A flicker of recognition stirred in Chen Ge's mind as he stared at the girl's shadowy form, an uncanny certainty that he had encountered her face before. It wasn't just a vague sense of familiarity; her features, though obscured by the darkness, carried a distinctiveness that tugged at the edges of his memory. Despite the urgency of the moment, his recollection faltered, unable to pinpoint where or when he had seen her. Snatching his phone from the bedside table and gripping the heavy iron hammer tightly, he scrambled out from under the bed, his movements clumsy but driven by adrenaline. The white rice scattered across the floor had been disturbed, its careful arrangement now a chaotic mess, evidence of the girl's hurried passage. By the time Chen Ge stumbled out of the staff breakroom into the corridor, the mysterious shadow had vanished, leaving only the oppressive silence of the Haunted House in her wake.
His heart pounded as he scanned the darkened corridor, the realization dawning that the girl had not escaped the premises. The front door remained firmly shut, its lock undisturbed, confirming that she was still somewhere within the labyrinthine confines of the Haunted House. A chill ran through him at the thought of her lurking in the shadows, unseen yet ever-present. Switching on his phone's flashlight, its beam cutting through the gloom, Chen Ge noticed a faint trail of white rice leading away from the breakroom. The grains, scattered haphazardly, formed a disjointed path that beckoned him deeper into the first-floor corridor. At the corridor's end, he found the wooden boards barring the entrance to the underground scenario lifted aside, a faint, eerie breeze whistling from below. With a steadying breath, he moved the boards and descended into the Mu Yang High School scenario, the air growing colder and heavier with each step.
The trail of rice continued down the stairs, a clear sign that the girl had fled into the same underground scenario. Each grain seemed to pulse with purpose, guiding him through the darkness like a breadcrumb trail left by a spectral hand. The Mu Yang High School scenario, sprawling and disorienting, retained the skeletal structure of the old parking lot, its concrete walls and low ceilings amplifying the sense of claustrophobia. Chen Ge's flashlight swept across the floor, following the rice as it wound through the maze-like corridors, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space. The trail abruptly ended beside a massive bearing beam, the grains scattered as if the girl had vanished into thin air. His brow furrowed as he crouched to examine the spot, the beam's cold surface looming above him, a silent sentinel supporting the weight of the entire Haunted House.
Could she have concealed herself within the beam itself? The thought seemed absurd, yet the supernatural nature of the Haunted House made anything possible. Chen Ge ran his hand along the beam's rough surface, his mind drifting to a tale his grandparents had once shared about spirits residing within homes. They had spoken of guardian spirits, benevolent entities that protected the household and its inhabitants, but also of malevolent ones that disrupted the harmony of the family's Feng Shui. Most such spirits were ancestors, bound to the home by love or duty, but there were exceptions—dark, restless entities like those said to haunt the home of Fan Yu and his aunt. The black phone's cryptic reference to an "invisible customer" echoed in his mind, a presence that could be either friend or foe, its intentions as unclear as the shadows surrounding him.
The possibility that the girl was the Haunted House's guardian spirit took root in Chen Ge's mind, growing more plausible with each passing second. Circling the beam, he noticed something unexpected: a doll, eerily familiar, propped against its base. It was the very first doll he had crafted, its stitched features worn but unmistakable. Confusion gripped him as he reached into his pocket, expecting to find the doll still there, only to discover it was gone. "Wait, weren't you in my pocket?" he muttered, his voice barely audible in the oppressive silence. The realization hit him like a cold wave: this doll, now inexplicably here, suggested that the girl—or whatever she was—had been sharing the Haunted House with him all along, a silent companion in the shadows. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, the boundary between protector and threat blurring in his mind.
As he bent to retrieve the doll, Chen Ge's flashlight caught a glint beneath it, revealing a small hole in the concrete, barely wide enough for four fingers. Peering inside, he spotted a plastic bracelet and a crumpled paper crane nestled within. Carefully extracting them, he examined the items under the flashlight's beam. The bracelet, cheap and colorful, was clearly a child's toy, its surface scratched and faded from age. The paper crane, delicate and misshapen, seemed to carry a quiet sadness, as if it had been folded with trembling hands. At the bracelet's clasp, he noticed three curved characters etched into the plastic: Luo Ruoyu. The name struck a chord, a piece of the puzzle falling into place as he turned the bracelet over in his hands, its significance dawning on him.
Why would a child's toy be hidden in the depths of the underground parking lot? Chen Ge's mind raced, connecting the dots. If the bracelet belonged to the shadowy girl, then Luo Ruoyu was likely her name. The surname "Luo" sparked a memory, and suddenly, the girl's face snapped into focus. She was Director Luo's daughter, the girl from New Century Park whose photograph he had seen when negotiating the lease for the underground parking lot. In the photo, she had been frail, her body marked by physical disability, but her smile had been radiant, pure in a way that lingered in his memory. The realization that she might be the guardian spirit of the entire park sent a chill through him, raising new questions about her connection to the doll and the Haunted House.
