【Mu Zi Zhi Jian】3

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Chapter Three

My hometown is about a two-hour drive from my military unit, a town with beautiful mountains and rivers. In recent years,

with improved transportation, the tourism industry has developed rapidly, driving economic prosperity, but this has also created many problems,

such as air pollution, environmental degradation, and quality of life. Watching this town gradually submerged by the hustle and bustle of traffic, its desolation shimmering under the crisscrossing

headlights, evokes an indescribable sense of splendor and desolation.

The wide provincial highway is always crowded with traffic, especially on holidays. However, around the main road, many

hidden alleys branch off, spreading and sprouting silently. Just like our old house, although

it's less than , the two seem to exist decades apart. Nestled in a lush

bamboo forest, it silently witnesses the city's revitalization and prosperity.

The old house is a unique existence that still retains its history in this rapidly developing town.

I recall Mu Zi's plea to me that day. Her assignment was a report of five to ten thousand words. It involves visiting

family members or clan members, a kind of written record of a pilgrimage.

Due to Mu Zi's personal reasons, she thought of my family's old house. Naturally, she asked me to help her

find information, take photos, and write down her findings to complete this report.

Therefore, I took two extra days off from the military to go home and help her with her assignment.

Strolling to the entrance of the old house, two proud pine trees exuded a century-old vitality. Under their shade were several

smooth granite stones, a gathering place where elders used to chat in the evenings, a place I remember from my childhood. Although the old house

had been uninhabited for over a decade, the descendants, mindful of their roots, continued

to spread their lineage from this point.

This situation has continued to our generation, gradually evolving into a village-like structure. I

remember a close friend from university jokingly saying to my family,

"Yi Shang, is your family from Su Family Village? You must have often fought with others back then, haha."

I always smiled and brushed it off, thinking that perhaps it was true! To protect oneself, one must first

strengthen oneself.

A natural gate formed by pine trees, flanked by a natural outer fence, is firmly enclosed by a lush, tall bamboo

grove . Intriguingly, this bamboo grove has a special name:

"Soul-Suppressing Forest."

I once inquired with the older generation about its origin, and they

said that's what their ancestors called it, and naturally, they continued to use it. I heard that my grandfather seemed to know

some clues and had done some investigation. However, with his passing a few years ago, this story was lost to time

.

Entering the gate, the first thing you see is a wide cement plaza. It's riddled with cracks, large and small, long

and short, bearing the marks of time. Based on my understanding of past societies, the plaza's primary function was for drying

grains, children playing, and adults drying clothes. Of course, there were many other functions as well

.

Standing in the plaza, I gaze at the well-preserved houses ahead. Deep red roof tiles, white cement walls, and blue

wooden windows—thanks to years of maintenance by relatives, the old house has been perfectly preserved.

Even though it's now a large storage room for miscellaneous items, it still holds a certain symbolic value.

I took out my camera phone to take pictures, partly to document it for myself, but mainly for

Mu Zi's homework.

I opened the somewhat rusty aluminum door with a piercing screech and entered the old house.

Sunlight dust particles to shimmer in the air. Many tools and implements were neatly arranged, without

any sense of clutter. I had previously asked my father, who said the place with the most antiques was the ancestral master

bedroom .

So, I decided to start my exploration there.

Outside, the weather was sunny and the temperature was pleasantly cool. For some reason, perhaps because the bamboo grove was rather chilly,

the old house gradually felt eerie after a short while.

I shook my head, thinking it was just my imagination…

To be honest, I wasn't afraid of any unclean spirits; this was my family's old house! Even if there were, they were probably the souls of

my ancestors; they shouldn't harm me, right?

Probably…

"What am I thinking?" I couldn't help but slap the back of my head, scolding myself for my nonsensical ramblings.

The master bedroom's location was peculiar, unlike typical designs where it's located in the center of the house,

behind the ancestral tablets. Instead, it was in a remote corner, a rather secluded spot. I wondered if the master

bedroom's unique location was why it had preserved so many antiques?

Walking through the narrow corridor, the visibility was poor, but thankfully the floor was in good condition, preventing any accidents.

Unlike my high school classmate's house, which also had a dimly lit corridor, I always had to watch my step.

Finally, I reached the end of the corridor, where a simple wooden door stood, without any ornamentation. For some reason, a familiar

image flashed before my eyes, as if I had experienced the same scene before. I arrived alone, standing

before the door.

I grasped the doorknob, not pushing or pulling, but pressing it slightly downwards before forcefully pushing it open

to the side .

Boom!

The door, unopened for years, was now before me again.

...This was my first time entering this room. We

shared the same surname, Su, and the same bloodline, but the room's owner didn't recognize me, while I recognized him.

The bedroom was entirely brown, all the furniture unsurprisingly made of cypress, the air filled with its

unique scent. A double bed, a large wardrobe, a desk with a bookshelf beside it, and a

vanity without a mirror, its surface adorned with several yellowed framed photographs, making me feel as if I had traveled through a time tunnel back to the

past .

...Isn't all of this too unbelievable?

The furnishings were similar to my own room, the difference being that mine was messier and contained several high-tech

gadgets .

"Impossible! What a coincidence!" She walked to the dressing table by the bed, picked

up the photos on it, and wiped off the thin layer of dust. Several of them were family photos, with

about , and an elderly man sitting upright in the center.

Instinct told me that the old man was my ancestor.

Beside him were photos of my ancestor and his wife, quite solemn. Photos from that era rarely showed

interaction.

"Huh!?" I suddenly realized that my great-grandmother didn't look like a typical Asian; she resembled someone of Western European descent. Deep-set

features, wavy hair unlike that of most East Asians.

