Chapter 6: Anchor (Part 1)
Lin Yuan arrived at the library to find Old Zhou wasn't there. An open booklet lay on the desk, a cup of cold tea pressed against it. He sat down to wait, tapping his fingers on the wooden surface. After about ten minutes, Su Wanqing came down the hallway. Her combat boots sounded heavier than usual on the terrazzo floor, each step carrying a hint of impatience. She wasn't wearing her black tight shirt. Instead, she had on a dark green field jacket, zipped all the way up, her hair tucked inside the collar. She looked like she'd just come back from somewhere.
"Where's Old Zhou?" Lin Yuan asked.
"In a meeting." Su Wanqing tossed a folded map onto the desk. "No library training today. There's a mission on the east side."
Lin Yuan looked at the map. A red circle marked an abandoned textile factory. Su Wanqing was already checking her backpack — flashlight, bandages, nylon rope, and a small knife with a blade as long as a finger, polished to a shine.
"What's that?" he pointed.
"Emergency use." She didn't explain, shoving the knife back into the side pocket and zipping the bag shut. "You're handling this nightmare alone today."
"You said we'd go together last time."
"Last time was last time. I'll wait outside." She slung the backpack over her shoulder. "This nightmare is a higher grade than the ones you've caught before. It moves, it hides, and it might try to trick you. You need to find it yourself and decide how to deal with it. If I go in, it'll just run deeper."
Lin Yuan slipped his hand into his pocket and touched the badge. The dark gold surface was smooth, the edges a little rough. He closed his fingers around it.
"How strong is it?"
Su Wanqing was already walking away, her voice echoing back through the hallway: "You'll know when you get there."
---
The drive from the city to the east side took nearly an hour. The van bounced along the old national road, the plane trees on both sides mostly bare, their naked branches poking into the gray-white sky. Lin Yuan leaned against the window, watching the trees pass one by one. He wanted to ask Su Wanqing more about the nightmare, but every time he opened his mouth, he saw her expressionless face in the rearview mirror and swallowed his words. Su Wanqing didn't feel like talking today. Her eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, occasionally glancing at her phone, swiping the screen once, then putting it down.
The abandoned textile factory was bigger than he expected. The iron gate had been pried open, hanging crookedly on its hinges, a faded seal stuck to it dated three years ago. The yard was overgrown with weeds, dry stalks brushing against his ankles, rustling as he walked. The factory building was three stories of red brick, most of its windows shattered, only a few sharp shards still embedded in the frames, reflecting the gray daylight. The whole structure stood dark and heavy.
Standing in the yard, Lin Yuan felt the lines on his hand begin to warm. Not a sudden heat — a slow, deep warmth seeping out from his bones. He could sense the nightmare's location now: third floor, east side. The feeling was strange, not sound or smell, more like a shift in gravity — that direction felt heavier than others, as if something was pulling at his attention.
"It's inside?" he asked.
Su Wanqing leaned against the van, pulled out a cigarette, put it in her mouth, and lit it. The flame lit up her face for a moment, then went dark. She inhaled, blew out smoke, and the wind scattered it. "Third floor. You go. This nightmare is Grade D, one level higher than the two you've caught before. It won't attack you directly, but it will hide. You need to find it, make it stop, then absorb it. Grade D is different from F and E — it knows what it is. It doesn't want to be caught, so it will lie. Don't believe what it says."
Lin Yuan looked at the dark building. Wind blew through the broken windows, making a low moaning sound. His palms were sweating, and the lines on his hand burned hotter now, urging him forward.
"Go," Su Wanqing said, then added, her voice much lower, "Remember, it's not a monster. It's what's left of someone."
Lin Yuan took a deep breath and walked toward the factory.
---
The first floor was a large open space, once a weaving workshop. Dozens of abandoned looms stood in rows, their iron frames covered in dust, belts snapped and hanging to the ground. Light came through the broken windows, casting gray-white patches on the floor. The air smelled of rust and mold, mixed with a strange sweetness, like rotting fruit, nauseating after a while.
Lin Yuan slowed down, trying to keep his footsteps quiet. The lines on his hand continued to pulse, pointing upstairs. He made his way around the looms and found the stairwell. The stairs were iron, each step letting out a piercing creak, every movement announcing his presence. He tried to step lightly, but the iron still groaned. The sound bounced around the empty workshop, echoing back from the distance, like someone else climbing the same stairs. He stopped. The echo stopped too. The whole building went as quiet as a tomb. He took another breath and kept climbing.
The second floor was a warehouse. Empty, just a few fallen iron racks, broken glass and scraps of paper scattered on the floor. A row of fluorescent light fixtures hung from the ceiling, their bulbs long shattered, only empty sockets dangling. Lin Yuan crossed the second floor quickly, not stopping, because the heat in his hand hadn't increased — the nightmare wasn't here.
The stairs to the third floor were blocked by a pile of old desks, stacked like a crude barricade. Lin Yuan squeezed through sideways, his clothes brushing against the desk corners, picking up a layer of dust. He shook his hand and kept going.
