Chapter 13: Chapter 13
~1.6k words · 2026-06-22
CHAPTER 13: The Blood That Binds
The headmaster's office smelled of ink and dried chrysanthemums. Bai Su stood before the massive rosewood desk, her hands clasped behind her back to hide their trembling. The blood had vanished from her skin, but she could still feel it—a sticky residue that memory refused to release.
Headmaster Wen sat motionless, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was old in the way mountains were old, his face a landscape of wrinkles that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at them. Behind him, the wall was covered in examination scrolls—thousands of them, stacked from floor to ceiling, their paper yellowed with centuries of waiting.
"You've been exploring places you shouldn't," he said. His voice carried no accusation, only a tired resignation.
"I was following a lead."
"A lead that took you to the bell chamber." He reached into his sleeve and produced a piece of glass—a shard from the broken window, its edges still sharp. "Where Chen Feng died."
Bai Su's throat tightened. "How did you know I was there?"
"The ghosts told me." Headmaster Wen set the glass on his desk. "They whisper, Miss Bai. They always whisper. It's one of the few pleasures they have left."
She wanted to ask if he could see them too, but the question died on her lips. Some truths were better left unspoken in an academy where half the students had already crossed the river Styx.
"I found a footprint," she said instead. "In the dust. It matched my shoe."
"Did it now."
"I don't remember being there before. I don't remember—" She stopped, her hands clenching. "I don't remember anything from that night. Not Chen Feng's death. Not climbing the tower. Nothing."
Headmaster Wen was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood, his joints cracking like old wood, and walked to the window. Below, the courtyard was empty—the living students were in class, the ghost students were wherever ghosts went during daylight hours.
"There's a story," he said, "that the old examiners used to tell. About a candidate who cheated on the imperial examination. He hid answers in his sleeve, copied from a scholar who had studied for ten years. The examiners caught him, of course. They always do."
He turned to face her, his eyes dark pools of memory.
"The punishment was death. But the candidate's family pleaded for mercy. They offered gold, land, their ancestral home—everything they had. The examiners accepted. They took the bribe and let the candidate live."
Bai Su waited. She knew there was more.
"The candidate went on to become a magistrate. A respected one, even. He judged cases, passed sentences, sent men to their deaths for crimes they may or may not have committed. And every night, he woke up screaming, because the ghost of the scholar he had cheated from was standing at the foot of his bed, holding the examination scroll that should have been his."
"The scholar died?"
"Of a broken heart. He had studied his entire life for that exam, and when he failed—not because of his own inadequacy, but because someone stole his work—he couldn't bear it. He hanged himself in the examination hall." Headmaster Wen returned to his desk. "The magistrate lived to be eighty years old. But he never slept a full night. Never smiled. Never knew peace."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"You asked about the memory loss. About the footprint that matches your shoe." He opened a drawer and pulled out a scroll, yellowed with age. "This is Chen Feng's examination scroll. The one he was writing when he died."
He unrolled it on the desk. The paper was covered in neat calligraphy—a scholar's hand, precise and confident. But halfway through, the writing changed. It became jagged, desperate, the strokes barely legible.
*I see her. She's always there. In the corner of my eye, in the mirror, in the space between heartbeats. She smiles and I can't breathe. She whispers and I can't hear anything else. I know what she wants. I know what she's doing. But I can't stop her because she's already inside me.*
*She's been inside me since the first day I came to this academy.*
Bai Su's blood turned to ice.
"Who is 'she'?"
"Read the last line."
She forced her eyes down the scroll, past the cramped, frantic handwriting, to the final sentence. It was written in a different hand entirely—elegant, flowing, almost beautiful.
*Bai Su. You know who I am. You've always known.*
The scroll slipped from her fingers and landed on the desk, face up. The words stared at her, black ink on yellowed paper, a message from beyond the grave.
"That's not possible," she whispered. "Chen Feng died before I even enrolled. He couldn't have known my name."
"Couldn't he?" Headmaster Wen's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Ghosts see things differently, Miss Bai. They exist outside of time, in the spaces between moments. Chen Feng may have died before you arrived, but that doesn't mean he didn't see you coming."
"This is insane."
"Is it?" He leaned forward. "You came to this academy because you see ghosts. You always have. But have you ever asked yourself why? Why you, and not someone else? Why this gift, this curse, was given to you?"
"Gifts aren't given," she said bitterly. "They're inflicted."
"Perhaps. But they're always inflicted for a reason."
