Before I could even raise my foot to kick the door in, I saw two stark white hands appear in the window panes of the door, their fingers slowly scratching against the glass, emitting a grating sound that sent shivers down my spine. The foot I had half-raised froze mid-air. Then, with a dreadful screech from the rusted hinges, the heavy door was slowly pushed open from the outside...

The rusted hinges let out a grating, drawn-out squeal as the door was nudged inward from the outside. I never knew the sound of an opening door could be so terrifying. As the portal gaped open, it felt as if a bucket of icy, slush-filled water had been dumped over my head. Yet, through the widening gap, all I could see was impenetrable blackness beyond the threshold.

I steeled myself, intending to confront whoever was trying to enter, but Ding Sitian and Fatty, who were supporting Old Sheepskin, couldn't hold their nerve any longer. "Let's pull back!" they cried, beginning to retreat further into the building, pulling their burden with them. Suddenly unsupported, I dared not linger to play the hero. Clutching the dim, sickly yellow kerosene lamp, I turned to follow. Only when I lifted my foot did I realize my legs had gone completely weak.

The ancients spoke of a rout like a collapsing mountain: an unplanned, disorganized retreat is terrifying. Though we called it a withdrawal, fear spread between us like a contagion. Our hearts hammered uncontrollably, our minds scrambled like headless flies, pushing and shoving as we retreated toward the stairwell at the end of the corridor. We only halted when we nearly slammed into the wall at the corridor's end, blind in the darkness.

I held up the lamp, examining Fatty and Ding Sitian. Their faces were ashen, truly bloodless. I imagined mine was no better. Now I was genuinely spooked. Firstly, the bizarre layout of this building immediately suggested something metaphysical. Nine times out of ten, this place was haunted. The worst part? We hadn't brought any black donkey hooves.

The main door of this building was highly unusual; unlike typical structures set along the long side, it was situated on one of the narrow ends of the rectangular block. The rooms flanking the corridor were all bricked up, and the corridor facing the entrance stretched quite far before being sealed off at the far end by a brick wall. Our only remaining option here was the staircase. The stairs, located at the bend in the corridor, went both up and down, suggesting this building had a basement as well.

The stairs, like the corridor, were open, not blocked by brickwork. What had just occurred at the main door had shattered our morale, and we dared not risk trying to return the way we came. Having come this far, we were left with only two choices: ascend to the second floor or descend into the basement.

Because the building was so unnervingly silent, we only let out a sigh of relief once we reached the far end of the corridor and could hear no sound from behind the iron grate. Ding Sitian clutched her chest, gasping for breath. "Let's calm down first. Did anyone actually see... what it was that came in from outside?"

Fatty snapped back at her, "And you have the nerve to ask! Weren't you the first one to call for a retreat? I hadn't even gotten a good look at what was outside before I bolted in after you two. I think this is what they call 'fleeing at the mere rumor.' I never thought my esteemed reputation would be ruined like this."

Just then, Old Sheepskin suddenly awoke from his stupor. He saw he was half-carried, half-dragged by Ding Sitian and Fatty. In the faint glow of the lamp, he looked around, realizing he was in some strange place, feeling an unbearable distention in his stomach. Confused, he asked me, "Where is this black hole? Have we entered the Court of Yama? I never thought I’d end up with you youths, me an old man about to shuffle off this mortal coil..."

I quickly explained a few things to Old Sheepskin when suddenly, a deafening CRASH echoed from the entrance, shaking the very walls of the building. The sound was unmistakable: the iron grate at the entrance had slammed shut. The windows in this building were mere decoration; without another exit, that iron grate was our sole passage out.

Everyone's face turned the color of ash. After the grating sound faded, the building fell silent again. It took a moment for realization to dawn: in our panic to rush inward, none of us had remembered the grate. Once shut, escaping would be immensely difficult. Fatty cursed, "To hell with their ancestors! They're trying to lock us in here to suffocate! That's truly malicious. Don't let me find out who did this; if I do, I swear I'll denounce them until they're utterly disgraced!"

Old Sheepskin, having lived in cave dwellings in the Northwest and later in yurts on the steppes, had never been inside a reinforced concrete building. He claimed the interior felt like a "white box." Though still somewhat bewildered, Fatty's outburst made him grasp the situation well enough. He began to sigh mournfully. Returning to the pastoral areas meant facing criticism and struggle, but that was infinitely better than starving to death in this stone coffin.

