Mysterious Awakening - Chapter 92: The Changing Portrait

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This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

The sun finally broke through the horizon, signaling the start of a new day.

Miles had remained vigilant throughout the dark hours, seated stoically within the dimly lit mourning hall. Even though fatigue hadn’t overtaken him, the sheer emotional and mental stress from the situation had taken its toll. Hours upon hours of continuous surveillance of the coffin in the hall, expecting any form of paranormal activity would undoubtedly drain anyone. To put it bluntly, this kind of tension could bring even the toughest person to their knees.

Yet, there was something unusual about Miles at this moment. He wasn’t entirely human, and this perhaps explained why he hadn’t sought any respite. When facing such crucial circumstances, enduring extreme exhaustion becomes a necessity.

Staring at the coffin, Miles mused, “The coffin hasn’t been tampered with or disturbed all night. Not once did any malevolent entity confront me during my watch. It seems my prior assumptions were indeed accurate.” His eyes, though, told another story. They were a deep shade of red, so intense that even without his supernatural sight, one could mistake them as belonging to a ghost.

The risk he had taken the previous night was not a small one. He had attempted to understand the connection between the malicious ghosts and this particular coffin. From what he could piece together, not one but both the troubled souls from the village seemed intrinsically linked to it. However, one enigma haunted him: Why had the entity known as the “Sick Ghost” specifically orchestrated a meeting of all the ghost tamers the night before? What was the motive?

Although he had numerous facts and observations, connecting them into a coherent narrative proved difficult. “However,” he thought, “I’m now confident that the genuine spirit is trapped within this coffin. I must devise a plan to ensure it stays that way.” His gaze shifted to a body bag nearby. He had invested a hefty 20 million in it, and he hoped it would prove its worth.

His earlier hesitation stemmed from uncertainty about the coffin’s actual contents. The consequences could’ve been dire if he had made a wrong move and the ghost was still roaming free.

Mulling over his next move, Miles rose from his seated position, stretching his limbs, which had grown slightly stiff. Despite the looming danger, he knew he needed to act, and as he took steps towards the coffin with intentions to pry it open with his ghostly abilities, an unexpected sight caught him off guard.

A group of villagers adorned in traditional funeral attire, gathered at the entrance of the hall, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion.

“Who might you be? And what business do you have here?” The stern voice belonged to an elderly man who declared, “You must leave this instant! This is not some venue for outsiders to disrupt. You have the audacity to meddle in our mourning hall. If you don’t leave now, I’ll ensure you regret it.”

This sudden confrontation left Miles startled.

Could these villagers genuinely be here to grieve and pay their respects, oblivious to the supernatural threat inside the coffin? Was this an example of undying devotion?

Desperately wanting to avoid a confrontation, Miles began, “Esteemed elders, I implore you to hear me out.”

The old man’s patience had clearly run thin as he snapped, “Enough of your words! Out, now!” Without waiting for any response, he grabbed Miles, attempting to forcefully remove him from the premises.

Sensing the rising tension, Miles quickly said, “Please understand, esteemed elder. I haven’t been upfront with you. The person who lies here is my elder brother. I’ve always affectionately referred to him as ‘big brother’, implying that I am his younger kin. The news of his sudden passing reached me a few days back, and the weight of the grief was so immense that I immediately made the journey to this village, driving through the night, just to be here and pay my last respects.”

“My emotions were in such disarray upon learning of his demise that I found solace in being close to him one last time, even if it meant spending an entire night beside his coffin. I can only hope you’ll sympathize with my state.”

An older lady, seemingly amused by the unfolding scene, couldn’t resist adding, “That can’t be right. The deceased was an only child.”

Miles inwardly groaned, wishing she had remained silent. Spinning a credible tale on the fly was challenging enough without such interruptions.

Gathering his thoughts, he said, “I might have omitted a detail. Though we addressed each other as brothers, we weren’t biologically related. We didn’t share the same parents, but our bond was unwavering, transcending blood ties. It was profound and boundless. I humbly request that you permit me to remain here, to stand by him during his final journey.”

“But I distinctly recall seeing you enter our village during daylight, not in the depth of night,” another elderly gentleman remarked with a sharp tone. “Your story doesn’t align.”

Miles mentally commended the man’s acute memory, thinking he would be quite the adversary in a game of memory.

Attempting to maintain his composure, he replied, “Did I? My mind has been a blur with grief; I could have easily lost track of time. But regardless of when I arrived, my reason for being here is genuine.”

The original elder, still skeptical, probed, “So you truly claim to be a dear friend of my nephew?”

“Absolutely,” Miles affirmed, “Education was not my forte. I hardly had any formal schooling and was never inclined to artful deception. In simpler words, I speak plainly, from the heart.”

Unconvinced, the elder continued, “Then why show up only now? And, customary practices dictate you bring a token of condolence. Have you?”

Miles, seizing the opportunity, hastily presented a bundle of money, totaling to a thousand. “Yes, I did think of that,” he said.

