Chapter 8: The Call of the Archives

After the jade pendant case, the backyard of the antique shop was unusually quiet. The dim light spilled onto the workbench, where the repaired jade pendant lay still, its lotus pattern faintly visible in the soft glow. Jiang Hao sat on a wooden chair, holding a cup of water, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the table, causing tiny ripples in the water. He glanced out the window and murmured, "Finally, a moment to catch my breath. Nonstop work is killing me." His voice was steady, but tinged with exhaustion.

Lin Yao stood by the window, holding a yellowing ancient book, leaning against the frame and flipping through it, her gaze focused. She muttered, "Catch your breath? Don't count on it for long." She turned a page, her eyes stopping on Qing Dynasty runes. The image of the woman screaming from the jade pendant flashed through her mind, causing her brow to furrow, but she said nothing.

Old Zhong walked in from the front of the shop, slowly wiping down a porcelain item with a cloth. He glanced at the two of them and said, "Take a rest. You've been busy these past few days." His motion paused for a moment, his fingers trembling slightly, causing the porcelain to make a faint clinking sound. He chuckled bitterly. "But don't think you'll get much rest."

Just as the words left his mouth, the wooden door trembled without any wind, the deep echo like the sound of rushing tide, and black mist seeped from the cracks in the door, rapidly spreading across the entire backyard. The voice of the God spoke softly: "Archivists, enter the library." Its tone was gentle, yet unyielding, like cold silk wrapping around the ears. Jiang Hao's water cup wobbled, spilling a few drops, and he cursed under his breath, "What the hell is this?"

Lin Yao closed the ancient book, turned toward the wooden door, and whispered, "The Archives. This time, it's different." The black mist wrapped around them, and before they could react, they were sucked in.

The sound of wind howled in their ears, time and space twisted, and images shattered and reassembled like broken mirrors. In the next moment, they stood inside the archives. The giant stone hall was towering and cold, with tree roots twisted into bookshelves, and the stone slabs used as books, giving off a faint glow. The air was heavy, as though a great weight was pressing on their chests. On the central stone platform, blood porcelain, copper mirrors, iron bells, and the jade pendant floated, emitting a flickering red light, as if whispering. Two mists slowly gathered, forming human shapes: on the left, the figure of the Archival Faction, tall and solemn, draped in a gray robe, its face hazy yet commanding; on the right, the figure of the Destruction Faction, also tall, cloaked in red, with mist revealing a blood-red hue, like coagulated blood.

The Archival Faction spoke, its voice cold as ice: "You have succeeded in archiving, and are granted power to assist." The tone was lofty, as if delivering a decree. The Destruction Faction sneered, its voice deep and sharp: "Those who are useless should have been destroyed long ago. Why keep them?" It glanced at the Archival Faction and mocked, "Preserving traces is weakness beyond measure."

The archives trembled, the stone slabs cracked and restored, the distortion of time and space grew stronger, and the tree roots creaked, as though being pulled by invisible hands.

Jiang Hao furrowed his brow, clenched his fists, and stood upright, muttering, "Granting power? Sounds too good to be true." Lin Yao's gaze swept over the two factions, and she whispered, "It's not a gift, it's a trade." Just as she finished speaking, the Archival Faction raised a finger and pointed at Jiang Hao's forehead. A cold current surged into him, and a ringing in his ears exploded into clear whispers—screams of the woman from the jade pendant, the curses of the corpse driver, complete memories flooding in like a tidal wave. His head throbbed with pain, but he could distinguish the sources of the voices. He roared, "What the hell is this?"

The Archival Faction replied coldly, "Soul probing sound, to aid your archiving."

The Destruction Faction sneered and threw a stone talisman, which landed at Lin Yao's feet. She picked it up, her palm growing warm, and before her eyes, scenes flashed of the blood porcelain altar, the copper mirror courtyard forming, with resentment unfurling like a scroll. She even deduced a way to solve it. Her vision blurred, and she whispered, "Revenge tracing? The cost is steep." The Destruction Faction coldly responded, "Eye of vengeance, to destroy the traces."

The Archival Faction turned toward Jiang Hao and Lin Yao, speaking solemnly, "Human resentment disrupts order. Archive and restore balance, only then will order survive. You are tools, do not forget your duty." The Destruction Faction interrupted, its voice like a knife scraping against stone: "All traces should be erased, only then can it be pure. Why preserve? Erase everything." It glanced at them, provoking, "Useless ones, destroy them for observation."

The two factions clashed, the relics on the stone platform trembling, the red light flickering erratically, the archives shaking, as if being torn apart.

Jiang Hao clenched his fists, his headache subsiding slightly, and muttered, "Tools? Such straightforward words." He tried to activate his new power, and the whispers of the jade pendant woman sounded in his ears, so clear it was as if she was speaking right beside him. He roared again, and the sound stopped, as if he had suppressed it. He frowned, "I can control it this way?"

Lin Yao narrowed her eyes, gazing at the stone talisman. Images of the iron bell corpse driver flashed before her eyes, and she deduced the key to the copper plate markings, whispering, "This power is too deep." She looked at the two factions and asked, "What are you fighting over? What exactly is the Archives for?"

The Archival Faction replied coldly, "Archiving preserves history, resentment returns to its place, and order is maintained." The Destruction Faction sneered, "Destroy the remnants, reshape the void, where is the chaos?" The two factions stared at each other, their mist intertwining, and the archives trembled even more. The voice of the God echoed, "Useless ones, choose for yourselves." The tone split, as if testing them.

The red light on the stone platform flashed, and the two were pushed back to the backyard. Jiang Hao's headache had not disappeared, and he leaned against the chair, muttering, "Listening to souls, it's killing me." Lin Yao rubbed her eyes, her vision still blurry but improving slightly, and whispered, "Tracing revenge... Seeing too clearly isn't good either." On the table, the jade pendant remained still, and Old Zhong walked in, his hands trembling as he held a cup of water. He whispered, "They came looking for you?"

His gaze was complicated. "Be careful, power is a cage."

Jiang Hao put down the cup, his fingers tapping the table. He muttered, "A cage? Sounds easy to say." Lin Yao looked at Old Zhong and whispered, "You've been through this too?"

Old Zhong's expression darkened, and he whispered, "Don't ask. Even if you do, it won't help." He paused, then took out a paper figurine from the counter, its surface wet with tears.