Chapter Five: Summoning Death

After listening to Master Jun recount the origins of the golden mask, I couldn’t help but smile. I picked up the bamboo fan in my hand, opened it, and waved it lightly. “Master Jun, if you have something to say, just say it. With all this drama, I feel like I’ve wandered onto the wrong set. It’s the twenty-first century—there aren’t that many ghouls and monsters left.”

Master Jun was startled by my words and glanced at Professor Sun, who also wore a face of doubt, clearly not convinced by Master Jun’s story.

“Master Jun, the only part of your tale I can believe is that I have heard of these insect masks before.”

We all turned to Professor Sun, who was fiddling with the golden mask as he spoke, “Everyone, have you ever heard of the Infatuation Gu?”

I was completely lost, but I saw Master Jun nod knowingly at Professor Sun, the two of them sharing a smile. I couldn’t sit still any longer. “Hey, hey, if you two have nothing else, I’m heading home. This conversation is giving me a headache.”

Seeing my impatience, Master Jun hurriedly forced a smile. “The Infatuation Gu is exactly what we just mentioned. In ancient times, people used a type of strange mountain insect. They would fix the insect’s head inside the mouth of the mask, insert the tail into the victim’s mouth, and use the host as a nest. The larvae would then eat away at the host’s muscles and internal nerves, thus controlling the host’s brain—a kind of Gu sorcery.”

I sighed. “Master Jun, none of this has anything to do with me. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving.” With that, I sipped my tea and prepared to leave with Mengya.

“Master Qiu, don’t be in such a rush. I do have a favor to ask.”

I smiled. “Just say it. But let me be clear, I might not agree. And don’t tell me any more stories—I’m not that gullible.”

Before Master Jun could answer, Professor Sun interjected, “Qiu Tong, we’re not strangers here. You know what we do. Take a closer look at this golden mask.”

At his urging, I picked up the golden mask from the table and examined it from every angle. Suddenly, I drew a sharp breath. On the back of the mask, at the position of the face, several lines of strange script were engraved. I had no idea what they meant.

“What language is this? I can’t read a single word.”

Professor Sun smiled mysteriously. “To tell the truth, I think it might be Khitan script. Or perhaps Western Xia or Eastern Xia characters. It could even be Phags-pa.”

Hearing this, I was so exasperated I almost slapped him. I wondered how such a renowned lecturer from the Peking University Archaeology Department ever got his job. I sighed and turned to Master Jun. “Master Jun, if you don’t know, how would I? I’m afraid I can’t help with this.”

Master Jun chuckled. “Master Qiu, just because you don’t know doesn’t mean your teacher wouldn’t. The old man is well-traveled and knowledgeable—perhaps he’ll recognize the meaning of the script on the back of the mask.”

At that, I understood what the old fox was after—he wanted my teacher to help decipher the inscription beneath the mask. I laughed. “So after all this talk—ghosts, deaths—it turns out you just want my teacher to look at the writing under this mask?”

Master Jun lit a cigarette, forcing a cheerful smile. “I swear, everything I said before is true. We haven’t just met today—you know the kind of man I am. I wouldn’t joke about a brother’s life.”

I nodded. “Master Jun, do you know Ren Tai’an of Liulichang?”

Master Jun was visibly taken aback. After a long pause, he suddenly realized, “Ah, how could I forget him? Ren Tai’an specializes in ancient scripts. He translated two pieces of oracle bones for the National Museum and Capital Museum back in the day.”

I nodded. “My teacher doesn’t specialize in ancient scripts. If we took it to him, we might not get any answers. Ren Tai’an bought a Gandhara piece abroad last year that customs seized—if I hadn’t smoothed things over, he’d be serving time now. That old guy still owes me a favor. Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to ask him—he’ll definitely know what it means.”

