Chen Ge's mind latched onto the neighbor's vivid description of Wang Haiming's nightly torment—slamming his head against the wall as if to dislodge something burrowed inside his skull. The image struck a chord, eerily reminiscent of Zhang Peng, another man whose body had been hijacked by a malevolent force. Both were possessed, but where Zhang Peng had surrendered, cooperating with the entity to survive, Wang Haiming had fought, his desperate head-banging a futile rebellion against the thing clawing at his mind. The parallel sent a chill through Chen Ge, the black phone's mission hint—"He came from the Third Sick Hall"—gaining new weight. Midnight, when Yin energy peaked, was the hour when such entities were strongest, explaining Wang Haiming's clockwork breakdowns. The building itself seemed to pulse with their influence, the red strings on the railings a frail barrier against the darkness seeping from Room 303.
Emboldened by the connection, Chen Ge pressed for more. "Boss, besides the midnight head-banging, did Wang Haiming do anything else strange?" he asked, leaning forward in the trash-strewn apartment, his voice cutting through the blaring television. The man swigged his beer, his eyes glinting with a mix of reluctance and morbid pride in his tale. "When he first got out of the hospital, he seemed almost normal—quiet, kept to himself. Would nod at you in the hallway, even manage a 'good morning' sometimes. But come nightfall, he was a different beast. Talking to mirrors, muttering at walls like they answered back. Worst was when he'd wrap his hands around his own throat, squeezing until his face turned purple, eyes bulging, but he wouldn't let go, like he was trying to choke something out of himself." The description painted Wang Haiming as a man at war with an invisible enemy, his actions a distorted mirror of Men Nan's strangling nightmares.
Through the neighbor's words, Chen Ge pieced together Wang Haiming's tragic past. The man had struck it rich, only to be betrayed by his second wife, who stripped him of his fortune and had him committed to a mental hospital. If that was a setup, Wang Haiming might have been perfectly sane before entering the institution. A normal man goes in, comes out broken—something had followed him out. The Third Sick Hall, tied to the black phone's mission and Chen Ge's parents' cryptic note, loomed as the source. "Can you tell me about Wang Haiming's death?" Chen Ge asked, his tone urgent but measured, sensing the answer would unlock the mystery of the dream figure tormenting Men Nan. The man's behavior—self-strangulation, head-banging—aligned too closely with Men Nan's nightmares to be coincidence. The entity in Room 303 was no mere ghost but a predator from the Third Sick Hall's bloody world.
The man drained his beer, his eyes narrowing as he studied Chen Ge. "Don't know why you're so obsessed with a dead guy, but I'm telling you, get out while you can. This place is cursed," he said, his voice low, almost a plea. Chen Ge held his gaze, unflinching. "Thanks, but I know what I'm doing." After more prodding—and another 100-yuan note—the man relented. "Normally, when Wang went crazy, we'd hear him screaming, banging, carrying on. Tenants would rush over, try to calm him, or call the cops. But the night he died? Dead silent. Next morning, the landlady brought his breakfast, found him cold. Door locked, windows sealed, no sign of a break-in." The detail sent a jolt through Chen Ge, the locked room echoing the supernatural encounters he'd faced before.
"What did the scene look like?" Chen Ge pressed, his voice steady despite the growing tension. The details were critical to reconstructing Wang Haiming's final moments and identifying the entity in Men Nan's dreams. The man scratched his stubbled jaw, his gaze distant. "I was there when they opened the door. Big hole in his forehead, blood sprayed across the wall between 303 and 304 like a damn painting. Face purple, tongue half out, like he'd been choked to death. Finger marks bruised his neck, but the cops said they were his own—self-inflicted." The image was gruesome, Wang Haiming's death a violent culmination of his nightly struggles. "So he strangled himself?" Chen Ge asked, though he suspected the truth was far darker. The man nodded. "Room was locked, he was alone. No other explanation made sense to them." He tossed the empty bottle into a pile, the clink sharp in the cluttered room.
"You done?" the man asked, standing abruptly. "Sun's still up—I need more beer." Chen Ge caught the odd phrasing, glancing out the grimy window at the darkening sky. "Since the sun's still up?" he repeated, but the man was already moving toward the door. Chen Ge seized the moment for one last question. "After Wang Haiming died, any strange things happen around here?" The man froze, his hand on the doorknob, his face tightening as if Chen Ge had struck a nerve. He glanced at the money in his palm, then leaned in, voice barely a whisper. "Old tenants swear they've seen him—Wang Haiming, walking the halls, same time every night." Chen Ge's heart raced. "But he's dead," he started, but before he could finish, the man shoved him into the corridor and slammed the door, his footsteps retreating inside.
"Hey! Explain yourself!" Chen Ge called, banging once on the door, but the television volume surged, drowning out any response. The man's abrupt exit and cryptic warning about Wang Haiming's ghost confirmed Chen Ge's theory: the specter in Room 303 was no lingering spirit but a malevolent force, likely tied to the Third Sick Hall. Its invasions of Men Nan's dreams, the strangling, the slow approach—all mirrored Wang Haiming's self-destructive rituals. The entity wasn't just haunting the building; it was hunting Men Nan, and the key to stopping it lay in 303. Chen Ge descended to the first floor, determined to confront the landlady again. Wang Haiming's connection to the Third Sick Hall could hold clues to his parents' disappearance, a trail he couldn't abandon.
