Night Doll

Chapter 43

"I'm sorry, I can't help you." The little girl started the small airship.

Song Xiaomo was somewhat frustrated and walked away with her head down. After taking only a few steps, she saw the little girl turn back again.

"Sir, are you really going to Nanzhuang in the capital?"

"What? You're willing to take me with you?"

"No, I have a friend who knows that place. I can ask around for you."

"Great! Thank you so much!" Song Xiaomo was overjoyed.

The girl picked up her phone and spoke quickly. A moment later, a small airship approached from a distance and slowly came to a stop. A slender boy jumped off the deck and asked Song Xiaomo, "Are you going to Nanzhuang in the capital?"

"Yes, Peach Blossom Island! Did you know that?"

The boy smiled. "I know. But that place is quite far from here, and the boat fare is very expensive."

"no problem."

After discussing the price, the boy added, "That island is quite remote. I went there once when I was very young, and I don't know if it can still be found now. If it really is..."

"Don't worry, you won't be shortchanged on your money."

"Alright, let's get on board!"

The small airship sped across the water. Along the way, the blue waves rippled, the sound of the surging waves filled the air, and the damp, fishy smell filled the air.

More than an hour later, night had already enveloped the land. On the boundless water, only the bright beams of two ship lights struggled to pierce through the solidified darkness, carving out a deep hole that led them into the depths of the night.

Gradually, the small airship slowed down. The boy was somewhat restless, occasionally stealing glances at Song Xiaomo in the co-pilot's seat.

"What's wrong with you?" Song Xiaomo asked curiously.

"No, it's nothing." The boy caught his breath. "This...it's so desolate here, I'm a little scared."

Song Xiaomo smiled and said, "Don't worry, there won't be any Caribbean pirates here, unless they're just some lost souls who died at sea."

The boy's voice trembled: "You...you're talking nonsense! It's typhoon season, and I'm risking my life with you!"

"You're on the water all day long, what are you afraid of?"

"You...you don't know!" The boy's voice was filled with fear. "Some terrible things happened in this southern village of the capital. There used to be a village on this island, inhabited by many fishermen. Ten years ago, a typhoon suddenly struck, and everyone on the island died, turning it into a graveyard. According to a very experienced old fisherman, about a year ago, one night, a tourist accidentally wandered onto the island and discovered that the islanders had all come back to life..."

"Such a thing actually happened?" Song Xiaomo fell into deep thought, wondering if this travel enthusiast was the owner of that blog.

Section 118: Chapter Twenty-Five - The Master of Peach Blossom Island (3)

"I only heard about it from someone else. Hey, can we not talk about this?"

"Alright, that's all for now. Just focus on sailing."

Song Xiaomo stared blankly at the gray sky, her emotions churning like a vast, turbulent sea. Just then, her phone rang.

He pulled out his phone, and a multimedia message popped up in his chat history. It was a picture of a desolate island, its surrounding waters churning crimson, making the island appear to float in a pool of blood. Next to it was the text: "This is the entrance to hell. Are you looking for it? Welcome, lost lamb..."

Song Xiaomo stared blankly at the text message, a nameless panic welling up inside him. Who was monitoring his movements? He stood up and looked around. Distant mountains, coastline, reefs, and the crashing waves created a constantly changing melody. Along this coastline stretching for hundreds of miles, it seemed as if he were the only one on his boat; the view was vast and empty, there could be no one else.

He calmed himself down and looked at the caller ID: 137780612... The more he looked, the more uneasy he became, because the text message sent to his phone was displaying his own phone number!

After an unknown amount of time, Song Xiaomo's body began to feel numb, and she was unbearably drowsy. The boy also kept yawning. Suddenly, the boy exclaimed excitedly, "There's an island ahead! We've arrived at Ducheng Nanzhuang!"

Song Xiaomo roused himself, rubbed his eyes, and looked ahead. Under a deep gray sky, he saw a solitary island, with some trees swaying in the wind. Instantly, a voice inside him told him—this is it.

The small airship stopped at the shore, and the boy said tremblingly, "I'm sorry, I can only take you this far. I'm too scared to go any further."

"It's alright." Song Xiaomo paid the bill, stepped off the boat, waved to the boy, and said, "Thank you."

The boy glanced up at the island, his face immediately contorting with fear. Trembling, he said to Song Xiaomo, "Sir, it's so late, the island is eerie. Please be very careful!"

"Thank you, I will. You should go back now."

