THE 13TH BELL

THE 13TH BELL

第十三钟

CHAPTER ONE

THE TOWN THAT FORGOT TIME

The rain had been falling over Yunzhou for three consecutive days. It washed the narrow stone streets, darkened the wooden rooftops, and filled the ancient drainage channels with muddy water. Red lanterns swayed beneath the eaves of old houses, their reflections trembling in the puddles like dying flames.

Yunzhou was a town that appeared untouched by the passage of time. Its residents still wore traditional silk garments. Merchants opened their shops at sunrise, tea houses filled with quiet conversations, and the local temple burned incense from morning until dusk. Yet there was one peculiar rule that every child in Yunzhou learned before they could properly read.

Never count the bells after midnight.

Nobody explained why. Nobody dared to ask. And whenever a stranger mentioned the thirteenth bell, the people of Yunzhou suddenly remembered somewhere else they needed to be.

Shen Ruoxi arrived at the town shortly before sunset. The wooden carriage stopped outside an old stone bridge. She stepped down, holding a folded letter in one hand and a dark travelling cloak around her shoulders. Her clothes were simple but expensive, made from deep charcoal silk with delicate silver embroidery along the sleeves. A few strands of black hair escaped her carefully arranged hairstyle as she looked toward the distant mountains.

She had not visited Yunzhou in eleven years. Not since her mother disappeared.

"Miss Shen?" The elderly carriage driver looked at her through the rain. "Are you certain this is the correct place?"

Ruoxi unfolded the letter. The handwriting was unmistakably her grandmother's.

When the time comes, return to Yunzhou.

Do not sell the house.

Do not trust anyone who claims the bells have always numbered twelve.

And beneath those words was a final sentence.

Most importantly, if you hear your mother's voice after midnight, do not answer.

Ruoxi folded the letter again. "Yes," she replied. "This is the place."

The driver hesitated. "Then may the heavens protect you, young miss."

She raised an eyebrow. "From what?"

The old man lowered his eyes. "From the things this town remembers."

Before Ruoxi could question him, he climbed onto his carriage and disappeared into the rain. She watched until the sound of the wheels faded. Then she turned toward Yunzhou.

Her grandmother's residence stood at the northern edge of the town. It was an old courtyard house surrounded by stone walls and ancient plum trees. The wooden entrance gate was decorated with faded carvings of cranes and clouds. A small brass plaque above the entrance carried three characters: 沈府. The Shen Residence.

Ruoxi pushed the gate. It opened with a long, unpleasant creak.

Inside, everything seemed exactly as she remembered. The narrow corridor. The stone lantern. The old wooden bench beneath the plum tree. Even the cracked porcelain vase near the entrance remained in its original position.

But something was different.

The courtyard was too clean. There was no dust on the windows, no fallen leaves scattered across the stones, and no sign that the residence had been abandoned. Someone had been taking care of it.

"Miss?"

A woman's voice interrupted her thoughts. An elderly housekeeper emerged from the corridor carrying a small oil lamp. Her name was Madam Lin. She had served Ruoxi's grandmother for more than twenty years.

For several seconds, she simply stared at the young woman. Then her eyes filled with tears.

"Young miss..."

Ruoxi bowed slightly. "Madam Lin."

"You have returned."

"I received my grandmother's letter."

Madam Lin looked toward the folded paper in her hand. "Then she finally sent it."

Ruoxi noticed the unusual choice of words. "Finally?"

The housekeeper immediately looked away. "Please come inside. You must be exhausted."

The evening meal was served in the eastern dining room. Ruoxi sat opposite Madam Lin, barely touching the food. The housekeeper, however, seemed increasingly nervous.

"How long has the house been maintained?" Ruoxi asked.

"Since your grandmother passed away."

"Who has been entering the residence?"

"No one."

Ruoxi placed her chopsticks down. "Then who cleaned the courtyard?"

Madam Lin's fingers tightened around her teacup. "The servants."

"Which servants?"

Silence.

Ruoxi leaned back. "Madam Lin, I did not return here to play guessing games."

The elderly woman lowered her head. "Forgive me, young miss."

Ruoxi studied her face. "Tell me something. Did my grandmother leave anything else?"

Madam Lin hesitated before answering. "Her private study."

"What about it?"

"She ordered that it remain locked until your return."

"Where is the key?"

The housekeeper looked toward the northern corridor. "Inside your mother's old room."

For the first time that evening, Ruoxi stopped moving. "My mother's room?"

Madam Lin nodded. "Your grandmother never allowed anyone to enter it after your mother disappeared."

Ruoxi stood. "Show me."

Her mother's room smelled faintly of sandalwood. The furniture was covered with white cloth, and the windows were secured with wooden bars. An embroidered screen depicting white cranes stood near the bed.

Ruoxi walked toward the dressing table. She remembered sitting there as a child while her mother combed her hair. She remembered the warmth of her hands. And she remembered the night she disappeared.

Ruoxi had been eleven. Her mother had promised to return before sunrise. She never did.

On the dressing table lay a small wooden box. Inside it was a brass key and a folded piece of paper. Ruoxi opened the paper. There were only seven words.

The thirteenth bell remembers your name.

Her expression hardened. "Madam Lin."

The housekeeper stood near the doorway. "Yes, young miss?"

