(Opening line: When rules are validated by death, panic takes on a tangible form—like a guillotine blade suspended over every head. You never know when it will fall, only that it inevitably will.)
By the time Wu Hao drove to the Wu family's ancestral home, night had deepened. Nestled in a remote mountain hollow, the old house was surrounded by dense forests, accessible only via a narrow concrete road. Streetlights were sparse, their dim glow barely functional.
Opening the door, the atmosphere in the main hall felt heavier than the night outside. His aunt huddled on the corner sofa, her hands clutching a string of rosewood prayer beads. Her lips moved rapidly, murmuring incomprehensible sutras, the tear stains at the corners of her eyes still wet. My aunt sat at the dining table, fingers flying across her phone screen. The sharp clicks of the calculator echoed jarringly in the silence. She glanced up at us intermittently, her gaze brimming with scrutiny and suspicion, as if assessing who might be the next "burden." My uncle buried his head in his liquor, foam trickling down the neck of the bottle. His face was flushed crimson, yet the fear in his eyes was impossible to hide.
Wu Wenyuan sat in the seat of honor, dressed in a dark gray Zhongshan suit, maintaining his usual composed and dignified demeanor. Seeing Wu Hao enter, he rose to greet him: "Little Hao, come sit down. Any news from your sister-in-law?"
"She's still in the ICU. No improvement," Wu Hao replied concisely, pulling out a chair and sitting down. His gaze swept quickly across the room. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the voice recorder in his pocket—as a detective, his professional instincts made him wary of this "family meeting."
Following the "order of birth and consumption" principle mentioned by Xia Jie, he had already mentally mapped out the birthdate-direction correspondences for the family members. Chen Jianming corresponded to the "Southern Bing Fire" position (the altar site in the folk culture village). Next in line for the "Western Geng Metal" position was Third Aunt Wu Xiulian—the elderly woman who had spent her life eating vegetarian meals, chanting sutras, and speaking scarcely a word, even reciting lengthy prayers for the departed soul of a single crushed ant.
"Wen Yuan, make a decision already!" Uncle slammed the wine bottle down on the table, spilling liquid that spread into a wet stain on the rosewood surface. "Jianming is gone, my sister-in-law has collapsed—are we next? That Dragon-Sealing Curse... is it genuinely sinister, or is someone behind this?"
All eyes instantly fixed on Wu Wenyuan, as if he were their sole lifeline. Auntie ceased her sutra recitation; Auntie set down her phone; even their breathing instinctively grew quieter.
Wu Wenyuan sighed, picking up the communal chopsticks to serve food with deliberate, unhurried movements. "The tales passed down by our elders shouldn't be taken entirely at face value, but we mustn't be careless either. I've reviewed our family's old ledgers and the ancestral hall records. They do mention a century-old feud with Qingzhu Village. What matters most now is unity—we mustn't panic." He paused, his gaze flicking toward Wu Hao. "I've already contacted a friend in Yunnan to summon an expert in ancient curses. He'll arrive in three days. Until then, everyone should minimize outings—especially to remote areas."
Wu Hao observed him impassively. Wu Wenyuan's tone was calm and logical, each word meant to reassure, yet when he mentioned "birthday" and "direction," his fingers holding the teacup paused ever so slightly, and a faint flicker of something unusual passed through his eyes—not fear, but a kind of knowing certainty.
Did he already know these rules? Or was he deliberately steering the conversation?
"What about Third Aunt?" Wu Hao suddenly spoke, his gaze shifting to the empty seat. "Why isn't she here?"
His aunt sighed. "Xiulian said she wasn't feeling well. She's at home chanting sutras for blessings. I asked her to come, but she refused, saying the Buddha hall is the safest place."
Wu Hao's heart sank. Auntie San lived in the eastern part of the city, while the curse's next target was the old wharf district in the west—the former port where Qingzhu Village shipped its ore. She rarely left her home, which should have made her the safest. But could a "Buddhist hall" truly shield her from this slaughter?
"I'll go persuade her." Wu Hao rose, but Wu Wenyan called him back just as he stepped forward.
"Xiao Hao, don't rush." Wu Wenyan handed him a cup of hot tea, his fingertips inadvertently brushing Wu Hao's hand—the touch felt cool. "Xiu Lian is stubborn. She might not listen even if you go. I've already sent my driver over with some protective amulets and to keep an eye on things. You're a cop—my sister-in-law needs you. I've got this covered."
Wu Hao met the measured concern in his uncle's eyes, his doubts deepening. Still, he nodded. "Thanks for handling this, Uncle."
The gathering finally dispersed in a stifling silence. As Auntie Wu left, she tugged at Wu Wenyan's sleeve, repeatedly confirming the sage's itinerary. Uncle Wu, drunk and staggering, was escorted away by others, muttering incoherently about "Green Bamboo Village," "secret treasures," and "ore veins." Wu Hao brought up the rear, watching Wu Wenyan stand at the old house's doorway, his shadow stretched long by the lamplight, radiating an inexplicable air of mystery.
Back at the police station, Wu Hao immediately called Xia Jie, relaying his aunt's birthdate, address, and Wu Wenyan's arrangements.
"The coordinates match—it's the old wharf district west of the city, near Warehouse No. 7. That's the former cargo dock site of Qingzhu Village." Xia Jie's voice carried the clatter of keyboard keys. "The records state 'sacrifice when the moon hides,' meaning the period between 3 and 5 a.m. is when the curse is most potent. Officer Wu, you must station officers to guard Auntie San and the old wharf district—this ritual may be more complex than the last. The records mention 'a second sacrifice requires summoning the soul, driving a wooden spike through the heart to lock the resentment.'"
