Time passed slowly.
He lay back down, this time forcing his eyes shut. Even if he couldn't sleep, he needed rest. He counted sheep, passed a hundred, but his mind remained alert. The humming didn't return, but other sounds emerged: water flowing in pipes, the faint, distant sound of cars—even though outside the window was pitch black, nothing like a road—and the scurrying of mice within the walls.
The apartment was old; such sounds were normal.
But in the dead silence of the night, every sound was amplified, rendered suspicious.
Shen Du lay there for a long time. He didn't know when, but eventually, he drifted into a fitful sleep.
He dreamed. He was running down a long corridor, countless doors on either side, all marked with the same number: 304, 304, 304, all 304. He ran desperately, but the corridor had no end. Heavy, urgent footsteps chased him from behind. He didn't dare look back, just kept running. Finally, his legs felt like lead, impossible to lift. He fell. Looking back, his pursuer was himself, wearing the same clothes, expressionless, holding a red lamp.
Shen Du jolted awake.
It was morning.
Greyish light filtered through the window—a cloudy dawn. Everything in the room became clear: the faded wallpaper, old furniture, the dust-covered ceiling fan. The red lamp still hung, but it was off now, just an ordinary red glass shade.
Shen Du sat up, body aching all over. The sofa was too hard; he hadn't slept well at all. He checked his watch: 7:08 a.m.
He stood and walked to the window. Outside was no longer impenetrable black, but a blanket of grey-white. Fog—thick fog, visibility low, only the ground a few meters below visible. The empty lot held nothing—no shadow, no lantern-bearer.
He turned to look at the door. The chair was still braced against it, the door locked. He walked over, moved the chair aside, and peered through the peephole.
The corridor was lit by ordinary incandescent bulbs, light normal. The wet footprints on the floor were gone; the carpet was dry, only worn in spots.
Everything from last night seemed like a dream.
But Shen Du knew it wasn't. He raised his left hand—the silver ring was on his index finger. He checked his pocket—the slip of paper was still there. On the coffee table, the photo and notebook remained.
He opened the door. The corridor was empty, Door 304 opposite closed. He walked to the stairwell and looked down. Ordinary concrete stairs with a railing, dust on the steps. No footprints, no water stains.
He went downstairs. The stairwell was quiet, only his footsteps echoing. Third floor, second floor, first floor. The first floor was a lobby with a glass door leading to the street.
Outside the glass door, dense fog swirled. The street was empty—no people, no cars. Buildings on either side were vague outlines in the mist. Everything was quiet, deathly still.
Shen Du pushed the glass door open and stepped out.
The air was damp, cold, musty. The fog was so thick he couldn't see more than a few steps ahead. He walked along the street. The buildings resembled old residential blocks, windows shut, some with curtains drawn, some with broken panes. No lights, no signs of life.
After about five minutes, he reached an intersection. Traffic lights glowed, but in the fog, they were just blurred halos. No cars passed.
Shen Du stood at the intersection, unsure which way to go. He looked back—the path he came from was swallowed by fog. The apartment building was out of sight.
He kept walking, choosing the left road. Shops began to appear on either side, but all were closed, display windows empty and dusty. A barbershop, a grocery store, a snack shop—all looked long abandoned.
After about ten minutes, he saw a bus stop. The sign was old, its lettering blurred. He moved closer, barely making out the characters: "Route 304." 304—the same as his room number.
Someone was sitting on the bus stop bench.
Shen Du halted. It was the first person he had seen since waking up.
The person sat with their back to him, head bowed as if asleep. Dark clothing, gender indistinct.
Shen Du approached slowly. His footsteps were loud in the silence, but the person didn't react.
Reaching the bench, Shen Du saw clearly. A man, perhaps in his forties or fifties, hair graying, wearing a gray jacket and black pants. His eyes were closed, head tilted to one side, as if asleep.
"Hey," Shen Du called out.
No response.
Shen Du reached out, gently touched the man's shoulder.
The man's body slumped sideways, thudding to the ground. He didn't wake up. He remained motionless.
Shen Du crouched, checked for breath.
None.
The man's face was pale, lips purplish, eyes shut tight. He was dead, had been for a while—his body stiff.
Shen Du scrambled back, heart hammering. He stared at the corpse, mind blank.
Just then, a sound came through the fog.
A ringing. The ringing of an old-fashioned telephone, identical to the one in the apartment last night.
The ringing came from deep within the fog, shifting, sometimes near, sometimes far, elusive.
Shen Du stood up, looked around. The fog was too thick to see anything. The ringing continued, one ring after another, insistent, demanding.
He turned, wanting to run back, but the way he came was gone. Fog surrounded him on all sides, with only the vague outlines of buildings.
The ringing grew closer.
Shen Du saw a figure approaching through the fog.
The figure was blurry, but discernible as a woman's silhouette—long hair, light-colored clothing. She walked slowly, step by step, toward the bus stop.
Shen Du wanted to run, but his legs felt nailed to the ground. He stared as the figure emerged from the fog, growing clearer.
A young woman in a white dress, hair disheveled, face pale. In her hand was an old-fashioned telephone, beige plastic casing, exactly like the one in the apartment. The cord dragged on the ground, long, disappearing into the fog.
The woman walked to the bus stop and stopped by the bench. She didn't even glance at the corpse on the ground, her eyes fixed directly on Shen Du.
Then she raised the telephone, offering it to him.
The receiver hung in the air. The ringing continued.
Shen Du looked at the phone, then at the woman. Her face was pale, unnaturally so, her eyes empty, unfocused.
He took a deep breath and accepted the receiver.
Put it to his ear.
A sound came through. Not weeping. Laughter. A woman's laughter, light, happy, as if speaking to someone.
"Did you find the ring?" the woman's voice asked amid the laughter, gentle, sweet.
Shen Du didn't speak.
"The ring is with you, right?" the woman continued. "Wear it, and you're mine. Forever."
The laughter grew louder, then suddenly turned into sobs. The same suppressed, agonized weeping as last night.
"Why won't you come back?" the woman cried out. "You said you'd love me forever! You said it!"
The weeping cut off abruptly, replaced by a dial tone.
Shen Du lowered the receiver and looked at the woman.
She was looking back at him, two trails of red tears—like blood—flowing from her empty eyes.
"Give it back," she said, voice faint. "Give me back the ring."
She stretched out a pale hand, nails long.
Shen Du looked down at the ring on his finger. The silver band gleamed coldly in the grey light.
He began to back away slowly.
The woman walked toward him, step by step. The telephone was still in her hand, the receiver dangling, swaying.
Shen Du turned and ran.
He plunged into the fog, directionless, just wanting to get away from her. Footsteps followed—light but fast. And the woman's voice, faint, drifting from the fog:
"Give it back... give it back..."
Shen Du ran for his life, lungs burning. The fog was thick; he couldn't see the road, just charged ahead on instinct. Buildings flashed by on either side, all identical—grey walls, black windows.
He passed one intersection, then another. The footsteps remained behind, neither gaining nor falling back, always there.
A building loomed ahead, familiar. An old apartment building, glass door, a plaque reading "304."
His building.
Shen Du rushed inside, slammed the glass door shut. He leaned against it, gasping for air, looking outside.
In the fog, the white figure stood a few meters from the door. The woman stood there, telephone in hand, watching him. Red tears slid down her face, dripping to the ground, blooming into dark red stains.
She didn't enter. Just stood there, watching.
Shen Du turned, charged up the stairs. Taking steps three at a time, back to the third floor, back to Room 304. He pushed the door open, dashed inside, locked it behind him, dragged the chair to brace it.
Then he collapsed to the floor, back against the door, breathing heavily.
No footsteps outside. No knocking. Nothing.
Shen Du sat there a long time until his breathing steadied, his heartbeat gradually returning to normal. He raised his hand, looking at the ring on his finger. The silver band, the engraved "Forever Yours" inside, starkly clear in the dim light.
He recalled the woman's words from the phone: "Wear it, and you're mine. Forever."
And the slip of paper: "Don't trust the tears."
The woman's red tears.
Shen Du stood up and walked to the window. Outside, dense fog obscured everything. But he knew the woman was still out there, somewhere in the fog, waiting.
Twenty-four hours. The script said the next scene would arrive in twenty-four hours.
Less than ten had passed.
Shen Du looked at the black notebook on the coffee table. It lay there quietly, its cover black like a closed eye.
He walked over, picked it up, and opened it.
The last page, the words were still there. "Scene One Cleared. Obtained: Death Fragment x1. Next scene script will be issued in twenty-four hours."
Below, a new line of small text had appeared:
"Current Surviving Actors: Unknown."
"Current Scene Exploration Progress: 17%."
Shen Du stared at the words. Surviving actors unknown? Meaning there were others? In similar places? Going through similar things?
Scene exploration progress 17%. Meaning he had only explored 17% of this "scene"? There was more undiscovered?
He closed the notebook and scanned the room. This seemingly simple apartment room—what else was hidden here?
He needed to keep exploring. Before the next script arrived, he had to figure out what was really happening here.
Before death, find a way to live.
Shen Du took a deep breath and clenched his fist. The ring dug into his finger, painful.
But the pain kept him alert.
The game had begun.