Chapter 201: Snake Swamp Ghost City Chapter 27: The Footage

The VCR was a Panasonic that the assistant had picked up from a secondhand market in the boat camp area. When I arrived at Third Uncle's room, the assistant was setting it up. I saw two identical backup units on the sofa, in case one broke down midway and wasted time. Luckily, imported goods from that era were still decent quality; all three tested fine. I hefted one of the backups—it was dead heavy. Things from that time were solid, unlike today's DVD players that you could swing around like dog frisbees.

During the time the VCR was being installed, Third Uncle never spoke a word. He just let me sit there while he smoked one cigarette after another, lost in thought about something.

My hangover headache was gradually easing, and I was getting a bit nervous, my mind filling with all sorts of wild guesses about what footage could be on this tape. I thought about Xisha, but when they went to Xisha, they couldn't have brought video equipment (at the time such gear was extremely rare, and film cameras were still common domestically, with manual film reels), so the content on this tape definitely wasn't shot during the Xisha trip. By the same logic, it couldn't be from behind the bronze door either. Having ruled out those two possibilities, what could be on the tape? I had absolutely no clue.

The TV and VCR were connected and powered on. I picked out one of the tapes and was about to insert it, but before it reached the slot, I hesitated. My heart suddenly raced for no reason, and I glanced at Third Uncle.

Third Uncle waved his hand at me and said, "Go on, put it in. What are you looking at me for? Are you afraid something's going to crawl out of the TV?"

So I pushed it in. The VCR began to whir. I sat back down on the bed. Soon, snow flickered on the screen. Third Uncle stopped smoking and tossed the butt into the spittoon. Both of us, plus his assistant, sat up a little straighter, feeling tense.

After about ten seconds of static, an image finally appeared on the TV. The TV was color, but the picture was black-and-white—probably an issue with the tape itself. The image started out very blurry, then gradually came into focus.

It showed an old-style wooden room. We could see a wooden floor. The camera was shaking constantly, clearly because whatever or whoever was holding it wasn't very steady. We saw a window on the far wall; outside it was fuzzy, but it seemed to be daytime, with some backlight.

Third Uncle and I exchanged puzzled looks. This looked like a residential room—not at all what we expected to see. Could it be a selfie video? Any moment now, Poker-face might walk out eating noodles, face the camera, and say, "Long time no see, how have you all been?" and so on.

Under the window was a rather old-fashioned writing desk, the kind of furniture you'd see in revolutionary movies. It was piled high with things: documents, a desk lamp, and a telephone.

The phone was an older model, but not ancient—definitely from after the 1990s. Of course, many families still use this style of phone today, so it's hard to pinpoint the exact year, but it certainly couldn't predate the 1990s.

The shot then remained fixed on this room scene, like a still-life description. After waiting a while, we realized the camera was set in place for a fixed shot, like a static camera in a movie—it wouldn't move.

In that case, this static scene could go on for who knows how long. We couldn't just stare at it, so Third Uncle pressed fast-forward. After about twenty minutes of fast-forward, suddenly a dark figure flashed across the room.

Third Uncle and I were both startled.

Third Uncle quickly rewound and played it in slow motion. It turned out to be a person walking into the frame from off-screen. We also heard the sound of a door opening and closing—someone must have come back from outside. Looking closely, the person who walked in was a woman. Her age was unclear, but vaguely she seemed somewhat attractive, with her hair tied in a ponytail.

Third Uncle tensed up immediately. He stepped forward, almost pressing his face against the TV screen.

But the woman walked very quickly. She swept across the screen in an instant, ran to the other side, and disappeared out of frame.

I saw Third Uncle's expression suddenly change and was about to ask what was wrong, but he waved at me to be quiet.

Time moved forward. Five minutes later, the woman appeared on screen again, now wearing pajamas. She walked straight up to the camera, and the image began to shake—she was adjusting the camera angle.

This gave a close-up effect, with her face right up against the TV. I saw that she was quite young, with a cute face and big eyes. Overall, she looked like a sweet girl.

Third Uncle was also leaning close to the TV, and suddenly their eyes met on screen. What I didn't expect was that, for a moment, Third Uncle froze, then his whole body jerked, and with a shout he stumbled back a dozen steps, nearly kicking the TV off the cabinet.

