Chapter 21: The Mark Beneath the Collarbone

The rain outside came down like nails.

Yang Xiang dragged the rusted copper plate out of the collapsed shrine's crypt. Its weight was unnatural—cold, almost humming with something not quite electricity.

"There are markings here," he muttered, brushing off the dirt.

Old Li squinted. His hand trembled as he reached out and recoiled just as fast."Gods above…" he whispered. "It's a spirit brand… Ling Yin. I haven't seen one since I was a boy."

"You recognize it?"

"Not with my eyes. With fear. My grandfather used to tell us—those who bear the Ling Yin are chosen as stand-ins… for something ancient."

Yang Xiang turned it over. A faint metallic smell wafted from it, iron mixed with rot. The bottom side bore a shallow indentation in the shape of a human collarbone.

"It's shaped like it fits someone's body," Yang said.

Old Li backed away. "Burn it."

"We can't burn metal."

"I said burn it, or bury it. That thing's cursed."

As Yang tucked the object into his rucksack, the temperature dropped sharply. His breath came out in visible clouds.

Then came the sound.

A low, rasping whisper. No source. No direction. Just there—like breath on the nape of his neck.

"Return… the seal…"

Old Li grabbed his arm. "Did you hear that?"

Yang nodded. Neither of them spoke for a while. Outside, the rain had stopped.

But the whisper hadn't.