After the woman left the corridor, the house did not immediately fall silent.
Zhou Qiming could sense something still lingering in the space. Not a tangible form, but more like a residual attention, left behind in the environment. The sensation of being watched hadn't faded; it had merely shattered into fragments, adhering to the walls, door frames, and floor like traces yet to be wiped away.
He didn't follow her.
Not out of hesitation, but because he understood this part didn't belong to him. The movie had never granted him a place to "participate" here.
He stood still for a moment.
The surroundings began to shift. The changes were subtle, so gradual it was hard to pinpoint when they started. The walls darkened slowly, their once-sharp edges began to blur as if someone were quietly dimming the lights, deliberately avoiding detection.
When he looked up again, the structure of the house had altered.
It now resembled a communal space.
The hallway had widened, its floor laid with faded tiles. The lighting came from old incandescent bulbs, not very bright but evenly distributed. The air carried an indistinct scent, confirming only one thing—many people had been here, and for a long time.
The woman was ahead.
She stood before a bulletin board, her head tilted upward.
The board was plastered with papers: lost and found notices, community announcements, and several yellowed missing persons flyers. The edges were curled, repeatedly taped down with clear adhesive, leaving irregular marks.
She slowly scanned the papers.
Not quickly.
It didn't seem like searching, more like confirming.
Zhou Qiming noticed that some of the missing person notices had faded to the point of near illegibility. The photos had turned white, the features worn away by time, leaving only a vague outline.
The woman paused before one of them.
That paper was older than the others, its color deeper.
She reached out and gently pressed the lower corner of the paper.
The gesture was brief, yet seemed somewhat superfluous. As if unnecessary, yet she did it anyway.
Zhou Qiming stood a little too far away to make out the face in the photograph.
But he was certain it wasn't the child she was looking for.
She stood for a moment, released her grip, and continued forward.
Behind the bulletin board lay a narrow staircase.
The stairs were steep, the walls on either side pressing close. The handrail was covered in rust, and each step echoed hollowly beneath her feet. A light fixture mounted at the corner illuminated only a short stretch, leaving the lower section completely submerged in shadow.
The woman didn't pause.
Her steps were steady.
Zhou Qiming followed her, his footsteps amplified by the staircase's echoes before being quickly swallowed, as if falling into some void.
The further down they descended, the colder it grew.
Not a chill from the wind, but a coolness that clung to the skin. As if this subterranean space inherently rejected warmth.
At the bottom of the stairs lay an open door.
Beyond it was the underground parking garage.
The space was vast yet felt desolate. The columns stood densely packed, lighting unevenly distributed—some areas blindingly bright, others swallowed whole by shadow. Puddles on the floor reflected fragmented light and darkness.
There were people in the parking garage.
More than one.
They were scattered in various corners, some leaning against columns, others crouched on the floor, a few sitting beside parked cars, their faces indistinct.
They were all quiet.
Quiet in an unnatural way.
There was no conversation, no unnecessary movements, and no slackness. It felt more like they were waiting for something, or had been instructed to stay.
The moment the woman entered, the gazes of the people around her subtly shifted.
Not everyone.
Just a few.
They stared at her but didn't immediately look away.
Zhou Qiming knew this couldn't be the place she was looking for.
The child wouldn't be here.
But she had come in anyway.
She walked to the center of the parking lot and stopped.
"Excuse me," she said.
Her voice echoed in the vast space, stretching out and being broken by the columns, the echoes incomplete.
No one responded.
She stood for a moment, then took a few more steps forward.
This time, someone stirred.
A figure near the corner slowly straightened.
It was a man.
Or, it looked like one.
He was tall, but his shoulders slouched slightly. Straightening up felt disjointed, as if his body parts needed realigning. He took a step forward, his feet dragging lightly across the ground.
The woman turned around.
"Have you seen a child?" she asked.
The man stopped several meters away from her.
He didn't answer immediately.
His head tilted slightly, as if studying her, or listening to something that wasn't there.
"A child," he repeated.
His voice was low, with a brief pause in between.
"Yes," the woman said.
The man smiled.
It was almost imperceptible, just a slight lift at the corners of his mouth, but it made his face feel unsettling.
"You've been searching for a long time," he said.
This didn't sound like a question.
The woman's body froze for a moment.
"Have you seen him?" she countered.
The man didn't answer.
He took a step forward, then stopped.
"You come every day," he said. "Sometimes a bit earlier, sometimes later."
The woman's fingers tightened slightly.
"Have you seen him?" she asked for the third time.
Her tone was unchanged.
This time, the man nodded.
The woman's breathing became light.
"Where?" she asked.
The man raised his hand and pointed to the deeper shadows of the parking lot.
"There."
Without hesitation, the woman immediately walked in that direction.
Only after she had moved some distance away did the man speak again.
"You don't look much like he remembers."
The woman stopped.
She didn't turn around.
"What did you say?" she asked.
The man tilted his head.
"Nothing," he said. "He probably wouldn't recognize you."
The lights flickered at that moment.
Not all of them.
Only the section illuminating the woman.
The light dimmed, then brightened again.
When the lights came back on, the woman was standing in that shadow.
She looked down, examining something.
Zhou Qiming couldn't see it clearly.
He could only watch her shoulders slowly slump.
Not like relaxation, more like something pressing down on her.
A faint sound drifted from the parking lot.
Like someone was chuckling softly.
Not just one person.
The people who had been leaning against the columns turned around at some point. Their faces remained hidden in shadow, but their gazes were fixed entirely on the woman.
She slowly straightened up.
Turned around.
Her face looked slightly off under the light.
Her features were still in their usual places, but the proportions had shifted subtly. Her eyes seemed set slightly higher, the lines around her mouth stretched taut, rendering her expression impossible to read.
She looked at the man.
"You lied to me," she said.
The man shook his head.
"I didn't," he said. "It's just that the one you're looking for isn't here anymore."
"Then where is he?" she asked.
The man paused.
Then he spoke.
"He doesn't recognize you anymore."
The laughter in the parking lot stopped.
All eyes converged on her in that instant.
The woman stood rooted to the spot, as if slowly processing the words.
She raised her hand and pressed it against her face.
The movement was deliberate.
As if confirming what remained.
"You're not him," she said.
The words were directed at the man, yet they echoed through the entire space.
The man's smile vanished.
"Of course," he said. "The first one to recognize you was never meant to be him."
The lights flickered again.
This time, the entire parking lot plunged into darkness.
Before the darkness fell completely, Zhou Qiming saw one last thing: the woman's shadow.
The shadow lay flat on the ground, yet something extra stretched beyond it.
As if something were slowly rising from behind her.