Chapter 312: Mystery of the Photo

At that moment, Fatty gave me a nudge and told me to look at Poker-face.

I turned around and saw Poker-face still silent, carefully feeling the books, but from his expression, it seemed like he was a bit puzzled.

"Remember something?" I asked, my heart stirring.

He didn't respond to me, just opened his mouth as if to speak but stopped, his brow furrowing even tighter.

I thought: Could there be a clue? I didn't dare to disturb him, so I just watched quietly from behind. He tilted his head, walked around the room, then suddenly said, "Something's not right."

"What's not right?" Fatty asked, puzzled.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if using all his energy to recall: "No, this room—it just feels wrong to me."

"Isn't this your room?"

He shook his head, then suddenly his gaze fixed on the bed. He immediately crouched down to look under it.

I got down too. It was pitch black under the bed. Poker-face turned back, and Fatty, quick on the uptake, handed him his lighter. He lit it and reached under the bed.

There was nothing underneath except a lot of cobwebs. But he didn't give up; he crawled further in and started feeling along the gaps in the wooden floorboards. Then, suddenly, his finger hooked something—he grabbed a floorboard and pried it up. With astonishing strength, there was a horrible cracking sound as he ripped up an entire wooden strip. He tossed the broken piece aside and kept prying, his movements almost frantic.

Fatty and I were stunned, momentarily unsure what to do. Fatty yelled, "Little Brother, even if it's not right, you don't have to tear down the house!" But it was no use. By the time we snapped out of it, Poker-face had already torn a large hole in the floorboards under the bed. Then I suddenly realized something—he reached into the hole and pulled out a black iron box, dragging it out with effort.

Damn, so that's it! I got excited, crawled over quickly, and saw that under the floorboards there was a hidden compartment, clearly a carefully designed secret space.

Looks like we've found the key, I thought, and immediately helped Poker-face grab the box and pull it out. It was incredibly heavy; just dragging it out left me drenched in sweat. Fatty helped us lift the box and set it on the bed.

"Holy crap, what's this?" Fatty said. "So heavy, could it be Little Brother's secret stash?"

"No way," I said, blowing off the dust to get a better look.

It was a black iron box, quite large—about one meter by half a meter, big enough to fit a person. It was covered in rusty patterns and looked quite old. "Looks like something from the old estate owner, might even be an antique." I saw the old-fashioned twist lock on it; this box was probably from the Republican era, maybe used by wealthy families to store clothes, or by theaters for costume trunks.

Poker-face climbed out, panting. We looked at him. "What's this all about?"

He didn't answer, his eyes full of confusion, as if he himself was puzzled.

It seemed he only remembered fragments, but the fact that he could recall this meant he himself had hidden the box, and it likely contained something very important. Maybe there were clues to his background. We were all excited. I said to Fatty, "Open it quick, let's see."

Fatty immediately went to twist the lock, but before he could even start, Poker-face pressed his hand down on the box and shouted, "Don't open it!"