I thought to myself, my teacher always warned me to stay away from Master Jun and his lot. Those sand diggers and tomb raiders are ruthless, willing to do anything for profit. If I took them to my teacher, he’d be furious, and he’d never tell them the truth. It’d just end in a fight—why make things so unpleasant? Since I couldn’t push this matter away, I might as well let Ren Tai’an handle it. For him, it’s a trivial matter.

Mengya and I sat for a while longer before bidding farewell to Master Jun and Professor Sun, agreeing to meet at Liulichang the next morning to find Ren Tai’an. Mengya took the car keys and opened my Cadillac SUV, and I settled into the passenger seat.

On the way, I was silent, my mind replaying Master Jun’s story—from the Zhao family in Chifeng to Han Jinming’s death—everything was a tangled mess. I looked at Mengya. “What do you make of today?”

Mengya smiled. “How would I know anything about your line of work? I just mind the shop.”

“Don’t say that. I still feel something isn’t right.”

Mengya kept her eyes on the road. “You’re right. I feel something’s off too. In any case, once we connect Master Jun with Ren Tai’an, we should step back. I have a bad feeling about this—getting involved could cost us dearly.”

I nodded. Mengya dropped me off and drove home. I entered my apartment, turned on the lights, and sat in my bedroom. A sudden chill crept over me. I checked my phone and shivered, recalling the endless calls Han Jinming made to Master Jun before he died. I quickly switched off my phone.

Lying in bed, I turned off the lights and tried to sleep, but could only toss and turn, haunted by images of the sinister golden mask. I rolled over and began counting sheep: one, two, three... Eventually, I drifted into a fitful sleep.

I don’t know how long I slept. Suddenly, I heard footsteps outside the bedroom—soft, deliberate: thud, thud. I froze. I lived alone—no one else should be here. Had I forgotten to lock the door? Impossible; my door had an automatic fingerprint lock. Security in this complex was tight—there had never been a break-in. Could it be... the mask ghost? The thought made my skin crawl. The footsteps grew closer: thud, thud.

I sat up abruptly, my blood running cold. Before me stood a figure, dressed all in white—but her clothes were soaked in blood, the stains as ghastly as a nurse swathed in bandages from Silent Hill. In her left hand she held a kitchen knife, blood dripping steadily to the floor. Upon her face was the golden mask from Liaotong, Inner Mongolia, and she fixed me with a spiteful, twisted grin.

I was paralyzed, as if under a spell, unable to move. The mask ghost kept grinning maliciously, and after a long while, finally spoke: “Do you... do you... want to see what’s beneath the mask?”

I was stunned—this bastard could actually speak?

“Who are you?” I shouted.

Hearing my shout, the mask ghost’s malicious laughter stopped abruptly, and she let out a piercing shriek that rattled my brain. After the scream, she raised the bloody kitchen knife and waved it threateningly beside my head, sending chills down my spine.

She swung the knife a few times, then resumed her ghastly chuckle. Suddenly, from behind the mask, she spoke again: “I... will let you... die... die knowing... die knowing the truth.” With that, she extended her right hand, raw muscle and bone exposed, and slowly removed the mask.

As the mask came away, it revealed an exquisitely beautiful woman—arched brows, almond-shaped eyes, stunning features. But her lovely face was smeared with blood, her eyes bloodshot, and her expression twisted. I looked closer and nearly lost my soul in terror—for the woman before me was none other than my shop assistant, Mengya.

Mengya licked the blood from the knife with her tongue, her bloodshot eyes filled with hatred. She stepped forward, staring at my horrified, broken self with that malicious grin.

“Hehehe... Didn’t you want to know the truth?”

Her bizarre expression left me speechless with terror and confusion. Forcing myself to keep calm, I stammered, “Mengya, since things have come to this, at least let me die understanding why. Tell me—what is going on?”

Mengya sneered again, sending shivers down my spine. She widened her eyes, her face locked in a grotesque smile, and stepped closer until she was right before me.

I was paralyzed with fear, numb to my very core. At that moment, Mengya, covered in blood, raised the kitchen knife high and brought it down toward my neck.