Darkness and silence always make one uneasy.
Ke Xun, worried about Wei Dong, thought for a moment and asked Mu Yiran beside him, "If I go to the woodshed now, will anything happen?"
Mu Yiran's voice came after a moment: "I'm not sure if anything will happen. I only know that the last person who wandered around at night died with only his skull remaining."
"..." Ke Xun leaned back against the sack, but didn't want to remain silent like before—that feeling was like waiting to die. So, if he wasn't going to die in silence, he'd at least talk about death in silence: "I remember you said this was the third painting you'd seen. How did you find the signatures or seals on the first two paintings? Can you tell me?"
"No interest." Mu Yiran didn't mince words.
"…You have absolutely no team spirit," Ke Xun said. "An extra helper means an extra chance of success. You wouldn't want me to hold you back, would you?"
After a moment, Mu Yiran spoke again: "There's no pattern, so there's no point in talking about it."
As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly felt a heat on his ear. The kid next to him, completely oblivious to their being strangers, naturally leaned in and whispered in his ear, "So, where do you think the seal on this painting will be? Have you got any ideas?"
Mu Yiran frowned. He had never seen such an overly familiar person.
He sat up and coldly replied, "If you could keep quiet, you might have some ideas soon."
"Then I'll ask one last question," the kid said, clearly shameless, "If we stay in this room all night without going out, are we really safe?"
Mu Yiran was silent for a moment, and seeing the kid waiting patiently for his answer, he finally spoke: "Not necessarily. It depends on the content of the painting and the current situation. Generally speaking, the most dangerous place is the most important part of the whole situation. Like a painting, there are parts that are emphasized, and there are secondary parts that serve as background or to highlight the main points. If you and I happen to be in the most important part of the painting, then tonight we'll probably face certain death."
Ke Xun's voice rang out after a while: "I think, as it stands, the focus shouldn't be this granary. Anyone with eyes can see it's that… that mourning hall."
Mu Yiran's voice was calm: "According to people's habitual thinking, most people would think that the mourning hall is the focus of the whole courtyard. But if you look at it in the context of the whole painting, the mourning hall may not be the most prominent part. A painting that makes the meaning immediately clear can only be considered a 'good painting,' but it's not necessarily a masterpiece."
"So you mean that even if the mourning hall is the focus in the painting, the true intention behind it isn't necessarily there. It could be the three old locust trees next to the courtyard, or the old man's house, or even our granary," Ke Xun said thoughtfully. "The real focus needs to be inferred from the painting's intention, right?"
Mu Yiran hummed in agreement.
"By the way, what is this painting about?" Ke Xun asked.
"Didn't you see it before you came in?" Mu Yiran countered.
"I was too frightened to look at it then, and even if I had, I'd forgotten about it by now," Ke Xun said. "I just remember it being a dark blur with some grayish-white things mixed in."
Mu Yiran fell silent again. Ke Xun figured this guy was probably looking down on him again. After a while, he finally spoke: "The painting is called 'Funeral,' and it was painted by a painter named Li Jinghao. This painter preferred genre paintings and traveled extensively from his youth, recording the different customs of different places with his brush. This painting is one of them. It depicts a funeral in a remote mountain village. The whole painting has a somber tone and is very intense, expressing…"
He suddenly stopped, and just as Ke Xun was about to ask more, he felt a hand quickly cover his mouth. The palm was dry and slightly cool, with a hint of soap.
Ke Xun instinctively wanted to dodge, but then he realized what was happening and immediately gave up, letting the hand cover his mouth without moving.
The room fell into an eerie silence once more. Perhaps in the darkness, one's senses are sharper than usual; Ke Xun vaguely heard several unusual noises coming from the courtyard outside.
Holding his breath and listening intently, the sounds became clearer—a rustling, crackling sound, like… paper rustling.
Ke Xun remembered the paper money and paper ingots hanging outside the main hall.
The sound was so loud; could it be a strong wind outside?
No, that's not right. The sound was moving.
Slowly, unhurriedly, without any attempt to conceal it, little by little, with the rustling of paper, it was approaching the granary.
It felt like someone was carrying a large sheet of stiff paper, dragging it sloppily along the ground.
Or like someone wearing paper clothes, limbs and torso rubbing together, slowly walking towards them.
—Paper clothes?! Paper—paper figures?!
Ke Xun was startled, remembering the pair of paper-mache children displayed outside the mourning hall.
Was someone moving them?
The woodshed where Wei Dong was located faced directly towards the mourning hall!
Ke Xun pried Mu Yiran's hand away, trying to get up, but Mu Yiran suddenly grabbed his arm. He tried to break free, but Mu Yiran twisted and coiled around him, pinning him down and making him unable to move.
