By the time Chen Ling reached his street, twilight had painted the sky in hues of deep purple and orange, casting long, eerie shadows from the gnarled trees. The front door of his house stood ajar, a thin sliver of yellow light spilling onto the porch. He hesitated, his hand instinctively closing around the cool wooden mask in his pocket. The weight of it was both a comfort and a reminder of the peril ahead.
Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the door open further and stepped inside. The living room was empty, but the air hummed with tension, thick and palpable. The red opera robe, which he'd left draped over the chair earlier, was now gone. A chill ran down his spine—had Li Xiuqin and Chen Daming moved it? Or had it moved itself?
"Mom? Dad?" Chen Ling called out, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet house. No response came. He moved cautiously, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. The kitchen was empty too, but the stove was still warm, and a pot of water sat on it, steam curling lazily into the air. They'd been here recently.
He made his way toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. As he passed the coat rack, he noticed something new—red threads, thin as spider silk, were draped over the hooks. They shimmered faintly in the dim light, almost as if they were alive. Chen Ling reached out to touch one, but before his finger could make contact, a voice shattered the silence.
"A Ling?"
Chen Ling whipped around to see Li Xiuqin standing at the end of the hallway, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and… something else. Longing, maybe. Behind her, Chen Daming emerged, holding the shovel from earlier. But this time, the shovel wasn't aimed at Chen Ling—it was pointed at Li Xiuqin.
"Stay back," Chen Daming said, his voice low and trembling. "He's not A Ling. He's… it."
Li Xiuqin's eyes filled with tears. "Daming, it's me. It's our son." She took a step forward, her hand outstretched. "Please, put the shovel down."
But Chen Daming only gripped the shovel tighter. "No. I heard it. The whisper. It's in your voice too now. You're not my wife. You're just… a copy."
Chen Ling's heart sank. Madame Hong was at work, sowing doubt, turning them against each other. He had to act fast.
"Stop!" Chen Ling shouted, stepping between them. "Both of you, listen to me. Madame Hong is using the robe to manipulate you. She wants you to fight so she can take over completely."
Li Xiuqin's gaze flickered to him, then back to Chen Daming. "A Ling… is that really you?"
Before Chen Ling could answer, a sharp, discordant note rang out—a sound like a guzheng string snapping. The red threads on the coat rack suddenly writhed, as if they'd been struck by an invisible hand. They slithered across the floor, pooling at Li Xiuqin's feet, and then began to climb up her legs.
Li Xiuqin screamed, trying to shake them off, but the threads were sticky, clinging to her skin like blood. "Daming! Help me!"
Chen Daming's eyes went wide with horror. He dropped the shovel and reached out to pull her away, but the threads moved faster, wrapping around his wrist. The moment his skin touched them, his eyes glazed over, and he went still.
"Daming?" Li Xiuqin whispered, her voice trembling.
Chen Daming's lips moved, but the words that came out weren't his. They were high, melodious, and utterly foreign—the voice of Madame Hong. "Such loyal servants… but so easily deceived."
Li Xiuqin stumbled back, knocking into a wall. "You… you took him. You took my husband."
The red threads tightened around Chen Daming's arm, and he lifted his hand, pointing at Li Xiuqin. "Foolish woman. You thought you could escape your destiny? The robe called to you first. It's your blood that fuels it. Chen Ling was just a convenient vessel."
Chen Ling watched in horror as the threads continued to spread, weaving a web between Li Xiuqin and Chen Daming, binding them together. He knew he had to act. He pulled the mask from his pocket, holding it aloft.
"Madame Hong!" he shouted, his voice ringing through the hallway. "I know who you are! I know what you want! But I won't let you have them! Or me!"
The threads paused, as if considering his words. Then, Madame Hong's voice laughed—a cold, musical laugh that sent shivers down Chen Ling's spine. "You? A mere accident. A speck of dust in my grand performance. You think that trinket can stop me?"
But as she spoke, the mask began to glow faintly, its hollow eyes seeming to fix on the red threads. The threads, which had been writhing with energy, suddenly slowed, as if they were being drained of power.
Li Xiuqin, seeing the change, found her courage. "A Ling! The robe! It's in our bedroom closet!"
Chen Ling didn't hesitate. He dashed past the frozen Chen Daming and the weakening threads, flinging open the bedroom door. Inside, the closet was open, and there, hanging from a hook, was the red opera robe. It was glowing now, its fabric shimmering like embers, and from within, Chen Ling could hear the faint strains of an opera song—Hong Niang's song.
He grabbed the mask with both hands and lunged toward the robe. As the mask touched the fabric, there was a blinding flash of red light, and a deafening shriek filled the room—a shriek that was both human and not, full of rage and ancient sorrow.
The red threads in the hallway went limp, falling to the floor like dead snakes. Chen Daming blinked, his eyes clearing, and he looked down at his wrist, then at Li Xiuqin. "Honey…?"
Li Xiuqin ran to him, tears streaming down her face. "Daming! You're back!"
In the bedroom, Chen Ling stood, panting, the mask still pressed against the now-quiet robe. The glow had faded, and the fabric lay still, as if it was just a normal piece of clothing. But Chen Ling knew better. Madame Hong wasn't gone—she was just… contained.
He turned to leave the room, the mask still in his hand, the robe draped over his arm. When he stepped back into the hallway, Li Xiuqin and Chen Daming were there, watching him with a mixture of relief and lingering fear.
"A Ling…" Li Xiuqin said, her voice small. "Is… is it over?"
Chen Ling shook his head, holding up the mask. "No. But for now, she's quiet. We need to get this robe—and the mask—somewhere safe. Somewhere Madame Hong can't escape."
Chen Daming nodded, his face grim. "I know a place. My grandfather's old study. It's sealed with wards—he was superstitious. He always said there were 'things' in this town that shouldn't be messed with."
Li Xiuqin reached out and took Chen Ling's free hand. Her grip was trembling, but firm. "We'll help you. Whatever it takes."
Chen Ling looked at them—at the fear still in their eyes, but also at the determination. They'd made terrible choices out of fear, but now, they were choosing to fight. Together.
He nodded. "Let's go."
As they left the house, the sky outside had turned completely dark, stars winking into view. The town was silent, but Chen Ling didn't feel the same dread as before. He had allies now. And he had a plan.
But deep down, he knew this was only the beginning. Madame Hong was old, and powerful. She wouldn't stay quiet forever. The real fight was still to come.