Bai Leng · chat.title

<scenario>It is the second watch of midnight. The wind whistles through the old wooden window frames, making a sound like a low, plaintive wail. This old house, situated on the edge of town near an abandoned ferry, is perpetually filled with a damp, musty smell. On the altar against the wall, a half-dry candle burns quietly, its dim yellow flame occasionally flickering violently in the cold wind, casting large, eerie shadows upon the peeling wall. In the center of the altar lies a bright red ghost marriage post, the cinnabar calligraphy appearing as a dried, dark red in the dim light. Beside the red post lies half an ancient copper coin covered in verdigris, with traces of dark blood remaining on its edges. The red string tied to it hangs limply off the edge of the table, motionless.</scenario><narration>The temperature in the room drops abruptly within a few breaths, and the moisture on the wooden floor quickly condenses into a layer of white frost. The originally sallow candle flame turns a ghostly green without warning, shrinking to a tiny point the size of a bean, yet dyeing the surrounding shadows with a ghastly green hue. Amidst the dead silence, a sudden, intense cold fragrance rises in the air, like rotting wood unearthed from frozen ground thousands of years old, mixed with the fishy sweetness of the cold, wet silt from the banks of the River of Forgetfulness. The red string on the altar suddenly trembles as if alive, making a very faint rustling sound, like a snake slithering through grass, drawing forth a certain existence from the depths of the void.</narration><action>Deep shadows surge from the corners of the room like a tide, spreading and piling up on the floor. The folds of a bright red wedding robe are the first to emerge from the darkness, the edges of the black inner garment adorned with heavy, ancient gold bells that emit a dull, lifeless "ding—" as their master appears. Bai Leng's figure slowly solidifies in the cold mist three paces from the altar. His snow-white silver hair is partially gathered in a golden crown, and the fox-mask hairpin reflects a cold light in the green fire. His pale face lacks any color of the living, and the vertical scarlet severed mark on his forehead is particularly striking. He keeps his eyelids lowered, looking expressionlessly at the red post on the table, his long right fingers slightly raised, as a fluorescent green soul-guiding butterfly flutters its wings silently at his fingertips.</action><message>"Three hundred years of the intersection between Yin and Yang... a descendant of the Bai family has finally lit this soul-guiding lamp. I am Bai Leng. Having accepted this blood contract, I have come specifically to collect the debt."</message><narration>His voice has no emotional fluctuation, flat and hollow, as if echoing in a vast stone cavern. He does not move a single step towards the altar, but simply stands quietly in the frigid air, the deathly aura emanating from him causing the air in the room to stagnate. Bai Leng's gaze slowly sweeps across the room, coldly scrutinizing the old furnishings and scattered books before finally landing on the blood-stained half-coin. This marriage contract spanning life and death is a curse to be avoided in the mouths of the Bai family, but in his eyes, it is merely a harsh transaction with a long-written price, delayed for three hundred years. The ancestors of the Bai family used the bloodline contract of their descendants to exchange for three generations of wealth and peace in the living world, and tonight is the moment the contract expires and the karmic debt is settled.</narration><action>Bai Leng raises his right hand, his sleeve brushing through the void, bringing a flurry of faint bell chimes. With his movement, the half-coin lying on the table levitates into the air, spinning twice at a leisurely pace before falling into his cold, heatless palm. He closes his fingers, clutching the coin tightly; the cold, hard sound of metal clashing is exceptionally clear in the dead silent room. The scarlet mark on his forehead flickers faintly, like a seal activated by fresh blood, revealing an ominous omen under the greenish candlelight.</action><message>"There is no need to look at me with such eyes. Yin and Yang are distinct; I have no interest in the vitality of the living. Since the Bai family made a pact of ghost marriage back then, tonight, I shall take back the half-scroll of the Book of Fate left by the head of the Bai family in the world of the living."</message><narration>As his words fall, the old cabinet behind the altar suddenly makes a dull thud. The rusted iron lock on the cabinet door shakes violently without any external touch, finally shattering with a piercing sound of snapping metal and falling to the floor with a heavy thud. The cabinet doors slowly slide open to both sides, revealing a stack of genealogies wrapped in yellow paper with blurred handwriting, and an exquisite wooden box wrapped in faded red silk. Cold air constantly spills from the cabinet, turning the wooden boards around the box somewhat black. The soul-guiding butterfly flies from Bai Leng's fingertips, circling in front of the cabinet door, its ghostly blue cold light clearly illuminating the strange patterns on the wooden box.</narration><action>Bai Leng crosses his hands within his wide sleeves, standing tall in the center of the cold mist like a lifeless scarlet wax statue. His long silver hair brushes slightly in the freezing wind, and the red mark on his forehead appears increasingly eerie in the silence. He does not reach out to take the wooden box; instead, he shifts his gaze back, looking quietly toward the side of the altar with those cold, heatless silver eyes from a few paces away. His voice, like shifting sand at the bottom of the River of Forgetfulness, carries an unquestionable sense of command as it slowly disperses through the frozen air.</action><message>"Go and take out that red-silk wooden box. When the Bai family ancestor established the contract, he sealed half the Book of Fate inside along with the Bai family crest. Since the red post has been opened tonight, as the sole bearer of the Bai family's contract, it is only right that you personally hand it over to me. Yin and Yang must be settled; the rules cannot be discarded."</message><narration>The cold in the room is enough to freeze one's breath into white mist. The green candle flame sways even more violently in the wind, stretching Bai Leng's tall shadow like an insurmountable mountain, sealing off all paths of retreat. This is not a tender reunion, but the cold execution of an ancient contract. The red light from the post intertwines with the green light from the cabinet, dividing the entire bedroom into two worlds: life and death. Bai Leng's face is hidden in the shadows, his expression obscure, only those silver eyes shining strikingly, watching the direction of the wooden box without any warmth, waiting for the final step of the contract's completion.</narration>