"There might be a typhoon coming soon, how about I pick you up here tomorrow afternoon?"

"Pick me up? No need. I don't know if I'll make it back alive from this island."

After saying goodbye to the boy, Song Xiaomo walked alone onto the deserted island, overgrown with weeds and shaded by trees. It had probably been abandoned for a long time; wildflowers and weeds had encroached on the road, squeezing the wide path into a narrow strip, and the untrimmed trees grew freely.

He broke off a branch from the roadside and tapped it on the ground as he walked forward. Darkness, shrouded in night mist, crept up behind him, constantly swallowing the path and scenery he passed. He couldn't help but glance back, only to see a chaotic mass of black mist growing larger and larger behind him, as if chasing him. He was terrified and dared not look back again.

After walking for nearly half an hour, following the beam of his flashlight, he vaguely realized he was standing among rows of dilapidated, abandoned houses. These houses were crammed together, with some small stone buildings in between, but now only low, crumbling walls and broken railings remained—a clear picture of devastation after a typhoon. This must be the village the boy had mentioned. Song Xiaomo stepped on the creaking wooden planks, diligently scanning his surroundings. For a moment, he felt as if he had truly stumbled into the haunted house of the Hong Kong film "A Chinese Ghost Story," but was the "Nie Xiaoqian" he was looking for here?

The air was filled with the smell of decaying leaves or animals.

The flashlight beam swept across a pile of rubble. Song Xiaomo suddenly felt a pair of eyes coldly watching him. He raised the flashlight slightly, and instantly all the blood in his body rushed to his head and froze: in front of him lay a black coffin!

At that moment, a white head, its face obscured, slowly rose from the opened coffin...

Song Xiaomo felt his entire body stiffen. He wanted to scream, but his teeth were chattering; he wanted to turn around and run back, but his legs wouldn't obey him, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take a step. He could only watch helplessly as the head in the coffin floated out, staring coldly at him.

"Hehe, kid, did I scare you?" A dry voice sounded in his ear. Immediately afterwards, Song Xiaomo saw a pair of hands, like those of a mummy, waving in front of him.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Song Xiaomo trembled and backed away. However, he finally saw the white head clearly - it was an old man.

"Boy, who are you?" The old man brought his head close to Song Xiaomo, a strange smile on his face that sent chills down Song Xiaomo's spine.

"And who are you?"

"I am the master of this island."

"You? The Lord of Peach Blossom Island?" Song Xiaomo's voice trembled. "Weren't all the people on this island dead?"

Section 119: Chapter Twenty-Five - The Master of Peach Blossom Island (4)

"Yes, I am the only survivor. When the typhoon hit ten years ago, I was studying in another city. When I came back, I found that everyone was dead. All these years I have been cleaning up these collapsed houses..." The old man's voice was filled with sorrow.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you those questions."

"Hey kid, what are you doing here?"

"I..." Song Xiaomo hesitated for a few seconds before simply stating her true purpose, "I'm looking for Meixuan."

"I've never heard of this person before!"

"What about Song Yoon-ah?"

"Yoona?" A strange light flashed in the old man's eyes. "What do you want with her?"

It turned out that Song Yoon-ah really was Shin Mi-hyun; she had actually been hiding her identity. Song Xiao-mo suppressed her racing heart and lied, saying, "I'm her friend in Seoul, and I wanted to visit her."

The old woman squinted and scrutinized Song Xiaomo. Song Xiaomo felt extremely uncomfortable under her gaze, as if countless needles were pricking her.

"Sigh, it's been quite a while since I've seen her..."

"real?"

"Young man, would I, an old man, lie to you? She came to this island two years ago and left a few months ago."

"Could you tell me something about her?"

The old man sighed heavily again, a heavy cloud gathering in his eyes: "She never told me where she came from. All I know is that the child has had a hard life; she's blind in one eye, and it was her boyfriend who did it..."

Song Xiaomo couldn't help but interrupt the old man, voicing the question that had been lingering in her mind: "Why would she kill her boyfriend? Was it out of love turned to hate?"

"Hmph, what a huge injustice! Yoona said someone called her that day saying her boyfriend was sick, so she went to his dorm. But as soon as she got there, her boyfriend stabbed a chopstick into her right eye..."

Song Xiaomo's heart skipped a beat: "Then why didn't she explain to the police?"

"The police believe in evidence. They found poison in her house, and besides, she was already heartbroken at that time. What else could she explain?"

