The sky above Wuyang had painted itself in the colors of dusk, but in the narrow, nameless alley, hidden behind an abandoned temple, darkness had already arrived. The rain had just stopped, leaving behind the smell of wet earth and moss that stung their nostrils. Each step they took in the dirty puddles reflected the light from the paper lantern Luo Feng carried, creating an illusion of shadows dancing on the mossy walls. In the distance, they could hear the hoarse cry of a crow and the rumble of wind from the old temple, as if the spirits within disagreed with their presence.
Li Xian pulled the hood of his robe lower, feeling the bone-chilling cold. "Feng, are you sure this is the right way? The air feels heavy, as if a hand is choking me. I can feel something… something bad."
Luo Feng didn't answer, only staring straight ahead. His tense face was illuminated by the flickering lantern light. At the end of the alley, a weathered wooden sign hung askew from a rusted hinge. On it, hastily carved letters read: "Shadow Inn - Enter at your own risk". The letters looked as if they had been scratched with dried blood, and the sign swayed gently in the sudden cold wind.
"What choice do we have?" Luo Feng asked, his voice firm but with a tremor in it. "Go back to the street filled with assassins? Or enter this inn? Our trust in the map is better than our trust in bad luck."
Li Xian nodded stiffly. He knew Luo Feng was right. They were being hunted, and time was running out.
The architecture of the building itself was strange, as if it had been assembled from pieces of a nightmare. The door was made of wood that looked like recycled coffins, with carvings on its surface that resembled claw marks. The windows were perfect circles, like eyes staring blankly into the darkness, or like a full moon peeking from behind the clouds. On the roof, there were 108 statues of earthenware owls. The statues' eyes were made of jade that emitted a ghostly light as Luo Feng's lantern passed over them, creating the illusion that they were alive and watching their every move.
As Li Xian stepped forward to knock on the door, an old, creaking voice came from within, as if from the depths of the earth. The voice was hoarse, cold, and full of echoes.
"Bring your shadows home before you enter!"
Li Xian froze, his hand suspended in the air. His own shadow on the ground seemed to move, writhing like a snake. Li Xian swallowed hard. "Damn it. This is no ordinary place."
Luo Feng pushed the door, which opened with a monstrous screech, as if it was screaming. A strange scent of incense, a mix of sandalwood and wet earth, greeted them, mixed with incomprehensible whispers that seemed to float in the air.
Beyond the door, the room was lit by oil lanterns hanging on the walls. At a reception desk made of dead tree wood, an old man sat in a rattan chair. His hair was white as freshly fallen snow, and in his eyes, there were no pupils; only two milky-white blobs that reflected the lantern light strangely. His skin looked like old parchment, full of wrinkles that resembled a map of a long, painful life. A bamboo staff with a coiled dragon carving lay beside him, the carving looking like a living snake. Around his neck, a necklace made of bear fangs and bone beads rattled every time he moved.
"I've been waiting for you," said Wang Meng, the innkeeper, his voice calm but with a tone that sent shivers down their spines. He didn't look at them, but he pointed to an empty chair in front of the desk. "Sit down. I can hear the weariness in your footsteps."
Li Xian and Luo Feng exchanged glances. They sat down. Wang Meng lifted his wrinkled hand and reached out, as if searching for something. He touched his staff, and then, without warning, he lifted it towards Li Xian.
"You... have hell in your blood," he said, his tone flat. He touched Li Xian's forehead with his fingertip, and Li Xian felt a jolt. A burning sensation coursed through his veins, as if a fire was dancing inside him. "Burning blood. Scorching fire. You are trying to extinguish an ocean with a single drop of water. It won't work."
Li Xian flinched back, his eyes narrowing. "How do you know? Who are you?"
Wang Meng smiled faintly. "I don't need to know. Your blood tells me. Your blood... smells of hell."
He then turned to Luo Feng, touching Luo Feng's trembling right hand. "And you... you carry a graveyard in your heart," he whispered. A bone-chilling cold ran through his hand, as if he had just held a corpse. "Cold. Empty. A place where memories are buried alive. You build a wall around it, but that wall will crumble one day."
Luo Feng immediately pulled his hand back, his face as pale as paper. "We are just travelers seeking shelter."
Wang Meng let out a small, completely unfriendly laugh. "You are not travelers. You are walking corpses. And you have come to the right place to bury your secrets. Now, you must know the rules." He licked the tip of his finger, then touched the surface of the wooden desk, as if reading a book. "The rules are simple. First, it is forbidden to ask about the past. Be it your past, my past, or the past of this inn. Because the past here is a curse upon this inn. Second, the food must be finished to the last grain. This is an honor to the ancestors who provided it. If not, the spirits will demand more than just food. And finally, at 3 a.m., you must leave your room. Walk in the hallway, or sit in the dining room. You may not be in your room. That is your weakest hour, when the spirits are free to roam. Is that clear?"
