This is a mysterious underground room in a secret sanatorium, where a mysterious woman has engaged in some incredible activities. Since she lived here, there must be traces left behind; if we can uncover even a little, we might understand some truths about the situation. Even if the information proves useless, I can still gain insight into her life and mental state at that time.

I know almost nothing about what has happened in this sanatorium; every clue is important to me. I began my search, determined to examine anything that could be seen.

The building here is quite low, and my body feels rather constricted in this space. However, the light from my lighter proves useful, illuminating far into the distance. I scanned the surroundings and decided where to start my investigation.

In the blurry black-and-white images of the video tape, I couldn’t freely view the entire room’s layout and details, but now I can see things more clearly. I first imagined what Huo Ling looked like while combing her hair, which was quite terrifying, so I quickly shook my head to distract myself.

The Zippo lighter in my hand can burn for a long time, but it has become so hot that I can barely hold it anymore. I found a piece of rag on the table to wrap it up and continue using it.

In the dim light, I first examined the walls. The walls of this room were painted white but were now covered in dust. Near the door, a wooden stick with hooks was nailed to the wall, serving as a place to hang clothes. Below the stick was newspaper to prevent the hanging clothes from touching the whitewash on the wall. Beyond that was a wardrobe that no longer had a door; this was likely where Huo Ling changed her clothes, but it was now empty. As I approached to take a closer look, I noticed that the wardrobe seemed to have been scratched by something, covered in deep marks.

On the adjacent wall, there was nothing but hanging electrical wires, all covered in gray. There was also an opening leading to the next room, which I couldn’t tell if it had been left open during construction or if it had been broken through later. The room across from me was completely empty.

Opposite the wardrobe was a writing desk, with two side-by-side tables piled high with items, seemingly filled with newspapers and other indistinguishable trash. On the wall next to the desk, there were numerous pieces of paper, all coated in dust.

I blew off the dust and started examining them one by one. I found the contents on the wall to be quite trivial. I saw utility bills from the 1990s and some random, meaningless numbers scribbled down. These papers, which had nearly fused with the wall, were likely used as a makeshift phone log since I remember the phone being in this spot. But now it was gone, leaving only a broken phone line.

These items provided me with no useful information; all I could ascertain was that she had used electricity while living here. I sighed and then began to rummage through the documents on the desk.

The papers were buried in dust, and amidst the haze, I pushed aside my concerns and began to flip through them one by one. The insides of the papers were already rotten, and a small silverfish was startled out by my actions. However, compared to the snow in Changbai Mountain, these creatures were mere pests. I quickly flipped through the papers and pulled out a few notebooks from within.

I took it out and shook it a bit, and I realized that it seemed to be a notebook of manuscript paper, used for writing drafts before computers were common. There were some writings on it. I flipped it open and saw three lines on the first page:

Back Room 2-3.
Number 012~053
Type: 20, 939, 45

What does this mean? I thought to myself, it looks like some kind of file number. Could it be a handwritten document or a classic text?

When I turned to the next page, I found it was not what I expected. The second page had a drawing on it, done with a ballpoint pen, and it was quite messy; I couldn’t immediately tell what it was.

I composed myself and tried to discern it. After five or six minutes, I realized that it was actually a drawing of an ancient figure. However, this person clearly did not know how to draw; the figure was almost distorted and looked extremely strange. The ancient figure resembled a fox with a long mouth rather than a human.

Surrounding the figure were many incomprehensible lines. Once I recognized that the strange thing was a person, the meaning of these lines became apparent; they seemed to represent the background of the figure, likely mountains, water, temples, and trees.

I couldn’t help but chuckle and thought, what is this? Is it a sketch by Huo Ling? Her hobbies are quite diverse.

I flipped through another thirty or forty pages, and they were all similar drawings. There was no textual content, so I set it aside and looked at another book. It was the same; aside from the different content on the first page, the rest were similar drawings. I had no idea what they were, so I piled them to the side and continued to sift through the scraps of paper. In the end, I found nothing much, just a few bundles of what looked like rags, and not a single sheet with content.

