Chapter Forty-One: The Earthen Building and the Rules Recorded in Poetry

After leaving that area, the layout of the entire hidden floor offered little novelty. The turning points that blocked the investigators’ progress were few, mostly clustered around the space between two pillars. They spent about twenty minutes traversing the whole mezzanine. Counting from left to right, three bodies were embedded in the wall.

The first had only the head exposed; the second—previously mentioned and the first they had seen—had both hands and the head outside the wall. The third, on the far right, had both hands, feet, and head exposed. All three, however, shared the same fate: their skeletons were fixed in place by a thin layer of cement. Yet there seemed to be a difference in the time of death among them.

This, in theory, should have been nearly impossible.

Chen Qing frowned as he touched the third skeleton. Like the others, the body was completely desiccated. Thanks to the sealed environment, it had decayed naturally, untouched by insects, and a faint layer of flesh still clung to the bones.

He recalled the corpse he’d seen downstairs—entombed entirely within the wall, not a single part exposed. Was that body also a part of the rules here?

He looked ahead, his attention drawn once more to the inscription: There is no turning back in life.

Jiang Wan, seeing his strange expression, seemed to guess his thoughts and spoke quietly, “Do you think the rule in that inscription applies to more than one place? And that it’s tied to these bodies?”

Chen Qing nodded. “Yes. It’s a simple logic, really… If these deaths were meaningless, these people would have died in a corner or left bloody fingernails by the elevator doors. But they didn’t. They were killed here by the perpetrator. And if the perpetrator arranged them this way, he must have had his own reasons.”

He paused, murmuring to himself, “Perhaps it’s about sequence?”

Closing his eyes, he recalled his previous deductions. “Downstairs is zero, the first to die. Then from left to right: two, three, four. Since there’s no turning back…”

He fell silent before continuing, “There’s no turning back in life, because the dead are truly gone.”

He raised his head to look at the four skeletons. “There is no turning back in life…”

He reached out and gripped the skull before him. The hollow, faintly greenish bone suddenly burst into ghostly flames—perhaps phosphorus igniting at body temperature.

He paid it no mind. As he twisted his wrist, he lifted the flaming skull in his hand.

“You killed me… You killed me!”

At that instant, the jaw of the skull he was holding detached and fell. The words echoed in his ears. Shocked, he looked to Jiang Wan, who was equally stunned.

The voice had not come from the skull, but from the entire mezzanine—a sound resonating through the empty chamber.

“You killed me! It was you who killed me!”

The words became clearer and increasingly furious.

Chen Qing glanced at the skull in his hand. The flames in its eye sockets were growing dim.

“Run!” Chen Qing barked, grabbing Jiang Wan’s hand and dashing toward the central area.

“Quick! If you see a skull, shoot its spine—I want its head!”

He spoke rapidly, urgency obvious in his tone. The furious shouting behind them grew louder, reverberating through the mezzanine. Jiang Wan felt the hairs on her neck rise. It was as if someone were watching—someone was definitely watching.

She looked down. At some point, the skull in Chen Qing’s hand had turned, staring straight at her.

It kept smiling.

Even without its jaw, even with half its face missing, Jiang Wan could tell—it was smiling at her.

A chill ran through her, but she raised her gun and aimed at the second skull.

A shot rang out. In the eye sockets of that skull, ghostly fire also ignited.

But when she looked down, the flame in Chen Qing’s skull was now only a thumb-sized flicker. There was no way they could reach the first skull in time before the fire went out.

Chen Qing frowned, but only for an instant. Then he pulled Jiang Wan in another direction.

“So that’s it. So that’s it!” His voice was steadier now, as if he’d grasped the true meaning behind the inscription.

“There is no turning back in life! So we must navigate the turning points!”

Jiang Wan paused, then quickly understood his reasoning. “I see… that’s it.”

They turned at a junction for the first time, retracing their steps.

“Because there’s no turning back in life, they couldn’t go back. Moving from the third skull to the second was wrong—so the time wasn’t enough! But if we use the turning points to shorten the path, we can finish before the ghost fire goes out!”

Her voice rose in excitement. Chen Qing’s pace increased. The furious roar behind them seemed to close in, shaking the mezzanine itself.

Yet he charged forward, unconcerned about the risk of heading the wrong way.

He saw the skull in his hand grinning at him, and he grinned back.

He threw the skull in the direction he remembered, let go of Jiang Wan’s hand, and sprinted ahead.

“Shoot!” he shouted.

Jiang Wan hesitated. “I can’t see the target!”

“Then aim for my head!”

He called out, pointing to his own head just before his figure disappeared into the mist.

“Here—”

His voice faded as he vanished.

Jiang Wan mimicked his gesture and closed her eyes. She sighed, a wry smile on her lips.

“Brat. Even I don’t trust my marksmanship that much…”

She muttered, gunfire and flames once again erupting in the back room.

With a thunderous sound, the fog in the chamber began to dissipate.

They stopped where they were. Jiang Wan’s pistol was still aimed at Chen Qing.

In the direction she pointed, Chen Qing stood, head lowered, smiling.

“So it was,” he declared. In the quiet that followed, their voices sounded almost loud.

“Is this the entrance to the back room?”

They approached the second skeleton. Beneath it, a cavity had opened, clearly newly formed.

They peered inside, but could see nothing at all.

It was black—blacker than any color, a conceptual darkness akin to a black hole.

Chen Qing inspected the entrance. In a hidden corner, he noticed a tiny triangular mark, and his heart tightened.

Why—why had he been here before?

He was lost in thought when Jiang Wan reached out and smoothed his brow.

“What are you thinking about, frowning like that?”

Her hand was cool, untouched by the heat of the gunfire. Yet that touch brought a comfort, easing the tension between his brows.

“N-nothing,” he replied, stepping back with a blush. Thanks to the darkness, at least she couldn’t see his expression.

Jiang Wan approached the edge of the cavity, tilting her head to peer inside. Suddenly, she frowned.

“Chen Qing? Look here—aren’t these letters?”

Her voice was soft. Chen Qing’s curiosity was piqued.

He hurried to her side. Peering past her, he saw lines of writing above the entrance.

From a normal angle, they would be invisible. Only because Jiang Wan happened to look up and the light refracted within could they just make them out.

He read aloud:

“Time cannot be perceived; visitors must leave no trace.
Pursuit reveals nothing; all things hang by a thread.
Records exist for truth; time is always trustworthy.
Heed: only those whose records are numbered in the forefront may survive.”

He pondered those lines. Each seemed to hint at something, yet taken separately, none were clear.

He looked at Jiang Wan. “Stepping through here, there really is no turning back.”

She smiled, and replied, “From the day you chose me, there’s been no turning back.”

They both laughed, and with resolute steps, entered the cavity, vanishing from the mezzanine.

…

When they awoke, the world before them had changed.

They found themselves amidst green hills and clear waters. By the banks of a small stream, elders and children chatted idly. At the foot of a high mountain stood a classical earthen building—a circular fortress, constructed entirely from yellow clay.

Wooden windows, neatly arranged, punctuated the walls. The top of the building was flat and open, leaving space for someone to stand.

“Is that a rooftop terrace?” Chen Qing wondered aloud, seeing a roundhouse for the first time.

At the very center stood a large door, opening inward. The door was wide open, the bolt securing it as thick as half a meter.

Was that really a door bolt? It could have been called a pillar.

Amazed, they observed the elders and children nearby.

“This back room is so strange…” Jiang Wan whispered, leaning toward Chen Qing.

“Who would disagree?” came a reply—not from Chen Qing.

…