The implications of her identity swirled in Chen Ge's mind as he gathered the doll, bracelet, and paper crane and made his way back to the staff breakroom. The weight of the objects felt heavier than their physical form, as if they carried the girl's story within them. In the breakroom, he unlocked a drawer and retrieved a worn photo album, its pages filled with memories of the Haunted House's early days. Flipping to the first page, he found a family photo taken on the day the Haunted House's construction was completed. His father stood proudly in the center, beaming with childlike joy, while a younger Chen Ge, still a student, stood to the side, his expression tinged with impatience. His mother was beside his father, but as Chen Ge studied the image, a detail caught his eye: her hand was suspended in mid-air, her fingers curled as if clasping an invisible hand, a gesture that now seemed laden with unspoken significance.
The realization struck Chen Ge like a cold gust of wind: the family photo, which he had always believed depicted only three people, seemed to suggest the presence of a fourth. His eyes lingered on the image, his father's proud grin and his own youthful impatience frozen in time, while his mother's hand hovered in mid-air, her fingers curled as if gently grasping an unseen companion. The subtle oddity, unnoticed for years, now sent a shiver down his spine, as if the photograph itself held a secret that had been waiting to be uncovered. The empty space where his mother's hand rested felt deliberate, a silent acknowledgment of an invisible presence that had been part of their lives all along. The weight of this discovery pressed heavily on him, stirring a mix of awe and unease as he grappled with the implications of what—or who—might have been standing there, unseen yet ever-present.
Flipping through the worn pages of the album, Chen Ge stumbled upon another photograph that deepened the mystery. In this image, his father stood before the newly built Haunted House, gesturing animatedly as he spoke to a young Chen Ge, who looked distracted, his gaze fixed elsewhere. His mother, half-squatting on the ground, reached out with both hands, her fingers brushing against empty air as if stroking something—or someone—invisible. The scene was eerily familiar, yet the subtle strangeness of her posture stood out like a discordant note. Photo after photo revealed similar moments: his parents interacting with spaces that appeared empty, their gestures suggesting a presence that the camera couldn't capture. Each image tightened the knot of dread in Chen Ge's chest, as if the album were a gallery of clues to a truth he had been too young to understand.
The pattern in the photographs sent a chill through Chen Ge's heart, unearthing memories of his childhood that now took on a haunting new context. As a boy, he had always been puzzled by the way his parents insisted on leaving a wide, empty space during family photos, as if reserving room for an unseen guest. He had chalked it up to their eccentricity, but now the truth dawned on him with unsettling clarity: they had been making room for a spectral companion. The realization painted his parents in a new light—they had not only been aware of the ghosts that lingered in the Haunted House but had welcomed them, treating them with a warmth that bordered on familial. This openness, Chen Ge suspected, might explain why the specters of the park seemed to favor him, their trust an inheritance from his parents' peculiar bond with the supernatural.
The connection between Director Luo's daughter and the doll left by his parents deepened the enigma. Chen Ge hadn't anticipated that the frail girl, whose radiant smile he remembered from the photograph in Director Luo's office, would have tethered her spirit to the doll his parents had crafted. The evidence suggested she had been a constant presence in the Haunted House, her essence bound to the park as its guardian spirit. This explained the doll's peculiar behavior—it only reacted within the confines of the Haunted House and New Century Park. He recalled the night Wang Qi had ambushed him at the wooden hut behind Ping An Apartments; the doll had remained inert, its power confined to the park's boundaries. Other incidents, where the doll had failed to respond outside the park, now made sense, painting a picture of a spirit whose influence was as powerful as it was limited.
Closing the album with a heavy sigh, Chen Ge rubbed his temples, the weight of the night's discoveries pressing against his mind. The Nightmare Mission, with its cryptic instructions and eerie rituals, felt far more significant than he had initially realized. His gaze shifted from the doll and the plastic bracelet bearing the name "Luo Ruoyu" to the crumpled paper crane, its delicate form stained with a faint, ominous blood mark. The crane's worn edges suggested it had been hidden in the underground hole for years, its presence a silent testament to a long-buried secret. The bloodstain, dark and uneven, hinted at a story of pain or sacrifice, adding another layer of mystery to the objects he had uncovered. Chen Ge's fingers trembled slightly as he held the crane, sensing that it held a key to unraveling the mission's true purpose.
Carefully unfolding the paper crane, Chen Ge's breath caught as he revealed a string of words scrawled across the bloodied surface: "The Third Room of the Third Sick Hall." The phrase sent a jolt through him, his heart racing as the words echoed in his mind. The Third Sick Hall was no ordinary location—it was the sole three-star Trial Mission listed on the black phone, a challenge he had already been preparing to undertake after completing the three Nightmare Missions. The handwriting, eerily reminiscent of his parents' distinctive script, raised a flood of questions. Why would they leave a clue pointing to such a specific and dangerous place? Could the third room hold answers to their disappearance, a mystery that had haunted him for years? The paper trembled in his hands as he set it aside, his mind grappling with the weight of this new lead.
The black phone's cryptic design began to take shape in Chen Ge's mind, its intentions more intricate than he had ever imagined. The phone had stated that after the three Nightmare Missions, future missions would be randomized, implying that these initial tasks were deliberately sequenced. The first mission had opened a door to the other world, a realm of shadows and specters. The second had revealed that his parents were alive but missing, igniting a spark of hope. Now, the third mission had provided a concrete direction: the Third Room of the Third Sick Hall. The progression felt orchestrated, each mission building on the last to guide him toward a deeper truth. The phone wasn't merely testing him—it was earning his trust, fueling his hope, and steering him toward a destination that might hold the key to his parents' fate, a purpose far greater than the surface-level challenges suggested.