Das Grab von Qin Shi Huang

Kapitel 53

In the gap between their arms, at about head height, appeared a woman's pale, bloodless face in the photograph, appearing even more chilling and terrifying against the backdrop of their matching smiles. The woman's eyelids drooped, her eyes seemingly unfocused, lifelessly staring at the center of the lens—and incidentally, also at "her" outside the photograph. She instinctively screamed, feeling her heart pounding violently. She looked at the photograph again, forcing herself not to be afraid—yes, there was only a stark face; from the neck down, there was nothing—nothing. The woman's head floated like a balloon between her and her husband, maliciously intervening and casting an ominous shadow over them.

It looked like the face of a dead person, like a vengeful spirit haunting the place...

She closed her eyes in anguish, preparing to tell her husband the devastating news. Perhaps due to the excessive exposure, she thought her husband might offer some words of comfort, but to her surprise, he enthusiastically held up the photograph and gave an unexpected suggestion:

"This photo is great! It captures our expressions perfectly, and the scenery is beautiful—the person who took the photo is really skilled; I should have asked him to take more!"

What? She couldn't believe her ears. Could it be that one of them, her husband, was seeing things? The head of that vengeful woman was being held in her husband's hand, and he, completely oblivious, said gleefully:

"I think this one looks even more natural than our wedding photo! How about we enlarge it and put it above our bed?"

"No!" she pouted, strongly objecting to her husband's opinion. Under pressure from her, her husband finally had to abandon the idea, but he still added a small note and stuffed it into his wallet, "So I can always see us looking so dashing!" he said with a smirk.

And that horrible woman's face, too, haunted him and remained in his wallet.

Their life together afterwards was as bland as boiled water, slowly cooling and fading. In their first year of marriage, he bought her an exquisite silk evening gown. The flowing, soft silk gently brushed against her body, tickling her and making her giggle. Her full figure pressed tightly against her husband's strong, muscular frame as they danced a romantic rumba by candlelight and music. The following year, on their wedding anniversary, she wore the same gown. Though wrinkled from neglect, it no longer had the same breathtaking effect as before. Yet, when she danced, its shimmering color was still breathtakingly beautiful. Her husband had gained a little weight, and not only him, but also her belly—though they could no longer dance as closely as before, the feeling of perfect harmony remained. The third, fourth, and fifth years followed. When they embraced, the gap between them widened until they could no longer touch each other's backs; only their lower bellies pressed tightly together—high, protruding bellies. They secretly mocked each other for resembling pregnant women, yet neither was willing to openly admit it. The long dress haphazardly wrapped around her chest, binding her like a giant rice dumpling, rendering her immobile. Each time, he secretly worried about the silk's resilience. By the seventh year, the long dress was simply tossed into a corner, becoming nothing more than a brightly colored, shiny rag.

Whose fault is it all? Her husband's career is booming; he has to socialize and entertain every day for work, needing to eat, drink, and have fun to focus on his job! She, on the other hand, is a devoted housewife, relieving him of all worries. Without children and with too much free time, after finishing her housework, she has nothing to do but lie on the sofa watching TV. Chocolate, potato chips, fried chicken legs, and dried fruit are the lonely housewife's best friends, but also the accomplices that cause her to quickly accumulate fat. Every time her husband comes home from get off work, he finds his wife has gained weight again, but he says nothing. The couple has their own tacit understanding and understands their own limits. After failing to persuade his wife to diet, the husband no longer expects her to regain her former slender figure; he seems to think she will continue to gain weight, eventually evolving into a huge, round ball of flesh.

However, this seemingly straightforward fact took a completely different turn. The reason was simple: by chance, she saw another person's face in that ghostly photograph.

Volume 3: Hell Records and Ghostly Photos (Part 2)

Another woman's face.

Unlike the previous dead woman's face, the new woman was clearly much younger and more vibrant. She appeared out of nowhere beside her husband's young and strong arm, nestled against him like an intimate lover. Her affectionate gaze was undoubtedly focused on her husband's face, and... whether it was her imagination or not, her husband, who had previously appeared to be facing the camera, now seemed to be responding to her, his eyes slightly lowered, a knowing smile playing on his lips in her direction.