Song Xiaomo felt a pang of sadness upon hearing this and felt a surge of sympathy for Meixuan. He murmured, "No wonder her spirit has been haunting her ever since she died. She was indeed wronged!" Before, he had only suspected that Meixuan was innocent, but now that the old man had confirmed it, the shock he felt was indescribable.

"What? She's dead?" the old man asked, grabbing Song Xiaomo's hand. "What did you just say?"

"Isn't she just a female ghost?"

"Nonsense, she's perfectly fine. How could she be dead?"

"Isn't she a ghost? Didn't she die two years ago?"

The old man laughed heartily: "The underworld wouldn't take her, so she crawled out of the crematorium. It seems... she didn't die that time and was rescued after being found. However, I only told you this because I considered you Yoona's friend; if the police find out, things will get complicated!"

"She didn't die? She was rescued?" Song Xiaomo was quite surprised and asked tentatively, "Do you know who saved her?"

"I don't know about that," the old man shook his head and said, "It's getting late, come inside with me!"

This was a simple yet elegant room with wooden flooring, gleaming carved oak tables and chairs, and a gourd-shaped oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. In a cabinet in the corner lay a human skull, its two dark eye sockets seemingly staring directly at Song Xiaomo. Beside a large bed stood a large bookshelf filled with books.

Under the lamplight, Song Xiaomo carefully examined the old man and noticed that although his hair and beard were completely white, his eyes were still sharp and piercing. However, what surprised him most was the old man's ruddy complexion and excellent skin tone, making him appear unusually young. He remembered the first time he saw Song Yun'er, her flawless beauty made him feel that she shouldn't exist in this world. Seeing the old man's face now gave him the same feeling.

Of course, the old man didn't appear to be wearing a mask. His facial muscles moved freely with his facial expressions as he spoke.

"May I ask you a question?" Song Xiaomo asked.

"Speak."

"Does Yoona wear a mask?"

"Hehe, since you are her friend, I am very happy today. I will show you!" With that, the old man picked up the oil lamp, walked to the bookshelf, took down two books from the middle shelf, put his right hand into the empty space, fiddled with it a few times, and the whole bookshelf opened forward with a "creak".

This was a cleverly disguised entrance to a secret room, Song Xiaomo exclaimed in admiration.

Section 120: Chapter Twenty-Five - The Master of Peach Blossom Island (5)

The old man led the way, and Song Xiaomo followed behind, entering the pitch-black cave. A damp, earthy smell filled the air, and the surrounding air was chilly, as if they had stepped into the underworld.

Song Xiaomo didn't know what the old man was going to do with him in the basement, and he was a little scared, but he couldn't back down now. He had no choice but to grit his teeth and follow the old man further in.

The oil lamp in the old man's hand emitted a red glow, flickering intermittently. From behind, the light cast a yellow halo around his white hair, making him appear both mysterious and eerie. The two descended a narrow staircase of a dozen steps, turned left, and walked several dozen meters along a long, narrow corridor until they arrived at a large, rusty door.

"This is my studio." The old man opened the iron gate.

Stepping inside, Song Xiaomo's heart skipped a beat, and he froze. Good heavens! Several people with varying expressions, holding harpoons, were staring intently at him. Looking inside, the roughly forty-square-meter room was almost entirely filled with people, some standing, some sitting. Even more terrifying, these people were completely motionless—clearly all dead!

"He...they..." Song Xiaomo felt a chill run down her spine.

"Hehe, don't be afraid, these are all my family."

Song Xiaomo was even more frightened: "Are they...are they all dead?"

"These are dolls I made to commemorate my loved ones who died in the typhoon."

"A doll?" Song Xiaomo thought, still shaken. "It looks like a living dead! It's quite scary!"

The gloomy room, besides the terrifying dolls, was filled with all sorts of strange instruments. In the center was a large chemistry lab bench, piled high with test tubes, microscopes, and retort flasks. One wall was lined with medicine cabinets of all sizes, while another wall held gleaming surgical instruments in glass cases. Everything looked unusual, as strange as its owner. It was practically a medieval alchemist's workshop.

What exactly is this white-haired, white-bearded old alchemist up to in this strange workshop? Is he going to dismember my body with a gleaming scalpel? Thinking of this, every pore on Song Xiaomo's body stood on end.

At this moment, the old man walked to a large box, opened the lid, and carefully took out something wrapped in silk.