Zhou Qiming realized something was wrong when the film had already been playing for some time.
Not from the beginning.
There was no title, no opening credits, no hint of "beginning." He simply stood toward the back, as if someone had shoved him into the theater midway through. The earlier scenes had already unfolded, leaving only a lingering sense of tardiness in his body.
The air felt heavy.
Not the stifling kind that comes from a closed space, but a damp, musty smell, as if it hadn't been disturbed for a long time. The walls were covered in light-colored wallpaper, the corners curled, revealing an older layer underneath. The floor was uneven, with several sunken spots that gave a slight bounce underfoot.
This place didn't feel like a film set.
More like an old house still in use.
There were people here.
Zhou Qiming quickly confirmed this.
Not by sound, but by a more direct feeling—this space wasn't made for him. He stood near the door, but his body instinctively avoided the corridor in the center, as if it had already been walked over by someone else repeatedly, leaving traces that weren't his.
There was some movement at the end of the corridor.
It wasn't loud, but continuous.
It sounded like someone rummaging through something.
The sound was intermittent, punctuated by brief pauses, as if each time something was uncovered, it was checked before moving on.
Zhou Qiming didn't approach immediately.
He noticed several children's drawings pinned to the wall.
Crayon drawings, lines crooked and uneven, colors applied with force. The content of the drawings was hard to make out—probably a house, a sun, and a figure with disproportionate features. In the corner, names scrawled in slanted letters had faded with time.
The drawings were placed very low.
At a height meant for children to see.
As he was looking at them, the figure at the end of the corridor moved.
A woman walked out from inside.
Her movements were quick but not rushed. It was as if she had done this searching many times before, very familiar with the space—knowing where to look and where to avoid wasting time.
Her clothes weren't old, but they were clearly ill-fitting. The sleeves were too short, and the pants stopped a bit above her ankles, like they had been hastily put on. Her hair was tied back carelessly, with a few stray strands sticking to her forehead.
She looked completely normal.
Normal enough that one might overlook her at first glance.
"Sorry," she suddenly said, speaking into the air.
Zhou Qiming froze for a moment.
He instinctively looked down to check that he hadn't made any sound.
But the woman had already continued walking, as though the apology had been merely a habit.
She walked while softly murmuring something under her breath.
Her voice was indistinct, broken and halting, as if she were talking to herself.
"It wasn't here just now... I don't think it was here yesterday either..."
She stopped at a half-open door, pushed it open for a brief glance, then quickly closed it again.
Her movements were decisive, without hesitation.
There was no light inside that door, just darkness.
Zhou Qiming suddenly realized something.
She wasn't looking for something for the first time.
She had been searching for a long time. So long that her actions had become steady, the rhythm smoothed by repetition, leaving only the inertia of persistence.
When the woman turned, she finally noticed Zhou Qiming.
Her gaze lingered on him for a second.
It wasn't a scrutinizing look.
More like she was confirming—whether this person needed to be asked.
"Have you seen a child?" she asked.
Her tone was flat, with no probing.
Zhou Qiming opened his mouth but didn't immediately speak.
Because the question was too direct.
No setup, no context, no expected emotion. It was like asking, "Have you seen my keys?" rather than looking for a missing child.
"How old?" he asked in return.
The woman thought for a moment.
"He should be around here," she said.
That answer didn't hold up.
But Zhou Qiming didn't point it out.
"He's very quiet," the woman continued. "You might not even notice him if you saw him."
As she spoke, the corner of her mouth twitched slightly, as if remembering something, but she quickly suppressed it.
"He doesn't talk much," she added.
A faint sound suddenly echoed through the hallway.
As if something had touched the floor.
The woman's body stiffened slightly.
Not from fear.
But from a reaction she was too familiar with.
"He sometimes hides," she said. "Likes to stay in places no one can find him."
After saying this, without waiting for Zhou Qiming's response, she turned again and walked toward the source of the sound.
It was a narrower corridor.
Half the lights were out. The working bulb flickered once before steadying. Water stains ran down the walls, forming irregular patterns on the floor.
The woman moved quickly.
Her footsteps became clearer in this space.
Zhou Qiming followed behind, maintaining a distance neither too close nor too far.
The further they walked, the colder the air became.
Not a drop in temperature, but a sensation clinging to his skin. It was as if breathing wasn't really needed in this space.
At the corridor's end stood an open door.
Inside was darkness.
The woman paused at the threshold, not immediately stepping inside.
She looked down at the floor, as if confirming something.
Zhou Qiming followed her gaze.
Several faint marks traced the ground.
Not like footprints, more like dragged marks—broken and disjointed, extending from inside the door and disappearing outside.
The woman crouched down.
She reached out, her fingertips gently touching one of the marks.
Her movements were slow and careful.
As if touching something alive.
In that instant, Zhou Qiming saw her fingers pause.
Not hesitation.
But resistance.
A faint scraping sound came from inside the door.
Irregular, without rhythm.
As if something was shifting position in the darkness.
The woman stood up.
Her expression remained unchanged.
Only her breathing grew shallower.
"I know you're here," she said into the darkness.
Her tone remained flat.
No threat, no coaxing.
"Come out," she said.
The sound from behind the door ceased.
Silence stretched for several seconds.
Long enough to make one doubt whether any of it had ever happened.
Then, something shifted.
Not emerging from the door.
But from above the doorframe.
Zhou Qiming's gaze slowly lifted.
At the junction of the doorframe and ceiling, a slightly darker shadow lingered.
That shadow was shifting slowly.
Not sliding.
More like redistributing itself.
The woman's gaze remained fixed inside the doorway.
She didn't look up.
"Don't hide so high up," she said.
"I can't see you."
The shadow froze.
The next second, a hand that didn't belong to a child dangled down from above the doorframe.
The fingers were long, the joints slightly misaligned, the skin a grayish hue, as if it hadn't seen light in ages.
It hung there.
It didn't come closer.
Nor did it retreat.
It simply hung there silently.
The woman finally lifted her head.
She looked at the hand, a flicker of change appearing in her eyes for the first time.
Not fear.
But an exhaustion that came after confirmation, drained of all energy.
"It's not you," she said.
The hand jerked back abruptly.
A series of hurried sounds came from inside the door, like something retreating rapidly, colliding with the wall, then vanishing into the deeper darkness.
The woman remained where she stood, not pursuing it.
She simply stood for a moment.
Then turned away.
"My apologies for the disturbance," she said to the darkness.
Her tone was unchanged.
As she walked down the corridor, Zhou Qiming noticed her shadow.
It stretched long beneath the light.
But the shape was slightly off.
At the shoulders, the outline was broader than her own frame.
As if something was clinging to her.
She didn't look back.
"If you see him," she murmured as she reached Zhou Qiming's side, "tell me."
Zhou Qiming didn't answer.
Because he suddenly realized—the target she sought might have long since strayed from its original form.
And she herself had already walked too far down this path of searching.
The light in the corridor flickered.
The surrounding space began to destabilize.
Walls, floor, air—all seemed pulled apart by some unseen force.
Zhou Qiming's vision began to blur.
Before being completely torn from this scene, the last thing he saw was the woman's back.
Her shoulders slightly hunched forward.
As if bearing a weight not meant for her shoulders.
Yet she kept walking.
Without pause.