What a perfect pair of soulmates!

Finland's hands trembled nervously, an uncontrollable rage welling up from her long-parched heart. In the photograph, her husband, dressed in comfortable sportswear, appeared even more tall and imposing, like a graceful tree in the wind. The woman, petite and pretty, leaned against him like a little bird, her bright black eyes seemingly alive. Finland felt as if those eyes were darting around, moving from her husband's face to her own, a movement that inexplicably terrified her… It was just a photograph, a haunted photograph, she kept reassuring herself. Due to some inexplicable overexposure, it always seemed to be adorned with strange patterns, like the dead woman's head in the center, or this new one… It was all just an illusion…

That evening, she specially prepared several of her signature dishes and even took out candles and red wine that had been gathering dust for years, preparing a surprise for her husband. Oh, and that silk dress too. She happily took a fragrant bath, applied a face mask, and did a full-body treatment—frankly, taking care of her body seemed like something from the last century. She struggled for a long time with the dress, finally managing to secure the silk firmly to her body, when she heard a "rip"—no, two rips, a whole piece of it!

The silk that had been with her for seven years burst open like bamboo shoots after a spring rain, revealing the ubiquitous fat covering her entire body. That fat seemed to be issuing a solemn proclamation, no matter how much she had previously ignored it; this time, it solemnly announced its existence.

The phone rang; she didn't even have the courage to take off her pitiful pile of tattered clothes, and answered it blankly. It was her husband; he had to go out for work that evening and wouldn't be home. As usual, he didn't even tell her to eat properly before hurriedly hanging up. From the brief background noise, she seemed to sense the presence of another woman.

Woman, yes. She plopped down on the floor. Men always stray for young and beautiful women!

Such is the general rule of the world: successful middle-aged men are invariably unhappy in their family lives; their wives are invariably overweight, unattractive, and know nothing but housework. And these men are always surrounded by young, beautiful women, ambitious and cunning. They understand the finer things in life, are adept at spending money, especially men's money, and making men happy is an innate talent. Thus, "mistress" becomes their common title, and together with the "first wife," they build a balanced and happy home for wealthy men. Finland slowly chewed her cooling food, feeling her stomach as empty and adrift as her heart. The cold rice grains slid down her esophagus, chilling her to the bone, a feeling of cold despair spreading unchecked.

For example, the new woman in the photo… a youthful and beautiful face, her pupils burning with unrestrained love and passion. Although her figure isn't visible in the photo, Finland can roughly imagine that alluring body, currently coiled like a snake around her husband. That girl forcefully inserted herself between her and her husband, pushing her, a desperate housewife, towards the edge of a cliff—what's so great about her? Just younger, slimmer, and prettier than Finland? How dare she be so audacious!

Anger silently welled up within Finland. Her sharply manicured nails slowly traced across the girl's face, the sharp, grinding sound tearing open her bright, sparkling eyes and slashing her cheerful smile into a grotesque grimace. "You're disfigured," she thought maliciously. "With that ugly face, how dare you swagger in front of me!"

She leaned back on the sofa, admiring her masterpiece with smug satisfaction. The scars on the girl's face, like two crimson tear tracks, ran from her brow down across her fair skin, a shocking sight. The scars were so red they looked as if they were oozing bright red blood.

She didn't know how much time had passed when she heard the sound of keys rattling outside the door. The familiar rhythm told her her husband was home. She glanced at the time on the TV; it was just eight o'clock. Had his social engagement ended so early tonight?

The moment the husband entered the house, he seemed to bring with him a damp, dejected aura. He silently bent down to change his shoes, startled by Finland's equally silent approach.

"You're back quite early today." She watched his retreating figure. "Have you eaten?"

"Hmm," he responded, then suddenly remembered something and quickly added, "...Is there anything left? I'd like to eat some more."