Ding Sitian turned to me, "Who closed that grate? Are there really ghosts in this world? If only we had mustered the courage to rush out just now." People began to chatter—some regretting, some complaining, others cursing violently—but none of it offered any useful direction.

I knew that remaining in this lightless building meant psychological pressure would build the longer we stayed. Without food or water, if we didn't find a way out soon, we might actually leave our lives behind in this haunted structure. So, I addressed the group: "Listen to me for a moment. Our current situation is indeed dire. I believe this stems from a series of errors we made today. As the old military adage states: When faced with action, maintain composure; when faced with opportunity, decide decisively; when planning, be meticulous. When encountering difficulty or unexpected changes, the most crucial thing is to adhere to consistent principles and policies without wavering or doubting oneself; when an opportunity arises, one must be decisive and resolute, not hesitant or shrinking back; when drawing up plans, they must be thorough and detailed, not rash or blind. Yet, reflecting on our performance, we failed on all three counts. However, one learns from experience. From this moment on, to turn passivity into action, we must implement these three principles. As long as we remain closely united, stand firm against hardship, do not retreat from danger, remain humble and cautious, yet bold and meticulous, we will ultimately conquer all enemies and difficulties."

I had remembered these words from when my father used to read speeches by leaders while reading the newspaper aloud. Seeing everyone about to dissolve into a scattered mob, I offered these phrases. Perhaps someone needed to take charge, or perhaps the words held intrinsic wisdom. Regardless of the reason, they proved quite effective; everyone settled down considerably after I spoke.

Old Sheepskin asked what we should do now. I replied, "All the rooms in this building are sealed with brick and concrete, but this is only the first floor. We don't know what the second, third floors, or the basement are like. If there's an underground passage or an unblocked room upstairs, we might find a way out. The key is, if we encounter trouble, we absolutely must not descend into chaos."

With that, I brandished Old Sheepskin's 'Kangxi Precious Saber.' According to him, this saber was used by the Emperor Kangxi during his campaign against the Dzungars, later gifted to a Mongol prince. The weapon had a long hilt and a long blade, straight with a sloping tip, featuring not only a lengthy fuller but also an inlaid gold dragon coiling along it—a remarkably sharp and luxurious artifact.

Although the saber was a 'Four Olds,' it was still an imperial artifact and a sharpened weapon, which surely must ward off evil. Of course, I said this purely on the spur of the moment; whether Kangxi's weapon could truly repel spirits, I had no idea. For now, I needed to invent a pretext to make everyone feel they had some safeguard, otherwise, if we encountered any inexplicable phenomena, they would all turn tail and run again.

Having resolved ourselves, we immediately sprang into action. Our first hope was to find an unsealed room and exit through a window; if we could avoid the basement, all the better. Though the building was utterly dark, with no discernible difference between upstairs and downstairs, the basement, being underground, naturally invoked a certain psychological dread. Thus, we chose to investigate upstairs first.

The four of us ascended to the second floor, muttering 'Highest Directives' and talking amongst ourselves to keep our spirits up. Ding Sitian remarked, "Advantage without preparation is not true advantage. Look, all the power lines in this building have been cut. It seems this place was definitely used before, but for what reason it was abandoned, I can't tell."

I countered, "I don't think this building was merely abandoned. The sheer number of rooms sealed with bricks and concrete, the windows pasted shut with paper strips from the outside, and those large mirrors at the entrance—this suggests an effort to prevent something from entering or leaving. Yet, we don't feel overly stuffy inside, which means there must be some ventilation shafts. It's utterly baffling. This smells like bad intentions; an uninvited guest is rarely a good one. Is this hospitality, or an invasion?"

Fatty chimed in, "What's there to ask? It's an invasion, obviously. If someone attacks us, we attack them back—down with reactionary elements! If they don't fall when you hit them, I'll get so mad I'll tear this whole building down. I'll dig three feet into the earth to find whatever filth they're hiding here and squeeze its yolk out!"

