C8 Strange Flower Pot

Third Uncle yawned and checked the time on his phone. "Let's get going," he said. "After a whole night of fuss, we should grab some dim sum. My treat. We can chat over breakfast."

With that, Third Uncle resumed his usual demeanor and strutted outside.

I had no choice but to follow, grumbling under my breath, "It's just breakfast, what's with the show? And dim sum at that."

We were accustomed to ribbing each other, so Third Uncle paid me no mind and led me out of the basement.

As we emerged, the sky was brightening. The fresh air filled my lungs as I took several deep breaths, feeling incredibly refreshed. My stomach betrayed me with a few grumbles, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. I had always heard about the delights of a Cantonese breakfast—char siu bao, shrimp dumplings, century egg and lean pork congee, and even chicken feet and roast goose. Now, I was about to indulge in a true feast.

Third Uncle took me to a newly opened snack stand and called out with a wave, "Hey Guo, we're here to eat!"

His attempt at Cantonese, tinged with his own accent, was amusing to listen to.

In Shenshi, while many outsiders congregated in the city, we were in the suburbs where locals were more prevalent. Third Uncle, having spent time here, had picked up a bit of the local lingo.

The snack stand was flanked by two simple houses with a couple of canopies out front, under which tables and chairs were set up. A few patrons were already enjoying their meals.

After Third Uncle made his presence known, a man wearing an apron came out and greeted him, "Well, if it isn't Mr. Lee! I was just wondering where you'd been—it's been a while. What have you been up to?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the sound of Guo's thick northeastern accent—hardly what you'd expect from a Guangdong native.

Third Uncle chuckled and reverted to his normal accent, replying, "Been tied up with a few things. My nephew's come to stay with me. How's business? You've been in Guangdong for years now, how come you've still got that northeastern twang?"

Guo shrugged, "Business is so-so. An accent's a hard thing to shake. I reckon I'll never lose it, not even if I live here till I die. This is your nephew, huh? Handsome lad, reminds me of myself when I was younger. Come on, sit down. You're still sticking to the old ways, I see?"

Third Uncle nodded and agreed, "Right, I'll have a double portion this time."

He ushered me to sit down and began to sing Guo's praises, telling me how great a guy he was, with a sunny disposition and a knack for getting along well with everyone.

In the midst of our conversation, the food arrived. My eyes widened in disbelief at the spread before us: tofu pudding, crispy fried dough sticks, steamed buns, pickled veggies, and more. This was hardly the Cantonese breakfast tea I was expecting.

With a grimace, I gestured towards the assortment and asked, "Third Uncle, this is the breakfast tea you're treating me to?"

Reflecting on it now, a trendy phrase comes to mind that perfectly captures my feelings at the time: "I've already taken off my pants, and this is what you offer me?"

Third Uncle chuckled sheepishly and explained, "You know, I've been a bit strapped for cash these days. Once I make some money from this gig, I promise to treat you to a fancy breakfast at a high-end restaurant. For now, let's just fill our bellies."

That response was so typical of Third Uncle that I couldn't help but smile.

As we dug into our breakfast, the warmth of the tofu pudding and the crunch of the fried dough sticks were surprisingly comforting. The warmth in my belly chased away the weariness and tension from the night before.

Once we were satisfied, Guo served us two generous bowls of tea, which we sipped leisurely. That's when Third Uncle finally shared his experience on the second floor.

For clarity, I'll recount the events from Third Uncle's perspective.

Third Uncle recounted, "I made it up to the second floor without incident. But I immediately noticed a significant drop in temperature compared to the first floor. Despite all the windows being shut, a chilling breeze seemed to come from nowhere, sending shivers down my spine. I shone my flashlight around and saw that besides a small living room, there were three other rooms.

I was there to trace the origin of the rope suspending the Bodhisattva, so I headed towards the room in that direction first.

The corridor hadn't been aired out in ages, and with no one having lived there for some time, it was understandably dusty. As I walked, my footsteps kicked up clouds of dust, and the beam of my flashlight only made the swirling particles more pronounced. For a moment, I couldn't see a thing in front of me and even had to cough a couple of times." (At this point, I remembered indeed hearing Third Uncle cough twice.)

As I walked in from the direction of the stairs, I noticed the doors to two rooms on the left side of the hallway were ajar, revealing pitch-black interiors. I shone my flashlight inside and saw wooden beds with no linens, just bare planks. The windows were draped with thick curtains that blocked out all light. I didn't venture inside since nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first glance.

I then approached the third room, which was across from the other two. It dawned on me that this room was directly above the one where the Bodhisattva had been hanging, and it must be the same room where we thought we saw a shadow from outside.

