He Shaoqing and Kuang Feifan pulled open the bathroom door, their expressions grave, their bodies rigid. The hallway outside was deathly silent, utterly empty. The faint, ghostly blue glow of their cell phones cast their faces in an eerie, greenish pallor, making them look spectral.

He Shaoqing muttered under his breath, "My phone's about to die."

Kuang Feifan scanned the surroundings with sharp vigilance, tentatively taking a few steps. Finding no immediate threat, he turned to He Shaoqing, "Let's move, fast. We need to get downstairs and out of this place immediately."

Behind him, He Shaoqing sheepishly raised a hand to slap Kuang Feifan’s shoulder, whispering, "Hey, before we bolt, can I just use the washroom?"

"What?" Kuang Feifan almost couldn't believe his ears. "Do you have any idea what time it is? You need the toilet?"

He Shaoqing offered an awkward, wry smile. "I've been holding it for ages, and now I'm absolutely bursting. Do you really want to see me wet my pants?"

They had already noticed a small room at the end of the passage leading to the attic staircase. The door was long gone, leaving the interior visible: an empty space, save for a short, rusty pipe stub protruding from the floor—the spot where a toilet must have once been, the only restroom in this whole building.

Kuang Feifan ground his teeth. "You aren't seriously planning on using that thing, are you?"

He Shaoqing shrugged. "The bathtub would have worked, but with that thing in it, I’m feeling a little squeamish. I'll be quick."

There was no point arguing further. Kuang Feifan reluctantly followed He Shaoqing to the threshold of the makeshift lavatory. Having no desire to watch his companion relieve himself, Kuang Feifan stood guard at the entrance. Idly, his gaze fell upon a sealed wooden panel beneath the nearby stairs. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and pried the small hatch open. It was pitch black inside. Shining his phone light in, he scrutinized the contents and discovered two mops. Though the mop heads were practically disintegrated, leaving only a few frayed strips of cloth, the wooden handles were surprisingly sturdy.

So far, besides their protective charms, neither of them possessed any decent weapon. This seemed like a decent alternative—better than nothing. Kuang Feifan pulled a mop out, testing its weight. Back turned to the toilet cubicle, he raised his voice, "Hey, Young Master Kuang, I found something useful."

Suddenly, a sharp cry erupted from inside the bathroom—it was He Shaoqing’s voice. Kuang Feifan instantly tensed and spun around, only to see He Shaoqing frantically stomping his leg down onto the half-pipe stub. A half-circular shape seemed to be bobbing up and down at the pipe's opening.

"What is it?" Kuang Feifan demanded as he rushed over.

"That little demon is stuck in the pipe! Trying to crawl up! Damn it, it was trying to peek while I was taking a leak..." He Shaoqing yelled, stomping furiously.

Kuang Feifan tossed the other mop toward He Shaoqing. "Catch!"

He Shaoqing didn't turn his head, relying on the sound to gauge the throw, and snatched the mop handle mid-air. He paused only briefly before asking with surprise, "A mop?"

"No proper weapon, make do with this," Kuang Feifan said, grabbing his own mop handle and shoving it down into the pipe opening. He Shaoqing, now armed with his mop handle, joined in, stabbing and poking relentlessly.

That half-circular object was the head of the small dried corpse. It was clearly struggling to surface, but the relentless, storm-like barrage of wooden handles from the two men above made any ascent impossible. Furthermore, the narrow diameter of the pipe prevented it from tilting its head up, forcing it to endure the beating in silence, punctuated only by muffled, whimpering sounds.

They were so occupied stabbing that they nearly forgot to watch their surroundings. He Shaoqing suddenly felt a chilling gust of wind strike the back of his head. It happened too fast; the icy air was already pressed against his nape. In desperation, he tried to twist his head and wrench his waist to dodge, but he was a fraction too late. A searing, tearing pain shot through his shoulder, eliciting a loud cry.

Kuang Feifan turned and was horrified to see the grotesque infant's huge head clamped tightly onto He Shaoqing's right shoulder. He instantly raised his wooden stick and plunged the tip toward the massive head.

With a soft thud, the stick pierced one of the large eyes and passed straight through the back of the skull. Instead of the expected gore, it felt soft, as if sinking into cotton batting, sending an inexplicable chill through Kuang Feifan's entire body.

