with his face. "Get lost!"
Ninth clutched his cheek, expression blank.
Regaining her composure, Chu'he eyed the faint bruise forming on his fair skin, then her own fist, before hiding her hand behind her back with feigned innocence.
"Wasn’t me. A ghost did it."
Ninth: "Sure."
Guiltily turning away, she rubbed her knuckles and silently cheered: Nice hit!
Still, she thought Ninth’s "make-believe" theory held merit.
Two elderly figures sat at the table—one sipping tea, the other mending clothes—while two maids stood behind them, poised to serve.
On the bed lay a child of seven or eight, with young parents keeping watch at the bedside. Their crudely drawn, twisted features hinted at smiles.
The couple leaned close, whispering intimately, a picture of marital bliss.
Yet in the corner by the window, a smaller child lay in a cradle—ignored, as if an unwelcome outsider in this family tableau.
The room was spotless, suggesting frequent visits.
But beneath the veneer of domestic harmony, the walls bore splattered bloodstains, and the floor was streaked with dried gore.
A stifling aura of violence hung in the air.
Chu'he retreated to Ninth’s side, fingers clutching the hem of his sleeve.
"This place... it looks like the scene of a horrific massacre."
