Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I instinctively wanted to warn her that the Broken Mailbox had long been abandoned and her letter would never be sent.

But the words died in my throat.

I had lived in Wufu Town for twelve years, yet I had never seen this girl before.

Her attire, combined with her strange behavior in the middle of this torrential downpour, pointed to one thing… she wasn’t human!

Could the taboo surrounding the Broken Mailbox be related to her?

As I pondered this, I looked outside again. The girl was gone.

A cold sweat instantly broke out across my back.

I slept fitfully that night. The heavy rain continued to fall without pause, relentless and unforgiving.

It wasn’t until dawn was approaching that I finally drifted into a hazy sleep.

Thump!

A muffled sound came from the Corridor Front. I startled awake as if by reflex, sitting up in bed and hardly daring to breathe.

It took a long moment for my racing heart to slow down and for my senses to return.

That sound just now… it seemed to come from the direction of the Broken Mailbox at the Corridor Front.

Could something have happened to it?

No way, right?!

I threw on a coat and crept out of bed, moving to the small window of the Rear-facing Room. I took a cautious peek toward the Broken Mailbox.

That single glance felt like falling into an ice cellar.

The Broken Mailbox was gone.

Someone-or something-had uprooted it. Now, there was nothing left on the street but a vast expanse of murky water.

The flood had already reached the eaves of the porch.

All traces of sleep vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of unease. I pulled out my phone, wanting to call someone just to hear a human voice, only to find there was no signal at all.

The Town Head had given strict orders earlier that morning: keep all doors and windows shut and do not go outside until the water receded.

I didn’t dare leave, either.

That Broken Mailbox was like a Pandora’s box. Now that it was destroyed, there was no telling how many terrifying things were about to happen.

I sat blankly in the Rear-facing Room, my mind churning with chaos, unsure of what to do.

Suddenly, I remembered what Granny had told me-if the Broken Mailbox is destroyed, personally uncover the black cloth from the plaque, open the Southern Study, and reopen the Pawnshop.

Granny wouldn’t lead me astray. I had to listen to her words.

I clenched my fists and took several deep breaths. Gritting my teeth, I gently pulled open the main door and scanned the street.

It was empty.

I grabbed a bamboo pole and quickly hooked down the black cloth covering the plaque.

As the cloth fell, I caught it and looked up. To my surprise, the plaque above the door was circular, carved with a large character for ‘Pawn’ in seal script.

Gold characters on a black background-it looked mysterious and prestigious.

I folded the black cloth, closed the main door, and then used my keys to open the small door connecting the Southern Study to the Funeral Supplies Shop.

As the door swung open, a cloud of dust billowed out, making me sneeze several times.

The furnishings in the Southern Study were simple. Facing the small door that led to the street was a long counter. On the counter sat brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone. Beneath the counter were stacks of ledgers with yellowed pages.

At the very back, against the wall, were three locked drawers. I used my keys to open them one by one.

The first drawer was filled with Pawn Tickets. I flipped through them; most had been used, leaving only three blank ones at the end.

The second drawer contained the Pawnshop’s operating manual, which detailed the rules and precautions for running the establishment.

The third drawer held the Pawnshop’s official seals.

Behind the counter stood an Antique Shelf lined with a vast array of items. It was a dazzling collection; there was a bit of everything.

Every item on the Antique Shelf could be cross-referenced with the Pawn Tickets in the first drawer.

I held the tickets, flipping through them page by page to match the items. I discovered that even the most recent of these Pawned Items had been brought in over a hundred years ago.

Furthermore, they were all Live Pawn transactions.

What shocked me even more was that the redemption periods for many of these Pawned Items had not yet expired.

In other words, I couldn’t dispose of these things as I pleased. Someone might actually come to redeem them in the future.
But… would anyone really come to redeem Pawned Items from over a hundred years ago?

I didn’t dare let myself idle. The moment I stopped, my mind would start to wander, so I grabbed some cleaning tools and gave the Southern Study a thorough cleaning from top to bottom.

Once I was finished, I sat behind the counter and read through the manual on pawnshop operations.

This Pawnshop was eerie in every way, and Granny had warned me to do everything by the book. I couldn’t afford to break the rules.

After all, my life was now inextricably linked to this place.

The Pawnshop had many operating rules, but the three most important points were:

First: Items can be pawned or redeemed. The Pawn Ticket is issued in duplicate. Once the item leaves the owner’s hand, there is no turning back.

Second: Items under a Dead Pawn belong to the Pawnshop. Items under a Live Pawn that are not redeemed by the expiry date also belong to the Pawnshop, to be disposed of at its discretion.

Third: For a Yin Pawn, if there is a request, it must not be refused.

The first two rules were easy to understand and quite reasonable, but the third one left me completely bewildered.

What exactly was a Yin Pawn?

And what did it mean by “if there is a request, it must not be refused”?

I quickly flipped through the manual again, trying to find a detailed explanation.

However, the manual was ancient, filled with archaic characters that were difficult to decipher.

Some of the symbols even looked like the ones Granny had taught me when showing me how to draw talismans.

I had no choice but to pull out Granny’s Talisman Manual to cross-reference them.

I became so absorbed that time slipped away unnoticed.

It wasn’t until those hurried footsteps echoed from the west again that I snapped back to reality and quickly locked the manual back in the drawer.

Looking down, I saw a folded piece of paper lying under the counter.

I had just finished cleaning; this paper must have fallen out of the manual earlier.

I picked it up, walked around the counter, and returned to the small window in the Rear-facing Room to look outside.

To the west, that girl in the Republican-era Student Uniform was running toward the Pawnshop through the torrential rain, just as she had yesterday.

She was still holding that envelope.

My heart hammered against my ribs in sync with her footsteps.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

She was getting closer.

Closer still.

Finally, the girl stopped in front of the Broken Mailbox.

Clutching the envelope, she stared blankly at the empty street.

In that moment, I felt my own breath hitch. I didn’t even dare to breathe.

After a long while, the girl seemed to remember something and let out a long, piercing shriek toward the sky.

The sound was sharp and filled with despair, carrying a thick, heavy resentment!

The envelope in her hand had already vanished. Her once-neat student uniform was now tattered and stained with blood.

Blood was streaming down her legs continuously.

Beneath her messy hair, her once-pretty face was covered in scratches and handprints, with a trail of blood at the corner of her mouth.

As she transformed, the already gloomy sky turned pitch black. A chilling wind swept in from the West River Surface, carrying the scent of fishy, damp mist.

The girl’s face turned toward the Pawnshop inch by inch. Terrified, I slammed the small window shut and leaned my back against the wall, my clothes already soaked with cold sweat.

I didn’t know what would happen next; I only prayed the girl would leave quickly.

*Slap- Slap- Slap-*

Suddenly, a pounding sound came from the small door of the Southern Study that faced the street.

One hit after another.

Each one louder and more urgent than the last.

My frayed nerves snapped instantly at the sound of that pounding!

Then, the girl’s hysterical screams drifted in from outside: “Open the door! Open the door now!”

“My letter! Give me back my letter!”

…

A letter?

I instinctively looked at the piece of paper in my hand, a terrible premonition washing over me.

With trembling hands, I unfolded the paper. It was… indeed a letter!

The letter began with: *My dear Zhao Sheng, I write this as if we were meeting in person…*