Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 48 The Ghost Possessed

"Brother Yan, don't worry! I can handle this!"

Xu Yan looked at him, her brows furrowing almost imperceptibly.

Ah Zhe has extensive theoretical knowledge and is adept at using equipment, but this kind of ancient magic array involving esoteric talismans and targeting ghosts is far beyond the scope of a "tech geek".

Ah Zhe seemed to sense his confusion and explained quickly, but his eyes darted around, avoiding direct eye contact with Xu Yan:

"Actually... my ancestors were in this line of work! Energy planners! To put it bluntly, they were high-level feng shui masters, specializing in dealing with these kinds of difficult problems in the yin and yang realms! These talismans look impressive, but they're really nothing special!"

"Energy field superposition interference...it's the same principle as electromagnetic shielding and signal interference waves! It's nothing special!"

Xu Yan was somewhat surprised.

But his gaze fell on Chen Zhiwei, whose breath was growing weaker and weaker on A Zhe's back, and all his doubts were forcibly suppressed.

"How to do it?"

He spoke in a hoarse voice, directly interrupting Ah Zhe's obviously unfinished "family background introduction".

Ah Zhe took a deep breath and, with trembling hands, pulled a rusty cartoon robot keychain from his inner pocket.

His fingers clenched tightly, as if he were grasping at his last remaining obsession.

"To break through the barrier, there must be an anchor and a response from the living. The anchor must intrude into their daily routines and be touched by them unintentionally, even if it is just an instinctive action, before it can be considered truly anchored."

"As long as they unconsciously utter a word because of this, we can temporarily attach ourselves to them through that momentary echo and use their hands to do what we want to do... In the old generation's terms, this is called 'possession by a ghost'."

His voice suddenly choked up, as if he were back in that dimly lit rented room, with a lone cake on the table that hadn't been blown out of its wax.

Xiao Zhou's voice still echoed from that phone call:

"Zhe, are you able to come back today?"

But he couldn't go back.

Ah Zhe gritted his teeth and threw the keychain toward the end of the street.

"It's now!"

The keychain traced an arc and landed perfectly in the basket of the tired-looking delivery guy on his electric scooter, making a soft "thump".

The young man jumped, instinctively stopped the car, looked down, and was stunned:

"Throwing objects from a high-rise building? Which child has such poor manners?"

The moment his fingers touched the keychain and a question arose in his mind, it gave Ah Zhe the opportunity to wait.

He clenched his fists, almost roaring out the obsession deep within his soul:

"—Happy birthday, Xiaozhou!"

The voice tore apart the barrier between life and death, carrying with it all the guilt and longing of a wandering soul, and crashed heavily onto reality.

The young man suddenly paused, as if he had heard something, and his gaze was involuntarily drawn to the crooked talisman paper at the entrance of the photo studio.

He muttered, "What kind of junk is this? Kids these days just stick random things on everywhere..."

Then, purely out of instinctive disgust, he reached out and pulled.

Tear--!
The talisman broke instantly.

boom!
The entire barrier was like a water curtain being suddenly punctured, and violent energy waves exploded out. Runes flickered and hissed, and countless tiny flames of light were splashed out before quickly collapsing and annihilating.

"Success!"

Ah Zhe shouted with joy, but there were faint tears in the corners of his eyes.

He carried Chen Zhiwei on his back and crashed into the broken barrier, his figure staggering as he fell into the darkness inside the photo studio.

Xu Yan was stunned for a moment, a complex tremor flashing through his heart.

That simple "Happy Birthday, Xiaozhou" was more poignant than any lie.

But he didn't have time to think, and took a step forward, disappearing into the darkness.

The delivery guy stared blankly at the keychain in his hand, then at the talisman he had just torn off, his heart skipping a beat. "What...what did I just do?" he murmured.

Through my headphones, the radio host was jokingly discussing the celestial phenomenon of the total lunar eclipse.

He looked up at the dark night sky, shivered, threw the keychain on the ground, and slammed on the power switch.

The electric scooter sped away, leaving the street corner eerily silent.

The facade of the Forgotten Photo Studio once again reverted to its heavily guarded state, completely engulfing the three who had just barged in.

Darkness rushed in.

There was no roar of the River Styx, no blood moon outside, only a suffocating, deathly silence that had accumulated over countless years.

The place they entered was not the unfamiliar ghost realm, but the place that Xu Yan and Chen Zhiwei knew best.

However, this building seems to have been detached from the timeline of reality and fallen into some ancient and colder shadowy layer.

The foyer remains unchanged, a look etched into their very being.

The old wooden counter, the lonely chair—Xu Yan slumped on it countless times, spending those long nights where the warmth was drained away by the camera.

The entire wall was covered with layers upon layers of portraits of the deceased. The black and white photos, in the omnipresent blood-red gloom, coldly stared at the uninvited guests.

Xu Yan suddenly stopped in his tracks.

His gaze was fixed on one of the photos.

She was a young woman with slightly curled hair, bright eyes, and a gentle smile that exuded a distant warmth softened by time.

He stared at the photo, his chest suddenly tightening as if a cold hand had gripped his heart. A strong sense of familiarity surged up, but just as he was about to grasp it, it slipped through his fingers like quicksand.

All that remained was a blank space and a throbbing, heart-pounding pain.

His brows were tightly furrowed, his breathing was heavy, and a name was stuck in his throat.

"mom……?"

A barely audible syllable was squeezed out from between the lips, but it was as if a taboo switch had been triggered, and that vague impression instantly collapsed and was completely erased by an invisible force.

Just then, Chen Zhiwei, who was on A Zhe's back, moved very slightly.

That tiny, unconscious tremor, however, was like a needle, suddenly piercing Xu Yan's chaotic thoughts.

He suddenly remembered clearly that just a few days ago, she was still standing alive in front of this wall, wrinkling her nose and complaining, "The whole room is full of dead faces, it's really creepy," and complaining that the counter was covered in dust, wiping here and there with a rag.

He laughed at her for being fussy, and she rolled her eyes at him, but then wiped the corner of the table spotless.

It was an ordinary afternoon, full of bickering and disdain, yet as vibrant as a leaping flame, scorching and burning.

Now, her breath was weak, her face was horribly pale, like a fragile piece of porcelain, shrouded in this deathly silence.

Xu Yan felt excruciating pain in his chest, so much so that he could barely breathe.

He took a deep breath of the icy air, which felt like shattered ice, and stopped looking at the wall. He quickly walked around the counter and headed straight for the ancestral hall in the backyard.

The offering table remained unchanged, the candles were not lit, and rows of memorial tablets stood solemnly, exuding an invisible pressure.

Right in the center is the memorial tablet of Chen Dingkun.

Xu Yan knelt down heavily with a thud, his knees hitting the cold, hard blue bricks with a dull thud.

His forehead was pressed against the ground, his voice hoarse, trembling with near-collapse and pleading:
"Master! Your disciple Xu Yan begs for your help! Zhiwei... Zhiwei's soul is about to dissipate because she tried to save me! Please save her! Please!"

On the offering table, a pair of long-dried candlesticks spontaneously combusted, their wicks igniting without a flame, suddenly producing two clusters of eerie blue flames.

The entire ancestral hall trembled slightly, as if the air were both frozen and flowing.

A soft yet profound light slowly emanated from the "Memorial Tablet of Chen Dingkun," like gold dust seeping from ink, gradually condensing.

A hunched figure, yet exuding an indescribable composure, stepped out from the light.

(End of this chapter)