She was so happy she almost jumped for joy. "Yes, yes, yes!" Her voice trembled. "I have plenty of food! Or whatever you want to eat, I'll make it for you! I'll make whatever you want to eat!"

“No need to bother.” The husband sighed, as if expressing long-suppressed emotions. He casually tossed himself onto the sofa. “Get something quick, the sooner the better.”

Judging from his appearance, he didn't look like he had just eaten; he must be starving. Finnish glanced at the clock while heating the food in the microwave. It was eight o'clock and he still hadn't eaten dinner. She wondered what he was doing out socializing. She quickly set the table with three dishes and a soup, urging her husband to eat. He sat down heavily, slippers dangling from his feet.

"Doesn't it taste good?" Finland couldn't help but feel uneasy when she saw her husband take so long to pick up his chopsticks.

The husband mechanically shook his head, his gaze unfocused, as if he were troubled. Then, his gaze occasionally lingered on Finland, and he suddenly asked, seemingly out of the blue:

"Does it hurt?"

"What?" Finland was a little confused.

"Your hand," the husband said, "is bleeding."

Finland raised her hands, scrutinizing them closely. Incredulous, she nearly cried out. Her rough hands, the tips of every fingernail stained crimson with blood, looked horrifying. Ten pink fingernails, their tips stained bright red with blood. Finland hurriedly wiped them, but from deep within the nails, a lot of stuff tumbled out.

Dried scabs, dandruff, and some tiny, indescribable fragments. Finland's heart pounded as if it had been struck hard.

It's like I just violently scratched and clawed at someone's body...

Volume 3: Hell Records and Ghostly Photos (Part 3)

She let out a soft cry.

"What's wrong?" The husband quickly looked up, as if her reaction was exactly what he expected.

She forced a smile, managing to make a weak smile. What was going on? She rushed into the kitchen, hastily rinsing her hands under the tap, her jumbled thoughts flowing like the water. She couldn't remember touching anything dirty, and besides, she had washed her hands before eating… Her eyes widened suddenly.

That eerie photo!

The only thing she touched with her fingernails after eating! The girl's face in the photo!

Her husband called her, "Are you alright?"

She pretended nothing had happened and calmly continued washing her hands. But strangely, no matter how much she scrubbed or used hand sanitizer, the blood under her fingernails seemed to have taken root and just wouldn't come off. Her husband was urging her again, so she had no choice but to bite the bullet and leave the kitchen.

"Let me see, are you hurt anywhere?" Her husband grabbed her hand without waiting for a reply. The gesture was both domineering and uniquely tender, and a feeling that was both familiar and unfamiliar welled up in Finland's heart, warming her heart. After all, her husband hadn't been this affectionate with her for many years.

"Thank goodness, there's nothing there." Her husband said, holding up her ten fingers, still as red as blood, and examining them closely. "Really, you're not young anymore, and you don't even wash your hands properly!"

The reproachful words sounded unusually warm. Finland watched as he held her no longer slender hands tightly in his palms, her blood-red fingernails so striking. However, compared to the mere abnormality of her ten fingers, wasn't regaining her husband's love what she had always dreamed of? For so many years, she had only known how toil day and night for the household chores, taking care of his daily needs, while he would only leave early and return late, leaving all the troublesome housework to her, having long forgotten that she was still his legal wife!

She raised her eyes and buried her deeply lined face in her husband's arms. On this night when her husband unexpectedly returned home early, she was like a withering blade of grass, nourished by her husband's love, and her complexion radiated overnight.

From that day on, her husband started coming home earlier every day. Clients and superiors who used to enjoy having him drink with them now clearly lost interest. While this might be a consequence of her husband's social failures, Finland benefited the most from it all; she no longer had to worry about leftovers, as her husband, as usual, finished everything!

The eerie photograph only startled Finland initially before she quickly forgot about it. Although the young girl in the photo was still clinging to her husband, Finland no longer harbored any resentment towards her. On the contrary, every time she saw that broken face standing between Finland and her husband, especially the face scratched by fingernails, and the eyes severed in half, which highlighted Finland's former beauty, Finland felt an indescribable pleasure, a tipsy intoxication like drinking. "Where did this ugly woman come from!" she secretly mocked the woman in the photo. "Dare to steal my husband! Get back here!"