"Who wrote this?"

Madam Lin looked at the paper. For a moment, all colour disappeared from her face. Then she whispered, "Your mother."

The private study was situated behind the main courtyard. Unlike the other rooms, its entrance was protected by two heavy wooden doors. Ruoxi inserted the brass key. The lock turned.

Inside, the air was cold. Shelves covered every wall, filled with ancient books, scrolls, handwritten records and dusty wooden boxes. A large painting hung above the writing desk. It depicted Yunzhou from a distant mountain. The town looked beautiful beneath a clear sky.

But Ruoxi noticed something unusual.

The painting contained thirteen bells. Twelve were hanging from the town's old bell tower. The thirteenth was positioned beyond the northern mountains, suspended from a tree whose branches appeared completely bare.

There was a small inscription beneath the painting.

The first twelve measure time.

The thirteenth measures what time cannot keep.

Ruoxi read it twice. Then she noticed a wooden drawer beneath the desk. It was already open.

Inside lay an old town register. She lifted it carefully and turned through its yellowed pages. Births. Deaths. Marriages. Land ownership. Everything was recorded in meticulous handwriting.

Until she reached a page dated eleven years earlier.

A name had been crossed out repeatedly.

Yoon—

No.

That was impossible.

The name was not Chinese. Someone had written it, then attempted to erase it.

Ruoxi turned the page. There was a second entry.

The night of the thirteenth bell.

No date. No explanation. Only a list of thirteen names. Twelve had been marked with black ink. The final name remained untouched.

Shen Ruoxi.

Her fingers went still.

Behind her, the wooden floor creaked. She turned sharply. Madam Lin stood at the entrance.

"Young miss."

Ruoxi held up the register. "Why is my name here?"

The housekeeper stared at the page. Her lips trembled.

"Close the book."

"Answer me."

"Please."

"Madam Lin!"

The elderly woman stepped inside and shut the doors behind her.

"Your grandmother spent eleven years trying to remove that name."

"Why?"

Madam Lin looked toward the painting. "Because the thirteenth bell was never supposed to ring again."

Midnight approached. The rain had stopped, leaving Yunzhou beneath a heavy blanket of fog. Ruoxi sat beside the window in her room, examining the old register. She had found another document hidden between its pages. It was a map of the northern mountains.

A small red circle marked an abandoned temple. Beside it, someone had written:

THE TEMPLE OF FORGOTTEN HOURS.

Below that was a warning.

Do not enter when the moon is hidden.

Ruoxi was still studying the map when the first bell rang.

Dong.

She looked toward the window. The sound travelled across the town.

Dong.

The second bell.

Dong.

The third.

She began counting without thinking. Four. Five. Six.

The bells echoed through the mist, each one deeper than the previous. At the twelfth, Ruoxi closed the document.

Silence returned. The entire town seemed to hold its breath.

Then—

Dong.

A thirteenth bell.

It was different. Not louder. Not softer. Simply wrong. The sound seemed to come from somewhere beneath the earth.

Ruoxi slowly stood. Across the courtyard, every lantern went out. A cold wind passed through her room.

Then she heard something.

A woman's voice. Soft. Familiar. Almost like a memory.

"Ruoxi..."

Her breath caught. Nobody had called her that way in eleven years.

"Mother?"

Silence.

Then the voice returned.

"Ruoxi, don't open the door."

A sudden knock came from the other side. Three slow knocks.

Ruoxi stared at the wooden entrance. Nobody should have been there. She approached cautiously.

Another knock.

Then a whisper.

"Your grandmother lied."

Ruoxi's hand stopped inches from the door. "Who are you?"

The voice answered.

"I am the girl whose name was erased."

A pause.

"Look beneath the bell tower."

Then came the final words.

"Before they erase yours."

The footsteps retreated. Ruoxi waited. One minute. Two.

Finally, she opened the door.

The corridor was empty. But something lay on the floor. A small white paper lantern. And written across its surface in fresh black ink were five characters.

第十三个人已归来。

The thirteenth person has returned.

Far beyond the Shen Residence, at the northern edge of Yunzhou, a man stood beneath the old bell tower. He wore a dark blue robe, with a silver hair ornament holding his long hair in place.

His name was Gu Yanzhou.

He had spent the last three years investigating the disappearances surrounding Yunzhou. And tonight, for the first time, the forbidden bell had rung.

He looked toward the Shen Residence. A second figure approached him through the fog.

"Young master," the man whispered. "The Shen family's daughter has returned."

Gu Yanzhou did not answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the distant courtyard.

"Did she hear it?"

"Yes."

"And the thirteenth bell?"

"It rang."

Gu Yanzhou finally turned. "Then the old records were correct."

He reached into his sleeve and removed a small piece of yellowed paper. On it was a single sentence, written in an unfamiliar hand.

When the thirteenth person returns, the dead will begin remembering.

Gu Yanzhou folded the paper.

"Find out what Shen Ruoxi knows."

"And if she asks about the northern temple?"

For the first time, his expression changed.

"Tell her nothing."

The man bowed.

Gu Yanzhou looked toward the mountains, where the fog had begun gathering around the abandoned temple.

Then he spoke quietly.

"Not until I know whether she is the key..."

He paused.

"...or the next sacrifice."

END OF CHAPTER ONE.