A knock at the door made them both turn. The servant girl from before stood in the doorway, her face even paler than it had been in the bell chamber.
"Headmaster Wen, forgive the interruption, but there's—there's been an incident."
"What kind of incident?"
"A student. In the east dormitory." The servant's voice dropped to a whisper. "A living student. He's dead."
The words hit Bai Su like a physical blow. Another death. Another body. The killer was still active, still hunting, still stealing life qi from the living.
"Who?" Headmaster Wen demanded.
"Lin Zhao. The third-year from Jiangxi."
Bai Su's mind raced. Lin Zhao. She had seen him in the dining hall, laughing with friends, his face full of life and youth. He had been studying for the provincial exams, dreaming of becoming a scholar-official, of making his family proud.
Now he was nothing but a vessel for stolen qi.
"I need to see the body," she said.
Headmaster Wen shook his head. "The authorities will be here soon. You shouldn't involve yourself further."
"Involve myself?" She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "Headmaster, the killer wrote my name in a dead boy's examination scroll. I think I'm already involved."
She didn't wait for his permission. She turned and walked out of the office, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Behind her, she heard Headmaster Wen say something to the servant, but the words didn't register.
All she could hear was the whisper from the bell chamber.
*Bai Su. You know who I am. You've always known.*
---
The east dormitory was chaos.
Students crowded the hallway, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. Living and dead alike pressed against the barricade that the prefects had set up, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond.
Bai Su pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests and the grasping hands. She reached the door to Lin Zhao's room and stopped.
The ghost scholar was standing there, his translucent form blocking the entrance.
"You don't want to go in there," he said.
"Move."
"Bai Su, listen to me. This is different from Chen Feng. This is—"
"I said move."
He hesitated, then stepped aside. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
She pushed open the door.
The room was pristine. Neatly made bed, organized desk, books arranged in perfect rows on the shelf. It looked like the room of a scholar who took pride in his studies, who believed that order in one's surroundings led to order in one's mind.
Lin Zhao was sitting at his desk.
He was facing the wall, his back to the door, his brush still in hand. A half-finished essay lay before him, the ink still wet.
Bai Su walked around to see his face.
She wished she hadn't.
His eyes were open. That was the first thing she noticed. Wide open, staring at nothing, their usual brightness replaced by a dull, milky haze. His mouth was slightly parted, as if he had been about to speak.
But it was his hands that made her stomach turn.
Both palms were facing up, resting on the desk as if in supplication. And in the center of each palm, carved with surgical precision, was a single character.
Left hand: *Sheng*. Life.
Right hand: *Si*. Death.
"The killer took more than his qi this time," the ghost scholar said from behind her. "They took his memories. His skills. Everything that made him who he was."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I can see the marks." He pointed to Lin Zhao's forehead. "There. Faint, but there. The killer carved something into his soul before they left."
Bai Su leaned closer. In the dim light, she could barely make out the shape—a series of characters, written in reverse, as if meant to be read in a mirror.
She read them anyway.
*The first death was an accident. The second was practice. The third was necessity. The fourth will be revelation.*
*And you, Bai Su, will be the one to complete the circle.*
"The fourth," she breathed. "He's planning to kill again."
"He's planning to kill *you*."
She spun around. The ghost scholar was standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've seen this before." His voice was hollow, ancient. "Long ago, when I was still alive, there was a ritual. A forbidden one, practiced by desperate scholars who had failed the exams one too many times. It required four deaths—three to gather the qi, and a fourth to transfer it."
"Transfer it to whom?"
"To the one who performed the ritual." He stepped closer, his translucent form passing through the doorway as if it wasn't there. "The fourth death is always the most important. It's the key that unlocks the door. The sacrifice that makes everything possible."
"And the person who dies fourth?"
"Becomes the vessel." He stopped in front of her, his eyes meeting hers. "The killer doesn't just want to become human again, Bai Su. They want to become *you*. Your identity, your memories, your place in the world of the living."
"That's impossible."
"Is it?" He gestured to Lin Zhao's body. "They've already learned how to steal qi. How to carve memories into flesh. How to write their will into a dead man's hand. Do you really think walking in your skin is beyond them?"
Bai Su's hands were shaking again. She looked down at her palms, half-expecting to see the characters carved into her own flesh.
They were clean.
For now.
"The bell tower," she said suddenly. "The footprint. The blood on my hands. You said I had been there before, but I don't remember. What if—" She stopped, the words catching in her throat. "What if I'm the killer? What if I've been doing this all along, and I just don't remember?"
