The weight of Men Nan's words hung heavily in the air, and both Chen Ge and Doctor Gao fell into a prolonged silence, each grappling with the unsettling implications of the young man's recurring nightmare. In traditional dream interpretation, washing one's hair symbolized a cleansing of bad luck or burdens, a ritual that heralded positive change or renewal. Yet, Men Nan's description painted a starkly different picture—one of unrelenting dread, where the act of washing his hair was not a harbinger of good fortune but a descent into a chilling nightmare. The contrast was jarring, and Chen Ge's mind churned with possibilities, his instincts as the Specters' Favored whispering that this dream was no mere psychological quirk but a thread woven into the supernatural tapestry of the Haunted House. The black phone's message about a "special visitor" pulsed in his thoughts, urging him to tread carefully, as the choices he made could shape the outcome of this encounter.
Eager to uncover more, Chen Ge leaned forward, his voice steady but probing. "Can you still remember the face of the person in your dream and your surroundings?" he asked, his eyes fixed on Men Nan, searching for any clue that might link the young man's experience to the black phone's cryptic missions. Men Nan was almost certainly the special visitor, and Chen Ge knew that every detail, no matter how small, could influence the reward—or danger—that awaited. The young man's head remained bowed, his posture rigid, as if the weight of his fear anchored him to the ground. "The dream feels like it happened inside my rental's bathroom; the placement of the things looked familiar, but I'm not so sure," he murmured, his voice so faint it seemed to dissolve into the morning air. "I haven't been able to get a good look at the person standing beside me, but I am certain he is getting closer. These past three weeks, the same dream has haunted me every night, growing clearer with each repetition, and I can almost make out the man's face now."
The vagueness of Men Nan's response frustrated Chen Ge, but the tremor in his voice and the way his shoulders hunched betrayed the depth of his terror. "What does he look like?" Chen Ge pressed, hoping to extract a clearer image that might connect the dream to the Haunted House's spectral inhabitants. Men Nan's head dipped lower, his eyes flicking upward briefly, a creepy motion that sent a shiver down Chen Ge's spine. "Soon, in the next dream, I will be able to see his face," he said, his words laced with dread, as if the mere thought of that moment was a looming threat. The lack of concrete details was maddening, but Chen Ge sensed that Men Nan's fear was not just of the dream but of the inevitable clarity it promised—a clarity that might reveal something far more sinister than a faceless figure.
Determined to unearth more, Chen Ge tried a different approach, his tone gentle but insistent. "Can you give me more details? For instance, what was the man doing when you were washing your head? Or has he said anything?" He watched Men Nan closely, noting the way his hands trembled slightly, betraying the effort it took to speak. "The content of the dream is almost always the same," Men Nan said, his raw, shaking voice barely audible. "When I had this dream for the first time three weeks ago, it wasn't that scary. I woke up in the middle of the night in the dream, walking into the bathroom with no clear thoughts in my mind, my body moving on its own, as if guided by some foreign force. It was like I was a passenger in my own actions, compelled to follow a script I didn't write." The description sent a chill through Chen Ge, eerily reminiscent of the supernatural compulsions he had encountered in the black phone's missions.
Men Nan's voice grew shakier as he continued, painting a vivid picture of the dream's unsettling progression. "Initially, the dream was fuzzy, like looking through a fogged mirror. I stopped before the bathroom mirror, filled the basin with water, and bent over to submerge my head. As my hair touched the water, I caught an upside-down glimpse of someone standing at the front door, far away in the distance. At first, I barely noticed him, but when I finished washing my hair and looked again, he seemed to have moved just a little closer." Chen Ge's heart quickened, the image of an unseen figure inching closer in a dreamscape striking a nerve. "After that first dream, I had others, so I didn't think much of it," Men Nan continued. "But the next night, the same dream returned, identical in every detail, and it's been repeating ever since."
The young man's words grew more frantic, his voice cracking under the strain of recounting the nightmare. "Every night, it's the same: I walk into the bathroom, stand before the mirror, fill the basin, and dip my head into the water. Each time, when my hair touches the surface, I see him—first in the living room, then closer, step by step. Two and a half weeks ago, he entered the living room; a week ago, he was next to the toilet. Four days ago, he was standing right beside me!" Men Nan's voice broke, his body trembling as he described the figure's relentless approach. "When I bend down to wash my hair, he leans in with me, his fuzzy face inching closer, so close I can almost feel his presence. In the dream, I'm paralyzed with fear, unable to wake up, trapped in this cycle where he gets nearer every night." Chen Ge's skin prickled, the vivid imagery conjuring a terror that felt all too real, as if the dream were a portal to the other world he had glimpsed through the black phone's missions.
The intensity of Men Nan's fear was palpable, and Chen Ge could only imagine the psychological toll of enduring such a nightmare for three weeks, with an unknown figure creeping closer each night. "The night before last, I had the same dream again, and it was the worst yet," Men Nan said, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to lift his head, his eyes darting wildly, betraying his panic. "The man's face was so close I thought I could finally see him clearly, but then he reached out and strangled my neck with his hands. I woke up gasping, and I haven't slept since." The admission hung heavily between them, the image of the dream's climax—a faceless man strangling Men Nan—sending a wave of dread through Chen Ge. Doctor Gao's decision to seek him out now made sense; Men Nan's condition was dire, and the dream's escalation suggested a danger that went beyond the psychological, possibly into the supernatural realm Chen Ge knew all too well.
