The night air bit at Chen Ling's cheeks as they walked to Chen Daming's grandfather's old house—a small, weathered cottage on the edge of town, half-hidden by overgrown bamboo. Li Xiuqin carried the red robe, its fabric folded tightly in her arms as if it might leap away, while Chen Daming led the way, a rusted key clutched in his hand. Chen Ling held the mask, his fingers wrapped around its chipped edges, the wood still faintly warm from the earlier glow.
No one spoke. The only sounds were the crunch of gravel under their boots and the distant hoot of an owl. Chen Ling kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the robe stir or hear Madame Hong's whisper—but the night stayed quiet, as if holding its breath.
When they reached the cottage, Chen Daming unlocked the front door. It creaked open, releasing a cloud of dust that made Chen Ling cough. Inside, the air smelled of old paper and cedar. Moonlight filtered through dusty windows, casting shadows over shelves lined with books and jars of dried herbs.
"The study's in the back," Chen Daming said, his voice low. He led them down a narrow hallway, running his hand along the wall until he found a doorknob carved with strange symbols—circles and lines that Chen Ling didn't recognize, but that made the mask in his pocket tingle.
Chen Daming inserted the key and turned it. There was a loud click, as if something deep inside the door had unlocked. He pushed the door open, and they stepped into a small room.
The study was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, most of them filled with leather-bound volumes. In the center stood a heavy oak desk, its surface covered with yellowed papers and a brass lamp. On the far wall, there was a recessed cabinet—its doors also carved with the same symbols as the doorknob.
"This is it," Chen Daming said, walking to the cabinet. He ran his finger over the symbols, his jaw tight. "Grandfather said these wards were blessed by a monk. They're supposed to trap evil spirits—keep them from getting in… or out."
Li Xiuqin stepped forward, holding out the red robe. Her hands were still shaking. "Will it be enough? What if she breaks through?"
Chen Ling set the mask on the desk and picked up the robe. He brushed his finger over its fabric—cold now, no longer thrumming with energy. But he could still feel a faint presence, like a heartbeat, deep within the threads.
"Master Wei said the mask binds her," he said. "The wards will hold the mask and the robe. Together, they should be strong enough." He unfolded the robe and laid it inside the cabinet, then picked up the mask and placed it on top of the fabric—its hollow eyes facing the door, as if standing guard.
As soon as the mask touched the robe, the symbols on the cabinet doors glowed faintly blue. Chen Ling stepped back, and Chen Daming closed the doors, latching them with a small brass lock.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, there was a soft thud from inside the cabinet—as if something had slammed against the wood. Li Xiuqin gasped, grabbing Chen Daming's arm. But the symbols stayed glowing, and the thud didn't come again.
"It worked," Chen Daming breathed, his shoulders slumping with relief.
Chen Ling nodded, but his chest felt tight. He didn't feel relief—he felt a strange, hollow fear. Madame Hong was trapped, but… where was the original Chen Ling? The voice in the grave, the hand pushing through the dirt—had he been lost when Madame Hong was sealed?
"Dad," Chen Ling said, turning to Chen Daming. "The grave. The real A Ling—was he still alive when you buried him?"
Chen Daming's face paled. He looked at Li Xiuqin, then back at Chen Ling. "We… we didn't check. Not really. He was lying on the floor, not moving, and the robe was on him, and he was talking in that voice—Madame Hong's voice. We thought he was gone. We thought burying him would stop her from spreading."
Li Xiuqin started crying again, quiet sobs that shook her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, A Ling. We didn't mean to… we were just scared."
Chen Ling stared at them. He wanted to be angry—angry that they'd buried their son without checking, angry that they'd lied to him, angry that he was stuck in a body that wasn't his. But he saw the guilt in their eyes, the way they clung to each other, and the anger faded into something softer.
They'd been terrified. And Madame Hong had used that terror to turn them against their own son.
"It's okay," Chen Ling said, even though it didn't feel okay. "We can… we can go back to the grave. Check if he's still there. Maybe… maybe there's still time."
Chen Daming's head snapped up. "Really? You'd let us do that?"
Chen Ling nodded. "He's your son. He deserves to be found. Even if… even if it's too late."
They left the cottage, locking the door behind them, and walked back to the hill. The moon was higher now, casting silver light over the path. When they reached the banyan tree, Chen Daming knelt down and started digging, his hands moving fast, the dirt flying. Li Xiuqin knelt beside him, helping, her tears mixing with the mud on her cheeks.
Chen Ling stood back, watching. His heart was racing. What if they found the original Chen Ling's body? What would that mean for him? Would he disappear? Would he be stuck in this town forever, a stranger in a dead boy's skin?
Then, Chen Daming's hands stopped.
"Wait," he said, his voice quiet. He brushed away the dirt, and Chen Ling leaned forward.
There, in the hole, was the original Chen Ling's body. But he wasn't dead.
His chest was rising and falling, slow but steady. His face was pale, his lips blue, but his eyes were slightly open—faintly, but definitely alive.
"He's breathing," Chen Daming whispered, his voice breaking. He lifted the original Chen Ling gently, as if he was made of glass, and held him in his arms. "Li Xiuqin—he's alive. Our son is alive."
Li Xiuqin threw her arms around them, sobbing with joy. Chen Ling stood there, staring, his mind blank. The original was alive. He was alive.
But then, he felt a strange tingling in his fingers. He looked down at his hands—they were starting to fade, becoming translucent, like smoke.
Panic shot through him. "Wait—what's happening?"
Li Xiuqin and Chen Daming looked up, their joy fading. "A Ling?" Li Xiuqin said, reaching out to him. But her hand passed through his arm.
Chen Daming's face went white. "The body—when we took him out, the connection… you're not supposed to be here. You were just… a placeholder."
The tingling spread to his arms, his legs. He could feel himself slipping away, like water through his fingers. He looked at the original Chen Ling—pale, but alive—and then at Li Xiuqin and Chen Daming, their faces filled with fear and sorrow.
"I'm sorry," Chen Ling said, his voice fading. "I tried."
Li Xiuqin shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "No—thank you. You saved him. You saved us."
Chen Daming nodded, his voice tight. "We'll never forget you. Never."
The last thing Chen Ling saw was the moon, shining bright through the banyan tree's leaves. Then, the world went dark.
And he was gone.