The woman stood still for a moment, then turned and walked out the small door. There were hollow footsteps on the stairs outside, and then there was a loud clattering sound from the shutter, as if it were lowered. The sound of the rain suddenly died down, and in that instant, the air seemed to become stuffy. It was a little after 11:00 PM , and Lin Zhao was bored to death when she suddenly saw Juan online, much to his surprise. 

　　Flicking his fingers, Lin Zhao quickly typed a smiley face: "Hello :)" 

　　The response was a cold: "Who are you?" 

　　Apparently Sheshijuan's memory was not very good and she did not recognize him. 

　　"The advanced math class the day before yesterday..." Just a small hint. 

　　It worked, Sheshijuan quickly replied with a shy smile: It's you, why are you still surfing the Internet so late? 

　　"Waiting for you." Even though they knew it was not true, girls still like it. 

　　"Hmph, smooth talk." There was no intention of blaming, it seemed like she was acting coquettishly. 

He saw a pair of white paper shoes placed in the dark corner of the wall, which was very eye-catching, with the small and pointed toes facing Lin Zhao. 

　　Lin Zhao did not pay attention to this corner when he entered the door. He didn't know if the paper shoes had been here originally, or if they had just appeared? Sweat seeped out little by little, soaking his back. 

　　It was getting weirder and weirder, and there was an indescribable weird smell in the air. 

　　Lin Zhao forced himself to turn his head away, not to look at the paper shoes, and knocked on the door more urgently: Is anyone there? 

　　Still no one answered, Lin Zhao grew anxious. He grabbed the doorknob and tugged. The door creaked open, bringing a gust of cool air that made his hair tremble. 

　　The room was dark, dark, and pungent, nauseating. A chill 

　　ran through Lin Zhao's body. He suddenly felt a strange sensation: in the darkness before him, it felt as if many cold, equally black eyes were silently observing him. His breathing quickened, and he felt like turning and running. Forcing himself to calm down, he groped for a switch on the wall near the door. He flipped it, and the light flickered on. 

　　The scene the light revealed was something he hadn't expected. 

　　It was a small room, only five or six square meters. Facing him was a table covered with a white plastic sheet. On it lay several plates of wrinkled peaches and apples. In the center was a small, gray-black incense burner, with several purple-red incense sticks, some long, some short, all unlit, inserted diagonally. The wall directly opposite the entrance was covered in dense black and white portraits of the deceased. Arranged in four rows, each frame shrouded in black veil, dozens of blurry, grayish-white faces clung to the wall, staring at Lin Zhao with a half-smile. Those faces were what they had looked like in life. 

　　Lin Zhao was terrified. What Juan had said was true; someone had died in this internet cafe. These were undoubtedly the photos of the deceased. His mind was a blur, and countless flies seemed to swirl before his eyes. He ran, knocking over two nearby leather chairs. Desperately, he ran for the door. His shoulder banged hard against the cash register, but it felt no pain. He turned the small door and rushed to the top of the wooden steps. Under the dim yellow light, the shutter door was closed. Lin Zhao crouched down, grasping the lower edge with both hands and desperately lifting it upwards, but it wouldn't budge. It felt like a thousand pounds. The door was indeed locked, and he couldn't get out. 

　　Lin Zhao slammed and kicked the door hard, and the rolling door made a violent sound under his beating, but it was of no avail. 

　　Lin Zhao was terrified beyond words at this moment. At twelve o'clock in the middle of the night, he was locked alone in a basement where more than twenty people had died. The environment was strange and bizarre. It took enough courage to stay calm in such a situation, but Lin Zhao's courage was not enough. He was really scared. 

　　He sat dejectedly on the ground, leaning against the cold rolling door, looking at the darkness at the end of the stairs. His eardrums began to buzz, and his heart sank bit by bit like a drowning man. His nerves were as tense as a drawn bowstring. He pricked up his ears to catch every slight sound.

END