Chen Ge's mind raced, piecing together the implications of Men Nan's story. "Repetitious dream, you say… and they're all in the bathroom," he mused, his voice calm but thoughtful as he considered the possibilities. The black phone's influence loomed large, its missions often tied to locations harboring restless spirits. "Could it be a problem with the apartment itself? I'm just stating a possibility, so don't be afraid," he said, his tone careful to avoid alarming Men Nan further. "Is it possible that someone died in the room you rented, and the body hasn't been discovered, so the person appears in your dream, hoping you'll call the police on their behalf?" The suggestion was a leap, but Chen Ge's experiences with the Haunted House had taught him that the supernatural often manifested in such cryptic ways, using dreams to communicate unresolved grievances.
Men Nan's face drained of color, his already pale complexion turning a sickly green at Chen Ge's words. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. "There's a body hiding in my room? Impossible!" he stammered, his voice rising in pitch as the idea took hold. The reaction was visceral, his body recoiling as if the suggestion itself were a physical threat. Chen Ge watched him closely, noting the way his hands clenched and unclenched, the panic in his eyes mirroring the terror of his dreams. The possibility, though speculative, seemed to strike a nerve, and Chen Ge couldn't shake the feeling that Men Nan's apartment—and the figure in his dreams—might be linked to the black phone's mysterious agenda, drawing them deeper into the Haunted House's web of secrets.
Men Nan's emotions spiraled visibly, his fragile composure fraying at the edges as Chen Ge's suggestion of a hidden body in his apartment struck a nerve. His face, already pale, took on a sickly hue, and his hands trembled uncontrollably, as if the mere thought of a spectral presence in his home had pushed him to the brink of a breakdown. If not for Doctor Gao's steady hands resting firmly on his shoulders, anchoring him with a reassuring grip, Men Nan's psychological condition might have erupted into a full-blown episode right there in the bustling line outside the Haunted House. Doctor Gao's expression shifted, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face as he addressed Chen Ge's theory. "I've been to his rental room myself and examined every inch of it—walls, furniture, even the floorboards. There's nothing unusual, no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Furthermore, about a week ago, I invited Men Nan to stay at my place to see if a change in environment might help. The dream persisted, unchanged, haunting him just as relentlessly." His words carried a mix of frustration and intrigue, underscoring the enigma of Men Nan's condition and its resistance to conventional solutions.
Chen Ge's mind raced, piecing together the implications of Doctor Gao's account. "When he had the dream for the first time, the man was standing at the front door, so the man probably came from the outside," he said, his voice measured but infused with the confidence of someone accustomed to unraveling supernatural puzzles. "This means we can't limit our investigation to Men Nan's room alone. We should consider the entire apartment building—its history, its tenants, anything that might explain the presence of this figure." He hesitated to voice the darker part of his suspicion, wary of further distressing Men Nan, whose fragile state was evident in his hunched posture and darting eyes. The possibility that a ghost had latched onto Men Nan himself, following him regardless of location, felt too ominous to say aloud. Such a theory aligned with Chen Ge's experiences with the black phone's missions, where spectral entities often bound themselves to individuals, weaving their influence into the fabric of their lives. The thought sent a chill through him, reinforcing his belief that Men Nan was indeed the special visitor flagged by the black phone.
Doctor Gao's brow furrowed, his professional skepticism surfacing as he responded. "We're not police, Chen Ge. We don't have the authority to search an entire apartment building, nor do we have the resources to investigate its history on a whim." His tone carried a hint of doubt, as if he were beginning to question the wisdom of bringing Men Nan to the Haunted House. "Instead of chasing speculative leads, we should focus on analyzing the dream itself. Men Nan's repeated action of washing his hair—it's a ritualistic behavior, and in psychology, repetitive actions in dreams often symbolize something deeper, perhaps a need for control or cleansing. If we can decode what this act represents, we might uncover the root of his fear." Doctor Gao's approach was grounded in his expertise, a methodical attempt to dissect the dream through a psychological lens, but Chen Ge couldn't shake the feeling that the answer lay beyond the realm of science, in the shadowy domain of the supernatural.
Despite listening attentively to Doctor Gao's reasoning, Chen Ge found the psychological explanation lacking. The dream's relentless repetition, the figure's gradual approach, and Men Nan's visceral terror pointed to something more tangible than a subconscious metaphor. The black phone's missions had taught Chen Ge to trust his instincts, which now screamed that the dream was a manifestation of a spectral presence, possibly tied to the apartment or Men Nan himself. "I can't be sure for now," Chen Ge said, his voice calm but resolute, "so why don't we see what happens tonight? How about we go to Men Nan's apartment? A fresh perspective might uncover something you've missed." He stood patiently, his hands slipping into his pockets, where the black phone rested silently. Since the initial alert about the special visitor, it had offered no further guidance, leaving Chen Ge to navigate this encounter with his own judgment, the weight of potential rewards or consequences hanging in the balance.