11:47 p.m.
Lin Wanqing stood beneath the covered walkway outside a convenience store, watching raindrops fall one after another from the eaves.
Tonight's rain was strange.
It wasn't a violent downpour. It was fine and relentless, as if the entire city had been sealed beneath a transparent curtain of water.
There were fewer and fewer cars on the street.
The traffic light continued cycling through its colors on schedule, but hardly anyone was paying attention.
Wanqing glanced down at her phone.
23:47.
She had only gone out to buy a bottle of water.
She hadn't expected her phone to suddenly ring.
There was no name on the screen.
Not even a number.
Only one line of text.
Unknown Caller.
She stared at the three words for several seconds.
For some reason, her first thought wasn't to answer.
It was to hang up.
But after ringing for more than ten seconds, the phone suddenly stopped.
Wanqing let out a breath of relief.
The instant she slipped the phone back into her pocket—
it rang again.
The same incoming call.
She frowned.
“Who the hell is this...?”
She answered.
“Hello?”
There was no response.
The other end of the line was utterly silent.
So silent that she could even hear herself breathing.
Wanqing waited a few seconds.
“If you have the wrong number, I'm hanging up.”
Just as she was about to end the call, a woman's voice suddenly came through the phone.
It was soft.
Barely audible.
As if she were afraid someone might hear her.
“Lin Wanqing?”
Wanqing froze.
“...Who are you?”
The other person didn't answer.
She only asked one question.
“Do you know Xu An is dead?”
Wanqing was stunned.
Xu An.
She knew that name.
They weren't close.
But she knew who he was.
Thirty-two years old.
A manager at a design company.
He lived near South Station.
Six months ago, she'd seen him once at a friend's gathering.
Xu An had been drinking heavily that night, sitting in a corner with his head bowed as he played on his phone.
Someone had asked if he was dealing with trouble lately.
He'd only smiled and said:
“It's nothing.”
“I just haven't been sleeping well lately.”
Wanqing hadn't thought much of it at the time.
So when she suddenly heard his name now, her first reaction was—
“Did you dial the wrong number?”
There was silence on the other end for several seconds.
The woman said:
“He's dead.”
Wanqing's grip on the phone slowly tightened.
“Who are you?”
“Don't go home.”
“What?”
“Don't go home.”
The woman's voice began to tremble.
“Someone is watching you.”
Wanqing jerked her head up.
She looked toward the street.
Cars passed one after another.
Pedestrians hurried by beneath their umbrellas.
Nothing seemed out of place.
She looked at the building across the street.
Rows of windows glowed with light.
Anyone could be standing behind any one of them.
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“This is all I can tell you.”
“Then at least tell me who you are!”
The woman didn't answer.
A few seconds later, she suddenly said:
“If you see Xu An's body—”
Her voice faltered.
“Don't trust the crime scene.”
The call disconnected.
Wanqing stood where she was.
The sound of the rain came rushing back.
She stared at the phone, the call already ended.
Her heart was pounding.
“Don't trust the crime scene.”
What exactly did that mean?
Her first thought was that it was a prank.
Maybe a friend was deliberately trying to scare her.
But...
The woman knew her name.
And she knew Xu An.
Besides, the woman's voice hadn't sounded like she was joking.
She'd sounded afraid.
Just then,
her phone vibrated again.
Wanqing looked down.
It was a text message.
There was no number.
Only a photograph.
She opened it.
The photograph was blurry.
It looked like it had been secretly taken from a long distance away.
The image showed an old apartment building.
The door number was—
217.
Wanqing frowned.
She had no idea where that was.
The next second,
another message appeared.
Tonight, Room 217.
She stared at the words.
A deeply uncomfortable feeling came over her.
Because that apartment building...
she felt like she'd been there before.
But she couldn't remember.
12:12 a.m.
Wanqing sat in her car.
The engine was off.
She placed her phone beside the steering wheel.
The screen was still displaying the photograph she'd just received.
She could simply go home.
She could even treat the whole thing as a stupid prank.
But one thought wouldn't leave her alone.
Was Xu An really dead?
She opened the news.
Nothing.
Then she searched Xu An's name.
There was no news about him.
She called a friend who knew Xu An.
The phone rang for a long time.
No one answered.
She called again.
Still no answer.
Just as she was about to give up,
her phone suddenly displayed a breaking news alert.
It contained only a few short lines.
A death case has occurred at a residence near South Station. Police are investigating at the scene.
Wanqing's breath caught for a moment.
She opened the news story.
The full address hadn't been released.
It only said:
A residence near South Station.
She stared at the blurry map.
Her heart grew colder and colder.
Because that location...
was right near Room 217.
12:38 a.m.
Wanqing arrived outside the apartment building.
She hadn't called the police.
She hadn't told anyone.
She didn't even know why she'd come.
Maybe it was curiosity.
Maybe it was because of the call.
Or maybe because—
she wanted to know why the woman had reached out to her.
There was no security at the entrance.
The front door stood half open.
One of the lights inside was broken.
The remaining lights flickered on and off.
