Leyenda del pueblo de Baima

Capítulo 3

That person left the Morning Star a long time ago, but the opening section of the journal, where I wrote that I was a reporter without a clear focus, was completely accurate. Just the day before yesterday, I was called in by my supervisor and informed of this unfortunate situation. Could the author have been lying? Even if they were, the timeline in this journal is recent; the news article at the beginning was from March, and the interview with Feng Lide was in June. Especially the exhibition mentioned later in the journal. I casually went to the Shanghai news page on E and quickly found it. The answer was… the last event in the journal occurred on the last day of the Leifeng Pagoda underground palace artifacts exhibition! Good heavens, there really was such an exhibition at the Shanghai Museum, and today was its last day!

How could that guy who left the Morning Star so long ago write such a journal?

The next question is, how did this journal entry end up in the cabinet?

There's no solution, so we'll have to skip this for now.

Going back to the first point, is this journal entry authentic?

I went on Google and quickly found a ton of news articles about the Leifeng Pagoda's underground palace. I randomly picked a few to look at, and they were all very similar to the news articles cited in this post. No need to search anymore, this news must be true. This was expected; I guessed it when I found the news about the cultural relics exhibition earlier.

However, the other protagonist in this diary, besides "I"—Feng Lide—does not exist. According to the news articles I found, the person in charge of the excavation of the underground palace was named Xu Xian, but his background and identity were not mentioned in the news.

The main reason I believe this journal entry is fictional is not the fictional character Feng Lide, but the timing of the cultural relics exhibition. Since today is only the last day, yet the journal entry already mentions it, isn't it obvious that it's fabricated?

I estimate that this journal entry was written shortly after I saw the news that the cultural relics exhibition would be held in Shanghai, that is, one or two months ago.

It's only been a month or two, but this hardcover notebook already shows signs of age. Perhaps anything placed in this moldy cabinet will quickly become worn and weathered.

Thinking about this, the question comes back again: how did this notebook end up in the cabinet? Why would someone throw their painstakingly written novel into this neglected cabinet?

Is it really because nobody cares? Or am I supposed to see it today?

Furthermore, although the name Na Duo is quite distinctive, it's really unreasonable to use someone else's name as the title of one's novel and then attribute it to that person at the end.

Having gone through certain experiences, I tend to pay more attention to seemingly mundane things, and the strange occurrences I'm experiencing now have left me with a complex and conflicting mindset. Following my current logic, doesn't that mean the people or events behind this novel must be somehow connected to me?

If that's the case, then what's written in "Na Duo's Diary: A Lost Night" can't be as simple as it being entirely fictional.

A thought struck me, and I immediately searched for the words "Gate of Eternity" on Google.

I found it, the website really does exist!

I went to the BBS and flipped through the pages until I finally saw this question: "Professor Xu, I heard that you did not return to the camp to sleep on the night of March 11. Where were you? Were you conducting archaeological work at the site?" The questioner was King Solomon.

Could it be that the writer was afraid of getting into trouble and changed Professor Xu to "Professor Feng"? I couldn't help but have this thought.

I glanced at my watch: 1:50 PM.

Since I've encountered such a strange thing, I shouldn't try to avoid it. Now, let me go to the Museum of Injury to see that gilded tower. If this is truly targeting me, then I can't escape it no matter what.

I got up from my seat and then I heard someone calling my name: "Nado".

Later, I often wondered if I had gone to the Shanghai Museum that day, would I have seen Xu Xian lingering in front of the gilded pagoda, and would my soul have left my body and entered the pagoda, just as described in that strange book, "Na Duo's Notebook"?

The reason I couldn't go that day was because of a damn hotline call. Of course, as a journalist, that's a very inappropriate way to put it. Our newspaper has a long-running hotline that's meant for citizens to call in and report news leads, but most of the time, the calls are about trivial neighborhood disputes. That day, however, a news call came in. The caller said a fire hydrant was broken, and water was spraying out like a spectacular fountain.

This level of mission wasn't of interest to veteran reporters, so it naturally fell to me. I had just signed a contract, so I naturally had to work hard during this period. Therefore, I rushed to the scene immediately, and by the time I got back to the newspaper office and finished writing the article, the Shanghai Museum had already closed.

As for getting involved in some kind of adventure for such a strange and completely nonsensical story... let's just forget about it.

The next day when I arrived at the newspaper office, Xiao Wu told me that the previous owner of the cabinet was named Zhao Yue, and gave me a mobile phone number that he had obtained from the personnel department.

"Thank you. I tidied up the cabinet; there are some things he might still need." I made up an excuse.

"If it were me, I would throw them all away. You've thought things through quite thoroughly."

