Chapter 104: The Autopsy Room

B3, B2, B1, 1.

Watching the numbers flash on the screen above the elevator, Qi Ran stared blankly for a moment before turning around and slowly walking away.

She limped through the pitch-black corridor, stained by the crimson glow of the warning lights mounted on the walls at five-meter intervals.

When they all flashed in unison, it reminded Qi Ran of a “Warm Hell” described in a book she had once read.

The author of that book was an addict. From the age of seven, she had been molested by her own father. When her mother found out, she blamed the girl for seducing her father. She was slapped, beaten with clothes hangers, and even burned on the arms with a curling iron. In that domestic environment, she began using powder. But unlike other addicts, her hallucinations were never pleasant. She would always see an impossibly long, endless black corridor, with flames burning on its ceiling. She was always dressed in just thin shorts and a t-shirt, standing at the beginning of the corridor, slowly walking deeper inside. Countless identical doors lined the sides, all tightly shut as if they had been multiplied. Just looking at them was enough to cause vertigo.

She would run down that narrow corridor, but no matter how long she ran, there was no end. Flames blazed fiercely, illuminating the sealed doors. She had tried knocking on them, even ramming into them, but they were too sturdy. Perhaps built to withstand fire, perhaps to keep outsiders away, they remained stubbornly shut.

In the book, she called this corridor Hell, a Warm Hell, because whenever she sobered up, she would face an even worse reality. When the flames licked at her in that corridor, at least a sensation of warmth remained in her heart. The scars left by the flames became proof of love, covering the scars her mother gave her, and making her feel “whole.”

In the end of the book, she didn’t quit. Instead, she chose to end her life in a bathtub, firmly believing that after death, she would remain forever in that Warm Hell. When Qi Ran read the book, she had imagined what such a Warm Hell would look like. She just never expected to one day see something so similar; it made her feel a little dazed.

She walked slowly forward, reaching out a hand. Her fingertips brushed against the right-hand wall, caressing the slightly protruding and dented spots. The hardness and coldness of the steel seeped into her fingers.

She suddenly recalled how she used to do this often as a child. When she walked home alone from school and entered the stairwell, she would run her fingers along the handrail, or brush them against the walls. The tips of her fingers would always get caked with dust, but she never tired of doing it.

Her movements were unhurried. The only exit from Sublevel Three was the elevator behind her anyway. This was the only floor without an emergency passage or fire escape. Standing here with the detonator in her hand, there was no way Tao Xiao could possibly vanish again.

She stepped over the shattered shards of mirror scattered across the floor. Yue Yunqiu had been torn about the placement of these three mirrors. They were supposedly incredibly valuable cursed objects. A pity such precious items had proven completely useless. Qi Ran couldn’t even guess what their purpose was supposed to be.

Qi Ran kept walking forward. Directly ahead was an already-opened door, revealing a staircase leading down. Qi Ran slowly descended the steps. Her left leg was still without feeling. After so long, the tissue might already be necrotic. She was practically “hauling” her left leg along as she walked.

By the time she finished the downward-extending staircase, the alarm had become very distant, so muffled it was hard to hear. Straight ahead was a dark-green double door, painted with the Executor’s silver circular badge. The door looked somewhat familiar to Qi Ran, but she couldn’t quite place where she might have seen it before.

She placed her hand on the very heavy door, leaning her weight into it, and slowly pushed it open.

Just as the door was halfway open, she suddenly realized a very strange thing: on Tao Xiao’s entire journey here, she had never stopped to close a door behind her. So why was this door shut? Before she could think on it further, the door was pushed open. At the same moment, the room’s lights flickered on, and the sight before her made her freeze.

It was a small room. Straight ahead was a row of sinks. A few of the cabinets on the left wall were open. Qi Ran saw white coats inside, the kind doctors would wear. There was also a storage cabinet with many drawers. Qi Ran tried to open them, but all of the drawers were locked. She gave up with some helplessness. She kept moving forward, walking around the storage cabinet, and found another door behind it. This was a very ordinary door, and hanging on it was a report form.

Qi Ran reached out and took the report. It was a pale-yellow duty roster. What made it interesting were the signatures on it: Tao Shuanggui, Tao Youling, Tao Ji, Tao Sicheng… All were surnamed Tao. Qi Ran looked at the date in the top right corner and couldn’t help but feel a jolt of surprise. It was plainly written: October 23, 1964.

A duty roster from fifty-three years ago? Qi Ran rubbed the paper between her fingers. Curiously, the paper didn’t show any signs of age; it remained stiff and crisp.

Puzzled, she put her hand on the door handle and gently twisted it. It wasn’t locked. The door opened easily.

The room behind the door was very dark. Only a single, very small light hung lonely from the ceiling. The room was slightly empty; the walls were painted a clean, pale blue. In the very center of the room, two long, stainless steel-like tables were placed side-by-side. One of the long tables was empty, covered with a clean, white medical sheet. The other table was different—there seemed to be something beneath the white cloth.

As Qi Ran looked, she suddenly realized what those two strange long tables were. They were autopsy tables. The left one was empty. On the right one lay a corpse, hidden beneath a white cloth.

She walked slowly forward, coming to a stop before the autopsy table. For some unknown reason, a strange feeling filled her heart… a voice kept telling her, Lift the white cloth. Yet another, completely opposite voice was vehemently screaming, Don’t lift that white cloth. Don’t lift it. That voice shrieked that underneath it was something she absolutely didn’t want to see. The two voices argued desperately within her Mind Lake, giving her a throbbing headache.

She put her hand on the white cloth, her fingertips trembling slightly, and slowly pulled it back.

A girl lay there quietly. She looked very young, no more than fourteen years old. She was dressed in white, her eyes tightly shut. Her thick, dark eyelashes were stunning: long, curled, and soft like a hatchling’s down. Her expression was docile, like a rabbit in a lab. She had a strong smell of disinfectant on her.

The girl slowly opened her eyes. Qi Ran slightly held her breath. This scene was too much like the moment an exquisitely crafted puppet in a fairy tale suddenly came to life.

When she clearly saw the girl’s eyes, Qi Ran couldn’t help but feel dazed.

Because it was so similar. It was as if the old photograph from the forum had been brought into sharp focus, sharpened countless times over, and then saturated with color, presenting itself right before her. The usual passage of time had blurred. She stared blankly at the girl lying on the autopsy table, momentarily at a complete loss for what to do.

The girl didn’t sit up. She didn’t make any other movements. She just lay there, perfectly straight, extending a pale wrist and placing it in a spot convenient for Qi Ran to reach.

Qi Ran stared at her in silence. Understanding suddenly dawned on her, about why the girl had done this. The girl thought she was also one of those “doctors.” She had come to dissect her. So the girl preemptively offered her cooperation.

Qi Ran looked at the other, empty autopsy table and suddenly understood why it was there. Perhaps, in this girl’s mind, everything those doctors did to her was to save her twin sister. That was why she hid the ferocious nature of a Ghost Birth Infant and played the part of a docile creature… Hand in hand, they would lie here and encourage each other. But in the eyes of the Tao Family members, she was just a half-mad Ghost Birth Infant, a living and precious sample.

The girl waited quietly for a little while. She seemed somewhat puzzled as to why what she expected hadn’t happened, and slightly tilted her head to look at Qi Ran. Deep within her eyes was something that resembled a profound lake.

“I can save your sister, Qiao,” Qi Ran whispered, extending her hand towards the girl lying on the autopsy table. “Are you willing to come with me?”