Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 49 Debt and Sin
His hair and beard were gray, his face was thin, but his eyes were cold and sharp.

It was Chen Dingkun.

He was no ordinary person, but a soul formed from the incense of the ancestral temple and the remaining power of the Taoist tradition.

The gaze descended from the void, fixing its first impression on Chen Zhiwei, who was on Xu Yan and A Zhe's back.

A fleeting, barely concealed pain flashed across those clear eyes.

It's a kind of soul-stirring feeling when a loved one is hurt.

But this ripple was immediately suppressed by the even colder sharpness in his eyes, like a stone thrown into a deep pool, creating only a ripple before returning to stillness.

His voice was deep and resonant, striking the heart like a hammer blow:
"How did you end up like this? Is the 'City Emergency Response Center' targeting you?"

The words, like cold knives, shattered the solemn atmosphere of the ancestral hall.

Xu Yan's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't know how to answer.

Chen Dingkun raised his hand, his sleeves billowing out like ink mist.

A deep, ancient incantation slowly spilled from his lips, each syllable carrying a menacing rhythm:
"We offer our souls as sacrifices and keep our names as a pledge."

The lark falls silent; all thoughts converge into one.

The somber atmosphere in the ancestral hall seemed to be peeled away layer by layer, and the portraits on the walls all bowed their heads gently, the gray shadows trembling and dissipating.

A warm and profound light flowed slowly from the memorial tablet, solidifying as if it were a physical substance, and fell upon Chen Zhiwei.

Her body, which had been hanging down on A Zhe's back, was lifted up as if by an invisible hand, slowly levitating. Her sleeves and hair were carried by the light and fluttered, finally stopping in front of Chen Dingkun, as if she were being sheltered under the ancestral temple.

The nearly broken threads of the contract were gradually pieced together and mended in the light, as if they were being redrawn by an invisible pen, restoring them to at least their basic integrity.

A Zhe's gaze faltered for a moment, and he blurted out, "...This is 'Reversed Name Renewal Contract'! You actually know this kind of technique!"

Xu Yan was taken aback; he had never heard of this name before.

Chen Dingkun's recitation suddenly stopped, and his gaze abruptly turned to A Zhe, his eyes so cold they seemed to pierce to the bone.

"Who are you? How can you recognize this method?"

Ah Zhe suddenly stiffened, sweat beading on his forehead. He instinctively stiffened his neck, trying to maintain a semblance of composure: "...Modern equipment...is more efficient at analysis..."

Before he could finish speaking, Chen Dingkun stepped forward and grabbed A Zhe's wrist.

Ah Zhe tried his best to remain calm, but he was clearly under pressure and his breathing was disordered, with cold sweat pouring down his forehead.

Chen Dingkun's fingertips tightened slightly, and a sharp wisp of energy flowed into A Zhe's meridians.

In an instant, his brow twitched.

A faint red light flashed beneath A Zhe's skin, attempting to resist the probing aura, but it instantly collapsed before absolute power.

"His pulse was disordered, mixed with... strange forces that were not purely from the soul."

His voice suddenly deepened, like a cold knife piercing to the bone: "What's on you? Is it a mark the center planted within you?"

Ah Zhe's face turned deathly pale, and his body suddenly stiffened, as if his last layer of disguise had been seen through.

His breathing was rapid, and words caught in his throat, leaving him only able to stammer, "I...I...I just used some...assistive devices..."

Chen Dingkun snorted coldly, and a jolt of energy emanated from his sleeve. A Zhe felt a sharp pain in his chest and almost collapsed to his knees. The radio in his backpack suddenly emitted a piercing static crackle, like the gasp of a dying man, abruptly shattering the solemnity of the ancestral hall.

He slapped the door open in a panic, his voice abruptly cut off, and more cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He explained repeatedly, "It's... malfunctioning! The energy field is too strong... it broke down a long time ago!"