The ghost scholar was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't think you're the killer," he said finally.
"Why not?"
The headmaster's office smelled of ink and dried chrysanthemums. Bai Su stood before the massive rosewood desk, her hands clasped behind her back to hide their trembling. The blood had vanished from her skin, but she could still feel it—a sticky residue that memory refused to release.
Headmaster Wen sat motionless, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was old in the way mountains were old, his face a landscape of wrinkles that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at them. Behind him, the wall was covered in examination scrolls—thousands of them, stacked from floor to ceiling, their paper yellowed with centuries of waiting.
"You've been exploring places you shouldn't," he said. His voice carried no accusation, only a tired resignation.
"I was following a lead."
"A lead that took you to the bell chamber." He reached into his sleeve and produced a piece of glass—a shard from the broken window, its edges still sharp. "Where Chen Feng died."
Bai Su's throat tightened. "How did you know I was there?"
"The ghosts told me." Headmaster Wen set the glass on his desk. "They whisper, Miss Bai. They always whisper. It's one of the few pleasures they have left."
She wanted to ask if he could see them too, but the question died on her lips. Some truths were better left unspoken in an academy where half the students had already crossed the river Styx.
"I found a footprint," she said instead. "In the dust. It matched my shoe."
"Did it now."
"I don't remember being there before. I don't remember—" She stopped, her hands clenching. "I don't remember anything from that night. Not Chen Feng's death. Not climbing the tower. Nothing."
Headmaster Wen was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood, his joints cracking like old wood, and walked to the window. Below, the courtyard was empty—the living students were in class, the ghost students were wherever ghosts went during daylight hours.
"There's a story," he said, "that the old examiners used to tell. About a candidate who cheated on the imperial examination. He hid answers in his sleeve, copied from a scholar who had studied for ten years. The examiners caught him, of course. They always do."
He turned to face her, his eyes dark pools of memory.
"The punishment was death. But the candidate's family pleaded for mercy. They offered gold, land, their ancestral home—everything they had. The examiners accepted. They took the bribe and let the candidate live."
Bai Su waited. She knew there was more.
"The candidate went on to become a magistrate. A respected one, even. He judged cases, passed sentences, sent men to their deaths for crimes they may or may not have committed. And every night, he woke up screaming, because the ghost of the scholar he had cheated from was standing at the foot of his bed, holding the examination scroll that should have been his."
"The scholar died?"
"Of a broken heart. He had studied his entire life for that exam, and when he failed—not because of his own inadequacy, but because someone stole his work—he couldn't bear it. He hanged himself in the examination hall." Headmaster Wen returned to his desk. "The magistrate lived to be eighty years old. But he never slept a full night. Never smiled. Never knew peace."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"You asked about the memory loss. About the footprint that matches your shoe." He opened a drawer and pulled out a scroll, yellowed with age. "This is Chen Feng's examination scroll. The one he was writing when he died."
He unrolled it on the desk. The paper was covered in neat calligraphy—a scholar's hand, precise and confident. But halfway through, the writing changed. It became jagged, desperate, the strokes barely legible.
*I see her. She's always there. In the corner of my eye, in the mirror, in the space between heartbeats. She smiles and I can't breathe. She whispers and I can't hear anything else. I know what she wants. I know what she's doing. But I can't stop her because she's already inside me.*
*She's been inside me since the first day I came to this academy.*
Bai Su's blood turned to ice.
"Who is 'she'?"
"Read the last line."
She forced her eyes down the scroll, past the cramped, frantic handwriting, to the final sentence. It was written in a different hand entirely—elegant, flowing, almost beautiful.
*Bai Su. You know who I am. You've always known.*
The scroll slipped from her fingers and landed on the desk, face up. The words stared at her, black ink on yellowed paper, a message from beyond the grave.
"That's not possible," she whispered. "Chen Feng died before I even enrolled. He couldn't have known my name."
"Couldn't he?" Headmaster Wen's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Ghosts see things differently, Miss Bai. They exist outside of time, in the spaces between moments. Chen Feng may have died before you arrived, but that doesn't mean he didn't see you coming."
"This is insane."
"Is it?" He leaned forward. "You came to this academy because you see ghosts. You always have. But have you ever asked yourself why? Why you, and not someone else? Why this gift, this curse, was given to you?"
"Gifts aren't given," she said bitterly. "They're inflicted."
"Perhaps. But they're always inflicted for a reason."
A knock at the door made them both turn. The servant girl from before stood in the doorway, her face even paler than it had been in the bell chamber.