The infant's head emitted a sharp squeak and released its bite on He Shaoqing’s shoulder, but it remained impaled on the stick Kuang Feifan held. It stared at him with its other eye—the one that was pure white and pupil-less—its mouth slightly parting in what looked like a cruel, savage grin. Seeing it let go, Kuang Feifan swung the stick violently sideways. The head flew off the pole like a cotton ball, rolling onto the dusty floor.

"We can't stay here any longer. Run!" Kuang Feifan yanked He Shaoqing, and the two bolted from the bathroom like startled rabbits. If they could handle just this monstrous head, perhaps they could manage if the rest of the creature—hands, feet, and the small dried corpse—emerged.

They hadn't gotten far when the rest of the grotesque infant’s body slowly began to squeeze out of the wall, and the little dried corpse hidden in the pipe gradually emerged as well.

Kuang Feifan and He Shaoqing rounded the corner and scrambled forward desperately. Under normal circumstances, their speed would have carried them quickly to the stairs leading to the first floor. Moreover, Kuang Feifan had already smashed all the mirrors along the way, suggesting no further obstacles should impede them. Alas, good intentions met cruel reality.

After running a short distance, both men stopped abruptly, their gazes instinctively meeting. They both saw stark terror reflected in the other's eyes.

Standing before them was the very corridor turn they had just rounded. The hallway wasn't long, but the dim light—only pierced by their cell phones—limited their visibility. Despite having clearly run past the corner, they found themselves facing the turn again. Even for men of their nerve, encountering this phenomenon made them deeply uneasy.

But they didn't stop to analyze it. After a shared glance, they immediately spun around and ran back the way they came. To their dismay, after another short sprint, they once again saw the corner of the corridor.

"What in the world?" He Shaoqing felt a dizzying, ungrounded sensation in his stomach.

"One more try," Kuang Feifan decided.

They turned and ran again, but within moments, they were facing the corner once more.

This time, they halted, staring blankly down the hallway. He Shaoqing asked, "This damned hallway. Do you think we’ve stumbled into one of that little demon's illusions?"

"Illusion?" Kuang Feifan frowned.

He Shaoqing shrugged. "I just made that up."

Kuang Feifan knitted his brows. "A hallucination?"

He Shaoqing walked step by step toward the corner, tapping the wall with his mop handle, testing it. "Is this really the turn?"

Watching him, an idea sparked in Kuang Feifan’s mind, and a thoughtful expression crossed his face.

He Shaoqing glanced sideways at him. "Something up? Your face tells me you've figured something out."

Kuang Feifan pondered for a moment. "I might have an idea."

"Oh?"

Kuang Feifan pointed down the corridor behind them. "I was thinking, we've mostly been running down the center of the hall. If this isn't a visual trick, we might have accidentally stepped into a looping path somewhere. I think if we stick strictly to the wall, we might detect where the anomaly is."

He Shaoqing nodded dismissively. "Let's try it. We're out of options anyway."

There was no time to waste. They tossed their mop handles aside and pressed themselves against the left wall of the corridor. Kuang Feifan took the lead, his hand gliding along the baseboard as he shuffled forward step by step. He Shaoqing followed, keeping one hand on Kuang Feifan’s shoulder as a precaution, while raising his other hand to hold the phone light steady.

At some point, the wall surface had become covered in cold, pinpoint droplets of water. Their hands quickly grew slick. In some patches, there were noticeable splotches of mold. Even if Kuang Feifan didn't normally fret over cleanliness, the sight of mold made him profoundly uncomfortable. As he moved, he used the faint light from the phone screen to scan the wall, trying to avoid the larger patches of mildew.

Unexpectedly, after only a short distance, He Shaoqing's phone flickered twice, followed by a musical chime, and then it died completely.

"Damn it, hand me your phone," He Shaoqing said irritably.

Kuang Feifan sighed, withdrew his hand from the wall, and handed over his phone. He Shaoqing quickly woke the screen and whispered, "Keep going."

Kuang Feifan grunted an affirmation, placed his hand back against the wall, and this time paid no attention to its surface. But as his palm settled, he suddenly felt his hand press against another hand—a large one, cold and slightly rough.

Simultaneously, He Shaoqing illuminated the space ahead with his phone, his eyes widening instantly. He blurted out in shock, "Holy hell..."