His assistant quickly steadied the TV. I went to support Third Uncle, but he was pointing at the face on the TV, shaking and shouting, "It's her! Huo Ling! It's Huo Ling!"

His sudden reaction scared us badly. His assistant let go of the TV to help him, while I first straightened the TV, afraid it would fall and break.

But his assistant couldn't hold him up. Third Uncle kept shouting as he staggered backward, slamming into the sofa so hard it nearly tipped over, and he slipped to the floor. The impact was obviously painful; he clutched his lower back, his face pale. Even so, his eyes remained fixed on the TV screen, almost bulging out.

Now I was also a bit stunned. This woman was Huo Ling? According to Poker-face's account, Huo Ling was the child of a cadre, one of the people who went down into the underwater tomb during the Xisha archaeological expedition. There was very little information about her. I didn't know which one she was in that black-and-white group photo, so naturally I couldn't recognize her. For someone like that to appear in the tape sent by Poker-face... it really was unbelievable.

Moreover, what felt strange to me was: how did this tape come about? From the way she adjusted the camera, she clearly knew the recorder was there. This wasn't like a selfie; it was some kind of self-imposed surveillance—undoubtedly monitoring footage. Why would she shoot something like this? And how did this tape end up in Poker-face's hands? Why did he send it to me? There was more to this story, I muttered to myself. Third Uncle was right; it seemed far from over.

By now, the woman on the screen had finished adjusting the camera. The shaking stopped. She stepped back from the lens and sat down at the writing desk, propped up a mirror, and began combing her hair. Because the image was black-and-white and the earlier shaking had blurred things, the screen was a bit fuzzy.

Third Uncle gradually calmed down, but his face was ashen, a completely different demeanor from before. He was gripping the arm of the sofa, trembling slightly, obviously very tense.

To confirm, I asked Third Uncle, "Is this woman the same Huo Ling who went down with you into the underwater tomb?"

Third Uncle showed no reaction at all. I had no choice; I exchanged a glance with his assistant, who also didn't know what to say.

In the video, Huo Ling kept combing her hair. After she untied her ponytail, her hair was quite long. I had no idea how long she intended to keep doing it. About twenty minutes later, she finally stopped and tied her ponytail back up.

After combing, she stood up, looked out the window somewhat dazedly, then ran over to an area the camera couldn't see, and then ran back. But when she came back, I noticed that her clothes had changed.

That is, she had gone into the inner room and changed into a different outfit.

Then, a scene that struck me as utterly bizarre appeared.

After coming out, she went to the camera again, apparently unsatisfied with the angle, and adjusted the lens again. The screen began to shake, and her pale face filled the entire screen.

Third Uncle let out a strange moan, as if her face was terrifying to him.

I thought that after changing clothes, she would go out or cook or something—the room would probably be empty for a long time again. I picked up the remote and was about to fast-forward, when I saw her sit back down at the writing desk, pick up the comb, untie her hair, and start combing again! "This woman is crazy!" the assistant beside me couldn't help blurting out.

Third Uncle immediately gestured for him to be quiet, his brow deeply furrowed.

She was combing her hair with her back to us, so we couldn't see her expression. There was only a vague shadow in the mirror. Her movements were almost identical, even the rhythm seemed the same. Watching her, I almost suspected her head was made of iron. If I combed my hair like that, my head would have been worn down to a walnut by now.

This scene made the atmosphere feel eerie. I endured it. After about another twenty minutes, she finally tied her hair up again, stood up, and ran out of the frame with a clatter.

I and that guy both sighed with relief, thinking that was finally over—if she kept combing, my head would start to ache too.

However, before we could stretch our limbs, she changed into another set of clothes and ran out, leaned in front of the camera, and began adjusting the angle for the third time.

I was completely bewildered, utterly confused—what on earth was Huo Ling doing? This was too much. Did she have a hobby for this... or perhaps she was going to kill herself? That's why she tirelessly changed clothes and adjusted the angle. Was she going to comb her hair again? If she kept combing like that, the comb would be worn down to a brush.

Just then, the picture suddenly stopped. I turned around and saw that Third Uncle had pressed pause. On the black-and-white screen, that close-up face was instantly frozen.

Third Uncle's face was ashen, his lips even trembling a little. He leaned in for a closer look and said hoarsely, "Heavens, she hasn't aged either!"