Chapter1: the mystery house
The alley stretched out before Shi Yao like a maw waiting to swallow him whole. The dim yellow glow of a lone streetlight flickered at irregular intervals, casting elongated shadows onto the cracked walls. The only sounds were the occasional rustle of a prowling cat and the distant whistle of the cold winter breeze as it wound through the narrow lane. His breath emerged in soft white puffs, merging with the lingering fog.
Shi Yao walked slowly, almost lazily, his calm demeanor betraying no sense of urgency. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his coat, and his steps were measured. The silence was heavy, but it didn't bother him—it never did. His thoughts, however, weren't in sync with his tranquil pace. They swirled around the peculiar box and the letter he had received that morning.
Earlier that day, Shi Yao had broken a personal rule. For the first time, he checked the rusty old mailbox outside his apartment building. Normally, he ignored it—its contents were uninteresting, mostly bills or unsolicited leaflets. But today, something stood out: a package.
It wasn't just any package. It was a small, rectangular box wrapped in an ornate design that caught the morning sunlight in a way that made it shimmer. The edges were gilded, and intricate engravings of geometric patterns ran across the surface, almost like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"What's this?" Shi Yao muttered to himself, his fingers running over the delicate etchings. The box felt fragile, as though one careless move might shatter its perfection. "Who sends something like this?"
Intrigued, he carried it inside. The atmosphere in his apartment shifted as he placed the box on his work desk. The faint scent of varnished wood and cold metal lingered as he fetched his precision tools—tiny screwdrivers, pliers, and picks—his heart beating a little faster with anticipation.
As he began to work, the mechanisms of the box revealed themselves one by one. Click. A hidden latch released, followed by a soft whir as a tiny panel slid open. Each step was more intricate than the last, and Shi Yao's excitement grew. It felt as if he were unraveling a mystery left behind by someone who truly understood his love for puzzles and mechanisms.
Inside the box was a letter, folded neatly. The paper was thick, almost velvety to the touch, and bore the faint scent of sandalwood. The edges were trimmed with a silver filigree pattern, and the handwriting was impeccable—a blend of elegance and precision. The words written on it were simple, yet they carried the weight of an invitation to something monumental:
"Dear Shi Yao,
Your skills have brought you this far. Now, a greater challenge awaits—one that may change how you see the world. Come to the bronze gates at midnight. The answers you seek lie beyond."
Shi Yao's pulse quickened. It wasn't just the cryptic allure of the message but the craftsmanship of the box and the letter itself. Whoever had sent it clearly knew how to capture his attention.
And now, here he was, standing before the gates described in the letter. They were enormous, cast entirely from bronze and adorned with swirling, almost hypnotic patterns that seemed to shift under the faint moonlight. He reached out hesitantly and pushed one of the gates open with a low, resonating groan.
Stepping inside, Shi Yao was greeted by darkness—a thick, all-consuming blackness that rendered him momentarily blind. He blinked rapidly, his eyes straining to adjust. "Hello?" he called out, but his voice seemed to dissipate into the void, swallowed by the silence.
He took a few cautious steps forward, his shoes echoing faintly against the stone floor. Then, in the distance, he spotted it—a faint glimmer of light. It was small, like the glow of a single candle, and as his eyes adjusted further, he made out the silhouette of a man standing motionless beneath it.
Shi Yao opened his mouth to call out again, but no sound emerged. Panic flickered briefly in his chest as he instinctively turned his head. To his left stood an ancient bookshelf, its wooden frame bowed with age. The musty scent of aged paper filled his nostrils as he reached out to steady himself.
Click.
The faintest sound broke the silence as his hand brushed a particular book. Mechanisms whirred to life, and before he could react, the ground beneath him split open.
"Ah!" he gasped, his arms flailing. Desperate to grab hold of something, his hand latched onto the book he'd triggered, yanking it from the shelf as he fell. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was a low, echoing voice:
"So… you chose me, after all.