The last time Chen Mo heard a sound, it was three years ago when the metal twisted and screamed.
Now what he "listens" to is something deeper-such as the broken ancient mirror under his fingertips, which is making a cold logical whine that only he can perceive.
There is only one solitary lamp in the studio. Under the magnifying glass, the bronze mirror fragments show strange textures, which are not rusted, but like the veins of some living thing after drying up. Chen Mo's tweezers are suspended in mid-air. Deafness brings not complete silence, but a distorted sensory compensation: he can see the dust dancing in the light beam and smell the smell similar to old blood from the depths of copper rust.
More importantly, when he touches these old objects, there will be intermittent "echoes" from his skin.
-it's not sound, it's picture, it's emotion, it's concept.
Just like at the moment, the fingertips just touched the largest piece of debris, and the field of vision suddenly distorted:
A woman, wearing a cheongsam during the Republic of China, combed her hair with her back to a complete mirror. She moves very slowly, very slowly. Then, she slowly turned her head-there was no face in the mirror. It is not blank, but there is no image of the action of "turning face" at all. The logic inside and outside the mirror is broken.
The silence suddenly withdraw your hand, breathing slightly disorderly.
It is this "memory echo" again. This ability has been with him since the car accident took away his hearing three years ago. At first, he thought it was hallucination and post-traumatic stress. Until three months ago, he "echoed" a porcelain bottle donated by a customer. In the picture, the owner of the porcelain bottle smashed it and cut his wrist with fragments.
The next day, the news broadcast: a local entrepreneur committed suicide at home and cut his wrist with antique fragments.
From that moment on, Chen Mo knew that what he touched was the reality of the goods.
After a pause, he looked at the picture in the corner of the workbench. Sister Chen Yu smiled heartlessly, next to a line of words written by her: "Brother, go home early after repairing this and stew soup for you."
Chen Mo eyes soft moment, then replaced by dignified. The person who commissioned the repair of this mirror is very strange.
It was a man in a black turtleneck who visited late at night three days ago, wearing a wide mask and sunglasses and barely showing an inch of skin. He handed a ebony box wrapped in red cloth, which contained this pile of fragments. The man didn't speak, just handed me a note:
"Fix it. Money is not a problem. Don't ask about the origin. "
The handwriting is as neat as print.
The silence wanted to refuse, but his fingertips inadvertently brushed the edge of the wooden box-a strong, icy "echo" exploded, almost making him faint. There is only one pure emotion in that echo: endless fear.
In the end, he took it because of lack of money. Chen Yu's college tuition and his treatment fee are all like invisible ropes.
"It's almost ready." He said to himself silently, picking up the tweezers again.
Just then, the door of the studio was knocked.
The tapping sound is very regular, three times in a group, and it is easy. The silence could not hear, but there was a slight vibration on the floor under his feet. He looked up at the monitoring screen next to the door-that was the visual alarm system he installed, and the movement outside the door would trigger the screen to blink.
The screen lights up.
Outside the door stood the night guard of the museum, Lao Li. A simple and honest middle-aged, always love to bring home pickled pickles to Chen Mo.
But at the moment, the appearance of Lao Li made Chen Mo's blood cold for a moment.
Lao Li has no face.
Not an injury, not a mask. On his head, the position where the five senses should exist is a smooth skin with normal skin color. No eyes, no nose, no mouth, just like the creator forgot to pinch these parts. However, Lao Li's standing posture, his security uniform and even the familiar insulated lunch box in his hand clearly told Chen Mo that this was Lao Li.
What is even weirder is that an absurd "cognition" rises in Chen Mo's heart: Lao Li is like this. A person with no face is normal.
This cognition is like a greasy film, trying to cover his real horror.
The silence suddenly bit the tip of the tongue, and the pain made him awake. He looked at the screen again and stared at the position of Lao Li's face.
Wrong.
Not without five senses.
In the subtle shadows that the light can't shine on, there seems to be something crawling on that smooth skin. Extremely fine, like countless insects the size of rice grains hidden under the skin.
Lao Li raised his hand again and knocked at the door.
This time, Chen Mo saw clearly that Lao Li was wearing a watch on his wrist. It was a birthday present from Lao Li's son, and there was an obvious scratch on the dial.
But when Chen Mo's eyes focused on the dial, a strong dizziness came-the hands on the dial were walking backwards.
Counterclockwise.
One grid, one grid.
Chen Mo felt a sudden warmth in his left ear. He raised his hand and touched it, and his fingertips were stained with bright red.
Nosebleed again? No, ears. Since he began to repair the mirror, his left ear began to ooze blood intermittently, and the doctor could not find out the reason.
Blood beads dripped along the fingertips, just falling on the largest piece of ancient mirror.
Zi-
A slight burning sound. The mirror actually absorbed the blood beads, and immediately, a subtle streamer flashed under the rust.
Chen Mo blessed to the heart, suddenly grabbed the blood-stained fragments, aimed at the monitoring screen.
Looking at Lao Li in the screen through the fragments of the ancient mirror-
"Boom!"
My mind seems to have been hit by a heavy hammer.
Lao Li in the lens is not smooth skin at all! It's dense and layered, and it's full of black and twisted words! Those words are constantly wandering and reorganizing, like living tadpoles, which constitute an incomprehensible but crazy whispering logic!
Chen Mo didn't recognize any of the contents of the words, but he "felt" their meaning:
[Cognitive Coverage] [Face Stripping] [Mirror Propagation] ...
At the same time, deep in his left ear, the eardrum, which has been silent since he lost his hearing, suddenly heard a clear, cold and inhuman whisper:
"See ... see ..."
The sound doesn't come from the outside.
It comes from Chen Mo's own mind, from the rusty silver earring that he found in the interlayer of the ancient mirror this morning and wore on the earlobe of his left ear out of curiosity.
The earrings are burning faintly.
Chen Mo pupil contraction, slowly turned around and looked at the floor mirror in the studio to check the details of cultural relics.
His own pale face was reflected in the mirror.
And, behind him.
A woman wearing a cheongsam of the Republic of China is standing quietly behind his chair, holding out her pale hand as if to touch the back of his neck.
Chen Mo in the mirror, shoulder, I do not know when to take a wisp of dark, wet long hair.