The dream of the old steel door lingered in Duy An's mind, an urgent guide from My Tam. He knew he couldn't hesitate. Despite his physical and mental exhaustion, a steely determination had formed within him. Deciphering their deaths, freeing the trapped souls – that was the only thing he could do.
That afternoon, An decided to return to Hospital X. He made up an excuse about needing to visit the nearby university library to reassure Hong Anh, who remained constantly worried about him. An couldn't drag Hong Anh into this darkness.
Hospital X during the day was still bustling, filled with the sounds of people coming and going, the screech of ambulances, and the familiar antiseptic smell. An went to the old restroom area where he had first seen the chrysanthemum mirror stain. Everything was as it was, with no unusual signs. He sighed in relief – the Shadow Demon was truly sealed.
However, An knew the clue wasn't here. My Tam's dream had guided him to a "door" in a gloomier place. He recalled Thanh Lam mentioning the "old outpatient clinic area, basement" – where they had confronted the Shadow Demon. That was likely where An needed to go.
An began searching for the way down to the basement. The old outpatient clinic area was located at the back of the hospital, significantly quieter. The wide corridors, flickering yellow lights, and the distinctive musty, old smell of places rarely visited. An walked along the corridors, feeling each cold draft seep through his clothes, each lonely echoing footstep.
Finally, An found an old staircase leading downwards. A heavy, rusty steel door was secured with a thick chain. Doctors wouldn't normally work here. An tried to push it; the door didn't budge.
An remembered sneaking into the hospital the previous night through the side entrance near the waste disposal area. Perhaps that was also the way to the basement. He returned to the back of the hospital, searching once more. The unpleasant smell of garbage assaulted his nose, but An ignored it. He found a small, dark alley leading deep inside, where there was another steel door, also old and rusty, but unlocked.
The door let out a chilling creak as An pushed it gently, then slowly swung open. A strong, musty smell and the stench of death permeated the air, making An cover his nose. This was the entrance Thanh Lam had used.
Inside was a deep, dark corridor, almost devoid of light. Faint red emergency lights flickered in the distance, just enough for An to vaguely make out the mold-covered walls and cobwebs. The air was thick with coldness and an oppressive, terrifying sensation. This was the labyrinth An had seen in his dream.
An turned on his phone flashlight, walking slowly. He passed by abandoned patient rooms, where beds were rotting, old medical equipment covered in dust, evoking a sense of desolation and chill. His footsteps echoed in the frightening silence. He constantly glanced around, searching for any sign of My Tam, or the recently sealed Shadow Demon. But there was nothing. Only emptiness.
He remembered My Tam pointing to a door in his dream. The dream didn't give him a specific location, but An could feel a strange energy emanating from ahead. He followed the corridors, trying to sense the colder draft, searching for the steel door My Tam had pointed to.
The basement labyrinth was too vast and complex. An passed many turns, many identical old doors. He felt lost. His heart pounded in his chest. Exhaustion began to set in.
Suddenly, An stopped. He felt a particularly chilling draft blowing against his face, colder than anywhere else in this basement. He directed his flashlight towards it.
In front of An was a heavy, old, heavily rusted steel door. It didn't look much different from the other doors, but on its tarnished surface, An vaguely recognized something. There were scribbled lines of writing, as if written with a dark, dried liquid. The smudged letters were almost illegible, but An felt a strange pull from them.
The door My Tam had pointed to in the dream. Where "death began."
An reached out to touch the door. The steel was cold, and he felt a gloomy, heavy energy, as if thousands of pains were hidden behind it. He tried to read the words. They were not Vietnamese. Not English. They were ancient, strange characters, unlike any language An had ever known.
But An felt a strong urge. This door was the key.