In the ancient castle at night, within this old study thick with the scent of ages, Dwight stood beneath the surrounding candlelight, gazing quietly up at the oil painting on the wall.
After a brief silence between the boy and the painting, Dwight received no response.
He frowned slightly. "You won't answer?"
The face in the painting still stared straight into Dwight's eyes.
Dwight smiled, but his smile held a mischievous edge. He stepped aside, rolled over a tall ladder, climbed up beside the bookshelf, and reached out to take down the painting.
Panic flashed across the face in the portrait. The eyes in the painting fixed on Dwight, filled with alarm.
With a grunt, Dwight pulled the painting off the wall. It was far too heavy for a slender teenage boy, and his arms ached. To his surprise, there was **nothing** behind it.
No hidden mechanism. No one spying from behind the canvas.
The painting itself was alive.
Dwight's expression turned grave. He carefully carried the painting down the ladder.
The face in it now looked bitter, its eyes uneasy.
"What are you?" Dwight said sternly. "A figure in a painting come to life?"
The eyes in the portrait darted away.
"This painting is of your ancestor, the Imperial Marshal of the Rollin family… you wouldn't be him returned from the dead, would you?" Dwight shook his head. "That makes no sense. He lived over two hundred years ago, and this painting was clearly made later in his memory. I'll ask again — what are you?"
When he received no answer after several questions, Dwight's face darkened.
"Oh, you won't speak? Then don't regret it."
He pointed at the candelabras around them.
"You see all these flames? If you stay silent, I'll burn you to ashes. Do you think I won't dare?"
He turned, picked up a lit candle, and slowly brought it close to the canvas.
The face in the painting paled at once, its fear plain to see. The eyes were wide with panic and begging, watching the flame draw nearer.
Just before the fire touched the cloth, Dwight moved the candle aside and nodded.
"I see. You truly can't speak… can you?"
The figure in the painting shook its head hurriedly.
"Then what exactly are you?" Dwight's eyes lit up! A living painting! Could this be some kind of magic?
But the painting could not answer his question. Once free from the threat of fire, the figure let out a silent breath and looked at Dwight with curiosity again.
Dwight tried asking a few more questions, but communication was nearly impossible — the figure could only nod or shake its head. After several frustrating minutes, he learned nothing.
The boy and the painting simply stared at each other.
At that moment, a large clock on the study wall began to chime slowly.
Midnight had come.
Suddenly, Dwight saw a faint glow shine from the eyes of the figure in the painting. Then he heard a soft, drifting sigh — clear and human.
"Listen closely!" the voice said quickly. "I am under a spell. I can only speak briefly when the midnight bell rings. Once it stops, I will be silent again! I will only say this once: there is a hidden chamber in this study, and inside are treasures! I can guide you to them… and in return, you must help me. One of those treasures can break this curse."
Dwight's eyes widened. "Are you the one speaking?"
"Yes! No time to explain!" the voice urged. "Start with the third painting on the wall. There are clues there. Follow them, and you will find the chamber — if you are not a fool…"
*Dong!*
The last chime faded. The glow in the painting's eyes dimmed, and the voice fell silent.
Dwight studied the painting up and down. The figure inside looked at him, pleading.
"You said you're under a spell," Dwight said with a smile. "And there's a secret chamber here, with something that can free you. Correct?"
The figure nodded once for each question, its face eager.
"All right. But what's in it for me?" Dwight smiled. "Why should I help you?"
The figure's face twisted. Its pleading grew more desperate, as if it were trying desperately to speak — yet no sound came out.
"Fine. I'm curious enough to find out." Dwight waved a hand, then climbed the ladder again. Following the voice's instruction, he carefully examined the third portrait on the wall.
The third painting showed another Rollin ancestor, dressed in the uniform of a naval admiral, his gaze stern and fixed on the distance.
Dwight inspected it closely, but found no marks. He even carefully moved the painting and checked the wall behind — still nothing.
He stood on the ladder, thinking calmly. He was not frustrated; he re-examined every tiny detail patiently. After three fruitless checks, an idea struck him.
He stared intently at the figure in the painting.
The eyes… looking straight ahead.
Dwight's heart skipped a beat. He immediately followed the direction of the figure's gaze!
It pointed to the opposite wall — at a knight's greatsword hanging there.
Dwight laboriously wheeled the ladder across the room. The effort wore on the thirteen-year-old boy, but his burning curiosity drove him forward.
When he inspected the sword, he noticed its blade was pointing at a nearby bookshelf!
He climbed up that shelf and felt along it.
Finally, he found it!
On the beam of the shelf, his fingers brushed over uneven carvings. He concentrated, and realized they were words — **written backward**.
Anyone else touching them carelessly would have mistaken them for random patterns.
Dwight carefully read the reversed line:
*The answer lies in the night sky, and the great spoon is the key that points the way.*
Dwight could not help but chuckle.
A riddle?
He sighed, slid down the ladder, sat cross-legged on the floor, and buried his head in his hands, thinking hard.
The night sky… the great spoon…
Suddenly, Dwight shot to his feet, hope returning to his face.
What was in the night sky?
**Stars!**
And the great spoon?
It could only be the **Big Dipper**! The seven stars formed the shape of a giant spoon!
Once he saw it, Dwight immediately began searching the study's shelves.
Stars… stars…
Something related to the stars — it had to be the shelf for astrology books!
He quickly found it using the index. Climbing up, he felt along the seventh shelf, following the "spoon" clue.
He checked book after book… until he pulled one that felt strangely heavy.
It was a book made of **metal**!
When he tugged it, a low, rumbling sound came from within the wall — gears turning.
With a soft scrape, the entire bookshelf slowly swung open.
Behind it, hidden in the wall, was a dark, shadowy entrance…