3:47 a.m.
Lin Wanqing sat in the car. She had gone twenty-seven full minutes without starting the engine.
Her eyes remained fixed on her phone screen.
That photograph.
301.
The photograph showed an ordinary door.
There were only three numbers on the doorplate.
But Wanqing was certain she'd seen it before.
Not in a photograph.
In her memory.
Only, that memory was like a piece of her mind had been forcibly dug out.
The harder she tried to grasp it, the worse her head hurt.
She closed her eyes.
A scene suddenly flashed through her mind.
A little girl.
Wearing a white dress.
Standing in a very long hallway.
Doors lined both sides of it.
The girl kept running forward.
Someone shouted after her.
“Wanqing!”
She stopped.
Turned around.
A woman stood at the other end of the hallway.
The woman didn't come after her.
She only watched her.
“Don't get in the elevator.”
The scene abruptly cut off.
Wanqing's eyes flew open.
Her breathing quickened.
She glanced at the time.
03:51.
Only nine minutes remained until 4 a.m.
She didn't know why.
In that instant, she suddenly wanted desperately to return to that apartment building.
Not because she was brave.
But because she was beginning to suspect—
her lost memory might be there.
3:58 a.m.
Wanqing walked back into the apartment building.
The lights in the first-floor lobby were still on.
But the elevator had stopped at the highest floor.
She stood in front of it.
She didn't press the button.
She only stared at the floor indicator.
The numbers slowly changed.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Ding.
The elevator stopped on the first floor.
The doors opened.
No one was inside.
Wanqing stood outside.
She suddenly remembered something her mother had said.
“Don't get in the elevator.”
Her hand stopped in midair.
But in the end, she still stepped inside.
The elevator doors closed.
She pressed three.
Nothing happened.
She pressed it again.
Still nothing.
Wanqing frowned.
The button was clearly lit.
But the elevator wasn't going up.
It remained on the first floor.
She pressed the door-open button.
Nothing.
She pressed it again.
Still nothing.
“What the hell…”
She pulled out her phone.
There was no signal.
The elevator lights suddenly flickered.
The entire space went dark for half a second.
When the lights came back on—
the floor indicator had changed to:
0.
Wanqing froze.
She had never seen a basement level in this apartment building.
The next second,
the elevator began descending.
It felt as if something had suddenly yanked her stomach downward.
One floor.
Two.
Three.
The speed kept increasing.
She frantically pressed every button.
There was no response.
“Stop!”
The elevator didn't stop.
Not until the indicator changed to:
-1.
The doors opened.
Outside was a completely unfamiliar hallway.
There were no lights.
Only the emergency lights on the walls glowed faintly.
Wanqing didn't step out.
She stood inside the elevator.
A few seconds passed.
Then a voice came from deep in the hallway.
“Wanqing.”
Her entire body went rigid.
It was a woman's voice.
Exactly the same as the woman who had called her last night.
“You finally came.”
Wanqing tightened her grip on her phone.
“Who are you?”
No one answered.
A light came on at the far end of the hallway.
Then a second.
A third.
One after another,
the lights came on, as if someone were lighting her way through the darkness.
Wanqing stared down that path.
She knew she shouldn't leave the elevator.
But the woman spoke again:
“Didn't you always want to know where your mother went?”
Wanqing's heart sank.
“You knew her?”
“I didn't just know her.”
The woman paused.
“I also know where she saw you for the last time.”
Wanqing stepped out of the elevator.
The instant her foot touched the floor, the elevator doors closed behind her.
She spun around.
The floor indicator above the doors had changed to:
4.
She froze.
She had clearly been on a basement level just moments ago.
Why did it now say the fourth floor?
She reached out and pressed the door-open button.
Nothing happened.
The elevator began to rise.
She watched the numbers.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Wanqing's face grew paler and paler.
This apartment building only had six floors.
Yet the numbers on the elevator kept climbing.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
It finally stopped at:
Thirteen.
Ding.
The doors opened.
There was no one inside.
Wanqing stood in the hallway.
She suddenly understood.
This wasn't an ordinary elevator malfunction.
Someone was controlling it.
4:07 a.m.
At the end of the underground hallway was a door.
There was no doorplate.
Only one red number:
301.
Wanqing stood in front of the door.
It was the door from the photograph.
She reached out,
but didn't touch the doorknob right away.
“What are you waiting for?”
The woman's voice came from her phone again.
Wanqing jumped.
She looked down.
Her phone wasn't connected to a call.
Yet the voice continued.
“Go inside.”
“I don't trust you.”
The woman gave a soft laugh.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You're finally learning not to trust other people.”
Wanqing didn't answer.
She slowly turned the doorknob.
The door wasn't locked.
When she pushed it open, a faint smell of dust drifted toward her.
The room was tiny.
There was only a table,
a chair,
and an old tape recorder.
A piece of paper was stuck to the recorder.
It read:
“For Wanqing.”
She stood where she was.
For a long time, she didn't move.
Finally, she walked over.
And pressed Play.
Static crackled…
After a burst of interference,
a familiar voice came through.
“Wanqing.”
Tears instantly spilled down her face.
It was her mother.
Ten years.
