Passerby: Secret Image of Ancient Scrolls

Shen Xun did not immediately go to find the owner of that flash of light.

He stood there, sensing every fluctuation of that aura.

Its breath was very weak, like a spider's web swaying precariously in the wind, about to snap at any moment, but it was still there.

Resiliently and stubbornly, it shines.

The hourglass mark on my left chest is still burning, but it's no longer a warning. It's a long-lost echo, like two broken pieces of a puzzle coming closer together again across the years.

Centuries have passed, and he had almost forgotten what such a response felt like.

He can no longer remember when he began to see things that others cannot.

And that light.

He stood there for a long time. So long that the streetlights at the alley entrance went from on to off, and then back to on.

After a while, that last breath grew even weaker. Very weak, but still there.

He has guided countless souls to safety, witnessed the glory of the Tang Dynasty, the tragedy of the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, the fall of the Song Dynasty and the Qing Dynasty, and continues to this day.

He saw children chasing the light, the old locust tree withering and flourishing again, the bluestone slabs being replaced again and again, but he remained the same as he had been that day.

That gaze remained, ever-present. He knew that thing was waiting, waiting for his hourglass to burn out, waiting for the barrier to crumble.

But what he's waiting for now isn't that; it's the flash of light, the wisp of breath, and the person who presses the shutter at the end of the alley.

He looked up in the direction of the flash, tapping his peachwood staff rhythmically on the ground, and took his first step toward the source of the aura.

The old alleys of Hangzhou in winter are damp and cold from days of rain.

The old-style residential buildings on both sides are very close together, and behind the rusty security windows, the curtains of every household are drawn tightly.

Shen Xun's steps were steady. He raised his hand and pressed it against the left side of his shirt. His fingertips could feel a faint warmth through the clothes, like a precise compass, firmly locking onto the location of the starlight at the end of the alley.

The wooden staff and snake head trembled slightly, and the dark patterns in the snake's eyes gleamed with a faint, cold light.

Where that wisp of spark resided, a soul's aura, which had been trapped for half a year, was also trapped. At the end of that aura was a brick-and-mortar residential building at the deepest part of the alley. On the third floor, facing west, a window had its thick curtains drawn tightly shut, preventing any draft.

In the entire building, only this one household seemed to have lost all its vitality.

Shen Xun stopped in front of the apartment building and gently tapped his peach wood cane with his fingertips.

The trembling of the snake's head suddenly intensified, silently reminding him that there were a few scattered breaths lingering in the fire escape on the first floor. Those people lurking in the shadows had also followed the scents and come looking for him.

He could tell that there were three crossbows.

He was confident he could dodge them, and he was confident he could subdue them. But a life-or-death struggle could be decided in an instant, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't kill them.

He cannot kill; this is a rule established by the cycle of rebirth.

Once someone is killed, the power of reincarnation will backfire. What he guarded for hundreds of years will no longer be guarded, and the aura he sought will no longer be sought.

That moment.

Shen Xun fell into nothingness again.

The lights flickered, sometimes bright, sometimes dim, and a young, stubborn figure stood straight in the shadows.

He couldn't see the person's face clearly, but he could clearly see the person's resentment.

Suddenly, he heard a sound.

He tilted his head slightly, his ears catching any sounds coming from the third floor. The only sound from inside was extremely soft, suppressed sobbing.

He ignored the lurking presence and walked into the dimly lit stairwell.

On the third floor, in front of the westernmost door.

Shen Xun stopped, raised his hand, and gently tapped the door with his knuckles.

The knocking was very soft, yet it was exceptionally clear in the deathly silent hallway.

The room fell silent instantly, even the suppressed sobs stopped abruptly. He didn't knock on the door again, but stood quietly outside, the power of reincarnation around him gently flowing over the door, transforming into a gentle warmth that seeped into the room.

After a long while, very light, dragging footsteps came from inside the door.

The peephole's sunshade was gently lifted, and a trembling gaze filled with fear fell from the peephole, locking onto him.

"I came here following the scent." Shen Xun's voice was soft, gentle like the evening breeze blowing through the alley. "Last night, you saw me in the distance at the alley entrance. I know you're trapped by something and can't get out. I've come to help you, and also to help the spirit trapped beside you."

The breath behind the door caught in their throats. A rustling sound came from the lock, and the door opened a crack less than a hand's width wide.

A delicate but pale face peeked out from the crack, with long hair draped over her shoulders, dark circles under her eyes, dry, chapped lips, and bloodshot eyes. Her hands gripped a bunch of brass keys tightly, with a small camera pendant hanging from the keychain, worn smooth by countless hands.

Her body was still trembling slightly, but when she saw the sunglasses on Shen Xun's face and the peach wood cane, the fear in her eyes subsided a little.

"Who...who are you?" Her voice was hoarse.

"Shen Xun. Can you tell me your name?"

"Lin Jian." She bit her lip and whispered her name.

Shen Xun nodded slightly. The afterimage captured by the shutter six months ago when his chest trembled had finally found its home. His connection with the Reincarnation Well had been interfered with by something and had only been restored three days ago. Shen Xun sensed the closest wisp of starlight to him right here.

"You've been running for a long time, but you still can't shake it off, right? Let me in, I can help you."

