Shen Du sat on the sofa, staring at the four objects on the coffee table. The ring, the slip of paper, the photograph, the notebook. The red lamp was off. It was daytime now, and the room was lit by normal, albeit dim, natural light filtering through the thick fog outside.
He needed to sort out his thoughts.
First, the woman wanted him to return the ring. But the ring was part of the script's arrangement. What would happen if he returned it? What if he didn't? The script didn't say.
Second, the exploration progress was only seventeen percent. How much of this room, this building, remained undiscovered?
Shen Du stood up and inspected the room again. This time, more meticulously, leaving no corner unchecked. He knocked on every inch of the wall, listening. Behind the sofa, one spot sounded hollow.
He pushed against that section of the wall. It was fixed, wouldn't budge. But upon closer inspection, the seams of the wall panel looked unnatural. Tracing along the seam with his fingers, near the corner, he felt a small indentation. Pressing it with his finger, there was a soft click, and a narrow gap popped open in the wall.
A hidden door.
Holding his breath, Shen Du slowly pushed it open. The wall panel swung inward, revealing a tiny space, about half a square meter, like a niche. Inside was an iron box, rusted, with a padlock on the lid.
He lifted out the iron box. It was heavy. The lock was an old-fashioned padlock, rusted shut. He looked around, found a screwdriver in a kitchen drawer—he'd somehow missed this drawer during his earlier search. He tried prying the lock open with the screwdriver. It was sturdy, wouldn't give. He changed tactics, striking the lock's hasp repeatedly with force. After several blows, the hasp finally loosened.
He opened the iron box.
Inside were old items. A bundle of letters tied with a ribbon. Several photographs. A pocket watch, stopped, its hands pointing to 12:07—the same time as his wristwatch. And a diary.
Shen Du picked up the diary first. Leather cover, old, edges worn. Opening the first page, the handwriting was elegant, matching the writing on the back of the photograph.
"March 15th. Moved into the new home today. Old, but cheap. He said he'd visit often. I hope it's true."
"March 20th. He came, brought flowers. He said he loves me most in a white dress. I promised him I'd wear it often."
"April 3rd. He hasn't come for a long time. Can't reach him by phone either. Did something happen? Or has he changed?"
"April 10th. I might be pregnant. Haven't told him yet. Hope he'll be happy when he knows."
"April 15th. He came, in a hurry. Gave me this ring, told me to wait for him. Said he had urgent business and had to leave for a while. I asked how long. He said soon. I put the ring on. It fits perfectly."
"May 5th. He didn't come. No calls, no letters. My belly is starting to show. The neighbors are talking. Mother called to scold me, said I've been improper. I don't know what to do."
"May 20th. I went to the address he gave. No such person exists. He lied to me. Everything was a lie."
The diary ended there. Several pages after were torn out, leaving ragged edges.
Shen Du set the diary aside and picked up the bundle of letters. Untying the ribbon, the paper had yellowed. He pulled out the top letter and unfolded it.
"My dear Mei,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have arrived out of town, all is well, don't worry. Affairs are busy, my return date uncertain. Please wait at ease, I will not fail you. Enclosed is some money for household expenses. Wear the ring well; it is where my heart belongs.
Forever yours, Lin"
No date on the letter, the postmark blurred. Shen Du continued reading the others. The contents were similar: urging "Mei" to wait patiently, promising to return, but never mentioning specific times or places. The last letter was short, just one line:
"Mei, forget me. I'm sorry."
The handwriting was scribbled, as if written in haste.
Shen Du put the letters down and picked up the photographs. There were three, all of the same woman—the one from the black-and-white photo in the box. One showed her smiling under a tree, another in a white dress sitting by a window, and the last was a photo of her with a man—the man's face was burned away, leaving only a charred hole.
The woman was young, early twenties perhaps, with a gentle smile. In the last photo, she was leaning against the man, looking very happy. But the man's face was gone, just a black hole.
