Whispers in the Old House

The rain lashed against the windows of the dilapidated old house, its creaking wood and peeling paint whispering tales of forgotten years. It was here, nestled between a maze of ancient alleys and forgotten memories, that the Wu family decided to start anew. Mr. Wu, a former historian with a penchant for the obscure, had discovered the house in the depths of his latest research, drawn by the haunting legend of Héilóng's Lamenting Night—a story etched into the very walls of the house.

The story began in ancient times, when a renowned general named Héilóng was defeated in battle. Tormented by his defeat, he took refuge in the house that would later bear his name. It was said that on the night of his death, he had cursed the house, ensuring that its fate would mirror his own: eternal sorrow.

As the Wu family settled into their new home, strange occurrences began to surface. Whispers seemed to emanate from the shadows, calling out their names, and at night, the walls would seem to pulse with a life of their own. Mrs. Wu, sensitive to such things, began to have vivid dreams, dreams where Héilóng appeared, his eyes filled with unspoken sorrows.

The family's eldest child, Liang, became obsessed with uncovering the truth behind the legend. He pored over ancient scrolls, interviewing the neighborhood elders, and delving into the local history archives. Each clue brought him closer to the heart of the mystery, yet it also seemed to pull him deeper into a labyrinth of darkness.

One evening, as the rain intensified, Liang found himself standing in the old study, a room that seemed to pulse with a sense of unease. He opened a dusty tome and read of the cursed mirror, a relic said to hold the key to Héilóng's final moments. With trembling hands, he reached for the mirror, and in that instant, the whispers grew louder, like a crowd of specters crowding around him.

Liang's heart raced as he felt the coldness seep into his fingers. He turned the mirror and gasped as it revealed an image of Héilóng, his face twisted in a silent plea for release. The mirror crackled with energy, and a voice echoed through the room, "Let me go. Let me rest in peace."

In a panic, Liang dropped the mirror, but the image of Héilóng remained, his eyes still imploring. The room began to spin, and Liang found himself in the ancient chamber of the defeated general, the air thick with sorrow. He looked around and saw the figures of Héilóng's soldiers, their faces etched with pain and defeat.

Suddenly, a hand reached out to him, and Liang turned to see Héilóng himself. "You must free me," Héilóng said, his voice laced with the weight of a thousand years. Liang nodded, knowing that the curse must be lifted for Héilóng to find peace.

He returned to the present, the mirror now a shattered relic on the floor. The whispers grew softer, then stopped altogether. Mrs. Wu awoke from her sleep, disoriented but unharmed. Liang's mother whispered to him, "The curse is lifted, but the echoes of the past will never be silent."

Days passed, and the Wu family began to adjust to their new life. The old house seemed to sigh in relief, the whispers now a distant memory. Liang's father, once a skeptic, had witnessed the change, his eyes reflecting the peace that had settled over the house.

But as the first snowflakes began to fall, a new set of whispers began, calling out a new name—Liang's own. He knew then that the story of Héilóng's Lamenting Night was a tale of endless repetition, and he, like Héilóng, would be bound to the house, a silent witness to the echoes of the past.

The Wu family had found their new home, but for Liang, it was a place where the past and present intertwined, a silent vigil to the legend of Héilóng, whose sorrow still lingered in the night's lullaby.