Translator: CinderTL
"What are you looking at?" Jiang Cheng asked Fatty.
Fatty had been walking along when he suddenly stopped, turned around, and stared in the direction they had come from. His expression was strange. After a long moment, he whispered, "You... you guys didn't feel anything?"
"No," Huai Yi replied.
Fatty's question made everyone tense up.
Jiang Cheng carefully scanned their surroundings but found nothing unusual. He urged, "Let's get out of here."
Following Jiang Cheng, the group quickly found the sculpture studio. It was located at the end of the second-floor corridor, just around the corner from the restroom.
Two sculptures stood before the studio's door.
The sculpture on the left depicted a woman with her head slightly tilted back and her right arm raised, supporting a bird. Jiang Cheng guessed it symbolized peace, with the bird likely representing a dove.
The sculpture on the right portrayed a muscular man, radiating a powerful sense of strength. His head was bowed, gazing at his hands, which clutched a hammer. The hammer had a blunt end and a sharp end, giving it a textured appearance.
Wang Qi examined both sculptures but found nothing out of the ordinary.
"Look here," Shen Mengyun suddenly said, pointing at the gate.
Unlike the ornate decorations of the Sculpture Hall, the sculpture studio's gate had a distinctly aged appearance.
It was a dark wooden double door, and when you touched it, you could feel numerous dents and gouges, as if hard objects had repeatedly passed through, leaving their marks.
The doorknob area was also scratched and worn.
Pushing the door open, an indescribable odor hit them—a musty, moldy smell like something that had been left to rot for too long.
Fatty knew nothing about sculpture. He had imagined the studio would be a sophisticated space, but it turned out to be no cleaner than the construction site where he worked.
The floor was just plain, dark cement. A few small, square tables were scattered around, each holding unfinished sculptures.
Buckets, spray bottles, large sheets of plastic wrap, and piles of sculpting materials lay scattered across the floor.
Against the far wall, several finished sculptures stood.
Due to the dim lighting, they appeared shadowy and indistinct. Some were wrapped in transparent plastic wrap, giving them an eerie, unsettling appearance.
They looked like wrapped corpses, victims of some gruesome murder.
Jiang Cheng walked to the back of the Gate, where several bamboo baskets sat. Judging by their wear, they were at least seven or eight years old.
Genuine antiques.
He reached into one and pulled out a tool resembling a sickle.
But it wasn't as sharp, and its front edge wasn't sharpened. It was much heavier, too.
After swinging it a few times, Jiang Cheng seemed to fail to grasp its essence. He paused in thought, then turned and called over Fatty.
Fatty stood still, watching the Doctor seriously brandish the sickle, circling him repeatedly.
Every few moments, Jiang Cheng would stop and gesture with the tool behind Fatty's head.
After about a minute, a satisfied smile finally spread across Jiang Cheng's face.
Seeing this, everyone else stepped forward to choose their own weapons.
Huai Yi selected a metal spike about ten centimeters long, with a sharp point.
Wang Qi picked up an iron hook with a curved tip, similar to the ones they had used in the Medical Building to retrieve corpses.
Shen Mengyun, injured in the leg, only took a blunt knife for self-defense.
Then, everyone turned to Fatty. He had nearly buried half his body in the basket, and it took him a long time to grunt and heave something out from the very bottom.
As they saw what he had pulled out, everyone was surprised: a fearsomely brutal-looking iron hammer.
The handle of the hammer was wrapped round and round with hemp rope, and what looked like a bloodstain still clung to it.
"Brother Fugui," Huai Yi swallowed hard and suggested, "Wouldn't that be too heavy for you to carry?"
Fatty casually swung the hammer. "I think it's fine. Mostly, it just makes me feel secure."
A moment later, he stopped, staring at the hammer in his hand. His expression turned strange, as if searching through memories. He murmured, "And for some reason, seeing this hammer makes me feel... strangely familiar."
If anyone else had said that, Huai Yi would have thought they were crazy. But Brother Fugui was a full Crimson member. He could understand feeling familiar with a hammer, or even with a ghost.
"Perhaps it's not the hammer itself that feels familiar, but the person who wielded it," Wang Qi said, turning toward the sound.
Bang!
The moment Wang Qi spoke, a loud crash echoed from outside, the sound of something shattering on the floor.
It was some distance away, sounding like it came from the other side of the corridor.
Everyone quickly realized the sound was eerily similar to a statue falling and breaking.
"It's probably near the Sculpture Hall," Shen Mengyun said after a moment's thought.
"Let's go see," Wang Qi reacted first.
Jiang Cheng was the last to leave the room. He lingered by the gate for a moment, noticing two gray-and-white garments hanging behind it, their color scheme closely resembling the statue's. They looked like work uniforms, stained and grimy, their surfaces covered in a grayish-white residue.
Jiang Cheng casually took one down, folded it neatly, and used it to wrap the sickle.
Before they even reached the Sculpture Hall, they heard rustling sounds coming from that direction. But when they finally stepped outside, the noise vanished.
Dong.
Dong dong.
Following Yuan Xiaoyi's instructions, Jiang Cheng knocked twice on the gate before pushing it open with some effort.
Creak—
The hinges sounded rusted, their friction grating harshly in the night's stillness, setting an ominous tone for the mission.
The gate was ajar, unlocked.
The Sculpture Hall was far more spacious than they had imagined.
It was mostly empty, as they had learned from the floor plan: the hall was shaped like a fan, divided into four sections displaying different types of sculptures.
As they entered the hall, a strange feeling washed over everyone.
Just like the library and the abandoned sports field, the Sculpture Hall was shrouded in a dim, gray haze, as if filtered through a layer of darkness.
Though there was no light, one could make out some details with careful observation.
However, further away, only vague outlines remained.
The surrounding darkness pressed in like a rising tide, threatening to engulf them.
They dared not separate, huddling together as they slowly advanced, all the while studying the nearby sculptures.
Whether it was the dim light or their own imaginations, Fatty stared at the motionless sculptures lurking in the shadows, convinced they could come alive at any moment and leap at him with claws bared.
As his gaze swept across the hall, it suddenly landed on a spot, and his pupils narrowed to slits.
"There!" he blurted out, his eyes fixed on a distant corner.
Everyone followed his finger, but the corner was empty, completely devoid of anything.
"What did you see?" Jiang Cheng asked in a low voice.
"There was someone there just now," Fatty stammered, his tongue tripping over itself in his nervousness. "Squatting in the corner, facing away from us, wearing a red robe, and... and..."
Jiang Cheng frowned. "And what?"
"And covered with a red cloth, draped over their head, with the four corners hanging down like a bride's veil."
(End of the Chapter)
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