Shen Du picked up the pocket watch. Opening the cover, inside was a small photograph of the woman. On the back of the watch was an engraving: "For Mei, Eternal Love. Lin."
Lin. The "Lin" from the letters. Mei. The owner of the diary.
Shen Du arranged these items together. The ring, the pocket watch, the letters, the diary, the photographs. A story emerged: A woman named Mei fell in love with a man named Lin. The man gave her a ring and promises, then disappeared. Mei became pregnant, was abandoned, and then… what happened? The diary ended, but clearly the outcome wasn't good.
That woman in the fog, the one with tears… was that Mei?
Shen Du looked at the ring on his left hand. "Forever Yours." This was the ring Lin gave Mei. Now it was on his finger.
So Mei wanted him to return the ring.
But Mei was dead, turned into that… thing. Was the ring her obsession?
Shen Du gathered the items and placed them back in the iron box. He left the hidden door open. The exploration progress should have increased, but the notebook showed no update. Maybe it updated only at specific points.
He walked to the window and looked out. The fog was still thick, nothing visible. But something seemed to be moving within it. Not just one thing—many figures, moving slowly in the mist. Faces unclear, only blurry outlines.
Shen Du watched for a while, then turned from the window. He needed food and water. He hadn't eaten or drunk since waking up and was starting to feel thirsty.
The kitchen was small: a sink, an old gas stove. He turned on the tap. Water flowed out, murky yellow with a rusty smell. He let it run for a bit until it cleared, then filled a cup. He sniffed it—no strange odor—and took a cautious sip. It tasted normal, like tap water.
He drank one cup, then another. He checked the kitchen cabinets. There were a few cans, labels missing, contents unknown. A bag of rice, infested with bugs. A packet of biscuits, long expired. The refrigerator was empty, unplugged.
Shen Du took out a can and opened it with a can opener. Inside were beans, which looked edible. He tasted one—normal flavor. He wolfed down the can of beans and ate a biscuit. The biscuit was soggy from moisture, soft, but still edible.
With some food and water, his strength returned a little. He checked his watch: 10:40 a.m.
Over ten hours until the next script. What to do during this time?
Explore the building.
Shen Du decided to start from the upper floors. He opened the door. The corridor was quiet. He stepped out, closed the door behind him but didn't lock it—the key was in his pocket, found earlier in a drawer of the coffee table during his search.
He went upstairs first. Concrete stairs, dust on the steps. He tried to step lightly, but his footsteps still echoed in the silence. Reaching the fourth floor, the corridor was identical to the ones below: dim lighting, dark red carpet. Doors on both sides, all closed, numbered 401, 402, 403…
He tried pushing 401's door. Locked. 402, locked. 403, locked. The entire floor was locked.
He continued up. Fifth floor, sixth floor—the same, all doors locked. Up to the top floor, seventh, still locked. The rooftop door was also locked, wouldn't open.
Shen Du went back downstairs to the third floor. He checked the door opposite his room—304. Wait, his room was 304, so the opposite should also be 304? But the number plate read 303. He remembered looking through the peephole last night; the opposite door was 304. Now it was 303.
He stared at the number plate. 303, clearly visible. Had he misread it last night, or had the number changed?
He tried pushing 303's door. Locked. He peered through the peephole—pitch black inside, nothing visible.
He went downstairs. Second floor, corridor layout the same as above. He tried 201. Locked. 202, locked. All the way to 210, locked.
First floor, the lobby, glass door. Outside, dense fog and shadowy figures. Shen Du didn't go out. He checked the other rooms on the first floor. There was a manager's office, door open. Inside was small: a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet. A registry lay open on the desk.
Shen Du walked over to look. The registry was old, pages yellowed. Handwritten entries in scribbled script.
"304, Mr. Lin, moved in April."
"304, Miss Mei, moved in May."
"304, Vacant, from June to present."
Below was a list of tenants, but many sections were blacked out, illegible. Flipping further, one page was torn out, only a torn corner remaining.