The elder, his expression softening, observed, “Your vigil beside my nephew speaks volumes about your bond. It’s evident you suffered last night. If you’re brave enough, would you consider watching over him tonight as well?” As he withdrew his hand from the exchange, the thousand-dollar gesture discreetly vanished into his possession.

A rueful smile formed on Miles’s face. Had he only presented the monetary gesture earlier, he could have sidestepped the intricate web of fabricated relations he wove.

The seemingly satisfied elder addressed the assembled villagers, “This gentleman claims to be a dear friend of my nephew from a distant place. He’s here to mourn and honor the departed. Let’s ensure we understand and respect his intentions henceforth.”

Though curious, Miles refrained from inquiring about the name of the so-called nephew. Such minutiae felt inconsequential with a potentially malevolent spirit encased within the coffin.

Yet, with the day’s drama, any covert actions seemed impossible under the watchful eyes of the village elders. With so many onlookers, he could only imagine the complications that might ensue.

Moreover, Miles couldn’t help but wonder: Why hadn’t the ghost within the coffin attacked these villagers? Even if it had a specific vendetta against ghost tamers, its malevolence should not have been limited to them alone.

Could the spirit be native to this area? Maybe one that holds a certain emotional attachment to the village and its people?

Moreover, there was something peculiar about these villagers.

Residing in a village plagued by such a sinister spirit was a mystery in itself. How could they seemingly live their lives undisturbed?

However, Miles knew this wasn’t the moment to dive deep into these musings. From his perspective, these villagers appeared very much alive—breathing, their hearts pumping with life.

If they weren’t a direct threat to him, was there any point in overanalyzing their quirks?

Seeking a brief respite, Miles decided to step outdoors.

He lingered outside, discreetly observing the villagers’ activities within the mourning hall. They were involved in traditional rituals—burning joss paper, lighting fresh candles, and displaying overt signs of grief beside the coffin. The ambiance was unsettling.

Did they truly remain unaware of the entity contained within the coffin?

Deep in thought, the distinctive ring of his satellite-enabled phone interrupted him.

Rain was calling.

“Hello, Miles? Can we talk right now?”

“If it’s important, just speak up. I’m free for the moment,” Miles answered tersely.

“I’ve looked into that portrait photo you sent over yesterday,” Rain began, a serious undertone evident in her voice.

Miles leaned in, “What have you discovered?”

Rain’s response was grave, “It’s concerning. The individual in the portrait doesn’t appear in any records of Spear City or even on a national scale. Essentially, according to all official documentation, this person doesn’t exist.”

Miles’s brows furrowed in disbelief, “Nonexistent? Are you certain there hasn’t been an oversight?”

While the entity in the coffin might be supernatural, the portrait had to represent someone tangible, right?

Rain was adamant, “I’m certain. A high-powered supercomputer was used to cross-reference with the national database. The highest similarity score to the photo you provided was below 60%. I individually verified the few that had a semblance of resemblance, and none matched. Additionally, some experts in the field inspected your photograph. It appears that it might be a composite.”

“A composite?” Miles hesitated, trying to comprehend.

Rain elucidated, “Yes. It seems to be crafted by merging multiple individuals’ images into a singular portrait. Does that make sense?”

A cold shiver passed through Miles as he glanced at the portrait displayed prominently in front of the coffin.

Something didn’t sit right.

Quickly, he pulled out another phone, comparing the portrait with a photo he’d captured just the previous day.

To his astonishment, there were discrepancies. While the differences were minute and required a keen eye, when compared, it was evident that the current portrait and yesterday’s photo depicted slightly different individuals.

The realization was startling—was the portrait undergoing a transformation?

Even though Miles couldn’t deduce the reasoning behind this phenomenon, his instincts told him this evolving portrait did not bode well.

“Hello? Miles? Are you still with me?”

Snapped back to the conversation by Rain’s voice, she added, “Regarding the old Yellow Hill Village incident files you inquired about, I’ve located them. I’m transmitting them to your device now. I presume you have a backup phone? Normally, ghost tamer’s primary phones aren’t equipped to receive images.”

“Got it,” Miles replied promptly, sharing his current phone number with Rain to seamlessly transfer the files.

Within moments, the familiar chime of an email notification resonated from his phone.

With a growing sense of anticipation, Miles quickly tapped into the files associated with Yellow Hill Village. As he scanned the initial pages, his face drained of color, a combination of surprise and disbelief evident in his eyes.

“This… this can’t be right. How is this even conceivable?” He muttered, trying to grapple with the revelations in front of him.

The intel contained within those documents evoked a deep-seated dread, a feeling Miles hadn’t experienced in a long while.

But before he could even begin to digest this new information, the distant hum of powerful engines grew louder. The noise drew closer until it crescendoed into a thunderous roar.

A convoy of three sleek sports cars made their way into the village, dust trailing in their wake.

Miles immediately recognized them. It was Yiming, with his entourage Stretch and Page. The very same trio that had ostensibly left the village the previous night. However, it seemed they hadn’t ventured far and were now making their conspicuous return.