Chapter 6: Bloodstains on the Iron Bell

The dim yellow lamplight in the back courtyard of Sui Bao Zhai flickered like a lone bean, illuminating the workbench where the newly arrived iron bell sat. Its rusted surface was flecked with dried blood, resembling a wound parched by the wind. Jiang Hao rubbed his temples and picked up the bell. His tinnitus flared, and a vision flashed—a corpse driver ringing the bell, bodies lurching upright, blood seeping from its cracks, their footsteps a chaotic drumbeat. He frowned, growling, "This thing's filthy—used for driving corpses!" The bell hummed faintly, as if responding, and a metallic tang crept into the air.

Lin Yao stood nearby, flipping open her notebook, her pen racing across the page. She glanced at the bell and murmured, "Modern corpse-driving technique? The bell's a control medium." She turned to Old Zhong. "Old Zhong, the customer—ran off again?" Her tone was cool, laced with resignation.

Old Zhong stood by the counter, his trembling hands setting down a rag. "How'd you guess? Dropped it off last night. It rang all night, and this morning, there was blood at the door. He tossed it down and bolted—no word." He paused, lifting a teacup with shaky fingers, a few drops spilling onto the table. He gave a bitter smile. "It's starting again."

Jiang Hao snorted, shaking the bell. "This damn shop's a resentment recycling station." No sooner had he spoken than the wooden door shuddered, a low sigh-like rumble echoing through. Black mist poured from the cracks, coiling around them. Lin Yao clutched her notebook, frowning. "The archive—here we go again." Jiang Hao rubbed his temples, cursing, "Damn it, no rest." The mist swallowed them, wind howling in their ears as time and space warped, scenes fast-forwarding and rewinding like a haphazardly edited film reel.

In an instant, they stood on a desolate mountain path. The sky was dim, the wind moaning through withered trees. The iron bell floated ahead, its low chime accompanied by footsteps as distant figures staggered closer, their movements stiff like marionettes. Jiang Hao's tinnitus intensified, the vision sharpening—a corpse driver ringing the bell, only for the bodies to turn on him, their hollow eye sockets weeping blood. He gritted his teeth, muttering, "Out of control—these things aren't obeying."

Lin Yao crouched, inspecting marks on the path, whispering, "Modern Xiangxi corpse-driving technique. The bell controls them, but something's wrong with this one." She flipped through her notebook to a page that read: "Iron bell binds souls; if the soul's resentment runs deep, it turns on its master." She looked up at the bell. "The corpse driver might be dead, and the resentment is controlling the bodies now."

The footsteps grew nearer, the corpses shambling closer, their tattered clothes spattered with blood. Time warped abruptly— the corpses sped up, then slowed, lurching forward one moment and retreating the next, like puppets jerked around by the archive's whims. Jiang Hao squinted as his tinnitus flashed a scene—the corpse driver surrounded, the bell's chime spiraling out of control, blood soaking the ground. He roared, "Bookworm, these things want revenge!"

Lin Yao frowned, her voice low. "Revenge needs rules." She tore a page from her notebook, sketching a Xiangxi soul-suppressing talisman and tossing it toward the bell. The paper hovered but didn't ignite. She grimaced. "No good—the resentment's too strong." The corpses closed in, their shadows stretching across the ground, wriggling like living things.

Jiang Hao reacted fast, his tinnitus tracing the corpses' lunging paths. He grabbed a sharp rock from the roadside and smashed it into the nearest one. The stone punched through its chest, and the corpse let out a guttural roar, stumbling back. He smirked, "That's it? You still wanna fight?" He turned to Lin Yao. "Bookworm, stop drawing—find the source!"

Lin Yao glared at him, her voice sharp. "Brute, don't just smash things." She flipped through her notebook, eyes landing on "soul-binding." "The bell's the medium—the soul's inside. We need to destroy it." She dashed to a withered tree, snapped off a branch, and scratched a soul-suppressing circle into the dirt, pointing at the bell. "Brute, drag it here!"

Jiang Hao rubbed his temples, his tinnitus guiding his instincts. He charged forward, snagging a vine from the ground and lassoing the bell, yanking it hard. The bell landed in the circle, its chime cutting off abruptly, and the corpses froze like puppets with severed strings. Lin Yao pulled a lighter from her bag, ignited the branch, and hurled it at the bell. Flames roared up, the bell shrieking piercingly as its bloodstains boiled away, the怨气 dissipating into black mist.

The mountain trembled, time warping again—withered trees grew and shrank, corpses fell and rose, as if the archive were replaying the scene on loop. Jiang Hao caught his breath, muttering, "Done?" Lin Yao frowned, eyeing the bell. "The soul's gone, but we need to be sure." She approached, picking up the charred bell. A copper shard fell from inside, engraved with "Li Clan." She murmured, "The corpse driver's mark—the resentment's source."

The walkie-talkie crackled, Old Zhong's voice cutting through static: "Bell's fixed—tossing it back." The wooden door rumbled, and the repaired bell flew out, landing at Jiang Hao's feet. Its rusted surface remained, but the bloodstains were gone, silent as a dead thing.

The divine voice emerged, two factions clashing in tone. The filing faction spoke gently: "Filing complete, order restored." The destruction faction growled low: "Destroying it would've been better—no trace left." A final cold sneer: "The useless choose for themselves." The voice faded, half the mountain collapsed while the other half reformed, time and space spiraling into deeper chaos. The two were spat back into the courtyard, the iron bell resting quietly on the table. Jiang Hao and Lin Yao panted, exchanging a glance with less venom in their usual bickering.

Old Zhong shuffled in from the shopfront, hands trembling as he carried a cup of water. "You pulled it off again?" He glanced at the wooden door, his expression heavy with complexity.

Jiang Hao rubbed his temples, picking up the bell and tossing it back onto the table. "This damn thing's finally quiet." Lin Yao closed her notebook, murmuring, "Choose for ourselves? They want us to pick a side?" She turned to Old Zhong. "The city destruction—what really happened?"

Old Zhong's eyes darkened, his voice low. "Don't ask. Knowing won't help." He turned back to the counter, his hunched figure seeming to sag further.

Jiang Hao and Lin Yao fell silent for a moment. Lin Yao muttered, "Brute, this mess is more annoying than you." Jiang Hao grinned. "Bookworm, aren't you the same?" They glared at each other,the corners of the mouth move slightly—a faint twitch at the corners of their mouths.