10:07 a.m.
Lin Wanqing stood outside her hotel room, holding the note that had fallen from the white rose.
The eighth way to die: to die inside a truth you refuse to admit.
She stared at it for a long time.
Long enough for the corners of the note to wrinkle beneath her fingers.
The email from her mother last night was still open on her phone.
She had read it over and over.
Each time, the cold inside her deepened.
You finally found the place where I died for the last time.
The words were like a fine needle, slowly piercing her mind.
She had always believed she was investigating the truth behind her mother's disappearance.
But now it seemed...
Maybe she wasn't looking for a missing person at all.
Maybe she was looking for a fact everyone had collectively denied.
She slipped her key card into her bag and turned to go downstairs.
As she passed through the hotel lobby, the woman at the front desk looked up at her as if she wanted to say something. In the end, she swallowed it back.
Wanqing walked out the front door. The sunlight outside was harsh.
Almost painfully bright.
She stood at the entrance and took a deep breath before picking up her phone.
She still couldn't get through to Su Rui.
Officer Zhou hadn't replied either.
The mysterious man had left after saying only one thing last night, as if he had deliberately abandoned her in a room with no visible exit.
The only things she knew for certain now were—
No. 17 South Street. 1704. The bathtub. The white rose. Gu Yan. Her mother.
All the threads were tangled together, tightening into a knot the more she pulled.
And this morning, there was one new thing.
A package.
12:23 p.m.
When Wanqing returned to her residence, the building manager called out to her.
“Ms. Lin, you have a package.”
“A package?”
“Yes. It arrived last night.”
The manager handed her a rectangular cardboard box.
It wasn't large.
There was no sender information on the outside.
No recipient's name, either.
Only an old sticky note was attached to it.
Four words were written on it:
You will come for it.
Wanqing took the box, her fingertips tightening slightly.
“Who delivered it?”
The manager shook his head.
“The courier said it was an unclaimed package and left it here.”
“No phone number?”
“No.”
Wanqing didn't ask anything else.
She carried the box back to her room.
It was very light.
Too light to feel like it held anything. More like it contained a message someone had deliberately left behind.
She set it on the table but didn't open it right away.
First, she looked outside.
Everything was quiet.
A few scattered cars passed beyond the window.
Sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, drawing a thin line of brightness across the tabletop.
Wanqing stared at the box.
A terrible premonition suddenly came over her.
She had been having that feeling far too often lately.
Every time, things took a turn for the worse.
She took out a pair of scissors and slowly cut through the tape.
When the box opened, there was no blood or anything frightening inside.
Only a black envelope.
An old-fashioned voice recorder.
And a folded sheet of paper.
Wanqing picked up the paper first.
She unfolded it.
There was only one line:
This isn't for you. It's for your mother.
Her breath caught.
Her mother again.
The woman she had thought had left a long time ago.
She set the paper down and picked up the recorder.
She pressed play.
At first, there was only a hiss of static.
Like the blank noise recorded onto an old cassette tape.
After a few seconds, a voice slowly emerged.
A man's voice.
Low and slow, as if he were deliberately forcing the words out.
“If you're hearing this recording, the package has already reached her.”
Wanqing frowned.
As she listened, she brought the recorder closer.
The man continued:
“Don't let her touch the black envelope.”
Wanqing glanced down at the envelope on the table.
Her heart tightened.
The man on the recording paused for several seconds, as if he knew she was listening, then spoke again.
“If you're still alive, come get it yourself.”
Wanqing froze.
Who was he talking to?
Her mother?
Or... Gu Yan?
Before she could figure it out, another burst of muffled sound came through the recording.
It sounded like someone moving around in the background.
Then the man said quietly:
“When they sent the person away, they didn't leave a name.”
“They just sent the packages here.”
“The photo studio, the hotel, the hospital, and that building.”
“Every time, it was the same group of people.”
Wanqing's hands began to grow cold.
“If she really comes looking for me...”
The man's voice stopped abruptly.
When he spoke again, it was even lower.
“Remember to tell her.”
“Her birthday cake wasn't delivered to the wrong person back then.”
The recording cut off.
Wanqing sat stunned for several seconds, forgetting even to breathe.
The cake.
The rose-filled bathtub in Chapter Eight.
Her sixteenth birthday.
That night she had always believed she simply remembered incorrectly.
Suddenly, it was as if someone had forcefully torn open a corner of everything.
She set the recorder back on the table and stared at the black envelope.
It wasn't sealed.
There wasn't even any tape.
As if someone had deliberately left her a choice.
She hesitated for a few seconds, then opened it anyway.
Inside was only a photograph.
The photograph showed a package.
A package almost identical to the one on her table.
The background was a photo studio.
The clock on the table read July 20, 2016.
Wanqing's pupils contracted.
That day... wasn't it the sixth day after her mother disappeared?
She immediately turned the photograph over.
Written on the back were the words:
She didn't claim the photograph because she knew someone was missing from it.
Wanqing stared at the sentence.
Someone was missing from the photograph.
She had heard that sentence too many times already.
The seventh person.
The person cut out.
The person erased.
The person everyone refused to acknowledge.
She looked at the photograph again.
The inside of the photo studio was ordinary enough.
White walls, a counter, old wooden chairs.
The package sat on the counter.
A small label was stuck to it.
Four characters were written on the label:
Lin Yaqin.
Her mother's name.
Wanqing's breathing grew ragged.
If the photograph had been taken on July 20, 2016, then someone had indeed received something after her mother disappeared.
And that something had now returned to her hands.
She felt like she was chasing a relay race that would never end.
The person before her refused to speak.
The person after them refused to take the baton.
In the end, every answer circled back to her, forcing her to open it herself.
