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墨書 Inktalez
"Officer Zheng?" The security guard's call echoed from the end of the corridor, his flashlight beam flashing across my eyes. "I just received an internal call saying there's someone in the Evidence Room..." His voice trailed off, the light freezing on a spot behind me.
When I turned around, all I saw was a fluttering white curtain. The old wooden floor creaked beneath me, and a damp scent lingered in the air, reminiscent of rust before a storm.
The guard said the surveillance showed I was the only one on this floor all night, but in that moment, I distinctly caught a glimpse of a deep red hem sweeping around the corner of the corridor, as vivid as fresh blood from a wound.
By the time I returned to the lab, it was three in the morning. Under the microscope, the ink sample revealed collagen particles. This adhesive, extracted from cow bones, could only be found in church print materials from before 1988.
As I grabbed my coat and rushed toward the underground garage, the windshield wipers cleared away sheets of rain, and suddenly a phantom appeared on the glass—three pairs of worn dance shoes forming an equilateral triangle in the downpour, their tips pointing directly at the spire of Sacred Heart Hall in Jiangbei.
The computer records in the Evidence Room indicated that the missing persons register from 2001 included evidence retrieval records from June 1988. That summer, the dance classroom at Mingde Girls' School had been renovated, with all the ballet bars replaced by products from an Olympic supplier.
As the rain began to ease, I parked by Han River Bridge. In the morning mist, the outline of the main stadium from that year's Olympics emerged faintly.
My phone suddenly vibrated; an email from the Forensic Department made my temples throb—skin flakes found in the lining of a dance shoe matched DNA from victims of the Church Orphanage fire in 1986.
As dawn broke, I stood atop the academic building overlooking the playground. Girls in deep blue uniforms were lined up running along the track; for a moment, their skirts were dyed an eerie dark red by the rising sun.
Rubbing my sleep-deprived eyes, I opened student files. Among the list of dance majors from 1986, one name crossed out with red ink bled through in the morning light.
The mirror wall of the dance classroom had cracked with a three-meter-long fissure, like lightning striking amidst a downpour on July 14, 1986. Li Eun-hee lifted the power switch with her toes; as backup lighting flickered on, four distorted shadows appeared in the mirror—an empty classroom where bar number three trembled ominously.
"Who's there!" Her shout rebounded off the mirror with multiple echoes. The copper knob at the end of the bar suddenly flew off and grazed her ear before embedding itself into a music stand behind her. Between pages of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake third movement lay a blood-stained fingernail.
As alarms blared, Li Eun-hee was using tweezers to pick up that nail fragment. A UV flashlight swept over the piano keys, revealing several reverse fingerprints—each ridge pattern twisting leftward like mirrored imprints of demonic eyes.
"Ms. Li!" The principal burst into the classroom and stepped on something that shattered; his stiff Italian leather shoe sole was smeared with shards of a platinum hairpin. "The audition tape..." He swallowed hard after stammering out half his sentence, gripping a crimson shell oozing black liquid tightly in his hand.
When the forensic team sealed off the scene, Li Eun-hee discovered a fourth training outfit in the changing room.
The deep blue dress had the name "Cui Meishan" embroidered on the left chest, but there was no record of such a student in the locker registration form. The forensic technician swept the clothing with an electrostatic dusting device, extracting a significant amount of Titanium Alloy powder—this aerospace-grade metal could only be found in military laboratories.
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