She hadn't heard that voice in ten years.
“If you're really hearing this recording, it means you've found 301.”
“I don't know what year this will be.”
“And I don't know whether you'll still remember me by then.”
Wanqing covered her mouth.
The tears kept falling.
The woman on the recording paused for a long time.
Then she said:
“You may think I'm dead.”
“But I'm not.”
Wanqing abruptly lifted her head.
The recording continued.
“At least, I was still alive when I recorded this.”
“I know you'll ask why I left you.”
“The answer is simple.”
“Someone wanted to use you.”
Wanqing went completely rigid.
“Not to hurt you.”
“But to turn you into proof.”
“Proof that they can make a person forget what they once saw.”
Wanqing's breathing grew heavier.
“That night ten years ago, you saw someone.”
“You've always believed you only had a nightmare.”
“But you didn't.”
Static suddenly burst through the recording.
Wanqing hurriedly tapped the recorder.
“Mom?”
There was no answer.
A few seconds passed.
Then the voice returned.
This time, her mother's voice was barely audible.
“Don't trust the police.”
Wanqing froze.
“Don't trust the photograph.”
“Don't trust your own memory.”
“If someone tells you I left because I was afraid…”
The recording paused.
“That person is lying to you.”
Wanqing stood there.
She didn't know how long she'd been crying.
Not until the final words came through the recording.
“Wanqing.”
“If one day you remember that night—”
“Don't look for me.”
“Find the seventh person first.”
The recording ended.
The room fell silent again.
Wanqing stared at the recorder.
“The seventh person?”
She murmured to herself.
Six people.
There were clearly only six people in the photograph.
Then where was the seventh?
She suddenly thought of something.
In the photograph from Chapter One,
she remembered counting them.
Xu An.
The police officer.
Her mother.
And three other strangers.
Six in total.
But she'd never noticed—
on the right side of the photograph, there was a blank section that had been cropped away.
Someone should have been standing there.
Wanqing immediately took out her phone.
She opened the photograph she'd seen in Chapter One.
She zoomed in.
Then zoomed in again.
Sure enough, a small section of clothing appeared at the right edge of the photograph.
Someone had been cut out.
And on that person's hand…
was a ring.
Wanqing stared at the ring.
A name suddenly surfaced in her mind.
She didn't know why she knew it.
But the name seemed to have been hiding in her mind for a long time.
Gu Yan.
She whispered the two words.
A sound suddenly came from the room.
“Smack.”
The recorder lit up again on its own.
Wanqing turned around.
No one had touched the Play button.
Yet it began turning by itself.
Amid the crackling static,
another man's voice came through.
“She remembered.”
Wanqing's face went deathly white.
The man continued:
“Earlier than we expected.”
Another voice replied:
“Then start the second phase.”
Wanqing stood frozen.
She wasn't breathing.
Because she suddenly realized…
the people on the recording weren't talking about something that happened ten years ago.
They were talking about—
now.
She rushed out of 301.
The lights in the hallway went out one by one.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Not one person's.
It sounded as if several people were slowly drawing closer.
Wanqing ran forward with all her strength.
But the hallway ahead seemed to have no end.
She ran for a long time.
Finally, she saw the elevator.
She pressed the button.
Ding.
The doors opened.
She rushed inside.
She pressed one.
The elevator didn't respond.
She pressed it again.
Still nothing.
The floor indicator began to flicker through numbers.
Thirteen.
Twelve.
Eleven.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Finally,
the indicator changed to:
0.
Wanqing stared at the number.
The elevator began descending.
She suddenly remembered her mother's words.
“Don't get in the elevator.”
But it was too late.
The elevator doors closed.
Just before they shut completely—
she saw a woman standing at the end of the hallway.
Long hair.
A white blouse.
A silver bracelet around her wrist.
It was her mother.
Wanqing lunged toward the doors.
“Mom!”
The elevator doors closed completely.
The woman didn't follow.
She only stood there, watching Wanqing through the narrowing gap.
Then she raised her hand.
And pointed above the elevator.
Wanqing looked up.
The number on the indicator had disappeared.
In its place was a sentence:
“You've already died once.”
The elevator stopped instantly.
The lights went out.
In the darkness,
her phone suddenly lit up.
A message.
No photograph.
No number.
Only one line:
“Second Way to Die: Forgetting Who You Are.”
Wanqing stared at the words.
This time, she wasn't afraid.
Because she finally understood—
these people didn't want to kill her.
They wanted to make her forget.
Forget her mother.
Forget ten years ago.
Forget the seventh person.
Even…
forget herself.
The elevator started moving again.
Slowly descending.
And in a room somewhere outside the elevator, a man picked up the phone.
“She went in.”
The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds.
The man asked again:
“Should we tell her now?”
The other person replied:
“No.”
“Wait for her to remember on her own.”
“Wait for her to remember who really died ten years ago.”
The call ended.
The man looked at the photograph on the table.
There were seven people in it.
The faces of six were still clear.
The seventh person's face…
had been completely covered over with black ink.
At the very bottom of the photograph
was a date.
July 14, 2016.
Beside it, someone had written:
“The first person is dead.”
“The second person is forgetting.”
“The third person is still alive.”