The woman did not go back as she wished; instead, she appeared before Finland on her own.

It was a late autumn afternoon. Large, leaden-gray clouds drifted low over the rooftops, casting heavy shadows. A chill lingered, and when the woman appeared at the door of her Finnish home, the cold intensified.

She was completely covered in black from head to toe, and wore a huge black hat with a black veil hanging from the brim that completely obscured her face. Finland only suspiciously opened the door a crack, but the woman slipped in like a snake, silent and ghostly.

"Who...who are you looking for?" Finland asked hesitantly.

The woman in the black hat sat down on the sofa without looking to either side, as if she were the mistress of the house and Finland was not. "I've been looking for you, madam," she said, her voice unusually deep and alluring.

“I don’t know you,” Finland retorted curtly, waving his round arm dismissively. “Get out of here right now! Otherwise I’ll call for help.”

"Don't rush!" The woman calmly lifted a corner of her veil, revealing dazzlingly white skin and luscious red lips, and offered a cigarette to those beautifully shaped lips. "It doesn't matter if you don't recognize me, but I have long admired your name!"

Her gaze, hidden behind her veil, seemed to be appraising the four-bedroom, two-living-room duplex apartment, and she kept clicking her tongue in admiration. "How grand! I'm so envious that a plain-looking woman like you, with neither looks nor career, can live in such a luxurious house!"

Finland's anger flared instantly, fueled by the woman's arrogant attitude and the blatant sarcasm in her words. "Get out!" she roared. "You're not welcome here!"

"Haha!" The woman chuckled dryly. "The one who should get out is you, madam!"

What? Finland's heart sank.

"What? You don't know?" The woman feigned surprise, slowly exhaling a smoke ring. "Mr. Song is truly wicked; he didn't even tell his wife about something as big as divorce!" Her piercing eyes stared intently at her from beneath her veil as she said, word by word, "Mr. Song wants to leave you and marry me!"

"You're talking nonsense!" Finland retorted angrily, his entire body trembling with fat. "Who do you think you are!"

The woman calmly lifted her veil, revealing her face to him. Finland was stunned at first, then burst into laughter.

Ultimately, it evolved into a trembling fear.

Judging from the contours of her features, the woman was originally beautiful. However, at this moment, her face looked as if it had been slashed to pieces by nails filled with hatred. From above her eyebrows down her cheeks, there were two long scratches that bisected her beautiful eyes, dividing her face into three parts. The scratches were bloody and raw, the bright red color as clear as if they had just been carved, stopping only above her mouth; when she spoke or smiled, the scars twisted her expression into a terrifying, grotesque face.

And the woman's face was exactly the same as the one in the ghost photo.

The eyebrows, the skin, even the location of the scratches were exactly the same as what he had seen in Finland. Finland subconsciously clenched his fingers, as if he could feel his fingernails filling with blood again.

Volume 3: Hell Records and Ghostly Photos (Part 4)

The woman was smug, as if she had single-handedly defeated Finland with her beauty. "How about it?"

"You ugly freak!" Finland spat out the words through gritted teeth. "Stop embarrassing yourself! Look in the mirror!"

The woman let out a heart-wrenching scream, "My face!" She clutched her face, her piercing cry shattering the Finnish ears, "My face! It's so ugly, I can't live anymore!!!"

She dashed out of the house like a whirlwind, leaving not even a clear silhouette. "Crazy!" Finland cursed angrily, truly baffled as to what that woman with the mangled face was up to. But the more she thought about it, the more frightened she became. She unconsciously rummaged through the depths of her drawer and pulled out the eerie photograph. Upon seeing it, she couldn't help but gasp.

No mistake, the woman in the black hat from earlier was exactly the same as the woman in the photograph. From her flawless white skin to the two shocking scratches on her face, every detail matched perfectly. Speaking of which… Finland's brow furrowed deeply, and the woman's smiling face leaning on her husband's arm was utterly repulsive.

