Chapter Seventy-Two: The Ghostly Talisman

“Curse? Scribbles?”

I was quite familiar with the term “scribbles.” Back when I was in school, my grandfather would often scold me, calling my handwriting “scribbles,” saying even ghosts wouldn’t know what I’d written. It was his way of saying my writing was so messy it was incomprehensible. But these five strange marks—could they really be actual ghostly symbols?

Ajie’s expression was unusually grave; I had never seen him so invested in anything before.

“Bring the lens closer, I can’t see clearly.”

I hurriedly moved my phone to focus on the bizarre pattern.

“Have you noticed? There are five marks in total. It’s a countdown.”

“A countdown?”

“Yes, it indicates the time left before the curse takes effect—only five days remain.”

“And the different colors on these marks...?”

“One is bright red, which means one day has already passed. By midnight tonight, the second mark will probably turn red. Who have you offended lately, to have something like this fall upon you?”

Panic seized me. How could I possibly handle something as intangible as a curse? Especially when it worked like a countdown to death—just four days left. How was I supposed to break this?

“Forget it. I’m flying to Southern Guangdong tomorrow. Let’s wait until I get there to talk things through. Remember, until I arrive, don’t do any business. And don’t use any more of your yin-yang embroidery for now.”

“All right, we’ll wait for you.”

After hanging up, I stared at the marks, lost in thought. The crimson streaks were like thorns embedded in my heart, making me uneasy.

But since Hu Ji had spoken, I decided to close the shop for a few days. Better safe than sorry.

Back inside, I began preparing to shutter the place.

“By the way, are you sure there’s nothing wrong with Xiao Wei’s tattoo?”

I paused, my mouth dry. “It should be fine. It’s just supposed to bring him luck. I’m not worried about the design—I’m worried about who he might have crossed.”

Old Jin said it best: when you lose a bet, you lose money; when you win, you lose your life. We’d see if Xiao Wei could ever turn back.

Old Liao and I stocked up on food, planning to hole up in the shop for a few days like a pair of hamsters. The curse sounded mysterious, and we had no idea what would happen.

“What if it’s just like that movie ‘Final Destination’? A screw comes loose somewhere at home, setting off a chain of events, and finally—an accident?”

Old Liao loved watching foreign horror movies, claiming it toughened him up, though he’d always end up cowering on the couch in terror.

But I didn’t believe these ghostly symbols could really cast such a heavy curse. I believed in spirits and karma, but not that anyone could control another’s fate. That would make them gods, wouldn’t it?

Hu Ji’s flight was early in the morning; he wouldn’t arrive until noon. With nothing else to do and nerves on edge, Old Liao and I decided to get up at midnight to check if the marks changed.

Time slipped by quickly. Night had fallen before I knew it, and neither of us dared sleep. The TV was on, but our eyes kept darting to the clock on the wall.

11:58.

We quickly opened the shop door. The electric shutter grated as it rose, its noise harsh in the silent night. The world outside was pitch dark, and my heart pounded with anxiety. In that moment, I’d have preferred a ghost to show up than keep living in constant dread of this intangible threat.

11:59.

Just one minute to midnight. We rushed outside and stared intently at the marks. They looked exactly as they had during the day—one bright, four dim. No change at all.

At the stroke of midnight, the clock let out its chimes, and the marks on the wall began to move...

The marks seemed to ignite in an instant, flickering with a dazzling light.

The red glow was unearthly. Old Liao and I stood there helpless.

“Damn it, I don’t believe this ghostly nonsense can’t be wiped off!”

Old Liao grabbed a shovel from the ongoing renovations, raised it, and swung it hard at the marks on the wall.

A loud scraping sound, chunks of plaster and dust fell to the floor. But the marks remained perfectly intact. Even though the wall was gouged in, those eerie symbols seemed embedded deep inside, fused with the wall itself.

Old Liao then fetched a bucket of water and threw it at the wall, soaking it. I grabbed a cloth and scrubbed furiously.

If anything, the more I wiped, the more the marks changed. The wall no longer emitted the glaring red glow, but the second mark had shifted from dark to blood-red.

Old Liao and I leaned in. Just as Ajie had said, the second mark had turned completely crimson.