At Room 101, Chen Ge knocked, his resolve unshaken. The landlady opened the door, her face hardening the moment she saw him. "I want to rent Room 303," he said, cutting to the chase. Her reaction was explosive, her voice rising to a near-shriek. "I told you, it's not for rent! Get out, or I'm calling the cops!" The steel door slammed in his face, the lock clicking with finality. Chen Ge stood in the dim corridor, the sour smell thicker here, his mind racing. The landlady's intense refusal wasn't just about a tenant's death—it was fear, raw and deep, of what Wang Haiming had brought back from the Third Sick Hall. Her secrecy only fueled Chen Ge's determination. Room 303 held the answers to Men Nan's nightmares, the mission's third presence, and perhaps a fragment of the truth about his parents. Midnight was approaching, and Chen Ge would find a way in, no matter the cost.
Chen Ge stood in the dim corridor, the landlady's slammed door still ringing in his ears, and weighed his options. Smashing the lock on Room 303 with his mallet would be quick, but the noise would echo through the thin walls like a gunshot, and the landlady's threat to call the police was no bluff. Hai Ming Apartments was a tinderbox of suspicion; one wrong move, and he'd be explaining himself to officers while the midnight deadline slipped away. The black phone's Trial Mission demanded entry into 303, but it had to be discreet. Chen Ge's fingers tightened around the mallet's handle in his backpack, the familiar weight a reminder of past missions where brute force had been his last resort. He needed subtlety now, a way to slip into the cursed room without alerting the building's wary tenants or its vengeful specter.
Climbing back to the third floor, Chen Ge headed for Room 304 to strategize with Doctor Gao, but he froze outside the door, his senses prickling. A young man's voice leaked from Room 302, the same apartment where he'd heard the heated phone call earlier. The words were unmistakable, looping with desperate intensity: "Are you trying to push me to my death?" The phrase, raw and pleading, had been repeating when Chen Ge first passed by over half an hour ago. His brow furrowed. A phone call could drag on, but this was unnatural—same sentences, same frantic tone, no second voice to indicate a conversation. Chen Ge pressed closer to the door, the wood cool against his ear. The man wasn't talking to anyone; it was a one-sided tirade, eerily reminiscent of the neighbor's description of Wang Haiming arguing with himself during his midnight breakdowns.
Who is he fighting with? Chen Ge wondered, his pulse quickening. The voice carried no static, no muffled responses from a phone—only the young man's escalating anguish. The parallel to Wang Haiming was too stark to ignore: a tenant in Hai Ming Apartments, trapped in a cycle of self-directed rage, echoing the specter's torment. The red strings on the railings, the landlady's fear, the neighbor's tales of Wang Haiming's ghost—302's occupant was another thread in the building's haunted tapestry. Chen Ge knocked firmly, the sound sharp in the quiet corridor. The arguing ceased instantly, as if a switch had been flipped. Ten seconds later, the door cracked open, revealing a sliver of a pale, youthful face, eyes wide with suspicion. "How can I help you?" the young man asked, his voice tight, betraying no trace of the earlier frenzy.
"I'm asking about Room 303, next to you," Chen Ge said, keeping his tone casual but firm. The young man's expression hardened. "Don't know," he snapped, slamming the door before Chen Ge could press further. The abrupt dismissal left Chen Ge staring at the chipped paint, the encounter reinforcing his suspicion: 302's tenant was hiding something, perhaps touched by the same malevolence that haunted 303. With the landlady, the neighbor, and now this young man all shutting him out, Chen Ge's options were dwindling. The black phone's mission was uncompromising—Room 303 held the key to Men Nan's nightmares and the Third Sick Hall's secrets. He returned to Room 304, nodding to Doctor Gao to signal he was still in control, then moved to the apartment's door, leaning against it to think, the sour smell of the building clinging to his clothes.
The black phone's mission was explicit: enter Room 303 before midnight to confront the third presence in A Room of Three. Men Nan's nightmares, Wang Haiming's death, the dripping blood from a childhood ceiling—all pointed to a malevolent entity tied to the Third Sick Hall, one that invaded dreams and strangled hope. Chen Ge rubbed his tired eyes, the weight of the mission pressing down, then crossed to the window and pushed it open. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the faint hum of the city beyond Hai Ming's decayed courtyard. Rooms 304 and 303 were adjacent, their windows separated by a mere meter of cracked exterior wall. Chen Ge dragged a chair to the sill, testing his weight as he leaned out. The window to 303 was unlatched, its frame loose enough to pry open from outside. A plan formed: climb across, slip inside, and face whatever waited in the dark.
The maneuver was feasible—Chen Ge's agility, honed by past missions, could bridge the gap with ease. The unlocked window was a stroke of luck, a silent invitation to the cursed room. But the risks loomed large. What waited inside 303? Wang Haiming's specter, a mirror monster's kin, or something worse from the Third Sick Hall? Escaping back through the window might be too slow if the entity attacked, leaving him trapped three stories up. Chen Ge glanced down at the courtyard below, his stomach tightening. Unlike Ping An Apartments' soft grass, Hai Ming's ground was unforgiving concrete, littered with broken bottles and rusted debris. A fall from this height wouldn't kill him, but it would shatter bones, ending the mission and any hope of saving Men Nan. The black phone's clock was ticking, and Chen Ge knew he had to act, balancing daring with precision to confront the truth before midnight claimed them all.