Chapter 211: 306: Checking the Doorplate

The rickshaw driver was still counting the change I gave him, so I turned and asked him, "What kind of people live in there?"

The driver shook his head, saying he wasn't sure either. All he knew was that this sanatorium was built in the 1960s. In the mid-1980s, the sanatorium was closed and it was converted into an opera house, so he had been here before. At that time, there were only a few areas like this on both sides of the river, and I was lucky to have run into him; if it had been any other rickshaw driver from the north, they definitely wouldn't have found this place.

I listened with half-belief. After the driver left, I was the only one left on the entire street. I looked left and right; it was pitch black, with only a dim streetlamp in front of the building. I was a bit scared, but then I thought to myself, I've even gone down into ancient tombs in the middle of the night, so what's there to fear from an old house? So I pushed against the building's door.

There was a wall around the building, and the gate was an arched red wooden door without door knockers. I pushed it a few times and found it was locked with an iron chain from behind—the door wouldn't open. But this kind of obstacle wasn't going to stop me. I looked around, went to the lamppost, climbed up in a few moves, and vaulted over the wall. It was the same nimble skill from my childhood mischief; looks like I haven't lost it.

The courtyard inside was overgrown with weeds. When I jumped down, I could tell the ground was paved with blue bricks, but the cracks were full of grass. There was also a tree in the yard, already dead, leaning against one side of the wall.

I walked up to the small building and lit my lighter to get a good look at its dilapidated state. The windows and doors were carved, but they had all sagged. There were spider webs everywhere, and the main door was locked with an iron chain and sealed with a strip. I pried open a window and carefully climbed in. Inside, the floor was paved with blue bricks covered in a thick layer of dust. Behind the door was a large hall, completely empty and seemingly hollow. I raised my lighter and turned around carefully; it felt a bit familiar. I thought for a moment, and then cold sweat broke out.

This hall was the place where "I" was crawling on the ground in A Ning's videotape.

"I've come to the right place," I said to myself. I stood at the same angle as the camcorder in the videotape. Those blue bricks, those carved windows—the angles were exactly the same. I became more and more certain of my conjecture. A mixture of fear and excitement arose in my heart.

Continuing further in, there was a spiral wooden staircase on the left side of the hall, a very simple one, but at least it was spiral, leading up to the second floor. I tiptoed over and looked up; above the stairs it was pitch black, with no light.

I pulled out the key from my pocket—306—so that should be on the third floor.

This was somewhat unusual. I lowered my lighter to look at the stair treads and found them covered in thick dust, but in the dust I could see some footprints. Apparently, someone did come here occasionally.

I gently placed my foot on the tread and pressed down; it creaked, but it seemed able to support my weight. I gritted my teeth and carefully walked up.

The upper floor

Going up to the second floor, I found that the hallway entrance at the second floor had been sealed off with concrete—no door, completely blocked. Based on the space downstairs, there should have been several more rooms behind the concrete wall, as if they had been isolated. The concrete work was very rough.

I touched the wall and felt a bit puzzled. Could there have been structural issues with this house, and they reinforced it here?

But being puzzled was useless; I didn't have the extra energy to think about these things right now. Continuing up to the third floor, I saw a pitch-black hallway with rooms on both sides. No light seeped from under any of the doors, so they must have been empty. The air was filled with a pungent, moldy smell.

I concentrated, held my breath, and carefully walked into the hallway, avoiding the cobwebs. I saw painted room numbers covered in dust on the doors. I read them one by one as I went, feeling a bit like the protagonist in a European or American suspense film. Soon I reached the second-to-last door in the hallway. I raised my hot lighter and shone it on the door; above the doorframe was a faint room number: 306.

At that moment I thought about knocking, then found it amusing. So I hesitated at the door, then took out the key. I inserted it into the keyhole and turned it. With a click, the door swung open with a sharp screech from the hinges, and I pushed it in easily.

The room was not large and very dark inside. The musty smell was even stronger. First I poked my head through the door crack to look. I saw that there might be a window on one side of the room; the light from the streetlamp outside filtered in, revealing the rough outline of the room. There seemed to be a lot of furniture against the walls, but it was indistinct in the shadows cast by the streetlamp. However, one glance told me no one was there.

I took a deep breath and carefully walked in, raising the now-hot lighter. Under its dim flame, everything around became clear.

It was someone's bedroom. I saw a small bed in the corner; the moldy smell came from it. Approaching, I saw the quilt on the bed had rotted to black, with a horrible odor. The quilt was puffed up; at first glance I thought a dead body was wrapped inside, but a closer look showed it was just the shape of the quilt.

Beside the bed was a desk, an old-fashioned wooden one like those used in elementary school. On it were some trash, cloth, a few pieces of scrap paper, and some white chunks of lime that had fallen from the ceiling, all covered in a thick layer of dust.

Next to the desk was a large cabinet, three or four meters wide and taller than me. The wood had probably swollen from moisture; the door panels were cracked. Looking up, I could see the joint between the ceiling and the wall above the cabinet, with large coal stains and water marks, clearly indicating it leaked when it rained.

This place seemed to have been abandoned for a long time. With this degree of decay, it must have been at least five years. But the house, though old and dilapidated, was just ordinarily so. Why did the person who sent the videotape lure me here? What information did he want me to find in this house?

My nervousness gradually calmed as I adapted to the environment. I put the lighter on the desk and began searching the drawers of the wooden desk. I pulled out the drawers one by one. Most were empty; two drawers were lined with old newspapers that had mold all over them—I didn't dare touch them.

Nothing in the drawers. Could it be on the bed? I walked to the bed and first looked under it—it was full of cobwebs, nothing else. Then I took a drawer from the side to use as a tool and pushed the clumped-up quilt off the mattress, wanting to see if anything was wrapped inside. But after a few pokes, black sticky water oozed from the quilt; there were even bugs in it. The moldy smell was overwhelming—I almost threw up from disgust.

I finally managed to push all the quilt onto the floor, but still found nothing. Actually, after just a few pokes I realized there wouldn't be anything inside—who would hide something in such a disgusting place?

Nothing in those two places, so only the large cabinet remained. The cabinet had locks, and though the doors were cracked, opening it still required some effort and could not be done without tools.

I had nothing with me, so I had to look for something on the spot. Finally, I found something on the windowsill. It was the latch from an old-style window, which could be pulled out. Though rusty, the old latch was solid and sturdy. I pulled one out and used it as a crowbar. I wedged it into the cracks of the cabinet door panels, pried the gap wide enough for my fingers, then braced one foot against one side, stuck my hand into the gap, and pulled outward with force. The door panel made a horrible grating sound, bending as I pulled, then came a cracking sound as it broke. The whole panel snapped off forcibly, dust flying up and stinging my eyes so I couldn't open them.

The building was quite quiet, so my noises sounded especially frightening. The moment the door panel broke, the harsh sound startled me into a cold sweat. It took a while to recover. Then I picked up the lighter and shone it into the cabinet.

I had no expectation of what was in the cabinet. The most likely possibility was nothing, so I hadn't prepared myself mentally. Yet when I shone the light in, I was startled.

The cabinet was indeed empty, completely bare. But the back panel against the wall had disappeared, revealing the concrete wall behind it. And on that concrete wall, there was actually a dark, waist-high doorway, connected to a set of concrete steps leading downward, destination unknown.