Chapter Twenty-Two: The Air Raid Shelter

The fat man laughed.

He didn’t answer Zhou Yi’s question directly, but opened a backpack, taking out a laptop and an iron box, then placed a device resembling a jammer on the dashboard.

Zhou Yi was full of doubts at these actions—what was this man trying to do?

Without interrupting the fat man's movements, Zhou Yi watched as he opened the laptop, which displayed several photos. He pointed them out for Zhou Yi to see.

“I suppose you recognize this place?” he asked.

As a local, Zhou Yi immediately recognized it. The photo depicted an air-raid shelter, left over from wartime. He used to play there as a child, though it was later expanded into an emergency refuge, with much of its area still undeveloped.

“The Phoenix Pool air-raid shelter?” Zhou Yi guessed.

The fat man nodded, then flipped through several more photos, obviously taken inside the shelter’s undeveloped section. Thick iron plates lined the walls, and there were some old boxes, one opened to reveal canned goods with blurry Japanese writing.

“I found this iron box inside the air-raid shelter. You may not believe it, but I used this box to hide treasures when I was a child. Whenever something important happened to me, I’d come here, dig it out, and put something inside.

But recently, I found things in the box that I don’t remember hiding. Take a look—what’s this?”

He opened the iron box, revealing a chaotic assortment: a wooden toy plane, yellowed candy wrappers and cigarette boxes, medals and other keepsakes. Among them, two envelopes, somewhat newer, stood out.

He opened one envelope, revealing a stack of photos. The backs bore handwritten notes. He turned the first photo over—it showed a battered white Polo, its mangled plate still visible. Zhou Yi recognized it at once: his girlfriend’s car.

On the back, a line of handwriting read: “Seeking eyewitnesses.” Zhou Yi shuddered; it was his own handwriting. He was certain he had never met the fat man, nor printed such photos. How could his handwriting and a photo of A Zhu’s car be here?

Yet the photo’s corners were yellowed, with a strong musty odor. This was not the effect of a recent forgery. Zhou Yi looked at the fat man in bewilderment.

“Where did you get these photos?” he demanded.

The fat man smiled, shook his head, and pressed a finger to his lips, glancing around warily.

“This place isn’t safe. Come with me—we’ll go somewhere secure.”

He packed up his things, leaving the jammer device running in his bag. As he stowed the photos, Zhou Yi felt a surge of anxiety.

He followed the fat man out of the car, sticking close as they walked down a small path beside the parking lot.

The grass had been trampled into a faint trail, unnoticed by anyone unfamiliar with the terrain.

They walked far, reaching a flat area with no lights. From the silhouette, it seemed there might be a structure at the foot of the mountain, but the fat man said nothing and Zhou Yi didn’t press.

The fat man stopped, beckoning Zhou Yi over and pointing at the ground. Zhou Yi bent to look, reaching for his phone to illuminate the way, but the fat man stopped him without explanation.

Carefully, Zhou Yi felt his way down—a flight of steps, slick with moss, dangerously slippery. The steps were steep, and at the bottom, the fat man paused.

He fumbled about, pulling back a large tarpaulin, the metal beneath creaking loudly. A door seemed to open.

Zhou Yi followed. The fat man closed the door behind them, then finally switched on a flashlight. Zhou Yi started to speak, but the fat man again pressed a finger to his lips, shaking his head.

This series of actions left Zhou Yi utterly confused.

He just wanted to know how the fat man had photos of A Zhu’s accident, especially ones that looked years old, not newly taken. Yet the accident had happened barely a dozen hours ago—how could this be?

The fat man gestured for him to follow. Zhou Yi didn’t argue, walking deeper inside. Each step echoed in the empty space. They reached another iron door; the fat man hung his flashlight around his neck, firmly twisted a spiral handle on the door.

The screeching metal was unsettling, but the door opened, allowing both men through. The fat man repeated the process, closing the door behind them. He seemed exhausted by the effort, letting out a long sigh.

He placed the flashlight on a wall-mounted rack, then pulled a generator’s cord. The whole space lit up.

Zhou Yi finally saw where they were: a vast empty chamber, rows of boxes on the floor. Some were open, others tightly sealed. Inside, rows of canned goods, just like in the photos.

Everything matched what he’d seen in the pictures. Zhou Yi looked at the fat man and pointed at the generator.

“You brought this here?” he asked.

The fat man nodded.

“This is part of the Phoenix Pool air-raid shelter, but it’s the undeveloped section. Few people know about it—my father once managed this area, and I frequented it as a child. Over time, it was forgotten, and I’ve made a habit of hiding my secrets here.

But in the past two years, every time I come, strange things appear in my box—like that accident photo. It doesn’t belong to my memories, nor do I know why it shows up.

I even checked the license plate: it’s a new car, only registered a month ago, never used before. Tell me, how can I have accident photos of two cars, with pictures that seem old? Isn’t that incredible?”

Zhou Yi didn’t interrupt; he’d already encountered so many uncanny events today that this barely fazed him.

The fat man sighed and continued,

“Afterward, I investigated the car owner, and of course found you. So I began to closely monitor the vehicle and your news. This morning, while browsing the police intranet, I saw the car had been in an accident, and started searching for you.

You may be shocked and incredulous, but I feel that I’ve experienced similar events several times—perhaps you have as well. We must have met because of this.

Have you seen Triangle? It’s like the plot of Triangle: as long as the incident remains unresolved, it loops endlessly. You, your girlfriend, and that Wang Shengyu—our fates seem intertwined.”

He looked at Zhou Yi, uncertain if he could understand, watching for his reaction.

Zhou Yi walked over to a nearby box and, regardless of its cleanliness, sat down. He was truly exhausted—not physically, but with that weariness of losing control over everything.

“This morning, my girlfriend’s family called. I learned she’d died in a car crash. Then my own car went off the bridge. When I was rescued and reached the hospital, I saw another version of myself.”

Hearing this, the fat man perked up, quickly leaning toward Zhou Yi.

“Another you? Are you sure you looked identical, with no differences? Did you speak to him?”

Zhou Yi shook his head, searching his pockets for cigarettes, but his freshly changed clothes had none. The fat man found a pack and handed him one, lighting another for himself.

“That other me was speaking with A Zhu’s parents, even kneeling before them. When I saw it, I felt compelled to mimic his actions—almost as if I knew what they were saying without hearing it.”

The fat man’s small eyes widened as he crouched in front of Zhou Yi, eager and probing.

“What happened next? Did you rush over?”

Zhou Yi shook his head again.

“No, a young nurse called me back. I’d come from the emergency room, and she insisted I return for examination. When I looked up again, the other me was gone—the whole courtyard empty.

It was as if nothing had happened. Just a few seconds passed, but even if someone had run, they couldn’t have vanished so quickly. I thought it was an hallucination from lack of oxygen after being in the water so long.”

The fat man shook his head firmly.

“It wasn’t a hallucination—it must have been another you!”