Shen Du opened the filing cabinet. Empty, just dust. He checked the desk drawers. The first was empty. In the second drawer was an object wrapped in cloth. He took it out and unfolded the cloth.
Inside was a key. An old brass key with a small label attached. The label read: "304."
A key to 304? But he already had a key to 304 in his pocket. He took it out to compare. The two keys were identical.
Why were there two identical keys?
Shen Du held both keys in his hand, feeling their weight. He left the manager's office and returned to the lobby. Outside the glass door, the figures in the fog were closer now. He could make out some details: men and women, old and young, all dressed in old-fashioned clothes, heads bowed, walking slowly. Their faces were blurred, as if veiled.
Shen Du stared at the figures. They didn't seem to notice him, just wandering aimlessly in the fog. But when he focused on one, that person would suddenly stop, turn their head, and "look" in his direction. Even without a clear face, he could feel the gaze.
Shen Du averted his eyes, and the figure resumed walking.
He didn't dare linger. Turning, he headed back upstairs. Back to the third floor, to his room door. He used his original key to unlock it, pushed the door open, and closed it behind him.
Everything in the room was as he left it. He walked to the window and looked out. In the fog, the figures were still walking, like a group of lost souls.
Shen Du sat back on the sofa, looking at the iron box on the table. The story of Mei and Lin. Mei was abandoned, pregnant, and in the end… died? How? Suicide? Something else?
The ring was given by Lin, a symbol of promise. But Lin broke his promise, Mei died, and the ring became an obsession. Now the ring was on his finger, and Mei's ghost was coming for him.
A clichéd story. But in this place, a clichéd story could be fatal.
Shen Du checked his watch: 1:20 p.m. Time passed slowly.
With nothing to do, he could only wait. Wait for the next script, the next "scene." He didn't know what would happen next, but it was surely related to Mei, to the ring.
He picked up the photograph from the iron box, studying the group picture closely. Mei leaning against the man, smiling happily. The man's face burned away, leaving a black hole. Who burned it? Mei? Or Lin himself?
Shen Du ran his finger over the black hole. The photo was old, the burned edges brittle. He turned it over. On the back was writing: "With Lin, remember this moment forever. Taken in May."
May. In the diary, May was when Mei discovered her pregnancy and Lin disappeared. This photo was taken in May, likely their last photo together. After that, Lin left and never returned.
So, the one who burned the man's face was probably Mei. Love turned to hatred, burning away the face of the faithless man.
Shen Du put the photo down. He was tired. He hadn't slept well last night, and today's events had taken their toll. He lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes. Needed to rest, even if he couldn't sleep, just resting his eyes would help.
He drifted into a hazy sleep and dreamed again. Dreamed of Mei, in her white dress, standing in the fog, reaching out to him, saying, "Give it back." He turned and ran, but the fog was too thick, he couldn't run fast. Mei caught up, her fingers touched his shoulder—icy cold. He looked back, and Mei's face suddenly became the black hole from the photo…
Shen Du jolted awake.
The room was dark, night approaching. He checked his watch: 5:40 p.m. He had slept for four hours.
He sat up, drenched in sweat. The touch in the dream felt too real; his shoulder still seemed to carry a lingering chill. He touched his shoulder—nothing there.
Outside the window, the fog was denser, the daylight fading. The room grew darker, and the red lamp automatically turned on, casting its dim red glow, swaying on the wall.
Shen Du stood up, stretching his stiff body. He walked to the window and looked out. The figures were still in the fog, but their numbers seemed fewer. As darkness fell, the fog appeared even blacker.
He returned to the sofa and saw the black notebook on the coffee table was glowing. A faint light, but definitely glowing. He picked it up and opened it.
The text on the last page had changed.
"Act One Complete."
"Exploration Progress: 42%"
"Clue Obtained: Mei's Belongings."
"Current Surviving Actors: 7"
"Act Two Script will be issued at midnight."
"Hint: Before midnight, leaving the room is safe. After midnight, do not open the door."