I cursed under my breath, thinking it seemed they must have taken all the informative items when they left.

However, I was not willing to give up; I refused to believe that there was nothing left behind. I sat down in the spot where Huo Ling had been combing her hair, took a moment to rest, and then opened the drawer in front of me to see what was inside.

It was the largest drawer in the middle of the writing desk, under the tabletop. I pulled it, and felt a door; damn it, the drawer was actually locked, and it felt heavy.

Generally, after moving, people don’t lock up discarded furniture, and the weight suggested there might be something inside. I got excited. This kind of lock wouldn’t stump me; I stood up, took a coat hook from behind a door, inserted it into the gap of the drawer, and pressed down hard. With a snap, the gap opened wider, the lock disengaged, and I pulled the drawer out.

I shone a lighter inside and exclaimed, “YES!” The drawer was indeed filled with items. I placed the lighter on the edge of the drawer and began to rummage through it.

This was definitely a woman’s drawer; it was filled with all sorts of miscellaneous items, in disarray. Clearly, when she left, she took all the useful things with her, leaving behind a wooden comb, a small round makeup case from the 1990s, and a thick stack of “Contemporary Cinema” magazines. These old magazines were quite dated; I remembered reading them as a child, considering them “yellow publications,” along with some black iron hairpins, many empty envelopes, and a blank photo album.

There were a lot of envelopes, but they were all unused. I patiently opened each one to check, but found nothing inside. There were no photos in the album either; it was clear that something had been placed there before, but everything had been removed.

Next, I flipped through those old magazines, page by page, with extra care, yet I still found nothing. I collapsed onto the chair, not minding the dust on it, and, feeling a bit exhausted, I looked across the table through the dim light of my lighter. The surroundings were pitch black and eerily quiet, and my heart was filled with disappointment. Clearly, if this seat belonged to Huo Ling, this woman was quite meticulous and had deliberately left no clues behind.

The coldness around me was already greeting me, and I gritted my teeth, refusing to give up. Damn it, according to Roger’s Law, it was impossible that nothing had been left behind; I was sure I could find something! I encouraged myself again, even though I was feeling a bit desperate, and began to push the drawers back in one by one, then got up to look at the desk across from me.

There was no chair to sit on, so I bent down and discovered that the largest drawer in the middle was still locked. This was a bit strange. I used the same trick again and pried it open.

I fully expected to see a scene similar to the previous one, having to sift through a pile of garbage for clues. However, to my surprise, this time when I pulled it out, the drawer was very clean and empty, with nothing inside except for a large yellow envelope in the center, bulging and about the size of A4 paper, placed there as if it were waiting for me to find it.

“Eh?” I felt a sudden realization and quickly picked it up to examine it.

This was the kind of labor protection envelope from the late 1980s, made of kraft paper, with a faded portrait of Mao Zedong on it. When I touched it, I could feel that there was something thick inside, but it had already been dampened, feeling prickly and soft to the touch. There were no words on the envelope.

I sensed that this was significant, so I quickly flipped it over, opened the envelope, and reached inside, pulling out an old work notebook resembling a large magazine.

I was momentarily stunned, then opened the cover and found on the first page a beautifully written passage in cursive with a fountain pen:

“I don’t know which of the three people you are. No matter who you are, when you come here and discover this envelope, I believe you are already involved in the matter.

The videotape is the last safety measure we set up. Sending out the videotape means that the person holding it can no longer contact me. This indicates that I am either dead or ‘it’ has found me, and I have left this city.

In either case, it means I may soon leave this world. Therefore, the videotape will guide you here to show you this notebook.

This notebook records the research and experiences of our more than ten years of work, and I leave it to you. You can learn from it the things you want to know.

However, I must remind you that the contents involve some huge secrets. I had sworn to take these to the grave, yet in the end, I could not keep my promise. After reading these secrets, the consequences are unpredictable; you must take care of yourselves.

Chen Wenjin”

September 1995