Two bright, three dim. The curse was now one day closer to taking effect.

I dropped the wet cloth and reached out to touch the newly reddened mark. Suddenly, it was as if an electric current shot through my mind.

Just like the swastika-like symbol in the haunted house, these ghostly marks triggered my sixth sense.

It felt as though I’d been plunged into a pitch-black void, stripped of all sensation. Silence surrounded me. I could only move slowly forward, sensing a figure waiting for me ahead.

I quickened my steps toward the figure.

As I drew near, I saw someone in a colorful robe, standing eerily still, a blood-red mask covering their face. It felt like their eyes, behind the mask, were piercing right through me.

I finally had a chance to observe this robed figure. Not very tall, perhaps about five-foot-nine. Their gender was indiscernible. The robe was bizarre—multicolored because it was covered in feathers from all kinds of birds, dazzling yet unsettling.

The red mask was shaped into a smile, the eye holes curved as if the wearer was smiling with half-closed eyes. The entire mask was blood-red, exuding the stench of blood.

The figure looked up at me, noticing my scrutiny. Then, moving as if controlled by invisible strings, their limbs hung loosely, slowly straightening. Their head turned, joints audibly cracking.

Their neck rotated a full three hundred and sixty degrees in an unnatural arc, and a low, chilling laughter echoed from beneath the mask.

“Three days left. The curse is coming.”

The voice was hoarse and dry, devoid of any distinguishing features.

“Who are you? Who’s behind this? Why did you send Yangzi to harm me?”

Thinking of the bizarre scenes in the haunted house and the half a centipede I’d thrown up, rage surged in me. I charged at the robed figure, swinging a fist straight at their masked face.

With a bang, the figure vanished into thin air, leaving only a flurry of feathers drifting down.

Panting hard, I realized I’d been pulled back to reality. Old Liao was supporting me, his face anxious.

“Did you have another episode?”

I nodded, saying I now knew who wanted to harm me, but the opponent was highly skilled; it would take time to uncover their true identity.

“Forget it, let’s get some sleep. Once Ajie and Brother Xiaolin get here, maybe we can solve this.”

Old Liao and I returned to the shop. I glanced at the crimson marks by the door, glowing eerily in the dark. All I could do was pull the shutter down again.

The night passed without incident, but we were left with nothing but worry.

Until... Ajie arrived.

I saw Ajie again at the airport—the handsome, almost “enchanting” young man from the Hu family, blessed with the power of a guardian spirit.

Of course, when I spotted him, he was still gaming.

He was sitting on the steps outside the arrivals gate, staring at his dim phone screen.

Unbelievable—so bad at games, yet still addicted.

Old Liao drove, and Ajie and I sat in the back.

He excitedly pulled out his phone. “Timi?”

“T my ass! I’m about to die and you still want to game?”

Only then did Ajie drop his playful attitude. “Let’s have a look at the shop first before we talk.”

“So this is the mark?” Ajie crossed his arms, frowning as he gently touched the wall.

“Yeah, when you touch it, do you see any visions?”

“It just feels cold. Nothing else.”

So I was the only one who could see those visions?

“What happened to the marks last night? What did you see?”

I told Ajie everything that had happened at midnight.

He fell silent for a while, then looked up at me. “To be honest, I’ve seen marks like these twice before. But...”

“But what?” Old Liao and I asked in unison.

“But the situations were different. One time, the mark had only three stripes; the other, seven. And the results of the curse were very different. The time with three stripes wasn’t too bad—the person just got into a car accident and lost an arm. Nothing else strange happened.

But... the time with seven stripes, seven days later, the person jumped from the twelfth floor. Although he died, what was bizarre was that when his body hit the ground, the blood sprayed out in the exact shape of the seven marks. Isn’t that strange?”

Old Liao and I exchanged looks. So, this time, the curse might not be fatal, but something bad was bound to happen.

Ajie went into the shop and sat on the couch, twisting his tied-up hair. “Curses are mysterious—impossible to verify. And these marks must have come from a particular regional tradition.”

“Miao territory?” Old Liao asked, skeptical.

“That’s right. In fact, it’s from Southern Yunnan, and it’s connected to their worship of the dark god Mahakala.”