The moment those words were spoken, Tong Suo was dumbfounded. He was utterly convinced by Li Yang's imagination. To come up with such a fantastical idea was truly remarkable.
However, upon reflection, if a living person could appear in a painting, then the existence of even stranger phenomena wouldn't be surprising.
I sat at the head of the bed, looking at the painting spread out before me, letting out a long sigh. I asked Tong Suo, "So you brought it back exactly as it was?"
"Yeah," Tong Suo replied. "Like Old Li said, I didn't even dare to frame it, afraid I'd trap Li Damin inside the painting forever."
I noticed a small patch, about the size of a thumbnail, in the upper left corner of the painting. It was clearly scraped, revealing layers of dyed colors beneath, giving it an air of mystery.
As I looked at it, a sudden realization hit me, and I blurted out, "This is bad!"
Both of them asked in unison, "What's wrong?"
Pointing to the scraped spot, I asked Tong Suo, "This was done by your friend, right?"
"Yeah," he said. "He was analyzing the painting and just did it. It's not like the painting's worth anything."
I shook my head. "What if the painting forms its own world, and Li Damin is in that space? Have you ever considered the possibility of a butterfly effect?"
Li Yang's eyebrows shot up as he sat upright. "Butterfly effect?!"
"Exactly," I said, pointing to the scraped spot. "You only made a small change at the edge of the painting, but have you thought about whether this tiny damage could trigger a complex chain reaction in the world within the painting? A butterfly effect—where a small change can lead to vastly different outcomes."
Tong Suo wasn't having it. "So you're saying that because my friend scraped some paint, Li Damin might die in the painting? And we're all murderers now?"
"That's not what I mean," I said with a wry smile. "I'm just hypothesizing."
Tong Suo didn't hold back. "Your hypothesis is pretty damn messed up."
"Alright, alright, enough bickering," Li Yang interjected. "Guessing like this isn't helping us understand the real situation. This whole thing is already beyond our comprehension, so arguing over something so mysterious is pointless. On a serious note," he continued, "I spent the whole afternoon studying this painting and actually found something interesting. Come take a look."
Tong Suo and I exchanged glances, chuckling awkwardly. We grabbed a magnifying glass and focused on the spot Li Yang pointed out.
It was the backyard of a mountain temple. Four walls enclosed a small courtyard filled with towering ancient trees—pines and cypresses with trunks that looked like old ghosts stretching their waists, exuding an ancient, desolate aura. In the courtyard, a figure dressed in a long robe, possibly a monk, was sweeping with a broom as tall as himself. The figure was hidden among the dense tree shadows, leaving only a vivid outline sketched in simple strokes.
This person was definitely not Li Damin. I racked my brain, recalling that when I first saw this painting in Lin Xia's room, I hadn't noticed this figure. I wasn't even sure if he was in the painting back then.
"Did this monk just appear out of nowhere?" I asked hesitantly.
"I don't know," Li Yang said. "But that's not what I wanted you to see. Look at this door." He pointed to a small side door in the backyard.
The door was inconspicuous, half-hidden behind a large rock in the courtyard. If he hadn't pointed it out, we wouldn't have noticed it.
I picked up the magnifying glass, hunched over, and practically pressed my face against the painting to inspect it closely.
Sure enough, I saw something eerie. I looked up at Li Yang, who nodded, knowing I'd spotted it. Tong Suo looked at us suspiciously. "What's going on?"
I pointed to a spot on the door. "Look at this."
Tong Suo peered through the magnifying glass and gasped, "Holy shit."
On the door, clear as day, were the Arabic numerals "48"! At the bottom circle of the "8," there was a smudged mark.
This door in the painting was smaller than a thumbnail, and only half of it was visible. The "48" written on it was as tiny as a sesame seed, almost as fine as a hair.
Under the magnifying glass, it was crystal clear. I was certain no brush could paint something so minute. And in a Song dynasty-style painting, Arabic numerals would never appear.
A chill ran down my spine for no reason.
The room fell silent; no one spoke.
Tong Suo cleared his throat. "Could Li Damin have written this?"
We looked at each other, feeling a creeping sense of dread.
"If Li Damin wrote it, what does '48' mean?" Li Yang muttered to himself. No one could answer.
My mind raced, piecing together clues. Last night, Li Damin was with an unknown woman in the temple hall, praying to the gods. Tonight, he appeared at the side door in the backyard, writing a mysterious number.
And now? Could he have left the courtyard?
I hurriedly examined the painting. Beyond the mountain temple's backyard was a path leading up the mountain. The narrow trail clung to a steep cliff ridge, winding into the misty mountains.
The more I looked, the more anxious I felt. The air in the room was so heavy it felt like it could wring out water.
My head ached from overthinking, so I changed the subject. "What was in the box we pulled out of the bathtub?"
Li Yang gave a sly smile. "Something very interesting. I was thinking we three could play with it tonight."
He dragged an iron box from under the bed. The lock was already opened. He placed it on the bed and lifted the lid.
The first thing I saw was a strange map covered in text. If spread out, it was about the size of a regular desk, with words arranged in a spiral from the center outward. The words had no logical connection, appearing randomly written.
Each character was vivid red, written in meticulous, elegant calligraphy—structurally precise yet light and graceful, likely the work of a woman.
Beside the map was a copper coin, covered in rust, its markings worn away, making it impossible to tell its age. By instinct, it was an old artifact.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Ever played with a planchette?" Li Yang asked.
"Nope. I heard it's creepy stuff. I'm not bored enough to mess with it."
"Well, you're in for a treat today. This is called a 'Coin Spirit,' similar to a planchette or chopstick spirit. It's a form of automatic writing. Know what that is?"
"Like summoning gods?"
"Close enough. It's a way to communicate with spirits, divine the future, or ask questions. It's pretty fun." Li Yang picked up the box. "Let's go to the living room and try it."
I grabbed his arm. "Old Li, hold on. I've got a bad feeling about this. It's too dangerous. Why don't we explore the haunted house tonight instead?"
Tong Suo sighed. "The haunted house is a no-go. Old Li's jinxed mouth was right. That landlord, Mrs. Liu, went to Lin Xia's place this morning—must've eaten something bad. With her temper, seeing her place turned into a mess, she went ballistic, called the cops, and cursed up a storm in the hallway all day."
"Who was she cursing? Lin Xia?"
"Yup. That woman doesn't hold back, even cursing the dead, saying vicious things like wishing her eternal damnation. Her mouth's pure poison. Later, she called in a cleaning service to scrub the place top to bottom. Total chaos all day."
Li Yang added, "The haunted house is ruined. Her meddling destroyed any clues. Tonight, let's play with the Coin Spirit."
Tong Suo waved his hand. "You two play. I'll watch. This thing came from Lin Xia's bathroom—who knows what's up with it. I'm not touching it. Maybe Lin Xia got possessed playing this and jumped off the building."
I quickly chimed in, "Yeah, Old Li, you play alone. Tong Suo and I will watch. If something goes wrong, we've got your back."
Li Yang dragged us both to the living room, pulling out the automatic writing tools from the box and setting them up on the table.
First, he spread out the strange map, placed the old copper coin in the center, and took out a delicate incense burner from the box.
The burner, about the size of an adult's palm, was made of bronze and fully hollowed out, with an intricate movable lid. Disturbingly, its base was shaped like a malevolent ghost with horns, a bearded face, and vicious eyes. The ghost held the burner aloft, giving it an eerie vibe.
I looked at it curiously. "What's the incense burner for?"