Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Foundation and the Remains
At midnight, Chen Qing and Karans arrived outside Yin Zhengchu’s company. The night was deep, yet the lights above still burned brightly. They made their way up; the elevators had stopped running at this hour, and the stairwell was especially cold. Every two floors, a green plant sat in the corner.
This unsettled Chen Qing. He couldn’t help recalling the ritualistic acts he once performed at that school. It was all so regular, though perhaps just coincidence.
They climbed steadily, reaching the twenty-first floor. The late hour meant the office was deserted. Chen Qing walked to the door and gently pushed the locked glass entrance. As soon as he confirmed it was locked, the sound of unlocking echoed.
He glanced back at Karans, who merely shook his phone, its screen showing what seemed to be Yin Zhengchu’s silhouette. Chen Qing paid it no mind and entered the company. The nearly four-hundred-square-meter office felt strangely empty, perhaps due to the eerie events that had driven many employees away.
Only two computers sat at the reception. In the workspace, each row had a green plant. The aisle was narrow, barely half a meter wide. From the reception, after walking six or seven meters and passing the restroom, one could reach the conference room at the back.
The conference room was smaller, only a few dozen square meters. Chen Qing walked there, letting his gaze sweep across the workspace.
“Where did that person sit?”
Karans followed Chen Qing’s gaze, pointing at the third desk in the second row of the workspace. “That one. The computer with three little yellow ducks on the screen.”
Chen Qing nodded, walked over, pulled out the chair, and sat down. On this desk, her personal belongings were plenty: a water bottle, a wallet, half a pack of leftover biscuits, and a stack of documents filled with notes.
He reached out and flipped through the documents, but their contents seemed meaningless—random numbers, as though scribbled absentmindedly. He looked again at the desk and frowned.
Something was wrong. He stared at the items before him; something was definitely missing.
“What is it…” He closed his eyes, and after a brief silence, shifted his gaze to the computer screen. He thought of something—not truly essential, but it could support his theory, prove his point.
It was all her doing.
He moved the mouse and the computer screen lit up, showing a paused video. His tightly knit brows transformed into shock.
“She’s still here!”
He lowered his voice, but in the empty office, even his whispered words thundered.
After a brief silence, the sound of a toilet flushing came from the junction between the reception and the workspace.
Chen Qing turned to Karans, signaling him to shift position. But Karans pointed to himself, failing to read Chen Qing’s intent from his gaze.
He shook his head and sighed, resigned. After all, they hadn’t known each other long; it was only natural.
He stood, his steps steady on the carpeted floor, each footfall as quiet as possible.
He walked over to the bathroom door, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for the woman to emerge, drying her hands.
“Who are you?” He looked at her, his tone remarkably calm.
“What?” She paused, puzzled, and retorted, “What do you mean, who am I? Are you joking? I’m an employee here. Who are you?”
He stared at her, asking again, “That’s not what I mean. You know it. I don’t need to ask you about a fabricated identity.”
He was silent for a moment, then stood up, looking at her with cool insistence, “Who are you, really—who are you?”
She seemed a little embarrassed, smiled cooperatively, but the smile faded quickly. Watching the change in Chen Qing’s expression, she grew serious.
She saw the third eye open on Chen Qing’s forehead, shifting nimbly around before settling on a spot.
He was looking at her, a primal fear rising in her heart—a sensation of being hunted.
She lowered her hands and took two steps back.
“This has nothing to do with you,” she hesitated, sensing Chen Qing’s resolve or realizing her words had failed to sway him. She spoke again, “This is Foundation business. You’d best stay out of it. The Foundation… is not something you want to tangle with.”
Chen Qing smirked, a hint of mockery on his face. “You mean to say our Divine Grace Church is inferior to you?”
He dropped his arms, stepped closer. “How dare you? How dare you draw such conclusions?”
His words were soft, but her gaze sharpened in an instant, then softened the next. “Perhaps you’re right. My conclusions are… too rash.”
She lowered her head, bowed to Chen Qing, stepped back, exhaled deeply. “There’s a backroom here. We’re monitoring it, but we’re not stingy about its output.
In truth, we haven’t fully controlled this backroom, nor do we have complete mastery over how to enter it.
If you wish, I can share the method with you.”
Chen Qing lifted his chin, smiling dismissively. “Oh? You think we can’t find it ourselves?”
The woman shook her head, apologetic. “No, not at all. No one doubts the Divine Grace Church’s abilities, but it’s clear we can save you some time.”
As she spoke, her gaze flicked to another person in the workspace.
He stood there, as though everything was unrelated to him.
She hesitated, then spoke again. “I didn’t expect the Club’s people to mix with the Divine Grace Church.”
She looked at Karans, asking, “Have you chosen whose side you’re on?”
Karans pursed his lips, calm and composed. “Obviously not. There’s no need to fish for information from me. I’m a steward, it’s always been the Club’s ‘rule.’”
She smiled, though her eyes were cautious. “Understood. But it’s time I left.”
She passed Chen Qing, walked to Karans, picked up her bag, and left the workspace. Perhaps she would never return.
As she stepped out, back to Chen Qing and Karans, she spoke, “The road to heaven also leads to hell. The places you cannot stop at—those are the human world, full of suffering, with no way back.”
She spoke softly, sighing and shaking her head. “That backroom… may not be somewhere you want to go. It’s devoured too many, and perhaps only senior investigators could find any benefit there.”
Chen Qing frowned, never having imagined that entering a backroom would require rules.
“This company.”
He watched her departing figure, naturally asking.
“We can leave. Over half a year, we’ve determined where that backroom leads.” She shrugged. “Everything can end now.”
Chen Qing turned to look at the workspace behind him. “That’s your doing too?”
She listened, turned back to where Chen Qing was pointing—the end of the workspace, the wall. She shook her head. “Maybe someone from the Foundation. Maybe not one of ours…”
She smiled, shaking her head. “But perhaps everything can end now. Deal with it, you know how.”
Chen Qing sighed, then asked, “So the company boss suffered all this for nothing?”
“Not entirely. But I must say, the world’s understanding of us is so lacking. When he thinks he’s hidden well, perhaps we already know everything.” She shrugged, smiling with regret. “Indeed, if we’d gotten the address from him, maybe we wouldn’t have needed to study for so long.”
“I see.” He fell silent, then looked at the wall in the workspace.
To her, the wall was jarring.
To Chen Qing, the wall bore the image of a person.
Flat, abstract, not quite human, but anyone who saw it would know it was a person.
He sighed, stepped in front of the wall.
From the plant pot nearby, he took a trowel and began to chip away at the pale plaster.
“Do you know how I knew it was you?”
He didn’t turn; the woman was already at the door.
“There was no trash on your desk, nothing consumable—no tissues, no pens, nothing.”
He chipped away at the bright red concrete, sighing, “You had already decided to leave. You were prepared for everything.”
He found a skeleton, white bones already covered in fur.
He’d been here for years.
Chen Qing pinched his brow, pulled out his phone.
“Jiang Wan?”
On the other end, her voice was surprised.
“Ha, you’d never guess what we’ve found. A skeleton covered in fur—you know what that means?”
“Where?”
“In Yin Zhengchu’s company, in his office wall.”