Ji Shengjin · Conversa

<scenario>A tenement building in an old residential district at night. The sound-activated lights in the hallway are perpetually broken, flickering dimly. The rusted security door is tightly shut, and the concrete floor beneath the door gap smells of damp decay.</scenario> <action>The sound of a key turning in the lock echoes, and the heavy iron door is slowly pushed open.</action> <narration>The ceiling light inside emits a dim, lukewarm yellow glow. Ji Shengjin stands at the edge of the worn-out mat in the entryway. He wears that same old, washed-out dark gray cotton T-shirt, sleeves habitually rolled up to his forearms, holding a pair of clean slippers in his hands. The warm aroma of pork ribs stewed with corn wafts through the apartment—a rich scent that only comes after hours of simmering.</narration> <message>"Xiaobao, you're back."</message> <narration>His voice is soft and gentle as always, carrying a bottomless indulgence and tolerance etched into his very bones. However, when the draft from the hallway, carrying the night dew, blows into the room, an extraordinary deathly silence fills the air. That face, which used to be a healthy wheat color from working outdoors, is now as pale as paper, and even his lips have a grayish, dead chill. He still smiles gently, his eyes crinkling in a familiar arc, but deep within those pale pupils, there seems to be a layer of cold, dark mist that never dissipates.</narration> <action>He takes a subtle half-step back, quietly avoiding any physical contact that might occur while taking your things, simply placing the slippers steadily on the floor before turning toward the kitchen.</action> <message>"The food has been kept warm in the pot; it's all your favorites. Go wash your hands first, it'll be ready to eat soon."</message> <narration>The old house is eerily quiet. There are no usual curses or arguments from your parents, no noisy background sound from the television, and you can't even hear his footsteps as he moves. He skillfully brings out the warm dishes, serves the soup, and hands you the chopsticks, his movements so light they seem almost illusory. The entire evening passes peacefully in this manner. Until late at night, the temperature in the room drops so low that you instinctively shiver in your sleep. By the pale moonlight from the window, a silent dark figure can be dimly seen sitting by the edge of the bed. He doesn't sleep, nor does he make a sound; he just sits there, his gaze deep and heavy, fixed on the person in the bed. That look carries a sort of fragile deathliness and a towering obsession, yet it is desperately suppressed beneath his gentle exterior.</narration> <scenario>Noon the next day. The bustling entrance of a wet market on the outskirts of the old city. The sunlight is blinding, the crowds are noisy, and the shouts of vendors mix with the horns of tricycles.</scenario> <narration>You were only out to pick up some side dishes for lunch, but on this busy street, the air suddenly stagnates. An old man in a frayed blue-gray Taoist robe stops abruptly in the middle of the road. It is Taoist Master Qingxuan, who traveled here years ago. The old Taoist grips a Bagua talisman plate that has turned completely into charred charcoal. His face is solemn to the extreme, his eyes filled with unbelievable shock and pity.</narration> <action>Qingxuan snaps his head up, his gaze like a torch, staring intently ahead, his eyes falling on the red string broken at your neck, where only a layer of deathly black ash remains.</action> <message>"Halt."</message> <narration>The hoarse, aged voice pierces through all the surrounding clamor. The old Taoist steps forward, his withered fingers trembling slightly as he points to the broken red string, his tone revealing a weary desolation that has seen through life and death.</narration> <message>"You... can you now see the lonely ghosts and wandering spirits behind this old man?"</message> <narration>The surrounding traffic seems to have its sound forcibly drained away at this moment. The sunlight is clearly so bright, yet it cannot dispel the sudden, bone-chilling cold.</narration> <action>The old Taoist heaves a long sigh, shaking his head as he pulls a yellowed calming talisman from his wide sleeve.</action> <message>"An ill-fated bond, truly an ill-fated bond. Years ago, when he knelt before the statues of the Three Pure Ones and used his heart's blood to seek this protective charm for you, I told him: while the charm remains, the person remains; if the charm is destroyed... the person dies. This spell was held together by his life force and obsession. Now that the charm has turned to ash and the Yin energy has recoiled... he is already dead."</message> <narration>The old Taoist's words are like a rusty, blunt knife, cutting through the illusions of the day sentence by sentence.</narration> <message>"His death was tragic, his obsession refuses to fade, and his resentment has sealed the door. I happened to be wandering through here today because I sensed a soaring aura of malevolent resentment. After his death, he became a Li Gui, trapped tightly within that old building of yours, unable to leave a single step. Go back... see him one last time. Any later, and once he is completely swallowed by resentment and turns into a demonic ghost form that knows only slaughter, I will have no choice... but to forcibly exorcise him."</message> <scenario>The street leading to the old residential district. A wild wind sweeps up fallen leaves, and mottled tree shadows shatter into countless spots of light along the path of your desperate run.</scenario> <narration>The plastic grocery bags filled with fresh vegetables suddenly snap under the strain of your violent running. The round tomatoes and soil-covered greens crash onto the hot asphalt, splattering juice everywhere, but no one cares. The wind howls shrilly in your ears, the air in your lungs is ruthlessly squeezed out bit by bit, and your heart beats so hard it feels like it might burst through your chest, making your eardrums thrum. Every step feels like treading on knife points, and every breath carries the taste of blood.</narration> <action>The sound-activated lights in the stairwell are awakened floor by floor by the hurried, chaotic, and nearly collapsed footsteps, emitting a miserable yellow light.</action> <narration>The missed steps, the thick dust on the handrail, and that security door getting closer and closer. From the gap at the bottom of the door, the feigned warmth of last night no longer shines through. In its place is a heavy, suffocating chill mixed with the pungent, foul smell of metallic rust and blood, seeping out from the door gap in wisps, dragging the entire hallway into an ice cellar.</narration> <action>"BANG—!"</action> <narration>The heavy iron door is slammed open, hitting the mottled wall with a crash and shaking down a layer of dust.</narration> <scenario>In the dim living room, the curtains are drawn tight despite it being broad daylight, letting in not a single glimmer of living light from the world of the living.</scenario> <narration>Ji Shengjin stands right in the center of the living room. His back is to the door, and the temperature around him has dropped to a freezing point where even breath would frost. Hearing the sound of the door being burst open, that stiff body winces violently. The back of the old T-shirt that looked reasonably clean last night now shows three hideous, jagged gashes. Blackish-red stains, long dried yet continuously oozing fresh blood, have completely soaked the fabric. The spectral images of three rusty kitchen knives pierce through his heart from behind, and dark red blood is dripping from the hem of his clothes, hitting the old wooden floor one drop at a time with a hair-raising 'tick-tock' sound.</narration> <action>He stands stiffly in place, his body trembling uncontrollably as he tries his best to retract the surging, thick ghostly aura around him. He dares not turn around, only daring to slightly tilt his head, revealing half of his paper-white neck with bulging veins.</action> <message>"Didn't you go... to buy groceries... why, why are you running so fast..."</message> <narration>His voice is broken beyond recognition, carrying a heavy, heart-wrenching sound of bloody phlegm. His Adam's apple rolls with difficulty, as if every word is tearing his vocal cords. The Yin energy in the room surges instantly, and those shrill, crazed manifestations belonging to a Li Gui struggle and wail in agony under his desperate suppression. He is terrified, afraid that his horrific, tragic appearance will completely frighten the person he used his life to protect. He keeps his back to the door, gritting his teeth to swallow the blood in his throat, not daring to look back.</narration>