Li Xian nodded stiffly, his heart pounding in his chest. "Clear."
"Good," said Wang Meng. "Room number thirteen is at the end of the hallway on the second floor. It's the only room left. Just follow the scent... the scent will lead you there."
Wang Meng touched his staff with his tongue, as if reading the dragon carving on it, and then he pointed towards the stairs.
The hallway on the second floor was dark, lit only by flickering lanterns. The air was cold and musty. They walked past doors that were all tightly closed, until they finally reached the end of the hall. The door with the carved number '13' looked like a scribble scratched with a nail. The key given by Wang Meng felt cold in Li Xian's hand. When he put it in the keyhole, he could feel a strange vibration, as if the key was refusing to enter.
The room welcomed them with an even stranger scent: a mixture of incense, rotten wood, and a pungent, rusty smell. The decorations inside felt cynical, as if they were deliberately made to mock the occupants. The bed, which looked like a coffin transformed into a bed, was decorated with carvings resembling screaming, pained faces. The shabby white sheets felt damp and cold. On the wall, there was a painting that seemed to depict a village on fire. Li Xian approached it, and his heart sank. It wasn't an ordinary painting. It was an exact replica of the Baiyun Village Massacre, every detail, from the smoke billowing from the burning houses to the expressions of fear on the victims' faces, was accurately depicted. In the corner of the room, a large mirror was covered by a black cloth. On top of the cloth, a spell written in dark red ink was clearly visible: "Do Not Look."
"Something is wrong here," Luo Feng whispered, his voice tense. "This is like... a trap."
"No trap can hold us," Li Xian retorted, his voice louder than usual. "We've seen worse than this."
But as he said that, their shadows on the wall began to move on their own, out of sync with their body movements. Li Xian's shadow raised a sword, then stabbed Luo Feng's shadow, and Luo Feng's shadow fell pitifully. The scene repeated over and over, creating a palpable tension between them. Li Xian rubbed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing.
"Damn," Li Xian muttered. "What kind of phenomenon is this?"
He looked at the basin of water next to the bed. The water there was murky, but when the clock's hand pointed to 3, the water began to churn. Slowly but surely, the water turned dark red, like blood. A faint scent of iron began to fill the air. Then, from the wooden walls, whispers were heard, as if coming from inside the wood itself. "Shang Guan Hei... You belong to him..." the whispers repeated, a name that haunted both of them, a name that should have been buried with the past.
Li Xian's curiosity and unease peaked. He walked to the mirror covered with the cloth, his gaze cold and sharp. "I have to see it," he said, his hand reaching for the cloth. "There's something strange behind this."
"Don't, Xian!" Luo Feng tried to stop him, but it was too late. Li Xian touched the black cloth, and with one swift motion, he pulled it off.
The mirror reflected his face, but not his usual face. His face transformed into the face of a demon depicted in legends: glowing red eyes, sharp fangs, and black veins bulging on his neck. The sight lasted only for a moment, before the reflection returned to normal. Li Xian flinched back, his breath ragged. At the same time, he got a brief flashback of the murders he had committed, as if the mirror was trying to show him who he really was.
Meanwhile, Luo Feng, who felt a strange pull from the painting on the wall, couldn't help himself. He touched its rough surface. Instantly, a burning pain seared his hand, as if he had touched fire. It wasn't just pain, but also the emotions of the victims. He could feel the despair, anger, and fear of the victims as they were burned alive. Luo Feng screamed and pulled his hand back, and on his skin, he saw a red rash that resembled a burn scar, a wound he had long forgotten.
They went down to the dining room, where a strange scent of food filled the air. The room was dimly lit, illuminated by candles dancing on the tables. They weren't the only guests. In one corner, a woman in a red kebaya sat, her face beautiful but pale, with eyes that looked empty, shining with the same light as Wang Meng's eyes. On the other side, a cheerful young man sat alone, but strangely, no shadow followed him. At another table, a pair of conjoined twins sat facing each other, wearing porcelain masks depicting emotionless faces. They communicated through telepathy, whispers that could only be felt by others.
Wang Meng, with a smile on his face, served the food at their table. The first bowl contained a soup that Wang Meng called "Loneliness's Antidote", made from bone broth. The soup smelled sweet, but there was something strange about it, something that made their stomachs churn. Then, he served rice that he called "False Memories", rice mixed with ash that looked like cremation ashes. And finally, there was a teapot he called "Dark Whispers", tea made from leaves grown in a mass grave. The tea leaves looked like eyes floating in the teapot.
"Enjoy your meal," said Wang Meng in a voice that sounded like an echo from a grave.
Li Xian picked up the spoon, but he couldn't swallow the soup. It felt strange. Suddenly, the woman in the red kebaya turned to Li Xian, her voice soft and cold as snow. As she spoke, she revealed a claw from behind her kebaya sleeve. "You will become like me if you continue like this," she said, her empty eyes staring at Li Xian. "A puppet of your own past. Tied down by the blood you've spilled."