"Good luck, Actor Shen Du."
The number of surviving actors was now seven. Seven people still alive? In this "set"? Or were there others elsewhere?
Exploration progress reached forty-two percent. He'd found the iron box, learned Mei and Lin's story, and progress increased.
Act Two script at midnight. It was now 5:45 p.m., over six hours until midnight. The hint said leaving the room before midnight was safe. Meaning he could still go out and explore?
Shen Du looked out the window. Night was falling, fog thickening. But the hint said it was safe. Maybe it truly was. Besides, he needed to know more—about this place, about the other "actors."
He decided to go out. Taking essentials: both keys, the ring, the slip of paper. The information about the Death Fragment he kept in his mind. The notebook was too heavy to carry. The photos and letters were clues, but carrying them might be dangerous. After a moment's thought, he slipped the group photo of Mei and Lin into his pocket and returned the rest to the iron box.
He walked to the door and listened. Silence outside. He opened the door. The corridor was lit as before. Door 303 opposite was closed.
He stepped out, gently closing the door behind him. The keys were heavy in his pocket.
He decided to revisit the manager's office downstairs. The registry might hold more clues. He went downstairs, footsteps echoing in the silence. Second floor, first floor. In the lobby, beyond the glass door, thick fog and gathering darkness.
The manager's office door was open, as he left it. He entered and turned on the light—it actually worked, casting a dim yellow glow in the small room. The registry was still on the desk.
He opened the registry again, examining it carefully. He'd seen the earlier entries: Room 304, Lin and Mei. The later tenant list was blacked out, illegible. Turning to the last page, on the inside of the back cover, he saw a line of tiny writing in pencil, so faint it was nearly invisible unless looked for closely.
"Do not trust those who wear the ring."
Shen Du stared at the words. Those who wear the ring? Referring to him? Or to Lin?
He raised his left hand. The silver ring on his index finger gleamed coldly in the dim light. Do not trust those who wear the ring. Who wrote this? The manager? A previous tenant?
He put the registry back and checked other items. Under the desk was a wastebasket with some crumpled paper. He dumped it out and examined the pieces. Mostly useless scraps: shopping lists, receipts, and a fragment of newspaper.
The newspaper fragment had a small news item, headline: "Apartment Woman Dies Under Mysterious Circumstances, Suspected Love-Related Distress." The date was blurred, only recognizable as a day in June. The body of the text was fragmented, only a few phrases: "...body discovered in Room 304... deceased Mei, age 22... suicide note found at scene... suspected pregnancy... police ruled out homicide..."
Mei was dead. In Room 304. Suicide. Time: June, matching when Lin disappeared. Pregnant, abandoned, suicide. A complete story.
But why was her ghost still here? Why did the ring become an obsession?
Shen Du kept the newspaper fragment, tucking it into his pocket. He left the manager's office and walked to the glass door. Outside, it was fully dark now, the fog denser. Streetlights were on—he hadn't noticed them before—their yellowish light diffusing into hazy circles in the fog. The figures still walked in the mist, fewer now, only three or four remaining.
Shen Du watched the figures. Who were they? Other "actors"? Or part of the setting?
He hesitated, then pushed the glass door open and stepped outside.
The fog enveloped him immediately—damp, chilling. Visibility was extremely low, only a few meters clear. The streetlights' glow was feeble in the fog, barely illuminating the ground at his feet.
Shen Du walked along the street, steps light. The figures in the fog were in the distance, not approaching. He walked slowly, attentive to his surroundings. Buildings on either side were vague outlines in the mist, windows all dark, no lights.
He reached the intersection. The traffic lights glowed, but in the fog, they were just blurry halos. He stood at the crossroads, unsure which way to go. Left, right, or straight?
He chose straight ahead. The street was long. The buildings on either side gradually changed from residential blocks to shops, then to factory-like structures. The fog was too thick to see clearly. After about ten minutes of walking, a building appeared ahead, resembling a small church, its spire faintly visible through the fog.