"Looking for death," Mu Yiran's voice whispered in his ear, carrying a chilling edge.
"I..." Ke Xun was about to speak when a hard knee pressed against his throat, almost choking him, rendering him unable to utter a single word.
Damn, he's a trained fighter.
Discretion is the better part of valor. Ke Xun stopped struggling and obediently allowed himself to be held down.
The sounds outside grew closer, rustling and chattering until they reached the window of his room, then suddenly stopped completely.
Ke Xun subconsciously looked up at the window. The window sash was made of wood, completely opaque, making the room pitch black. It was also late at night outside, with no light, so it was impossible to see anything through the darkness.
Suddenly, an eye appeared in the window sash, like a crack opening in the darkness, peering into the room through this gap.
This wasn't a living person's eye, or rather, not a real person's eye.
It was drawn on paper, white paper with black lines, a very simple eye, almond-shaped rim, dark pupil, and a thin, curved eyebrow above it.
Ke Xun was thankful that Mu Yiran's knee was still pressing against his throat, otherwise, this sudden fright might have made him cry out.
He didn't know how someone could see this eye so clearly in such a dark room. There was no light source anywhere, yet this eye was so clearly embedded in the crack of the window sash, staring at him motionless.
A bead of cold sweat slid down his forehead, and Ke Xun held his breath.
The eye was watching him; the paper figure outside was watching him.
Mu Yiran behind him remained motionless. The two of them and the paper figure outside were frozen in place, trapped in an eerie stalemate.
This stalemate lasted for an unknown amount of time—perhaps a long time, perhaps a short time—and just as Ke Xun felt his mind was about to go numb, the paper figure's eye suddenly vanished, and the scene before him plunged back into endless darkness.
Just as Ke Xun was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a finger suddenly emerged from where the paper figure's eyes had disappeared. The skin was deathly pale, the nails jet black, and it scraped and scratched at the wooden windowpane. Upon closer inspection, the finger's shape was bizarre—square and flat—it was a paper finger! "
Holy crap!" Ke Xun cursed inwardly. When did a piece of paper become so audacious?!
Before the thought was even finished, the finger suddenly began to exert force, scraping and scratching at the windowpane with a piercing sound. The old wooden board creaked and groaned, seemingly about to shatter under the scraping.
—It's trying to get in! Realizing this possibility, Ke Xun began to struggle—he couldn't let it in, he had to stop it!
But Mu Yiran tightened his grip on his hands even more, and even though Ke Xun was quite strong, he was completely useless against Mu Yiran.
Just as he was about to use all his strength to break free, he suddenly felt Mu Yiran press down on him and whisper in his ear, "Don't move! You can't stop it."
...But he couldn't just wait to die like this. Ke Xun twisted his neck, trying to get Mu Yiran's disapproving look, but before he could turn his head, Mu Yiran's second sentence reached his ears: "Listen, once it gets in, absolutely do not move. If it gets close, hold your breath, unless you want to die."
Ke Xun gave up struggling. Mu Yiran had more experience than him, having painted two more paintings. Of course, his higher combat strength was also an important factor. He was still restrained by Mu Yiran, his buttocks sticking out and pressed to the ground, unable to move even if he wanted to.
Ke Xun tilted his head and simply rested his head on Mu Yiran's knees beside him.
Mu Yiran: "..."
In the darkness, the scraping sound of paper against the wooden windowpane continued, the sharp friction between the paper and the dull wood sending shivers down one's spine.
Just as he was enduring the sound, each second feeling like an eternity, he suddenly heard a rustling sound behind him, followed by a loud thud—the sack piled in the corner, perhaps loosened by their weight, had rolled to the ground. After
the thud, a deathly silence fell over the room. Ke Xun looked up and saw the finger in the windowpane retract. The next second, the entire windowpane was slammed down with a terrifying sound, like a burly man weighing over a hundred pounds slamming his massive fist into the windowpane.
—The BOSS has gone berserk! These were the first words that crossed Ke Xun's mind. He looked up, wanting to ask Mu Yiran what to do, but felt him loosen his grip. Mu Yiran's voice came again in a low voice: "Remember what I just said, don't move."
Not being allowed to move? Wasn't that just waiting to die? Ke Xun hesitated for a moment, then finally lay down—once again—on Mu Yiran's lap.
He'd trust him this once more, entrusting his life to him.
Mu Yiran's body stiffened slightly, almost imperceptibly. His hand, which had been reaching out to push Ke Xun away, froze in mid-air, then slowly withdrew
. The old wooden windowpane finally succumbed to the impact, shattering into pieces with a loud crash.
Remembering Mu Yiran's words, Ke Xun dared not move, only straining to look up.
At the window, a paper effigy of a young boy stood silently, its vivid features bearing a lifeless smile, staring coldly at the two people in the room.