Wanqing stood in the doorway.
Suddenly, the place felt unnaturally quiet.
Too quiet for a residence where people lived.
She stepped inside.
The walls were yellowed.
A damp smell hung in the stairwell.
The elevator was waiting on the first floor.
She pressed the button.
Ding.
The doors opened.
She stepped inside.
Then pressed two.
The elevator doors slowly closed.
Just as they were about to shut completely—
a hand suddenly reached inside.
Wanqing jumped backward.
The elevator doors opened again.
A man stood outside.
He was around forty.
He wore a dark jacket.
The man glanced at her.
He said nothing.
Then he stepped into the elevator.
Wanqing instinctively moved aside.
The man pressed two.
Neither of them spoke.
The elevator rose slowly.
First floor.
Second floor.
Ding.
The doors opened.
The man stepped out first.
Wanqing followed behind him.
But when the man reached the end of the hallway, he suddenly stopped.
He turned to look at her.
“You're here for Room 217?”
Wanqing froze.
“How did you know?”
The man didn't answer.
He only glanced at the phone in her hand.
Then he said:
“Don't go.”
Wanqing's heart sank.
“Why?”
The man was silent for a while.
“Because someone already went inside.”
“Who?”
The man didn't say.
He turned and walked away.
Wanqing stood there.
Only after the sound of his footsteps had completely faded did she slowly look toward the other end of the hallway.
Room 217.
The door was closed.
Yellow police tape was stretched across the entrance.
The police had already been here.
Wanqing stood several yards away.
She didn't approach.
Because she suddenly noticed—
there was something strange about the police tape.
A small section had been torn open.
As if someone had gone inside.
And it hadn't been the police.
She walked closer.
Looked down.
Beneath the gap under the door...
there was a piece of paper.
Wanqing crouched down.
She pulled it out.
It was a photograph.
The person in it was Xu An.
He was sitting in a chair.
Behind him was a white wall.
It looked as if the picture had been taken in some room.
But the photograph itself wasn't what frightened Wanqing most.
It was the sentence written on the back.
He wasn't the first.
Wanqing's hand began to grow cold.
She turned the photograph over.
There was another line beneath it.
You're not the first person to see this.
Suddenly,
footsteps came from the end of the hallway.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Slowly.
Someone was walking toward her.
Wanqing immediately stood up.
“Who is it?”
The footsteps stopped.
No one answered.
She took a step forward.
The end of the hallway was empty.
She let out a breath of relief.
Just as she was about to leave—
a voice came from behind her.
“Ms. Lin.”
Wanqing spun around.
A uniformed police officer stood at the door to Room 217.
“Who are you?”
Wanqing didn't answer.
The officer looked at the photograph in her hand.
His face changed instantly.
“Where did you get that photograph?”
“From beneath the door.”
The officer fell silent.
He held out his hand.
“Give it to me.”
Wanqing didn't hand it over immediately.
“Is Xu An really dead?”
The officer didn't answer.
“What happened here?”
“Miss, this isn't a place you should be.”
“Someone just told me Xu An was dead.”
The officer's expression changed.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Man or woman?”
“A woman.”
“What did she say?”
Wanqing looked at him.
“She told me not to trust the crime scene.”
The officer's face suddenly turned grim.
He was silent for a long time.
At last, he said only:
“Leave. Right now.”
“Why?”
“Because those words—”
The officer glanced at Room 217.
“We heard them once before, ten years ago.”
Wanqing was stunned.
“Ten years ago?”
The officer didn't continue.
He turned and walked into the room.
Just before the door closed, Wanqing suddenly caught sight of the wall inside.
On that white wall...
hung a photograph.
There were six people in it.
One of them was Xu An.
The second was the police officer from moments ago.
The third person...
Wanqing froze.
It was a young woman.
She looked to be in her twenties.
Long hair.
A white top.
A silver bracelet around her wrist.
Wanqing recognized that bracelet.
It belonged to her mother.
She lunged forward.
“Wait!”
The door closed.
Wanqing rushed over.
But it was already locked.
She pounded on it.
“Open the door!”
There was no response.
“You said something happened ten years ago. What was it?”
Still no response.
She pulled out her phone.
She was about to call the police.
Just then—
her phone vibrated again.
A new message.
She opened it.
There was only a photograph.
The photograph showed...
her standing outside Room 217 right now.
It had been taken from directly behind her.
Wanqing slowly turned around.
The hallway was empty.
She looked down at the photograph.
At the very bottom was another line of text.
First Way to Die: Forgotten by Everyone.
Wanqing's face went white.
Suddenly, she understood something.
The person who had truly died tonight might not have been Xu An at all.
It might have been someone who, ten years ago...
had already “died.”
She didn't know who that person was.
But she knew one thing.
That person was connected to her mother.
And starting tonight—
someone was using one death story after another to lead her back, step by step, to ten years ago.
The rain began falling again.
The hallway lights suddenly went out.
The entire apartment building plunged into darkness.
In the darkness,
her phone screen lit up again.
The final message read:
“Wanqing, welcome back.”