A thought suddenly occurred to her.
If the package had been sent to her mother...
Did that mean her mother had left something with someone before she disappeared?
Or had her mother actually been waiting for this package all along?
Wanqing stood and paced around the room twice.
Her heart beat faster and faster.
She glanced at the time.
12:56 p.m.
She couldn't wait any longer.
The black envelope sat on the table like a silent eye watching her.
She opened it again.
This time, there was no photograph inside.
There was a key.
An old-fashioned brass key.
A tiny piece of paper hung from the key ring.
An address was written on it:
No. 18, Lane 4, Alley 12, Xiqiao Road.
Wanqing stared at the address.
She had never been there.
At least, not in any memory she could access.
She picked up the key.
It was cold.
As if it had just been taken from somewhere damp.
Just then, her phone suddenly vibrated.
An unfamiliar text message appeared.
Don't go.
Wanqing stared at the three words.
A second message arrived.
The answer you're looking for isn't there.
Then another:
Only the thing your mother refused for the last time.
Wanqing's heart sank.
The thing she refused?
She was about to call the number back when her phone screen suddenly went black.
A few seconds later, when it lit up again, the display had changed to her photo gallery.
A folder she had never opened had appeared on its own.
It had only two characters for a name:
Package.
She froze, then tapped it open.
Inside was a video.
The footage shook violently.
It looked as if someone had secretly placed a camera inside the package.
The lens was aimed at a room.
Two figures sat at the table.
A woman.
A man.
Wanqing recognized the woman.
Her mother.
The man had his back to the camera, his face hidden.
Her mother sat very straight, her face pale, as if she had just argued with someone.
She pushed a box across the table.
The man didn't take it.
He only said:
“You really want to do this?”
Her mother didn't answer.
After a long time, she finally said:
“If I accept it, Wanqing will start remembering.”
The man fell silent.
“Aren't you afraid she'll find out about you?”
Her mother raised her head.
“I am.”
“But I'm even more afraid she'll become the next one.”
The image froze for several seconds.
At last, the man turned slightly.
Wanqing saw only the side of his face.
In that instant, she nearly forgot how to breathe.
Because she had seen that face before.
Not once.
Many times.
At the hospital.
In the apartment building.
In the photographs.
Outside the room with the cake.
It was—
Officer Zhou.
The video abruptly cut out.
The screen went black.
Her phone returned to the home screen.
Wanqing stared at it, her mind completely blank.
Officer Zhou.
Him again.
If the video was real, then he had already been in contact with her mother ten years ago.
And he had been more than just an investigator.
He knew far more than he had told her.
He might even... be part of this whole thing.
Wanqing suddenly felt as if she had been played from beginning to end.
She looked at the key on the table.
At the address.
At the black envelope that had arrived in the package.
Then she picked up her phone and called Officer Zhou.
This time,
he answered.
“Hello?”
His voice came through almost immediately, sounding as if he had been waiting for this call.
Wanqing didn't speak first.
“You saw it?”
She remained silent.
“The recording.”
She still said nothing.
Officer Zhou sighed.
“You got the package, didn't you?”
“You knew?”
“I thought she wouldn't hand it over.”
Wanqing slowly tightened her grip.
“She?”
Officer Zhou was quiet for a moment.
“Your mother.”
Wanqing let out a cold laugh.
“Stop pretending. The man in the video was you.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
So long that she almost thought he had hung up.
Finally, Officer Zhou said slowly:
“That wasn't the first time I met her.”
Wanqing's heart jolted.
“What does that mean?”
“Don't go to that address on Xiqiao Road.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do?”
“Because it used to be a photo studio.”
Wanqing froze.
“I know.”
“No,” Officer Zhou said.
“It isn't a photo studio.”
“At least... not anymore.”
Wanqing frowned.
“What are you trying to say?”
Officer Zhou was silent for a long time.
Then he said in a low voice:
“That is where she hid the seventh photograph.”
Wanqing went rigid.
“The seventh photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Didn't you say the seventh one was missing?”
Officer Zhou's voice grew heavy.
“It isn't missing.”
“She made sure no one could find it.”
Wanqing held the phone, her fingertips numb.
“Who is in it?”
Officer Zhou didn't answer right away.
A few seconds later, he only said:
“If you really want to know...”
“Go see for yourself at eight tonight.”
The call ended.
Wanqing stood there without moving for a long time.
Outside the window, the sky was slowly darkening.
The room was so quiet that all she could hear was her own breathing.
She looked at the key.
No. 18, Lane 4, Alley 12, Xiqiao Road.
The seventh photograph.
The thing her mother had refused.
And Officer Zhou's words.
That was where she had hidden the seventh photograph.
Wanqing slowly sat down.
Suddenly, she felt cold.
She didn't know who was in the seventh photograph.
But she was beginning to have a terrifying suspicion.
Maybe it wasn't some stranger.
Maybe it wasn't Gu Yan.
It might not even be her mother.
Maybe it was someone...
Someone no one dared let her remember.
She folded the note and put it in her pocket.
Then she stood and picked up her coat.
Eight tonight.
She would go.
Whatever that place was,
she would see it with her own eyes.
Because she could no longer accept letting other people decide the truth for her.
Just as she was about to leave, the phone on the table lit up again.
It was a text message with no number.
There was only one photograph.
Wanqing tapped it open.
The photograph showed her room.
The shot had been taken from outside the window.
And in the reflection beside the window...
someone was standing there.
White shoes.
A black coat.
A cardboard box in their arms.
Written on the box were the words:
UNCLAIMED
Beneath the photograph was one final sentence:
The ninth way to die: the one left behind will never know whom they've lost.