"Undercover officers are already deployed near Auntie San's residence and the old dock area," Wu Hao replied, rubbing his temples as exhaustion washed over him. "Let's hope we can stop it."
For the next two days, Wu Hao barely slept. He monitored his mother's condition at the hospital while simultaneously watching surveillance footage from Auntie San's home and handling follow-up evidence collection for the Chen Jianming case. The first day passed without incident. On the second day, Aunt San only left at dusk to burn incense at a nearby Buddhist hall, accompanied throughout by Wu Wenyuan's driver. Nothing unusual occurred.
Then, at 3 a.m. on the third day, frantic shouts erupted over the walkie-talkie like thunderclaps in the duty room: "Captain Wu! Warehouse 7 at the old docks in West City! A female body discovered! The characteristics... the characteristics match the Chen Jianming case! Kneeling position, the symbol, and the wooden spike in the chest!"
Wu Hao's mind went blank with a sudden buzzing. He grabbed his coat and practically stumbled out of the duty room. The police car's siren pierced the night sky as it sped toward the western part of the city.
The old dock area lay long abandoned, rusted cranes looming in the darkness like colossal steel skeletons. Warehouse 7's doors stood wide open, its interior shrouded in pitch blackness. Only the beams of police officers' powerful flashlights sliced through the air.
When Wu Hao burst into the warehouse, the sight before him made his stomach churn violently, his breathing becoming heavy and labored.
His aunt's body knelt on the concrete floor at the warehouse's center, her hands bound behind her back with the same "soul-binding cuffs." The surrounding area was covered in symbols drawn with cinnabar mixed with an unknown black powder—patterns more intricate than those in Chen Jianming's case. The lines intertwined like countless black snakes, converging toward the corpse. A rusted wooden spike pierced her chest, its tip blackened as if saturated with some venom.
Her face bore an expression identical to Chen Jianming's—eyes gently closed, lips curled in an eerie, almost serene smile, as if she had truly completed some sacred sacrifice.
"Captain Wu, the forensic exam is complete," Old Chen approached, his expression grim. "The victim's organ decay is more severe than Chen Jianming's. Time of death is less than an hour. This wooden spike was inserted postmortem—a ritualistic act, not the fatal wound."
Birth order, corresponding directions, ritual sequence... Xia Jie's curse rules were being validated with cold, precise accuracy!
"How could this happen?" The young officer in charge of surveillance choked back tears, his face etched with self-reproach. "Our people were watching Auntie San's house the whole time. She never left! Surveillance shows she went to bed at 8 PM last night. How did she end up here?"
Wu Hao spun around abruptly: "Investigate! Immediately review all surveillance footage from Auntie San's residence to the Old Dock District! Trace everyone she came into contact with last night! Especially Wu Wenyuan's driver!"
Half an hour later, the investigation results sent a collective chill through the room: surveillance near Auntie Wu's home had suffered extensive signal interference between 11 PM and 1 AM last night, rendering the footage unusable. Neighbors revealed that yesterday afternoon, a person dressed in a courier uniform had visited, claiming to deliver a "blessed amulet sent by a Buddhist group" requiring a signature. Auntie Wu had happily accepted it.
"Was it a diversion tactic, or..." a police officer murmured, his eyes filled with dread.
Wu Hao remained silent, feeling a chill run from the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his head. This "murderer" not only understood the rules of curses but also possessed exceptional counter-surveillance skills, capable of precisely evading police surveillance and abducting people without a trace. He faced not a human being, but an intangible, omnipresent specter.
The materialist worldview he had upheld for thirty years shattered completely in that instant.
A wave of helplessness washed over him. Leaning against the cold warehouse wall, he watched as his third aunt's body was carried onto a stretcher. Images flashed through his mind: his mother lying on her deathbed, Chen Jianming's eerie smile, the panicked faces of his family members.
Here he was, the captain of the criminal investigation team, rendered utterly insignificant and powerless before this century-spanning curse.
After an unknown span of time, Wu Hao slowly emerged from the warehouse. The pre-dawn sea breeze carried a salty, fishy stench, stinging his face with bone-chilling cold. He approached the police car, about to open the door, when his gaze suddenly froze—
On the window, someone had drawn a small, twisted pattern in dark red liquid (resembling lipstick, yet like dried blood)—a symbol identical to the one found at the crime scene!
The symbol wasn't large, yet it resembled an eye, staring fixedly at him with raw, unmasked malice.
This wasn't a provocation—it was a notification! Whatever lurked in the shadows knew he was investigating, knew his movements, even knew he'd be here at this very moment!
Wu Hao whipped his head around. The old wharf district was deserted, filled only with the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the occasional distant foghorn, eerily piercing the darkness. His hand instinctively reached for the service pistol at his waist, but his fingers trembled slightly from sheer tension.
His phone suddenly rang, its shrill tone shattering the silence. The caller ID displayed Xia Jie.
"Officer Wu, I... I've uncovered more details about the 'Dragon-Sealing Curse' sacrifice ritual." Xia Jie's voice carried a barely perceptible tremor, her words even faltering slightly. "This curse doesn't operate in a vacuum. It requires... it requires a specific medium—a relic from the Qingzhu Village shamans a century ago: the Blood-Patterned Wooden Statue. And... and this vessel might be connected to every one of us. It's... it's screening for 'suitable' sacrifices, absorbing life force to activate the vein's energy!"
Wu Hao leaned against the cold car door, staring at the blinding symbol on the window. Listening to Xia Jie's terrified voice on the phone, he felt a bone-deep confusion and despair for the first time.
The rules had taken effect. The death list was being crossed off, one by one.
Whose name would be next?
Who held that blood-patterned wooden statue, hidden in the shadows?
And how could he possibly fight this curse—one he couldn't see or touch?