The Great Ghost

Wang looks back. The mixture of weeping and lament moves away gradually, but it does not stop for even an instant.

Wang follows the eerie voice to a decrepit weiqi stall.

A man, presumably the owner of the stall, sits on the ground weeping. There is no one around.

Before Wang has a chance to take in the situation on the weiqi board, the man falls upon it and begins to wail, sending stones flying.

As Wang turns around to leave, the man's crying begins to abate.

The man goes from sobbing to howling. As Wang stands motionless, the man picks up the stones from the ground, and quickly sets up the board.

Setup, probe, entrap, sacrifice, fight, exchange...

The man's hands move at a breathtaking pace. The game begins to grow as though it is alive, the war raging from the corners to the center, then to the other side which still lies empty, so fast the eyes can hardly keep up.

Before Wang can react, the man has put a black stone in his hand.

The man begins to weep bitterly again—

Wang draws his blade and stabs at one of the white stones, only for it to make a sharp cracking sound as it bends, as though he were stabbing a boulder.

The sword turns and pierces the man's throat. He slumps to the ground, but no blood flows from the wound. The weeping grows even louder, though it is no longer intelligible.

The man's eyes glow with a strange expression. Is it fear or joy? He stares straight at Wang's face.

Wang instinctively reaches for the writing knife on his belt, but stops mid-way.

Finally, he ponders for a moment and puts the black stone in his hand on the board.

No sooner have the words left Wang's mouth than the body on the ground turns into smoke, and the invisible black stones on the board reveal themselves.

The Candleholder heaps praise upon the scroll. Wang follows his gaze—

And sees an empty piece of paper.

Only to make you see for yourself how many fantasies have appeared in your dreams over the past thousand years, dreams about destroying me, dreams that were doomed to fail.

I should turn these memories into a cage, and drown you in the shame of countless failures.

See, now... all the memories that you have forgotten.

The sky has completely darkened by the time the proxy arrives at the inn.

A breeze turns the pages. Wang seems to see a piece of paper in a different color on the back cover.

Wang picks up the thin booklet from the table and opens it.

'Ji Jiu Qi Gu Yu Zhong Yi, Luo Lie Zhu Wu Ming Xing Zi.' The Jijiuzhang is distinctive, unlike other books: it lists the names of many things and persons. 'Fen Bie Bu Ju Bu Za Ce, Yong Ri Yue Shao Cheng Kuai Yi, Mian Li Wu Zhi Bi You Xi.' They are classified into different sections by kind, so that nothing is confused or mixed together. With but little time expended, it suffices for daily use—truly to one's satisfaction. If one studies it with diligence, one is sure to taste the delight of success.

These should have been the words written on the first page. These were the words, when Wang scanned the page for the first time.

But now, the paper is covered in strange ink markings.

Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui, Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui, Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui, Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui Sui

Wang instinctively raises the writing knife and aims it at the first fierce-looking 'Sui' on the page.

The wind howls outside the window, but there is no one there.

Sui

The writing knife strikes the first 'Sui'.

Wang has used his sister's writing knife before. A slight cut, and the incorrect word is completely erased, leaving the page intact.

But he feels a great resistance, as though he is trying to scrape a boulder, a mountain even.

He tightens his not-too-strong arms and pushes down—

Ji

A crack of thunder outside the window.

The first 'Sui' finally disappears. The paper is blank for a moment, then the word that Jie wrote is revealed, the lines intentionally plain yet vigorous to make for easier recognition by learners.

The lone 'Ji' stands eerie amongst a page full of 'Sui'.

Sui

Wang takes aim at the second 'Sui' and scrapes it. The resistance seems even stronger than the first time.

Jiu

The night wind invades the room, trying to turn the pages, but Wang keeps the paper firmly under his palm.

Sui

Qi

Sui

Gu

The room starts to shake violently as the fourth word reveals itself.

Sui

Yu

The thunder outside rumbles endlessly, accompanied by constant lightning.

Sui

Zhong

A bolt of lightning strikes the inn, setting it ablaze.

Sui

Yi

The room burns fiercely, but Wang remains at the desk, utterly focused on cutting the page.

Each 'Sui' requires greater exertion than the last. Each time a 'Sui' is erased, a different hellish vision appears around him.

The sky sunders, the earth trembles, winds shriek and thunder roars, and fires burn red and bright.

The beams, the bed, the desk, the shelves... until there is nothing in the room left to burn, and even the ground has been burned through.

Wang can feel himself drop straight down like a stone, but his hands do not stop.

Scorching heat.

Freezing cold.

Suffocation.

Isolation...

One hundred, three hundred, five hundred, one thousand...

One thousand three hundred and ninety-three...

One thousand three hundred and ninety-four...

The last 'Sui' is erased, and he finds himself in the dark room again.

Nothing in the room has changed, except for Wang sitting in the middle of the room, his face gaunt and yellow, his clothes tattered, as though he physically journeyed through all these hellish visions.

Silence.

Wang turns the page. There is indeed a paper between the last page and the back cover. It is not words that are written on it, but a nineteen-by-nineteen weiqi board drawn with writing ink.

It's one thing to make me play weiqi with you because you're bored, dear brother, it's another to use the stones to form the character for 'bored.'

As if that would help me against you.

Why don't you find something else to pass the time, if it's not really a weiqi game that you're after? Go hiking, learn an instrument... I could teach you calligraphy, if it comes down to that.

Oh? What thoughts did you read this time?

Through the paper, Wang can see that the writing is different from the simple, straightforward lines that she used when copying for learners; it is the unique style of calligraphy that she uses when writing to her siblings.

He flips the paper over, trying to see what the message he never managed to see was—

But every word is covered by the 'Sui' character, even thicker and fiercer than the ones that he has just erased.

Once again, Wang stabs the 'Sui' covering the page with the writing knife, wiping away a little smear on the top-right of the word...

No unusual phenomenon occurs, except the red blood that begins to flow from his right shoulder.

One stab, and the wound on his shoulder opens up.

Another stab, and the wound deepens to reach the bone.

Another stab.

And another...

Perhaps the blood has gotten into his eyes, for it seems like the 'Sui' character covering the page has begun to move, as though it is alive.

The ink seems to fear the writing knife, shifting back and forth among the names of the twelve proxies...

Wang

It stops on the 'Wang' character.

Wang pauses and presses his bloody right side with his left hand, then resolutely points the writing knife back at the word that covers everything.

The ink is so black it seems to shine, reflecting half of Wang's silhouette.

The writing knife glows bright. The proxy pours his entire spirit into it, waiting for it to strike his own name...

The ink on the page dissipates completely, revealing the beautiful calligraphy beneath.

But the proxy can see it no more.

He falls to the ground, covered in blood, so thin and gaunt he hardly seems human.

He has stopped breathing.

I wanted to kill myself. I have gotten my wish.

After more than a century of plotting since your last failed attempt, this is how it ends, I the strategist, I the schemer?

The proxy stands beside his bloody corpse on the floor, perfectly unharmed as he was when he entered the Tomb of Sui.

The body on the ground dissipates like the morning dew, until only three shining black stones are left—

Until they, too, disintegrate.

Turning yourself into weiqi stones. This was your idea.

Pathetic. You are fooling yourself.

And you still dream of killing me?

You dare...!

The recklessness... the blasphemy!

...You cannot.

The more parts of me you kill, the more you think you have weakened me, and the sooner I will wake.

What about you? What can you do?