Old Sheepskin tried to pacify him. "It must be retribution because we ate the spirits in the water. How could spirits eat us? Now we’ve been punished, locked in this white box, unable to escape. Perhaps we should just accept our fate."

I turned to Old Sheepskin. "All power belongs to our workers, peasants, and soldiers! What gods or spirits? I forgot to tell you. If only you ate those fish, you should face retribution; we three shouldn't be involved. Furthermore, this isn't a white box. This might be a building constructed by the Japanese devils back then. Don't you know the Japanese were here? Didn't your brother, Old Second Egg, disappear after entering this 'Hundred-Eye Cave'? Was he killed by the Japanese?"

Old Sheepskin had never considered this angle and was momentarily stunned. "Down with local tyrants and wicked gentry! Could it be that my unfortunate brother Second Egg met his end at the hands of the Japanese devils?" I offered no reply. One mystery after another shrouded the 'Hundred-Eye Cave.' What had truly happened here was impossible to guess, but one thing was certain: this building was certainly constructed by the Japanese during the War of Resistance. It was better to redirect Old Sheepskin's superstition about his brother's disappearance toward blaming militarism and the imperialist revisionists; at least that way, he might transform grief into strength instead of endlessly lamenting the retribution for eating a few fish.

As we spoke, we reached the stairwells for the second and third floors. On these levels too, every room was completely blocked off. All Japanese signage that was originally in the building had been scraped off, leaving only faint, barely discernible traces. The corridors were the same as on the first floor, bisected by brick walls, preventing access to the other half of the building. Why? Was something hidden in that other section? Or perhaps, like the rooms, the entire other half of the building had been filled solid with brick.

While we knew we shouldn't fight unprepared, our current situation felt like blind men riding a blind horse into a deep pond at midnight. In this treacherous, mysterious environment, we had absolutely no idea what we were about to face. I was completely perplexed. Continuing to search seemed futile. We stood near the brick wall on the second-floor corridor, deciding to turn back and try the basement next.

Just as we were about to move, the ever-observant Ding Sitian noticed something unusual on the brick wall. The appearance of the bricks in all the sealed rooms was almost identical, seeming to have been built at the same time, all solid and unbreakable. However, a section spanning about seven or eight bricks wide on the second-floor corridor wall seemed distinct. While the color of the bricks was similar, this patch looked somewhat discordant with the rest of the wall, suggesting a slight difference in age. Moreover, the bricks protruded slightly in places, unlike the neatly aligned sections elsewhere, and there was no cement filling the gaps. If Ding Sitian hadn't been so sharp-eyed and meticulous, we surely would have missed it. Were these bricks that had been previously removed and refilled, or was this a deliberately constructed secret passage within the solid wall?

Except for Old Sheepskin, who was still lost in thought about his brother's fate, Fatty and I were genuinely thrilled by Ding Sitian's discovery and prepared to give her credit. Fatty, being impatient, saw that several bricks were loose and immediately wanted to start tearing the wall apart.

I stopped him and crouched down, examining the section of bricks repeatedly. I knocked on them with the sheath of the saber, but the bricks were too thick to judge whether the space beyond was hollow or solid by sound alone. Yet, these few dozen bricks were definitely movable. What lay behind the wall was an utter unknown, a gamble of fortune or doom. I bit my lip, hesitating. We were at an impasse; leaving this one section of movable brickwork unexamined wouldn't resolve anything. More importantly, our kerosene lamp was down to a tiny bead of light; the oil was almost gone, and we had no more to replenish it. This building would be pitch black even during the day, so we had to find a way out before losing all light entirely.

With even a sliver of hope, one must exert tenfold effort. I hardened my resolve and began working with Fatty to pull out the bricks. Ding Sitian held the lamp steady to illuminate our work, and Old Sheepskin even offered to help, taking the removed bricks and stacking them aside.

Only a few dozen bricks were loose. After Fatty and I pulled out a few, we saw another layer of movable bricks beneath. Beyond these two layers of brick, there were no more bricks—just something dark and indistinct. Shining the lamp on it didn't reveal much. When I poked it with the saber sheath, it emitted a dull metallic sound. Fatty grew agitated, losing patience with prying out bricks one by one. He plunged his hands in and pulled down the remaining two layers of brick all at once. Thus, in the corridor wall, a hole less than a meter square appeared.

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