A question was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back. Asking it now wouldn't be the best time.

Zhao Yue? I seem to vaguely remember him. I might have met him when I was interning, but he probably doesn't remember me.

I dialed Zhao Yue's number. Although I felt this matter might not be related to him, it was better to confirm. There's frequent personnel turnover in the media, and Zhao Yue is probably working for some newspaper now, but I didn't intend to find out. There was only one thing I wanted to know.

"Hello, is this Zhao Yue? This is Na Duo, a reporter from Morning Star."

"Oh, is there something you need?" a slightly hoarse voice asked.

"Here's the thing, I just joined the newspaper and was assigned to the cabinet you used to use. I was wondering if there's anything in there that you'd like to keep?"

"That's all, do with it as you please," Zhao Yue replied after a moment's thought.

"But there seems to be a novel in there, something called 'Notes,' which you wrote, right? Don't you want it anymore?" I asked the question skillfully, deliberately omitting the words "Na Duo" before "Notes," otherwise, if the other person didn't know, wouldn't they think that I, the person asking the question, had some kind of mental problem?

“A novel?” Zhao Yue was somewhat surprised. “I never write that kind of stuff. It’s probably someone else’s. I’ve been away from Morning Star for a while now, so maybe someone else used it and put it in.”

Just as I expected, I was about to hang up when Zhao Yue asked me, "What did you say your name was?"

"That's a lot."

"There aren't many people with the surname 'Na,' how many are there?"

"Yes."

"Hmm—Morning Star is pretty good, keep up the good work." That's what a senior colleague who left Morning Star encouraged me.

No one has used this cabinet since Zhao Yue left, Xiao Wu has made that clear to me. So, where did this mysterious black notebook with my name on it, and the story inside, come from?

I dialed Xiao Wu's extension. Now I can ask the questions I didn't get to ask before.

"Xiao Wu, this is Na Duo. It's really strange. I just called Zhao Yue, and he said that the gifts and decorations he saw weren't his."

"Huh..."

Have you ever given anyone a key?

"No, these spare keys were all locked together. I just took them out to make copies for you the day before yesterday. How could anyone else have them? Zhao Yue left in a hurry and was rather careless in his instructions. He probably gave his key to one of his colleagues, and people put their things in this cabinet because they didn't have room for them. Ugh, really, you can do whatever you want with these things." Xiao Wu was getting impatient.

"Okay, okay." I knew I was being annoying, so I just kept agreeing and hung up the phone.

Having reached this point, I felt somewhat lost. I couldn't possibly call Zhao Yue again to ask if he had the keys; that would seem overly helpful, and I didn't want to tell anyone about the strange thing that "a reporter named Na Duo discovered a notebook that wasn't written by him."

But I couldn't possibly ask each of my colleagues at the newspaper, "Did Zhao Yue give you the key to his locker?"

So, after checking the lock on the cabinet and confirming there were no signs of forced entry, I put the matter aside for the time being. I threw everything in the cabinet into the trash can, and the "Na Duo Notebook" lay quietly in the drawer of my computer desk.

Actually, there was another path I could take: the renowned archaeologist Xu Xian, another protagonist in "Na Duo's Notes: A Lost Night." But since I've already decided to ignore it, there's no need to create unnecessary complications. Anyway, this matter hasn't bothered me in any way, so why should I insist on investigating it, only to end up either empty-handed or covered in dirt? Even if, as my first instinct is right, this matter is inextricably linked to me, then I'll just wait for the day when trouble comes knocking.

In fact, I quickly forgot about it. Because not long after, I encountered a truly terrifying event. Many of those who experienced it went abroad or left their original lives afterward. Although I'm a fairly resilient person, I was still haunted by it for a long time. If you've read "Na Duo's Diary: The Murderer," you'll understand what kind of horror it was.

After the "murderous man" incident, strange events followed one after another. It seemed I suddenly possessed a discerning eye that could see through any disguise. Compared to that, although I had some prior experience, it was merely "minor mishaps," incomparable in terms of the impact of the events or their unacceptability to ordinary people. Liang Yingwu told me, "You have the ability to gather extraordinary events around you." This serious guy rarely told jokes like that.

Sometimes, I've barely finished one thing, just as I'm catching my breath and haven't even had a chance to savor it or brag to my "fellow enthusiasts," when I'm already embroiled in another. So, I really don't have the energy or time to delve into anything deeply.

However, influenced by *A Lost Night*, I began recording my own experiences, which I also called "Na Duo's Notebook." Is this plagiarism? I don't know. I think this is a great approach. Given the strangeness of my experiences, if it were published one day, I might earn more money than my salary. More importantly, I've found it's an excellent way to relieve stress. As an event gradually unfolds in my writing, the negative emotions it brought me also dissipate. It's like watching someone else's story, quietly observing.