Chen Dingkun's gaze was sharp as he stared intently at him, and he said coldly, "So you're a disciple of Li Guan's lineage. He abandoned his lineage back then to become a platinum contractor at the center, and now he's actually letting his disciple infiltrate my establishment?"

His gaze swept over Ah Zhe's body, which was covered in jingling electronic devices. His tone was cold and disdainful: "The Feng Shui tradition, in your hands, has become these fancy and incongruous things."

Ah Zhe's face was deathly pale, his Adam's apple bobbed, and the burning pain in his chest made his breathing intermittent, almost unable to speak.

Xu Yan stepped forward abruptly, kowtowed heavily, and said in a hoarse voice, "Master! Without A Zhe, we would never have been able to break in! If it weren't for him, Zhiwei would have already perished on the banks of the River Styx!"

Chen Dingkun's gaze lingered between Xu Yan and Chen Zhiwei, a fleeting hesitation crossing his cold expression.

He finally let go, his fingertip touching the back of A Zhe's hand, instantly branding a bluish-black mark into the flesh.

The fire mark wasn't burning; instead, it was icy cold, as if a chilling incense stick from the ancestral hall had been nailed into his soul.

Ah Zhe groaned, almost kneeling down, his face as pale as paper.

“I will spare your life. But remember this—if you do anything wrong, even if you manage to escape the center, you will never escape the shrine fire.”

Ah Zhe pursed his lips and nodded firmly, his fingertips trembling uncontrollably from the pain.

Chen Dingkun turned around and stood with his hands behind his back in front of the offering table.

The lamps in the ancestral hall flickered without wind, and there was a faint humming between the ancestral tablets, as if responding to his thoughts.

He suddenly spoke, his voice deep and steely: "Yan'er, that thing on your arm... is it starting to move again?"

Xu Yan lowered his head, glanced at his right arm, and said with a gloomy expression, "Yes. If Zhiwei hadn't risked her life to call me back this time, I'm afraid I would have been completely swallowed up by it."

He gritted his teeth and finally asked the question that had been lingering in his heart: "Master, what exactly is that? And... the Soul-Sealing Camera you gave me can subdue ghosts, but every time it's used, it erases a piece of my memory. If this continues, will I still know who I am? What difference will I have from a walking corpse?"

A brief silence fell over the ancestral hall, broken only by the soft crackling of the lamplight.

Chen Dingkun's back was as imposing as a mountain, yet he coldly uttered two words: "Debt and karma."

Xu Yan suddenly looked up.

Chen Dingkun turned around, his eyes as cold as a knife: "You think that arm is a calamity? An opportunity? Wrong. It's a debt. A debt left by your ancestors, one you were born to bear, a debt you'll carry until death, a debt from which even death cannot release you."

He slowly approached, and with each word he uttered, the lights in the ancestral hall flickered: "As for the camera, you ask why it steals memories? You think it's a flaw, cruelty, or punishment? No. That's its mercy."

Xu Yan shuddered, his throat tightened, and he opened his mouth but could not utter a word.

Chen Dingkun's eyes were cold and piercing: "If you insist on remembering everything, those ghosts, those lingering memories, will take root in your mind, tearing at you day and night until you completely become them. Forgetting is the price; but it is also a protection. Only when you don't even remember who you are can you hold a camera without being devoured by it."

He paused, then his tone suddenly lowered, as if it were a final judgment: "Yan'er, you ask me if you were still yourself back then? I ask you, did you want to be a human being, or did you want to be Zhenyuan's vessel?"

It felt as if my heart had been ripped open, and a thought slithered out like a venomous snake:
"If even these memories are to be taken away, what will I have left?"

He strained his fingertips so hard they almost pierced his palms, his eyes burning with heat. The fear wasn't from facing the abyss's oppressive aura, but from facing his utterly empty self.

Chen Dingkun's back was as imposing as a mountain as he continued in a low voice, "You have many questions in your heart. Why did I pass on the knowledge to you instead of her? Why are the talismans and protective objects in the photo studio, which seem to protect, also like shackles?"

(End of this chapter)