Chapter 1：The Blood Porcelain Knocks the Soul

Dusk settled in, and the gas lamp flickered in the corner, casting a dim yellow halo. The air carried a mix of wood and dust. Behind the counter, Zhong Wannian—known as Old Zhong—hunched over, peering through a magnifying glass at a small bronze tripod cauldron. Its surface was covered in green patina, the patterns blurred yet faintly exuding an ancient charm. A subtle smile played on Old Zhong's face as if he were admiring a piece of art, his fingertips gently brushing the rim like he was catching up with an old friend.

Footsteps echoed from the staircase. Lin Yao descended from the back courtyard, clutching a yellowed ancient book. Her gaze swept over the counter and landed on the bronze cauldron. She paused, her tone flat but edged with a barb: "Old man, how much is this worth?"

Old Zhong didn't look up, his hoarse voice tinged with pride: "Priceless." He paused, set the magnifying glass aside, and squinted at her. "What do you know, bookworm?"

Lin Yao let out a cold laugh and slammed the book onto the counter with a thud, rattling a nearby porcelain cup. "Priceless? Sounds nice, but if it doesn't sell, it's just scrap metal." She leaned in, studying the cauldron. "Shang or Zhou dynasty, right? The patterns look like a sacrificial vessel. Sell it to a museum, and it might fetch something."

"Sell it?" Old Zhong shot her a glare, setting the magnifying glass down with a scoff. "If this thing gets sold, you couldn't pay for it in your lifetime." He stood, his hunched figure stretching long under the lamplight.

Just then, the doorbell chimed with a sharp ding. Jiang Hao pushed through the door, his leather jacket dusted with grime, the scar at the corner of his eye stark under the dim glow. He scanned the shop and marched straight to the counter, his voice low and simmering: "Old Zhong, that missing artifact dealer—your lousy shop's got something to do with it, doesn't it?"

Lin Yao turned, sizing him up with a mocking smirk. "Another brainless brute, barging in and yelling. What if you scare off customers?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, her tone cutting like a blade. "Got evidence? If not, don't make a fool of yourself here."

Jiang Hao's eyes darkened as he stepped closer, looming over her. "Evidence? I tracked that dealer for three days, and the trail went cold right here. Don't play innocent with me, bookworm." He jabbed a finger at the counter. "You know damn well what's hidden in this shop."

"Brute." Lin Yao gritted her teeth, grabbing the book and slamming it down again with a crack. The porcelain cup finally tipped over, rolling to the counter's edge. Old Zhong frowned and waved them off. "Shut up, both of you! You're giving me a headache, buzzing around like flies."

At that moment, a blood-red porcelain vase on the counter quivered, as if struck by an invisible hand, emitting a dull thump-thump. Its deep crimson body gleamed unnaturally, as though liquid flowed within. Jiang Hao frowned, reaching out to touch it. The moment his fingertips brushed it, a buzzing filled his ears, his vision blurred, and he muttered, "Someone smashed a head with this. The hatred's overwhelming." Before he finished, a drop of blood-red liquid seeped from the vase's surface, sliding down its side and leaving a glaring red streak on the counter.

Lin Yao's eyes sharpened. She leaned closer, staring at the droplet. "Blood?" She squinted at the ritual inscriptions on the vase, whispering, "An ancient sacrificial vessel, sealing something…" Her words trailed off as the red streak wriggled like a living thing, crawling back toward the rim and seeping inside. The vase trembled harder, the knocking growing into a frantic rhythm, as if someone trapped within was pounding desperately.

Old Zhong's expression shifted. He set the magnifying glass down and said gravely, "Got this yesterday. The customer looked off, and this morning, he was gone." He glanced at the two. "Don't touch it, either of you."

Jiang Hao smirked. "Don't touch it? It's coming for us." He pointed at the vase. Lin Yao shot back, "A brute's a brute—can't even think before acting?" Their eyes locked, the air thick with tension.

Suddenly, the carved wooden door at the back of the shop shuddered, a low resonance spreading through Sui Bao Zhai like a bell or a sigh. Black mist poured from the cracks, carrying a damp chill. Old Zhong cursed under his breath, "Here we go again." Before Jiang Hao and Lin Yao could react, the mist coiled around them, dragging them toward the door. Old Zhong shouted, "Be careful!" but his voice was swallowed.

In an instant, they stood in an archive hall. A stone chamber loomed, its tree-root bookshelves twisting around glowing stone tablets. The air pressed heavy on their chests. The blood porcelain vase hovered above a stone platform, its red glow pulsing like a heartbeat. The mist coalesced into a human shape—ethereal yet commanding. A voice, gentle yet cold, brushed past their ears like a breeze: "This case remains unresolved. Quell it." The tone was coaxing, like soothing a child, yet it carried the weight of a judgment, devoid of emotion.

Jiang Hao's ears rang louder. He clutched them, growling, "What the hell is this place?" Lin Yao glared at him, her eyes fixed on the platform as flickering images of flowing blood flashed before her. She murmured, "Not a ghost—resentment." Then, to him, "Less whining, brute. Get to work."

The blood porcelain vase crashed to the ground with a bang, and the scene shifted. A sacrificial altar came into view, its stone bricks stained with blood, the air thick with resentment like a fog of screams. Jiang Hao charged toward it, instinct guiding him to smash open a hidden compartment. He pulled out a blood-stained stone knife, but the ringing in his ears made him stumble, nearly falling. Lin Yao shouted, "Don't be reckless—look first!" She studied the ritual inscriptions on the wall, her fingers tracing patterns as she pieced together the truth: a priest had shattered a slave's skull with the blood porcelain vase, sealing their resentment within. But she didn't notice the shadow rising from the corner, mimicking her movements, reaching out. Jiang Hao yanked her back, snarling, "Bookworm, where are your eyes?"

Their gazes clashed, sparks flying. Lin Yao shook off his grip. "Mind your own business!" But her tone carried a reluctant concession. Shadows multiplied on the altar, time warping erratically as the vase's red glow flickered mockingly. A walkie-talkie crackled, Old Zhong's voice breaking through static: "Be careful—the vase has a crack. I'll fix it and toss it back to you."

The divine voice returned, gentle yet ruthless: "File it, or destroy it." It sliced through like an icy blade. Jiang Hao and Lin Yao exchanged a glare—unspoken understanding still distant—yet they stepped into the unknown. The altar's shadows overlapped, whispers echoing in the air: "The useless… can be discarded…"