At one o'clock in the morning, the central air-conditioning system of the city museum always emits a low-frequency buzzing sound similar to the pulling of metal.
Chen Ji pinched his eyebrows, trying to suppress the pain that felt like a steel needle stirring in his brain.
This is his third month on the night shift and his sixth day off medication.
The surrounding air floated with the smell of mothballs from old display cabinets, mixed with a faint musty smell.
He lowered his head and glanced at the mechanical watch on his wrist. It was twelve fifty-eight.
A few steps ahead, Lao Wang, who was in his fifties, was holding a bunch of brass keys that could kill someone. The beam of his flashlight was dangling on the carpet full of dark patterns.
"Xiao Chen, how many times have I told you not to wander to the west side hall after twelve o'clock." Lao Wang's voice was a little leaky, probably because he was missing two front teeth on his upper row.
"The place is very sinister, especially the warehouse, which is very evil. I have worked there for twenty years and never go in."
Chen Ji said nothing.
His gaze paused on Lao Wang's heels for a moment, and then slowly swept deep into the dark corridor on the west side.
Because of his years of mental trance, he developed a habit of paying extremely close attention to any extremely small incongruity in the environment.
"Uncle Wang, is the third false window on the right side of the West Wing always closed?" Chen Ji's voice was very calm, and there was no emotion at all.
