Yu Sheng quickly located the two records within the file. The first was a handwritten note left behind by an operative inside the lab. It was chaotic and fragmented, written during the collapse of the operation and the lab’s lockdown. The note was riddled with smudges, crossed-out sections, and gaps where the writer seemed unable—or unwilling—to continue:
**”The isolation doors have shut. Alarms are ringing everywhere. Hallucinations and strange noises are invading my mind. I don’t know how much longer I can remain clear-headed. I leave this as my final record, trying to document everything I see and feel. But my senses are being distorted. What I write may be warped or unreliable. Future investigators should treat this carefully.
“The two divers who returned from the deep-dive device are dying. Neither the equipment nor the medical team can explain why. Their consciousness—or what you might call their ‘souls’—seems to have been destroyed before they returned to our reality. Now, they’re just two shells, bodies functioning out of sheer biochemical inertia. It’s as though their last purpose is to deliver some kind of message.
“One of them, the less damaged, kept repeating strange words before losing the ability to speak. Over and over, he mentioned ‘a baby crying,’ ‘umbilical cords,’ and ‘twisting.’ He also screamed something that sounded like ‘a ship’ or ‘the ship,’ but it came out too garbled to understand.
“I can’t imagine what they saw or experienced on ‘the other side.’ It must have been beyond human comprehension. The monitoring system linked to the dive pool only picks up static and garbled sounds.
“The temperature here feels like it’s dropping, but I can’t tell if it’s real or just my perception. [REDACTED] suddenly collapsed, only to wake up screaming moments later, then faint again.
“I see figures moving in my peripheral vision—people I don’t recognize. They’re talking to each other and to us, but I can’t make out their faces or hear their words clearly.
“…Maybe they’re just lab personnel. But I’m losing the ability to recognize anyone. Everyone around me looks like a stranger. My memory and judgment are failing.
“The noises—screaming, crying—are growing louder. I don’t know where they’re coming from. A voice urges me to keep writing, but I can barely hold the pen. My vision is dimming. There’s a strange, sweet smell in the air. The final rescue attempt may have failed. The ‘Mercy’ system is releasing anesthetic gas throughout the area…
“The crying grows clearer. My body and mind are sinking… I hear a lullaby. [REDACTED] is trying to calm us… It’s not time yet…
“…We’re swaying. Sinking. Losing control. [REDACTED] told us we’d awaken in a peaceful, stable new world, but… we’ve been abandoned. It’s a lie. I don’t understand…
“Breathing, crying… We’re connected. Embracing each other… Breathing, breathing. Together, we are one… Breathing…”**
The note ended there.
Yu Sheng stared at the disjointed, eerie final lines, his breath shallow. Even though this was only a typed copy of the original note, he could feel the raw terror embedded in the words. The scene played vividly in his mind: the locked-down lab, the frantic efforts, the oppressive failure. Unconsciously, his breathing became heavier.
“This isn’t the only record from inside the lab,” Bai Li Qing’s calm voice cut through his thoughts. “Other traces were left behind by staff who survived temporarily. But those records are even more chaotic—barely legible, mostly incomprehensible. If you’re interested, they’re included on the final pages.”
Yu Sheng flipped to the end of the file. There, photographs and scanned documents revealed bizarre remnants: jagged scratches carved into desks and walls, blackened smudges on paper, and strange lines scrawled on clothing—marks that might have been symbols or random scribbles.
As Bai Li Qing had said, none of it made sense. Not even the Bureau’s investigators had been able to decipher these traces after decades of study. Yu Sheng, with no training in such matters, quickly gave up.
Returning to his original section, he began reading the second note. This one, written by a monitoring officer stationed outside the lab, was clearer and more structured but no less unsettling:
**”The lockdown has begun. The Maturity operation has failed. My colleagues are following protocol, consolidating and transferring critical data. I leave this as my final record of the lab’s internal state.
“Forty minutes into the lockdown, life signs inside the lab began dropping rapidly. Communication with the personnel ceased. They may no longer be capable of rational thought.
“Fifty minutes in, the monitoring system recorded unusual sounds—like a baby crying, mixed with sharp, chaotic noises that resembled roars. Life signs inside the lab approached zero. But disturbingly, some of the bodies—those with no detectable life signs—suddenly began to move.
“It was brief, but horrifying. It was as though something had entered these dead bodies, animating them. They rose and moved stiffly around the lab, as if… curiously inspecting the space.
“Then, one by one, the bodies collapsed again.
“Sixty-five minutes into the lockdown, the lab fell silent. The strange noises and cries disappeared entirely. All life signs were gone.
“Seventy-two minutes after the lockdown, the facility remains sealed under standard safety protocols. The monitoring area is completely silent. Internal Security has taken over the site and plans to open the lab doors in twenty-four hours to bring my colleagues home…”** 𝙍äΝ𝘰ᛒÈṦ
The note ended here as well.
Yu Sheng stayed still for a moment, his head bowed as he absorbed what he had just read. After a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and looked up.
“This isn’t what I expected,” he said, frowning. “I thought I’d find exploration notes on the Black Forest or one of the other subsets.”
Even as he spoke, Yu Sheng began to understand why Teacher Su had directed him here. The records from seventy years ago offered an entirely different perspective from the children’s fragmented accounts. They painted a picture of the Fairy Tale subset’s deeper, more sinister nature—far beyond what he had imagined.
Bai Li Qing nodded slightly, as if anticipating his reaction. “The ‘Fairy Tale’ presents one face to children and an entirely different one to adults. What we’ve recorded here is the darker, more essential side of its nature.”
“The truth behind the stage…” Yu Sheng murmured, his mind turning.
Bai Li Qing’s expression shifted slightly, as though she’d caught onto his line of thought. Just as she began to speak, a sudden ringing shattered the silence.
Startled, Yu Sheng looked up. Through the observation window, a technician in a protective suit was waving urgently.
Bai Li Qing picked up the phone on the desk, her expression shifting as she listened. “Are you certain?” she asked sharply.
The technician nodded vigorously, speaking quickly.
“What’s happening?” Yu Sheng leaned toward Bai Li Qing, his curiosity piqued.
“The analysis of the paper fragment is complete,” Bai Li Qing said, setting the phone down. “They’ve reconstructed its original appearance.”
With swift movements, she typed a command into the console on the desk. The observation window flickered, and an image appeared at its center.
Yu Sheng’s eyes widened as he stared at the screen. The reconstructed fragment displayed a symbol and several lines of text—both disturbingly familiar.
“This is…” he began, his voice trailing off.
“An old version of a Special Affairs Bureau deep diver’s identification card,” Bai Li Qing said softly. Her gaze dropped to the file on the table. Turning a page, she revealed the list of names from the Maturity operation. “But the name has been erased.”
Yu Sheng drew in a sharp breath. “So… the ‘Hunter’ in the Black Forest… was one of the divers from the Maturity operation?”
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation