The weapon by the pillow

Chapter 3 The Haunted Building...Exploring the Mystery

Cheng Tan never expected that his post asking for help would become so popular.

Like a boulder thrown into a stagnant pool, it doesn't create ripples, but rather towering waves.

That day, after escaping from the newsstand back to his apartment, Cheng Tan locked himself in his room for two whole days in extreme fear and confusion.

He drew the curtains shut, cutting off all light and time. Like a caged beast, he paced back and forth in the cramped space, sometimes collapsing onto the cold floor, clutching his throbbing head, trying to dig out useful fragments from the gaps in his memory. Pliers, a woman's face, old newspapers from thirteen years ago, Room 403, Building 7, Anping Lane… these fragments were like sharp glass; each touch left him bleeding, yet he could not piece together a complete picture.

He recalled adding, "I recently overheard someone mentioning this old case. Apparently, several murder weapons were found at the scene, including a pair of pliers? The details are vague. Does anyone know anything about it or have more information? I'm just curious."

He had initially thought that this old case, especially in a highly mobile city, would have been buried by time and wouldn't cause any ripples. After sending it out, he even regretted it, feeling that he had done something foolish and dangerous.

However, he was wrong.

Several hours after the post was published, there were only a few scattered replies, mostly comments like "Never heard of it," "That's such an old case," and "Where did you hear about it?"

But the situation took a sharp turn for the worse the next day.

The replies to the post began to grow at an astonishing rate.

Initially, a few netizens claiming to be from "Old West City" added some vague details: "There was such a case, the death was quite tragic, and it seems to have never been solved." "That building became unsettled afterward, with many rumors." "I remember the newspapers reported that they couldn't find conclusive evidence."

Following this, accounts claiming to be "insiders" began to appear, revealing increasingly specific and in-depth information:

"The deceased's name was something like Li... I think it was Li Wan? Yes, Li Wan! She was only in her early twenties at the time, it was quite pitiful."

"I heard the scene was chaotic, like there had been a fight, but there were no signs of an intrusion."

"It wasn't just pliers; I heard there were also ropes, hammers, and things like that, all covered in blood. But strangely, the fingerprints on them were very blurry, or even nonexistent."

"The police investigated for a long time and suspected that someone they knew was the perpetrator, but they had no evidence. The building was full of tenants with high turnover, making it very difficult to investigate."

There's a rumor that the woman... isn't very proper, and has complicated romantic relationships.

"I heard... it's a paranormal event, something's going on..."

These replies were a mix of truth and falsehood, hearsay and embellishment... but some details, such as the name "Li Wan" and the description of multiple murder weapons and the lack of effective biological evidence at the scene, corresponded vaguely to the old news weekly that Cheng Tan had seen, and even added a lot of information that was not in the newspaper.

The internet is too powerful; he felt a chill.

It was as if countless eyes suddenly opened in the darkness, staring at the Pandora's box that he had accidentally pried open.

What alarmed him even more was the rapid emergence of another sentiment in the comments section: "The internet emboldens the timid," a fervent desire to "explore" quietly growing.

"Exciting! This is a true urban legend!"

"Does the original poster know anything inside information? Share it!"

"Multiple weapons? Could it be a copycat crime or a random killing? The thought is chilling."

"Building No. 7 in Anping Lane? It seems to be abandoned and slated for demolition now, right? Anyone want to team up and go explore it?"

"Let's go exploring! Maybe we'll find some clues we missed back then?"

"Take me with you! This immersive experience is way more thrilling than watching a horror movie!"

"Let's go to the haunted building and solve the case..."

The calls to form a team for an "exploration" grew louder and louder, quickly drowning out rational discussions and the voices offering clues. His post was pushed to the top of the trending list, and the red "HOT" icon was like a red-hot iron, making him uneasy.

Cheng Tan scrolled through his phone screen, reading the messages filled with excitement, curiosity, and enticement, his stomach churning. He had initially only sought information, a clue to help him grasp reality, but he had inadvertently opened a floodgate of online traffic and morbid curiosity. The situation had completely spiraled out of his control.

Just then, a new reply appeared, its tone clearly provocative and skeptical:

"Since some people suspect that the original poster is making up a story, or doesn't even dare to go and verify it in person, what's the point of just talking nonsense here? Now, who wants to go and explore together? If we're going to do it, let's do it for real! Original poster, are you brave enough to lead the team?"

This reply was like a spark, instantly igniting the already restless comment section.

"Wow!"

Count me in!

"Are you bringing equipment? Like night vision goggles?"

"Hey OP, come out here and show yourselves! If you're a man, don't be a coward!"

The phone vibrated in his palm, the screen's light flickering on his pale, tired face.

Looking at the flood of registration messages, he felt like he was standing on the edge of a rapidly spinning vortex, about to be swallowed up at any moment. He wanted to back down, to delete the post immediately, as if none of this had ever happened.

But another voice, a voice driven to desperation by nightmares and bizarre coincidences, roared in my mind: Go! Go and see! Go to that place called "Room 403, Building 7, Anping Lane"! See clearly what's there? What is your connection to that place? Do you want to live your whole life in these bloody dreams and nameless fears?

He took a deep breath; the cold air stung his throat. His trembling fingers tapped on the screen:

"There are so many people, let's draw lots."

He typed the words almost numbly, feeling like a bystander watching the madness of another stranger.

"I draw the first one, and then the people behind me draw the next one in turn, for a total of 7 spots."

He set up a seemingly random set of rules, as if by doing so he could wrap this absurd adventure in a cloak of "fairness" and "fate," thereby alleviating his guilt and fear.

Seven people, plus himself, eight. A number he was unwilling to delve into its symbolic meaning.

The lottery process took place in real time on the forum, attracting even more onlookers and discussion.

Cheng Tan used the simplest method: he asked applicants to reply with "registration + number" below, and he would take a screenshot with his eyes closed, whichever number he captured was the correct one.

He drew the first one and passed it on to the person behind him...

Ultimately, seven IDs were selected. Cheng Tan sent them private messages and created a temporary chat group.

He didn't waste any time in the group chat; he simply arranged a time and place to meet.

Tomorrow night at 10 PM, at the entrance of that secondhand shop that's already closed down at the intersection of Anpingli Street.

He did not ask anyone for their real name or identity, and everyone seemed to tacitly maintain this anonymity.

Under the cover of the internet, everyone is just a code name, heading together to a dark rendezvous driven by urban legends and curiosity.

……

Anpingli at night is a completely different world from the brightly lit commercial street not far away.

This area belongs to the old city district slated for demolition. Most residents have already moved away, leaving only ruins and a few lonely old buildings standing like tombstones amidst the weeds and rubble.

There were no streetlights, only a faint glimmer of light in the distance, outlining the distorted and grotesque silhouettes of the buildings. The air was thick with the smell of dust, and the wind whistled through the empty window openings and broken doorways.

Cheng Tan arrived half an hour early.

He deliberately wore a dark hoodie, with the hood pulled down low, covering most of his face.

Leaning against the shadows beside the cold, rolling shutter of the secondhand shop, he felt like a spy waiting to carry out a dangerous mission, or a prisoner about to be executed, his palms sweating profusely.

He repeatedly stroked the cold, hard pair of pliers in his pocket—as if by some strange impulse, he had brought it out with him.

It's as if holding it gives you a "certificate" to fight against nightmares.

One by one, seven figures silently converged from different directions.