The third floor had once been offices, divided into several small rooms. The hallway was long, most of the doors closed, only a few open, revealing empty rooms with peeling walls and thick dust on the floors. Some rooms had piles of old newspapers in the corners, the paper yellowed and brittle. Lin Yuan walked down the hallway, stopping at each door to listen for a few seconds. Most rooms were silent, just the sound of wind through broken glass, occasionally the quick, light scratch of mice in the walls.
At the second-to-last door at the end of the hall, he heard something different.
Not wind. A human voice. Very soft, very fragmented, like someone talking to themselves, speaking fast. The voice came through the door, muffled, as if from underwater. Lin Yuan pressed his ear against the wooden door. The sound became clearer — a woman's voice, repeating something, but the words came too fast to understand. He could only pick up the shifts in tone: sometimes high, like a question; sometimes low, like pleading. He pushed the door. It wasn't locked. It opened with a long creak.
The room was small, about twenty square meters. The windows had been boarded up, only a few thin cracks letting in weak light. In the corner, a figure crouched — no, a shadow. Human-shaped, but its edges were blurred. Its head was down, its hands moving constantly in front of it, rubbing, like it was washing something or pulling something apart. The rapid, repetitive muttering came from it, the sound dense, like raindrops on a tin roof.
Lin Yuan stood at the door, not moving. The heat in his hand had steadied — not cooled down, just stabilized, telling him: this is it, no need to search anymore. He remembered what Su Wanqing had said: Grade D nightmares will hide and lie to you. You need to find its "anchor" — the core of its obsession.
He watched the shadow, trying to make out its words. Its hands moved quickly, fingers pulling at the air, as if untying an invisible knot. The muttering came in fragments.
"...don't... I didn't mean it... come back... don't..."
A fight. She was fighting with someone. That person was leaving, and she was trying to stop them, pulling, explaining, apologizing. All those emotions mixed together, pouring out of her, over and over, like a broken tape recorder.
Lin Yuan moved a step forward. The shadow didn't react. Another step. Still nothing. He was now four or five meters away. He could see what her hands were doing — not washing, not untying a rope. Unbuttoning. Her fingers pinched an invisible button, pulling hard, not getting it loose, then trying from another angle. Then letting go, pinching again, pulling again. On and on.
"What are you unbuttoning?" Lin Yuan asked.
His voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet room it sounded very sharp. The shadow flinched, its hands stopping. It raised its head. No face, no features — just a smooth, gray-white surface. But Lin Yuan could feel it looking at him.
"Who are you?" its voice turned shrill.
"Someone passing by," Lin Yuan said, keeping his voice calm. "What are you doing here?"
The shadow was silent for a few seconds. Then it lowered its head again and went back to rubbing its hands and muttering, as if he didn't exist. Lin Yuan didn't give up. He took another step, now only two or three meters away.
"How long have you been waiting?" he asked.
The shadow paused again. This time, without raising its head, it spoke. Its voice was very soft, like it came from far away. "The button. On his shirt. The third one. I sewed it on. When he came back, it fell off." The shadow extended its right hand, thumb and forefinger pinched together, as if holding a button. "When he came back, the button fell. I heard it hit the floor. Tap. Then it rolled under the bed. I got down to pick it up. Couldn't reach. My arm was too short."
Lin Yuan said nothing. He watched the shadow's hand turn the invisible button in the air, watched its body tremble slightly.
"He left." The shadow continued, its voice flat. "I said don't go. He said he needed to make money. I said I don't need money. He said wait for me. I said I won't wait. He smiled. Then he left."
"But you waited."
"I waited." The shadow's voice changed suddenly, becoming very soft. "I waited. Every day I wiped that button. Polished it, waiting for him to come back and sew it on. I polished for a year. Two years. Three years. The button got brighter and brighter. His hand wasn't there anymore. But the button was."
Lin Yuan's heart beat faster. He finally understood what this nightmare's anchor was — not the person, but the button. That button was the only thing it had, the only proof that person had ever existed, the only tangible thing it could hold onto. It wasn't waiting for the man. It was waiting for the button to be sewn back on.
He slowly took out the badge. Dark gold light lit up the dim room. The shadow felt the light and began to shake.
"Don't..." Its voice changed again, no longer sharp or flat, but soft, almost begging.
"I won't hurt you," Lin Yuan said. "You've waited long enough. You don't have to wait anymore."
"He hasn't come back."
"He's not coming back."
The shadow shuddered violently. Lin Yuan thought it would run, would charge at him, would retreat to a corner. But it didn't. It stayed crouched where it was, its hands hanging down, no longer rubbing, no longer unbuttoning the invisible button. It just stayed there, like a traveler resting by the side of a road.
Lin Yuan raised the badge higher. Golden light enveloped the shadow, and its body began to fade, starting at the edges. It didn't struggle. It just grew dimmer and smaller.
At the last moment, it said one sentence. Very quietly, but Lin Yuan heard it clearly.
"The button... under the bed... tell him..."
Then it was gone.
(Continued in Part 2)