Meanwhile, the shadowless young man chuckled and leaned towards Luo Feng. "Your light will be extinguished by your own friend," he whispered, his voice sounding like a whisper of the wind. "You are trying to be a light for a person who is already on fire. In the end, you will only burn with him. He needs you to keep living, and he will sacrifice you for it. Your light is his food."
Luo Feng did not answer. He just stared into his bowl, his teeth gritting. The food felt like sand on his tongue. However, Wang Meng was watching, and the second rule was clear: finish everything. They both ate in silence, every grain of rice feeling like a stone in their throats.
After the chilling dinner, Wang Meng took them to the reading room. The shelves there didn't contain ordinary books, but a forbidden collection. There was a book containing a human trafficking code, bound in human skin. There were the diaries of HYT experiment victims, stained with blood. And there was a map of the underground network in 8 cities, made from a stolen government map.
Wang Meng grabbed two twin jade pendants hanging on the shelf. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice becoming serious. "You are like oil and fire. United, you become a light; in conflict, you become a conflagration. The choice is in your hands." He then took a cracked crystal and showed it to them. "The storm you bring will destroy Wuyang in 100 days." In the crystal, they could see a burning Wuyang, the streets filled with corpses, and two figures similar to them fighting each other in the midst of the fire.
"What we're doing has nothing to do with Wuyang," Li Xian retorted. "This is a personal matter."
"Every action has a consequence," said Wang Meng. "You have broken the balance. The storm is already here."
Wang Meng handed the twin jade pendants to them. The jade felt warm to the touch, as if it had its own heartbeat. "This jade will vibrate if one of you intends to betray the other. Do not betray, or there will be consequences you cannot imagine."
3 a.m. The bell from the nearby temple rang three times, echoing throughout the inn. Luo Feng immediately stood up. "Come on, Xian. We have to go out."
But Li Xian stayed in his bed. His eyes glowed with cold determination. "No. I'll stay. I have to know what's going to happen."
Luo Feng took a deep breath. "Don't be stupid! It's the rule!"
"I don't care," Li Xian replied. "I'm sick of the rules. I will face whatever comes."
Luo Feng shook his head and left the room. As soon as he closed the door, the phenomenon began. The shadows on the wall became bigger, darker, and more sinister. They jumped from the walls and began to attack Li Xian. The shadows touched him, and he could feel the pain from every touch, as if he was being stabbed by a thousand needles. From the mirror, black smoke billowed, forming pained faces, and a pungent smell of sulfur filled the room. Li Xian drew his sword, but the sword could not harm the shadows.
Suddenly, the door opened. Wang Meng entered calmly, holding a silver jug in his hand. He sprinkled salt inscribed with a spell on the floor, and the salt emitted a blue light as it touched the screaming shadows. Then, he smashed the jug, and the silvery liquid inside felt like a cold fire when it touched the skin, extinguishing the black smoke from the mirror. Wang Meng approached Li Xian, whispering a mantra in a language that sounded like an ancient chant from the Sleeping Dragon. Li Xian's hand, which had turned into black, dragon-like scales, returned to normal in five seconds. Wang Meng pointed to the painting on the wall. The painting oozed fresh blood from cracks in its canvas, forming a small river on the floor. The jade given by Wang Meng, which hung on Li Xian's neck, cracked slightly and trembled, as if it was crying.
"You broke the rule," said Wang Meng. "There is a price to pay."
The next morning, they met Wang Meng in the front room. He greeted them with an inexplicable smile. He gave Li Xian a sword-wrapping cloth that felt cold, as if it was made of unmelting snow, with the words "Endure" engraved on it. To Luo Feng, he gave a small bell that felt warm, with the carving "Do Not Trust the Blue Sky".
"Look under your bed," Wang Meng said to Li Xian. "The cave under the bed holds the answer you don't want to know. Five corpses, five choices. They failed to choose."
They rushed back to the room. Under the bed, they found a small cave. Inside, there were five corpses of young men wearing moons around their necks, just like the pendants they carried. Their faces looked like broken dolls, and beside them was a blood-stained note, which read: "They failed to choose".
As they left the inn, Wang Meng gave his final prophecy: "When two moons appear in broad daylight, choose: kill or be betrayed."
As they left the alley, the clear sky suddenly darkened, and two moons appeared above their heads, looking like two eyes staring at them. At that moment, a dead owl fell between them with a rattling sound, as if it was a warning from fate. Li Xian, without saying a word, touched his sword with a cold and determined gaze. Luo Feng held his bell, his gaze filled with fear and doubt.
From the window of the inn which disappeared, replaced by a cherry blossom tree blooming with blood-red flowers, Wang Meng whispered, "The game has begun. I hope you become the hunter, not the prey."
NOTE: HEI YE TING IS SOMETIMES ABBREVIATED AS HYT