The faded photo didn't reveal her true hair color, but I was certain it wasn't black.

In that instant, many questions about my family became clear. No wonder there were always red-

haired children in each generation—not many, but enviable. Unfortunately, their hair color gradually turned black with age.

I recalled being ostracized and stared at because of my hair color until middle school. If this happened

today, wouldn't that hair color elicit envious glances?

"Wow! I'm mixed race!" I couldn't help but feel proud.

The last photo was of a Western-style mansion, luxurious and elegant, showcasing

the atmosphere . There were no people in the photograph, and the date was indiscernible, but my intuition told me it was a very important one;

otherwise, it wouldn't be displayed here alone.

My father was right; this room was filled with memories of the past. I quickly took out my camera and began

to capture the moment. Perhaps one day, when this old house is lost, these records will survive and be passed down to future

generations.

At that moment, for the first time, I felt a pang of regret. Why hadn't I been aware of this a few years earlier, missing out on precious

memories slipping through my fingers? Especially my deceased grandfather; he didn't

leave behind any valuable memories, and even his image has gradually faded with time.

Immediately, I made a resolution: once this report was finished, I would pursue more information about my family's history.

Not only as a memento for myself, but also as a record for the rest of my family.

A thought flashed through my mind, and suddenly, a diary on the desk caught my eye.

Strange! How come I hadn't noticed such an out-of-place item before?

It seemed to have appeared out of thin air, as if it was there because of my arrival.

The cover was dark black, with a large silver character written in calligraphy –

"Key".

My first thought was that the large character on the diary wasn't some button or key

, but rather represented the word "key".

The silver "key" character exuded a mysterious aura, enticing and tempting my heart. It was as if opening this

diary would reveal more about the past.

In an instant, I lost control of my body, involuntarily leaning towards the desk, extending my right hand, and using

the tip of my index finger to trace the silver characters stroke by stroke, then pressing my palm onto the diary.

Snap!

It was as if a switch had been flipped, calling out to the blood in my veins. My heart pounded rapidly,

seeking release in the intense compression, all the blood in my body rushing to my right palm, making it

swell , creating a unique resonance with the diary.

"What's going on?" I cried out, but my voice seemed to freeze in the air,

inaudible and unable to spread. After the resonance, a powerful suction emanated from the diary, making me clearly feel it

drawing my blood…

Especially the gradual subsiding and shrinking of the swelling in my palms, which clearly told me that this was not an illusion!

The surrounding scenery began to distort and tangle, and I could vaguely see illusory figures lingering around me. Some

were laughing, some were crying, some were in pain, some were sorrowful; there were men and women, old people and children. One

after another, they passed through me.

Could this be the “time travel” plot that many people yearn for?

…Why haven’t

I fainted yet! This thought popped into my head nonsensically.

Logically speaking, time travel isn’t about jumping off a cliff, being struck by lightning, or being hit by a car,

then waking up in another world as an invincible, thunderous protagonist.

Why am I trapped in this strange diary, forced to sacrifice all my life essence, and

gradually becoming aware that my life is slowly draining away, slowly moving towards death?

My once vibrant right hand was now wrinkled, dry, and cracked. Along my wrist, arm, and all over my body, I

resembled an old man frail with a flickering candle in the wind, my skin reduced to dry, brittle tissue, ready to burst at any moment. My once robust body had lost

its vitality; I could no longer feel the youthful energy it once possessed. Strands of my dark hair fell, turning from black to red before my

eyes , finally fading into thin silver strands.

I was getting old…

Fear took root in my heart, filling me with dread.

…No! I absolutely cannot let things worsen!

My thoughts shifted, and so did my mindset. At the same time, my hand somehow slipped from the diary's grasp. The open

diary, its pure white pages filled with black ink, seemed to come alive, leaping

out and fluttering around the room like butterflies.

Suddenly, the previously aimless words seemed to find an outlet, all hovering in mid-air.

In that instant, I witnessed the most bizarre sight of my life. The flying black ink shot into my body.

There was no pain, no discomfort, only memories not of my own,

surging , a flood of information being unearthed from the depths of memory, like something lost finally being found.

Finally, the entire room glowed red, enveloping me completely. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear,

my senses ceased to function, leaving only a faint intuition, flowing slowly through my veins with my blood,

then into nothingness.

...I don't know how much time had passed?

I'm certain my thoughts hadn't stopped, but does that mean I'm still conscious?

Sounds, carried by darkness, gradually became clearer. The air was stifling, my lungs filled with a suffocating congestion. A pungent

smell spread through my nasal cavity, the damp, musty smell unique to the rainy season. My eyelids felt tired and heavy, my eyelashes

blinked unconsciously, and a gray-black world was etched in my bewildered pupils.

I only knew one thing: my bodily sensations were suppressed by the sounds, drifting between consciousness and subconsciousness.

It felt like a very long time had passed, and all that surrounded me were those sounds. Sounds like human breathing, the rustling of

fabric the friction of objects...

Where I am? It means nothing to me, I don't care at all. I even feel like I should be

dead , but the rhythmic beating of my heart seems to mock my chaotic thoughts.

Time passes slowly, and first I feel my nerves returning, the tingling

sensation , circulating intermittently. Then comes the lingering, unidentified scent in my nostrils; though most of

the aroma has been corroded, a faint aftertaste still lingers.

The desolate face of a woman gradually becomes clear in my mind, her pitiful eyes filled with grievance, the unspoken words she

murmurs , seemingly some kind of plea. Every expression on her face fills me with regret and

guilt, a helpless feeling, a heart-wrenching torment…

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