Standing at the doorway, I aimed my flashlight inside, scrutinizing the space more closely.

Oddly enough, the room was completely bare, devoid of any furniture. Finding nothing of interest, I was about to leave when the beam of my flashlight hit the curtains. It seemed like there was an object on the windowsill behind them.

The object's silhouette, illuminated by the flashlight, cast a round, fuzzy shadow on the curtains.

I stepped into the room and briskly pulled back the curtains, directing the flashlight's beam as I did so.

Third Uncle's narration was deliberate and colorful, reminiscent of a storyteller. He paused dramatically at this point, and I found myself completely engrossed, feeling as if I were there myself. The suspenseful moment had me unconsciously clenching my fists and swallowing hard.

Third Uncle took a moment to lift his bowl and drink deeply from his tea before he resumed his tale: On the windowsill, there was, surprisingly, a pot of flowers. The round object I had seen was actually a flowerpot.

I was puzzled. Why was this the only item left in an otherwise empty room?

Driven by curiosity, I shone the flashlight directly on it for a closer look. The plant was thriving, lush and green, with leaves that were not particularly large—perhaps seven or eight in total. Not being well-versed in horticulture, I couldn't identify the species of the plant. But it didn't take long for me to notice something peculiar about it.

The first oddity was the "flowerpot." Initially, I hadn't given it much thought, but upon closer inspection, I realized that the container holding the plant wasn't a pot at all—it was a bowl.

This bowl was significantly larger than the sizable ones we're accustomed to seeing, and it was much deeper. It appeared to be made of iron, adorned with intricate carvings on its exterior. What was truly alarming, however, was the iron bowl's sturdiness, yet it had several cracks starting from the rim and moving downward. It was as though something inside the bowl was expanding, causing the iron to split.

Upon closer inspection, the plant sprouting from the bowl had visible structures resembling blood vessels, stretching from the roots to the stems and leaves. A red liquid coursed through these vessels, reaching every leaf. Even the topmost leaves had droplets of a dark red liquid clinging to them, reminiscent of dew.

These droplets, akin to dew, clung to the leaf tips before eventually falling onto the windowsill. That's when I noticed that the red liquid had formed a small stream on the windowsill, trickling down to the floor and seeping into the corner. I realized that the blood on the rope suspending the Bodhisattva must have originated from this flow.

Then, something even more horrifying occurred. As I was observing, the blood vessels within the plant thickened abruptly, and the flow of blood doubled in speed, as if it had become aware of my presence. Moreover, a sinister human face emerged on each leaf.

It was a tiny face with crinkled skin and eyes that stared at me lifelessly, like those of a dead fish.

A sense of dread washed over me as the situation spiraled beyond my wildest expectations. I yelled for Lee Yang to run.

I turned to flee the room, aiming for the stairs. To my surprise, as I spun around, a gust of wind slammed the door shut with a loud clang. I collided with the door, nearly winded. Despite my efforts to force it open, the door remained immovably sealed, resisting all my strength.

I then realized the stickiness underfoot; looking down, I saw the blood from the plant had spread across the entire floor and was now creeping up my pant legs, enveloping me.

A mysterious chill swept through the room, causing the curtains to billow and rustle ominously.

Fearing you might come to find me, I called out again. In a desperate act, I bit the tip of my tongue and spat two mouthfuls of blood into the room, hoping to change my fate.

After the blood mist cleared, it seemed to have had some effect. My head felt a lot clearer, and I kicked open the window, jumping down from the second story.

Luckily, there was a heap of debris below, so I didn't get hurt.

Third Uncle finished his story, took a couple of big gulps of tea, and wiped the cold sweat from his face.

I felt a chill run down my spine as I listened, and after steadying my nerves, I said, "Didn't you think about the danger of jumping from the second floor?"

Third Uncle shook his head: "I wasn't thinking much at the time. There was only one thing on my mind: to get out of that house as fast as possible. That thing was too sinister. I never imagined that I, Lee Dongbin, would face such a formidable challenge on my first venture. Could this be a test for me?"

I gave a wry smile and suggested, "Should we just give up on the house then?"

Third Uncle dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand: "No way. If we give up, where are we going to find three hundred thousand? But we need to be better prepared this time. I have to understand what that flower in the bowl is all about. I'll draw it for you; maybe you'll recognize it?"

With that, Third Uncle got a pen and paper from Guo and hunched over the table, drawing from memory.

He quickly sketched out the image. Although Third Uncle's artistic skills left much to be desired, he managed to outline the iron bowl and the flora. It was pretty close to his description. I'm not particularly keen on botany, so the flower was unfamiliar to me.

I shook my head, and Third Uncle, with a furrowed brow, stared blankly at the drawing.