54: Deep within the old museum, the fragrance of ink seems to tell a story.

The air on the basement level was damp and heavy.

The flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the end of a narrow staircase—a rusted iron door, slightly ajar, from which a richer ink fragrance wafted, mixed with the decaying scent of old paper.

Li Muchen gently pushed open the iron door.

"Screeech—"

The sound of the door hinges grinding was particularly piercing in the dead silence.

The flashlight beam swept in, illuminating a room of about thirty square meters.

The walls were exposed red brick, with spiderwebs hanging in the corners. The floor was concrete, covered in a thin layer of dust, where messy footprints could be seen—clearly, someone had been here recently. Several discarded wooden bookshelves stood against the walls, some already fallen apart with boards scattered across the floor.

In the center of the room, several old wooden boxes were piled up, their lids open, stuffed with yellowed papers, old account books, and damaged notebooks.

And in the deepest part of the room, against the wall—

There was an empty iron shelf, and beneath it, a clear square mark where the dust was thinner than elsewhere, obviously left by something recently moved.

"That's where the iron box was kept." Master Zhang stood at the top of the stairs, not daring to come all the way down, his voice coming from above. "When we were cleaning last time, the workers found it under the shelf. The box wasn't big, about this wide." He gestured a size of about twenty centimeters.

Li Muchen walked into the room.

His Spiritual Sense spread out like mercury on the floor, instantly covering every corner.

Resentment.

A rich, almost tangible resentment flowed slowly through the air. It wasn't a single aura, but a mixture of countless emotions—despair, unwillingness, fear, and... a deep attachment.

All this resentment seemed to point toward the same source.

He walked to the empty iron shelf, crouched down, and lightly touched the floor with his fingers.

Beneath the dust, on the concrete floor, there was an extremely faint energy residue. It wasn't resentment, but... the traces of a Seal.

A broken Seal.

"Master Zhang," he looked up and asked, "when the box was found, was there something stuck to it?"

Master Zhang thought for a moment: "There seemed to be a piece of yellow paper with writing on it, but it was damp from being old, and the characters were blurred. The workers didn't pay attention and just tore it off and threw it away."

As expected.

Li Muchen understood.

That pen had been sealed there.

The purpose of the Seal was not to suppress resentment, but to... protect. To protect it from being discovered, and to protect the memories it carried from being forgotten.

And the spirit of the pen game had accidentally broken the Seal, releasing the resentment.

"Besides the box, was anything else found?" he asked.

"Anything else?" Master Zhang recalled, "I think... there were also a few old diaries in the box. But they were so badly damaged by the damp that they crumbled at a touch. The workers put the fragments into a bag and sent them to the Lin family together."

Lin Wenyuan nodded: "Yes, those fragments are at my house. I tried to piece them together, but they were too fragmented to form a complete narrative."

Li Muchen stood up, the flashlight beam slowly moving around the room.

The beam swept over the walls, the bookshelves, and those broken wooden boxes.

Suddenly, his gaze stopped on the wall in the northeast corner of the room.

There, the color of the brick joints seemed slightly different from elsewhere.

He walked over and reached out to touch the wall.

It was cold to the touch. The joints were filled with old-fashioned lime mortar, but in one area, the mortar was noticeably newer—though still old, it was clearly more recent than the surrounding area.

"Was this repaired later?" he asked.

Master Zhang leaned in to look and shook his head: "I don't know. I've only been in charge here for ten years, and I haven't touched the walls."

Li Muchen pressed his palm against the wall, and Zhenyuan slowly flowed in.

His Spiritual Sense permeated through the brick joints.

Behind the wall, it was solid.

But deeper in... at a depth of about half a meter, there was a hollow space.

Not large, about the size of a shoebox.

Something seemed to be placed inside the hollow.

"Do you have any tools?" Li Muchen asked.

Master Zhang hesitated for a moment, went upstairs, and returned a moment later with a small hammer and a chisel—evidently maintenance tools.

Li Muchen took the tools but didn't start immediately.

He first carefully probed around the hollow with his Spiritual Sense to ensure there was no danger, then raised the hammer and lightly tapped the wall.

"Thump, thump, thump..."

The tapping echoed in the silent basement.

Zhao Xiaowen and Li Shiyu watched nervously, and Lin Wenyuan also held his breath.

After a few strikes, the newer mortar began to loosen and fall away, revealing the red bricks inside—the bricks were old, but the masonry was clearly different from the surroundings, and the joints were larger.

Li Muchen used the chisel to carefully pry the bricks loose.

One, two, three... an opening about twenty centimeters square appeared in the wall.