Lin Jian leaned against the door, looking at Shen Xun's calm face, then glanced back at the heavy darkness in the room, and tears welled up instantly. She bit her lip, forcefully wiped away the tears on her face, and stepped aside to make way for him: "Come in."

The room was even more oppressive than he had sensed. The thick blackout curtains were drawn tightly shut, and only a bedside lamp was on, its dim light barely illuminating a corner of the bedroom, while the rest of the room was shrouded in heavy darkness.

A half-open suitcase leaned against the corner, and yellowed, curly talisman paper lay scattered on the corner of the table. The most conspicuous thing was the wardrobe against the wall, its doors tightly shut, with a heavy brass lock hanging on it, the keyhole worn shiny by the key.

A faint golden light, identical to Lin Jian's, emanated from the wardrobe, intertwined with the aura of a dead soul.

The curled-up spirit clung to the wardrobe door, shrouded in an impenetrable black mist, its form appearing and disappearing in the darkness. When it saw Shen Xun enter, its body tensed instantly, the black mist around it surged violently, and a low, suppressed roar escaped its throat, but it did not pounce.

Shen Xun did not move forward. He gently tapped the ground with his peachwood staff, and a ray of golden light spread out, forming a gentle barrier in the room, which both encircled the figure and protected Lin Jian behind him.

"I'm not here to break you up," Shen Xun said steadily. "I know you've been trapped here for a long time. You're trapping yourself by following her. But this won't change anything."

Upon hearing this, the figure roared even louder, the black mist surging wildly as it crashed against the barrier, only to be gently deflected by the golden light. Like a trapped beast, it charged back and forth, but consistently avoided Lin Jian's direction. Lin Jian, terrified, shrank behind Shen Xun, clutching the key tightly, tears streaming silently down her face.

Shen Xun tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling on the locked wardrobe. "There's something special in that wardrobe, isn't there?"

Lin Jian's body trembled violently. "How...how did you know?"

That Polaroid camera was the last thing her grandfather, Lin Jianbang, left her.

The camera body had no brand logo, and the door to the film compartment was tightly sealed. She tried to pry it open countless times when she was a child but could not. Her grandfather just smiled and said that this camera recognizes its owner and only recognizes one piece of film for its entire life.

More than half a year ago, she was taking pictures of the sunset after the rain by the window. The moment the shutter clicked, a falling figure appeared in the viewfinder.

From that day on, everything changed. She began to see blurry silhouettes in dimly lit corners, and at night she could always hear suppressed sobs in her ear.

She fled for more than half a year, changing hotels more than a dozen times, seeking countless talismans, and being swindled out of her savings. That shadow never harmed her; it simply followed her, always following her.

She kept her camera locked in the cabinet. She only took it out twice. Once was half a year ago, when she photographed that falling figure. The other time was yesterday, when she photographed him.

"It's not an ominous thing," Shen Xun's voice remained gentle. "It can help him, and it can help you. You owe him the truth. Open the cabinet, take out the camera, and press the shutter button on him."

Lin Jian looked into Shen Xun's calm eyes, then at the locked wardrobe, gritted his teeth, gripped the key, and walked over.

The moment the key was inserted into the lock, the temperature in the room plummeted, the lamp flickered wildly, and the figure let out another mournful roar. The black mist surged, almost breaking through the barrier, yet it still stubbornly guarded the direction of the wardrobe.

Lin Jian's hands trembled violently; it took him three tries to open the brass lock. The moment the cabinet door opened, a faint scent of old photographic paper wafted out. The camera was wrapped in three layers of black velvet and placed at the deepest part of the wardrobe.

With trembling hands, she took out the worn-out Polaroid camera.

Next to the Polaroid camera was an ebony box, its surface engraved with snake patterns, subtly matching the snake head pattern on Shen Xun's peach wood staff. Lin Jian clearly remembered that on the day her grandfather gave it to her, he said one sentence: "Open it only when the camera faces calamity and the warm light appears."

Outside the window, the wind paused for a moment. Something darkened briefly in the folds of the curtains, like a shadow flashing by. Shen Xun's ears tightened slightly, but he didn't turn around.

He stood there, fingertips resting on the peachwood cane, his gaze fixed on the camera in Lin Jian's hand. The hourglass mark on his left chest felt slightly warm. He closed his eyes, sensing the aura of that wisp of starlight. Not just the one before him. He sensed more.

Shen Xun opened his eyes, looking at the camera in Lin Jian's hand and her still trembling fingers. "Point at him and press the shutter," he said. His voice was calm, suppressing the restlessness in the air.

Lin Jian took a deep breath, raised her camera, and aimed the lens at the huddled figure behind the barrier. Her fingertips rested on the shutter button, she closed her eyes, suppressing the fear, grievances, and despair she had felt for the past six months, and pressed the shutter.

She didn't know why the camera could capture those things, why her grandfather left it to her, or what that golden light was. All she knew was that she had to press the button.

The temperature inside the room plummeted the moment the shutter was pressed.

It wasn't cold; something was absorbing the heat. The lamp flickered on and off, like someone repeatedly pressing a switch.

A beam of black light surged out of the camera, an intense, impenetrable darkness, pouring out from the lens, from the viewfinder, and even from between Lin Jian's fingers.

Lin Jian's body trembled involuntarily, his gaze fixed on Shen Xun as if pleading. Shen Xun tightened his grip on the snake's head, the gentle spirit now enraged under the flash of the camera.