At the end of Qingshiban Lane in the south of the city, Library No. 18 Is hidden in the rain and fog at dawn and dusk. Ordinary people only regard it as an abandoned old bookstore. Only those with obsessions and haunted by evil spirits can see the bright glazed lamps under the eaves.
Mu Qingxuan, the 18th generation keeper of the museum, spends his days guarding shelves full of ancient Feng Ling books. Using mulberry paper as a book and locust leaves as guides, it is a rule handed down from ancestors to seal the souls stranded in the world of the dead into the book; for each soul sealed, a locust leaf is collected to temper the soul, which is the practice of the guardians. She has always believed that the Su family has been exterminating demons and protecting the Tao for generations, and sealing spirits is a place for the souls of the dead to rest, and it is also a way to accumulate virtue and do good deeds.
On a cold rainy night in late spring, Wen Wanqing came to the door with a once-in-a-century purple-veined locust leaf to ask for help from the literary ghost in the library of his old house. When Su Yan stepped into Wen's old mansion, he uncovered shocking lies that had been passed down for centuries step by step: the truth about the gentle literary ghost Shen Zhiyu who had been imprisoned for hundreds of years, the sins of the first-generation housekeepers who concealed the secrets from the public, and the thousand-year-old locust tree in the backyard was not a sacred tree that suppresses evil, but a demonic tree that feeds on souls.
Once the faith he had held for generations collapsed, Mu Qingxuan refused to repeat the mistakes of his ancestors. She joins hands with the dead souls from a hundred years ago, faces the pressure of the Sophora Demon, overthrows the old rules, and reshapes the spirit-sealing contract—making the spirit-sealing book truly become the home of ghosts from the eternal prison. Water ghosts settle their grievances, old enemies seek revenge, and old sins are paid off, all settled in the sound of turning books and the wind of locust leaves.
When the fragrance of ink in the hall returned to its tranquility, the mysterious guest came with an inkstone and knocked on the door knocker. An ancient inkstone, a remnant soul, an unspeakable past, waiting to open a new chapter.
Concept: There are always some unknown secrets hidden in the corners. When these corners are illuminated by scattered light, vivid stories unfold one by one.