The flashlight beam shone inside.

Inside, there was indeed a small space.

In the space lay an oil-paper package.

The oil paper had yellowed and become brittle, its edges damaged, revealing something dark red inside.

Li Muchen reached in and carefully removed the package.

It was very light.

He walked to the open space in the center of the room, placed the package on an upturned wooden box, and then slowly opened the oil paper.

Inside the oil paper was a hardback notebook.

The cover was deep blue, faded to white, with two words written in pen:

"Diary".

The handwriting was elegant, exactly the same as the writing memories remaining in the pen.

He flipped to the first page.

The paper was yellowed, with water stains on the edges and some blurred ink, but it was still legible:

"September 12th, the 25th year of the republic of china. Sunny.

Enrolled today at Provincial No. 1 Girls Middle School. The campus is beautiful, and the library is especially elegant. My classmates are all gentle and polite, and the teachers are also kind. Father says that only by studying can a woman understand reason; I must be diligent..."

Second page:

"September 15th. Overcast.

In Chinese class, the new Mr. Chen lectured on the 'Classic of Poetry'. 'Guan-guan go the ospreys, on the islet in the river.' The sound of him reciting poetry is very pleasant, like a clear spring in the mountains. After class, he kept me behind alone, saying that my essays were well-written and he was willing to give me more guidance..."

Third page:

"October 3rd. Rain.

Mr. Chen gave me a copy of 'Shuyu Ci', a collection of Li Qingzhao's poems. He said that a woman should have talent and passion to not live this life in vain. I accepted it, but my heart felt a bit flustered. Is this... appropriate?"

The diary continued page by page.

It recorded the life of a female student in the republic of china: attending classes, reading, making friends, and occasionally participating in patriotic marches. But gradually, a name began to appear frequently between the lines—

Mr. Chen.

Chen Shiru.

That Chinese teacher.

"...He said this era is unfair to women. Women should also have the right to pursue love."

"...Today he held my hand and said he liked me. Should I agree?"

"...If Father knew, he would surely break my legs. But I really... like him."

"...He said he would marry me and propose after graduation. I believe him."

The handwriting, initially elegant and neat, gradually became scrawled, and the emotions grew more intense.

Until a page in July of the 26th year of the republic of china:

"July 7th. I don't know what date it is today.

He said I'm pregnant. What should I do? Father will kill me.

He said not to be afraid, he would arrange everything. He told me to take a leave of absence first and go to the countryside to nurse the pregnancy, and once the child is born, he will marry me with great pomp and ceremony.

I believe him. I only have him now."

On this page, there were ink stains blurred by teardrops.

Turning further, the handwriting became increasingly chaotic:

"August 15th. He changed his mind. He said his family didn't agree, that I'm a student and he's a teacher, and if it got out, it would ruin his future.

He said... for me to get an abortion.

I refused. This is my child, and his child too!

He called me shameless and said I seduced him.

I... I didn't..."

The diary broke off for a few pages here.

When there were records again, it was September of the 26th year of the republic of china:

"September 3rd. Overcast.

I've been locked up. In the library basement. He said he's letting me reflect here, and when I've come to my senses, I'll get rid of the child.

Someone brings food every day, but I never see the light of day.

I miss Father, I miss Mother, and I miss my younger brother at home.

But I can't go back. If I go back like this, Father will be livid."

The next few pages were written with such trembling that they were almost illegible:

"September 10th. Rain.

He said... he's getting married. To the principal's daughter.

Then what about me? What about my child?

He said he'd give me a sum of money to leave the Provincial Capital and never come back.

I won't leave. I want this child.

He said... then you can stay here forever."

The last page.

The paper was covered in messy handwriting, with some words running into other lines:

"They're here. They want to take me... where?

He said he's sending me to the countryside to nurse the pregnancy.

But their eyes are not right.

I'm scared.

My pen, my pen fell on the floor.

If... if one day someone sees this diary, please tell my father and mother—

Your daughter has been unfilial.

Your daughter... is unwilling."

The diary stopped abruptly here.

In the bottom right corner of the last page was a dark red handprint.

It wasn't ink.

It was blood.

The room was deathly silent.

Only the flashlight beam shone on the yellowed diary and that dark red blood handprint.

Li Shiyu had already covered her mouth and started crying.

Zhao Xiaowen's eyes were red as she tightly held her hand.

Lin Wenyuan's face was ashen, his lips trembling, unable to speak for a long time.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Master Zhang let out a long sigh: "What a sin..."

Li Muchen gently closed the diary.

There were other things in the oil-paper package.