Is she her husband's mistress?

Perhaps the word "formerly" should be added. Finland watched her broken face with a sinister gaze. With such an ugly appearance, she probably wouldn't even have the courage to appear before her husband now.

But how could the scratches on her face be exactly the same as those in the photo? Finland recalled the hatred she felt that night, how she slashed the woman's face in front of the photo, and then... coincidentally, that very night, her husband, unusually, came home early for dinner.

That same night, her husband discovered that her fingernails were filled with blood plasma.

Finland's mind raced, and she had already imagined the following scenario:

As usual, the husband took his mistress to a restaurant after get off work. But at that moment, as if guided by divine intervention, a pair of righteous hands reached out and cleanly slashed her face, drawing blood in streaks… The husband, terrified, rushed home for safety. His wife, though plain-looking, was still prettier than a disfigured beauty.

So, that night, he embraced his wife's body again...

"I see." Finland nodded repeatedly, applauding its own rich imagination. In this way, all the clues were fully connected, and all the questions except for the mystery of the paranormal photo were answered. Regardless of the origin of the paranormal photo, as long as Finland punishes the woman in the photo, she will suffer the same harm in reality.

"So what if it's like this?" Finland muttered to herself, a cruel smile on her face, as she carefully and painstakingly scraped away at the woman's skin with a file, leaving rings of jagged teeth marks. Not satisfied with that, she went to the kitchen and retrieved a small walnut-cracking hammer, repeatedly striking the woman's head. She was extremely cautious as she did this, because the woman's husband was standing not far away, and Finland didn't want to harm him as well.

With each blow she struck, she seemed to hear a woman's scream in her ear, a scream that fueled her increasingly agitated emotions. "See if you dare be a mistress! See if you dare destroy my family's happiness! See if you dare steal my husband!"

"I'm afraid you'll never have the chance to steal anyone's husband again." A bitter smile appeared on Finland's lips as she cut off the head of the woman she had tortured beyond recognition and threw it into the dark blue flames of the gas stove. Long tongues of fire curled up wisps of black smoke, reflecting her weary eyes. Only at this moment did she feel her tense nerves relax slightly.

The next day, a man who was not an ordinary salesman came to visit. He introduced himself as a policeman.

"Do you know a woman named Shu Min?" he asked bluntly.

Finland shook its head. "I've never heard of that name. You should ask someone else."

The police avoided the question and then asked, "So, did you see anyone yesterday afternoon?" Seeing Finland frown, he added, "For example, a person in black clothes and a black hat?"

"Black hat?" Finland exclaimed in a moment of excitement. Wasn't that the woman whose face she had disfigured? She immediately realized her lapse in composure, and the policeman's sharp eyes were fixed on her suspiciously, so she had no choice but to admit, "I've seen her."

"When?" The policeman immediately pulled out his notebook and put on a serious expression.

Finland glanced at the wall clock. "I don't quite remember, it was probably around two or three o'clock... I remember it clearly because that woman's clothes were very eye-catching, and she was wearing such an extravagant black veil and hat..."

She insisted that she only caught a glimpse of it through the window; no, she saw nothing else and knew nothing at all. The policeman regretfully put away his notebook and sighed seriously, "That's strange then."

“We have multiple witnesses who testify that the woman walked straight into this unit and stayed there for more than ten minutes.” His eyes, though narrowed, gleamed with a cunning light. “But I’ve interviewed all the residents in this unit, and not a single one of them admitted to seeing her.” He stared meaningfully into Finland’s eyes. “Isn’t that strange?”

"That woman... what happened to her?" Finland felt a chill run down its spine from his gaze.

The policeman chuckled softly. He pulled out two photos and placed them side by side on the tempered glass coffee table so that Finland could see them clearly.

“She was a stunningly beautiful woman in life…” He sighed, feigning profundity, which only made Finland dislike him more. “Yesterday afternoon, she went crazy and suddenly jumped off the tracks, only to be crushed into a bloody pulp by a speeding train!”