The photo was sent via email, and Panzi had no idea about it. I taught him for half a day, and by the time I received it, it had already been an hour since I called him.

It was indeed a very old photo, yellowed and faded, but even so, I could still see what was in the picture and understood why Panzi couldn’t be sure about it, as well as what “ghost” meant.

The old photo was likely taken in an old house, with a folding screen in the background. The photo was severely washed out, and the details were hard to discern, but I could see a figure standing straight behind the screen.

Light was coming through from behind the screen, and the figure was quite clear. What was chilling was the person’s posture; a normal person standing would always have some shift in their center of gravity, but this figure was almost completely upright. Moreover, the person’s shoulders were slumped, which looked abnormal right away. My first impression was that this person was hanging in mid-air.

Was there a dead person hanging behind the screen?

I felt a bit uneasy, but I couldn’t figure out what about this photo would pique my interest. Would seeing this photo make me want to find him? I didn’t feel that way at all.

Looking further, the floor was wooden, and the left edge of the photo showed a deep scene—a corridor behind the screen. Half of it was obscured by the screen, but the other half was visible. That area had wrinkled up, and at a glance, it was hard to make out, but upon closer inspection, I saw several doors on one side of the corridor.

Suddenly, I felt that this scene looked somewhat familiar. The ancient and worn feeling, combined with the arrangement of the rooms, made me sure I had seen it somewhere before, and the impression was quite deep.

I scrolled down with my mouse; there was also a scan of the back of the photo in the email, which had a note written by Brother Chu, clearly addressed to me. It said: “In 1984, Golmud Liberation Army Sanatorium.”

I gasped, suddenly realizing, ah, this was a photo taken in that abandoned sanatorium in Golmud. The scene flashed in my mind; I didn’t know which floor of the corridor it was.

That sanatorium was chosen by Wenjin and his group as a hiding place to evade the investigation by Uncle San. Wenjin’s group had a mysterious background, and according to Uncle San, they didn’t know what kind of research they were conducting. In that abandoned sanatorium, they filmed a large number of video tapes, monitoring their every move. There was even someone in there who looked extremely like me; this whole matter was a complete mess.

How did Brother Chu have a photo from that place? Was he involved in it too?

It didn’t seem likely. I thought about it; he had a very good relationship with Uncle San. Could it be that Uncle San had something with him? Or perhaps he had asked him to handle something… so he knew some insider information.

This was indeed very possible. If he really knew what had happened in that sanatorium, it would be a pleasant surprise for me. But then again, what exactly was this photo capturing?

For an ordinary person, taking a photo must have a subjective purpose; either it is to commemorate a moment or to preserve information. It wouldn’t make sense to take a photo without any meaning. Clearly, at that sanatorium, there must have been some impetus that led someone to take this photo.

Taking a commemorative photo seems unlikely to me. The screen is very ordinary, and the shabby corridor is at the edge of the photo, definitely not taken for the purpose of capturing these. So, what this person must be trying to photograph is the shadow behind the screen.

This is quite a bizarre situation. On one hand, this shadow is spine-chilling; on the other hand, this method of taking a photo indeed makes one feel like it might be capturing a “ghost,” as it somewhat resembles ghost photos found online. Moreover, I am well aware that this cannot be a ghost; there must be something behind that screen. And the person taking the photo, for some reason, took this picture through the screen. We are not present at the scene and only see the result, which makes it feel unfathomable.

That sanatorium hides too many things. They recorded every move they made, and now a photo like mine has appeared. What exactly were they doing inside?

After thinking it over, I realized there was no point in worrying too much. It seems necessary to meet this person, so I called Panzi and explained my thoughts. After considering it, Panzi agreed and said he would arrange it and notify me once everything was set.

As the book says, things can be simple or complex. Soon, I met Brother Chu at Pingtang Prison; the process was smoother than I had anticipated. Panzi took me inside. It was my first time in a prison, and I was sweating profusely as I passed through several iron gates. In the lounge, I saw him.

This guy had clearly lost weight, his bald head no longer shone, and he looked several years older, frowning and shivering. I offered him a cigarette, and after taking a few puffs, he seemed a bit more relaxed. Thinking back to how he used to look so slick, I couldn’t help but feel that in this line of work, one can go from riches to rags; living like this is a fate one must accept.

The meeting was awkward for a moment, and I didn’t know what to say to him. Instead, he asked me first, “What’s up with your third uncle?” His voice was quite hoarse.

I briefly mentioned the situation in Changsha and said that my uncle had disappeared without a trace, and I had no idea where he had gone.

“Retribution! This is the retribution for being in this line of work!” He took a deep drag on his cigarette, seeming a bit distracted. After a moment, he looked up and stared at me, then asked, “Are you inquiring about Dumb Zhang?”

“Dumb Zhang?” I was taken aback for a moment before realizing, “You mean that guy? You all call him Dumb Zhang?”

“That’s what everyone in the business calls him.” By this time, he had finished his cigarette at an alarming speed. I noticed his hands were trembling again, so I handed him my cigarette and lighter. He immediately took one out and lit another. “He doesn’t like to talk. Why are you asking about him?”

I thought to myself, “What’s it to you?” and was at a loss for how to respond. Panzi interjected, “Why the hell are you asking so much?”

Brother Chu took a few puffs and shot Panzi a glance, seemingly unafraid: “Look at me now; what’s it gonna do to ask a question?”

Panzi, who had always hated him, clicked his tongue and seemed ready to say something harsh, but I stopped him. Brother Chu was at his lowest point now; saying harsh words wouldn’t help. After all, he had nothing left to lose. What difference would it make if you insulted him a few times? I said, “Brother Chu, you’ve been in the underworld longer than I have. You know there are some things I really can’t say.”

“Yo, even the Third Young Master is playing the game of polite conversation with me, huh?” He nodded at me, saying it with a hint of jealousy.

I wasn’t buying into his act; I just stared at him. He chuckled nervously for a moment, but when he saw I wasn’t reacting, he lost interest and suddenly turned to Panzi, saying, “Pan, did you pay my old man the money?”

Panzi pulled out something—it was a receipt, presumably for the 100,000 yuan he had paid on my behalf, and he tossed it in front of Brother Chu. Brother Chu took a look at it and said, “As expected of the Third Young Master’s people, quite straightforward!”

“We’ve paid the money, and you’ve met the person, so can you speak now?” Panzi said, somewhat reluctantly.

Brother Chu nodded and said to him, “Then please excuse yourself, this is a matter between me and your Third Young Master.”

Panzi frowned, getting a bit angry. I quickly gave him a look, signaling him to go along with it; after all, what could he do? Panzi cursed under his breath and got up to leave.

Brother Chu watched him go, and only after the door closed did he turn to look at me. I noticed his expression had changed; he exhaled a puff of smoke and said, “Third Young Master, you can’t continue investigating this.”

I stared at Brother Chu in shock, not expecting him to say that.

“Why?” I blurted out.

He sighed, “Look at me, look at my fate, your uncle’s fate, the mute Zhang’s fate, everyone’s fate—you’ve seen it all.” He stood up, “What comes after this is too shocking; it’s not something people like us should be involved in.”

I straightened up a bit, recalling that photograph, and asked him, “What exactly do you know?”