He continued to search.

A silver hairpin, the head of which was a small plum blossom, already oxidized black.

Half a jade pendant—bluish-white jade, carved with a pattern of two fish playing in water, only half of it, the break was very clean, obviously broken on purpose.

And... a photograph.

A black-and-white photo, severely faded, but the person on it could still be seen.

A young girl in an Indanthrene blue qipao, with two braided pigtails, standing under a locust tree, her smile shy and bright.

On the back of the photo was a line of small characters:

"A memento for Shuyi, Autumn of the 25th year of the republic of china, taken on campus."

Chen Shuyi.

The missing female student.

Li Muchen looked at the girl in the photo, then at the diary in his hand.

He finally understood why the resentment in the pen was so complex.

It wasn't simple hatred.

It was a young girl who, at her most beautiful age, was deceived, imprisoned, betrayed, and finally... disappeared from this world.

In her resentment, there was hatred for the heartless man, unwillingness toward her fate, attachment to her unborn child, and... a longing for life.

She didn't become a resentful spirit by choice.

She was forced.

"So, the words Xiaoyu heard that she couldn't understand..." Li Shiyu choked out, "it was Shuyi speaking?"

"It's her lingering consciousness," Li Muchen nodded. "Through the spirit of the pen game, she attached herself to Xiaoyu. She wanted to... speak out."

"To speak of her grievances?"

"More than that." Li Muchen looked at the blood handprint on the last page of the diary. "She also wanted to... call for help."

"Call for help?" Lin Wenyuan was puzzled. "She's already... dead."

"Death is not the end," Li Muchen said slowly. "Her soul might still be imprisoned somewhere. The resentment in the pen is only a part of her. The real her... might still be suffering."

He stood up, the flashlight beam sweeping through the room once more.

"Master Zhang, is there any place in this building, or this campus, that is... particularly gloomy? Or are there any legends about it being 'haunted'?"

Master Zhang's expression changed, and after a moment's hesitation, he whispered: "There are... but they're just old stories, I don't know if they're true."

"Please, tell us."

"Behind the old library, there's a well." Master Zhang's voice was very low. "It was filled in during the republic of china era, and now there's a flower bed on top of it. But the old folks say... that well is not clean."

"In what way is it not clean?"

"They say a female student jumped into the well to commit suicide. Others say she was pushed." Master Zhang shook his head. "I don't know the specifics, I just heard it from the previous administrator. He said when he was on night duty, he could occasionally hear a woman's crying coming from the well. So later, the school filled the well and planted flowers on top."

A well.

Li Muchen thought of the memory fragments in the pen: the mouth of a well, darkness, falling.

And the despair on the last page of the diary.

"Where is that well?" he asked.

Master Zhang led everyone back to the first floor and out through the library's back door.

The back door led to a small courtyard, with walls on three sides and the back wall of the library on the fourth. Some flowers and plants were growing in the courtyard, and in the center was a circular flower bed with roses in full bloom.

"It's right here." Master Zhang pointed to the flower bed. "The well is under the flower bed. It was filled thirty years ago; I saw the construction team pouring concrete into it with my own eyes."

Li Muchen walked to the edge of the flower bed.

His Spiritual Sense extended downward.

Beneath the soil of the flower bed was thick concrete. Beneath the concrete was... a hollow.

A bottomless hollow.

Although filled with concrete, the shape of the hollow remained.

It was indeed a well.

And at the bottom of the well... the moment Li Muchen's Spiritual Sense touched the bottom, a powerful resentment, like a sleeping beast being startled, suddenly erupted!

It wasn't the fragmented resentment like in the pen.

It was a complete, rich resentment that had almost condensed into substance!

Accompanying the surge of resentment was a shrill cry that seemed to come from the abyss—

"Save... me..."

The voice exploded directly within his Spiritual Sense.

Li Muchen's body jolted, and he took half a step back.

"Temple Master?" Lin Wenyuan hurried to support him.

"I'm fine." Li Muchen steadied himself, his expression grave.

He looked at the flower bed, at the roses in full bloom.

The truth was right here.

In this filled-in well.

Chen Shuyi might never have left.

Her soul had been imprisoned at the bottom of the well all this time.

And that pen, that diary, were only the... distress signals she had left behind.

"Layman Lin," Li Muchen said slowly, "I'm going to open the well."

"Open the well?" Lin Wenyuan's face changed. "This... this is school property, we need the school's permission..."

"There's no time." Li Muchen looked at him. "Your daughter only has two days. And..."

He paused, his voice low:

"The one in the well can't wait much longer either."