"Headmaster Wen, forgive the interruption, but there's—there's been an incident."
"What kind of incident?"
"A student. In the east dormitory." The servant's voice dropped to a whisper. "A living student. He's dead."
The words hit Bai Su like a physical blow. Another death. Another body. The killer was still active, still hunting, still stealing life qi from the living.
"Who?" Headmaster Wen demanded.
"Lin Zhao. The third-year from Jiangxi."
Bai Su's mind raced. Lin Zhao. She had seen him in the dining hall, laughing with friends, his face full of life and youth. He had been studying for the provincial exams, dreaming of becoming a scholar-official, of making his family proud.
Now he was nothing but a vessel for stolen qi.
"I need to see the body," she said.
Headmaster Wen shook his head. "The authorities will be here soon. You shouldn't involve yourself further."
"Involve myself?" She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "Headmaster, the killer wrote my name in a dead boy's examination scroll. I think I'm already involved."
She didn't wait for his permission. She turned and walked out of the office, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Behind her, she heard Headmaster Wen say something to the servant, but the words didn't register.
All she could hear was the whisper from the bell chamber.
*Bai Su. You know who I am. You've always known.*
---
The east dormitory was chaos.
Students crowded the hallway, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. Living and dead alike pressed against the barricade that the prefects had set up, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond.
Bai Su pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests and the grasping hands. She reached the door to Lin Zhao's room and stopped.
The ghost scholar was standing there, his translucent form blocking the entrance.
"You don't want to go in there," he said.
"Move."
"Bai Su, listen to me. This is different from Chen Feng. This is—"
"I said move."
He hesitated, then stepped aside. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
She pushed open the door.
The room was pristine. Neatly made bed, organized desk, books arranged in perfect rows on the shelf. It looked like the room of a scholar who took pride in his studies, who believed that order in one's surroundings led to order in one's mind.
Lin Zhao was sitting at his desk.
He was facing the wall, his back to the door, his brush still in hand. A half-finished essay lay before him, the ink still wet.
Bai Su walked around to see his face.
She wished she hadn't.
His eyes were open. That was the first thing she noticed. Wide open, staring at nothing, their usual brightness replaced by a dull, milky haze. His mouth was slightly parted, as if he had been about to speak.
But it was his hands that made her stomach turn.
Both palms were facing up, resting on the desk as if in supplication. And in the center of each palm, carved with surgical precision, was a single character.
Left hand: *Sheng*. Life.
Right hand: *Si*. Death.
"The killer took more than his qi this time," the ghost scholar said from behind her. "They took his memories. His skills. Everything that made him who he was."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I can see the marks." He pointed to Lin Zhao's forehead. "There. Faint, but there. The killer carved something into his soul before they left."
Bai Su leaned closer. In the dim light, she could barely make out the shape—a series of characters, written in reverse, as if meant to be read in a mirror.
She read them anyway.
*The first death was an accident. The second was practice. The third was necessity. The fourth will be revelation.*
*And you, Bai Su, will be the one to complete the circle.*
"The fourth," she breathed. "He's planning to kill again."
"He's planning to kill *you*."
She spun around. The ghost scholar was standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've seen this before." His voice was hollow, ancient. "Long ago, when I was still alive, there was a ritual. A forbidden one, practiced by desperate scholars who had failed the exams one too many times. It required four deaths—three to gather the qi, and a fourth to transfer it."
"Transfer it to whom?"
"To the one who performed the ritual." He stepped closer, his translucent form passing through the doorway as if it wasn't there. "The fourth death is always the most important. It's the key that unlocks the door. The sacrifice that makes everything possible."
"And the person who dies fourth?"
"Becomes the vessel." He stopped in front of her, his eyes meeting hers. "The killer doesn't just want to become human again, Bai Su. They want to become *you*. Your identity, your memories, your place in the world of the living."
"That's impossible."
"Is it?" He gestured to Lin Zhao's body. "They've already learned how to steal qi. How to carve memories into flesh. How to write their will into a dead man's hand. Do you really think walking in your skin is beyond them?"
Bai Su's hands were shaking again. She looked down at her palms, half-expecting to see the characters carved into her own flesh.
They were clean.
For now.
"The bell tower," she said suddenly. "The footprint. The blood on my hands. You said I had been there before, but I don't remember. What if—" She stopped, the words catching in her throat. "What if I'm the killer? What if I've been doing this all along, and I just don't remember?"
The ghost scholar was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't think you're the killer," he said finally.
"Why not?"