Translator: CinderTL
"Damn it, that's downright treacherous," Huai Yi muttered, finally understanding the trap. "The sign-in book is placed right in front of those heads. To sign it, you have to go over there and turn your back to them. Who the hell could withstand that?"
Wen Liangshan licked his lips. "Don't be so quick to dismiss it, Brother Huai. Brother Jiang could handle it. If he hadn't been careless at first, do you think such a petty trick could have slipped past his eyes?"
Fatty chimed in, "Wen Liangshan, I don't remember you being so confident yesterday."
Jiang Cheng ignored them, glancing at the time on his phone. It was 12:19. His brow furrowed slightly. "Hurry up. We don't have much time left."
This mission wasn't just about surviving the climb from the first to the fifth floor of the building; it also had a strict time limit. If they failed to escape through the main gate by 12:44, the mission would be considered a failure.
They would be trapped here forever, just like the missing Xiaoting.
Retreating to the staircase, the group hurried upward. But halfway up, Wen Liangshan suddenly let out a soft "Hmm?"
In the oppressive silence, the sound stood out sharply.
"What the hell was that ghost noise?" Huai Yi demanded.
Wen Liangshan seemed drawn to something. He reached out and touched the stair railing, his breathing quickening. "Brother Jiang, come take a look!"
Jiang Cheng approached before Wen Liangshan could finish speaking. He didn't turn on his phone's flashlight in the dimly lit corridor, relying instead on the faint glow of the screen for illumination.
The railing was clearly damp. Leaning closer, Jiang Cheng detected a sharp, pungent odor—Formalin, the chemical used to preserve corpses.
Even more disturbing were the distinct scratch marks crisscrossing the railing, as if left by razor-sharp fingernails. Jiang Cheng scraped his own nails against the wood. Despite its age, the railing was surprisingly sturdy; leaving such deep scratches would be extremely difficult.
He could almost picture the hand that had made them, its nails like blades.
As they ascended, the scratch marks multiplied, forming a dense, unnerving pattern.
"Doctor," Fatty called from the other side of the stairs, "y-you need to see this!"
Following Fatty's pointing finger, Jiang Cheng noticed the wall beside him. The white paint was peeling badly, revealing a chaotic network of scratches beneath.
Like the scratches on the wooden handrail, these marks on the wall were also made by fingernails.
Interspersed among the scratches were several lines of crooked, uneven writing:
"Why did you come here?"
"Why didn't you listen to me?"
"Don't go any further. This is no place for the living."
"I warned you."
"Do you really want to see me die?"
"Then your wish will be granted."
"Heh heh... By the time you're reading these words, you're already dead."
"Stay here."
"Stay with me forever... forever."
The words, too, had been painstakingly carved with fingernails, their crooked lines resembling a mass of crawling insects. Staring at them for too long made Jiang Cheng's head throb as if pierced by needles.
The veiled threats and unsettling nature of the writing defied description.
Another detail caught Jiang Cheng's attention: some of the words were over two meters above the ground.
This raised a crucial question:
How had the person—or thing—that wrote these words managed to reach such heights?
Could it fly?
Or could it crawl up vertical walls like a spider?
Knowing Fatty's penchant for wild speculation, Jiang Cheng kept these thoughts to himself, not wanting to frighten him.
Instead, he simply urged everyone to remain vigilant.
The layout of the fourth floor differed significantly from the others. Whether it was due to the building's architecture or some other reason, everyone felt that the ceiling was noticeably higher than on the previous floors.
Looking up, they saw only pitch-black darkness, stretching endlessly as if leading to another world.
The temperature was also significantly lower than on the floors below. If they had merely felt cold before, the frigid air here now made them shiver. Even Jiang Cheng, who rarely felt the cold, instinctively tightened his coat.
"It's freezing," Wen Liangshan muttered, trying to squeeze into the center of the group. Huai Yi glared at him until he finally settled down, his lower face completely buried in his collar, muffling his voice. "Where the hell are we? The Gates of Hell?"
"If you've got something useful to say, speak up. Otherwise, shut your mouth!"
They moved slowly down the corridor, its dimness stretching into what seemed like an endless abyss. Darkness loomed both ahead and behind, and the echo of their footsteps lent a haunting sense of isolation, as if they had been forgotten by the world.
The rooms lining the corridor didn't resemble ordinary classrooms or offices. The doors were thick iron slabs, secured with old-fashioned padlocks. Some were painted dark green, others a faded blue.
The gates were wider than usual. Jiang Cheng stopped before a massive iron gate. None of the gates had plaques or signs; the only way to identify them was by the painted numbers.
Slightly to the right of this gate, the number 9 was painted in vivid crimson.
"Room 9," Fatty muttered, staring at the bright red number. A sudden sense of unease washed over him.
"Brother Jiang," Huai Yi whispered, glancing at Jiang Cheng, "is there something wrong with this room?"
Along the way, they had passed countless similar gates—unmarked, unlabeled, and utterly devoid of direction. Apart from one impenetrable, heavy iron gate and the numbered labels, there was nothing else. They had no idea what these rooms were for.
Jiang Cheng ignored Huai Yi. Instead, he grabbed Huai Yi's hand and pressed it against the gate. In the next instant, Huai Yi's expression twisted in horror.
Cold.
No, not just cold—a bone-chilling, penetrating chill.
That kind of bone-deep, marrow-freezing coldness.
Before meeting Jiang Cheng, Huai Yi had experienced his share of supernatural events. This was the same chilling aura that clung to those entities.
Before Huai Yi could speak, Jiang Cheng said, "This is likely the morgue where the entire School of Medicine stores its corpses."
"The entire floor?" Huai Yi exclaimed in shock. This was just a medical school, not a full-fledged hospital or a funeral home with a mortuary. Where would they get so many bodies?
"Of course not. Only this room is real; the others are just decoys," Jiang Cheng replied, pointing to the bottom of the door. "We've passed through countless rooms, but this is the only one without a threshold."
"That's because they use specialized gurneys to transport the bodies. A threshold would make it difficult to maneuver them in and out," Jiang Cheng explained, pushing against the bone-chilling door. It was locked with an old chain, its metal surface gleaming with an icy luster.
"Keep watch for me," Jiang Cheng instructed, pulling a black hairpin from her pocket. She bent the metal wire inside. This was the hairpin she had taken from Yuan Xiaoyi earlier, claiming she wanted to keep it as a memento.
(End of the Chapter)
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