The year was 2002.

Late April in Shanghai was already quite hot. I was going to attend a press conference; the invitation was sent directly to the editor-in-chief's office of the newspaper. It was a bidding conference for a municipal engineering project. The reporter in charge, Qian Jiong, happened to have another meeting, so there was a time conflict, and I went instead.

The venue was a conference hall on the second floor of the Huating Hotel. When I arrived, it was already fifteen minutes past the start time on the invitation, but it was the peak time for reporters who were used to being late. Several people were standing at the large red book for reporters to sign in, signing one after another and receiving gift bags from the organizers, which contained press releases and some kind of gift.

After I finished signing and took the gift bag, I was about to walk into the venue when the reporter next to me, who had just taken a pen to sign, said with some surprise, "So many?"

I turned around, but it seemed I didn't recognize him: "Yes, you are—"

He first signed his name in a flamboyant handwriting on the red booklet, then pulled out a business card and handed it to me: "Xinmin Evening News, Zhao Yue."

I paused for a moment, then it dawned on me. It was him, the former owner of that cabinet.

I smiled, and before I could think of what to say, he asked me, "Is it your turn to cover the municipal section of the Morning Star now?"

"Oh no, it's still Gao Yimin who's running around. He has another meeting to attend today and can't get away, so I'm filling in for him. What a coincidence."

As we walked in, we entered the hall, where people were already speaking.

"I need to talk to you about something when we're done," Zhao Yue said, lowering his voice slightly.

I was a little surprised, but I nodded anyway, found a seat, and started looking through the press releases and materials provided by the organizers. Zhao Yue, on the other hand, mingled with the photographers who had come with him.

Less than half an hour later, I started to get restless. I already had all the speeches in my hands; the speakers on stage were reading them out bit by bit, and I had already gone through the materials several times. It seemed there was nothing worth digging into. I listened patiently for a while longer, when suddenly a hand gently patted my shoulder.

I turned my head, and Zhao Yue bent down and asked me, "How much longer are you going to listen?"

I nodded knowingly and got up to leave with him. I had already chosen a seat on the edge. All the reporters attending press conferences like to sit in such seats, as it's easier to leave early.

Seeing that it was just Zhao Yue alone, I casually asked his photographer.

"I went home early after taking the photos. Do you have anything else to do later?"

"There are no other interviews today," I said, wondering what he wanted to talk to me about.

We walked to the hotel lobby, where there was a row of empty sofas. Zhao Yue sat down, and I sat opposite him.

Zhao Yue remained silent, seemingly choosing his words, while I waited for him to speak, since we weren't familiar with each other at all. The atmosphere became somewhat awkward.

"Na Duo?" Zhao Yue's tone rose. It wasn't a habitual way of calling someone by name before speaking; it was as if he was confirming something.

I raised an eyebrow and then smiled.

"I'm sorry, I was just a little confused..." Zhao Yue pursed his lips, "I think I should start from the beginning."

“I left the Morning Star around the end of the year before last. I left in a bit of a hurry, so I didn’t do a lot of handover work properly. The locker you called me about last time, I didn’t have time to return the key to the newspaper.”

Zhao Yue didn't mention his reason for leaving Morning Star. Everyone has their own valid reasons for changing jobs, and the fact that he didn't tell me was obviously because it was unrelated to what he was about to say. However, Zhao Yue's mention that he still had the key to the cabinet surprised me, as it contradicted my initial assumptions.

“Last January I received a package from a stranger. He was a laid-off worker who knocked on my door one night, gave me the package, and then left. There were two things in the package: a letter and a black notebook.”

Upon hearing "black notebook," a thought struck me, but I didn't interrupt Zhao Yue and let him continue.

"At the time, I was a bit confused. The first thing I did, naturally, was to open the letter addressed to 'Zhao Yue.' There were two things in the letter. First, it asked me to pass on the notebook to a reporter named Na Duo as soon as possible, who might work for the Morning Star newspaper. Second, it said that as payment for doing this, one million RMB had been deposited into my ICBC Lingtong card account. I thought it was a joke. I opened the notebook and saw the entry in 'Na Duo's Notebook,' a very good story..." Zhao Yue's brows furrowed slightly: "Did you write this, Na Duo? I saw the signature at the end. I think although there are many people with the same name in China, there shouldn't be many named Na Duo."

The more I listened, the more confused I became. The origin of that "Na Duo's Notebook" was actually like this! But even knowing the origin of the black notebook only increased the mystery. Hearing Zhao Yue's question, I shook my head: "No, it wasn't me. When I first saw it, I was also very confused, which is why I called you. But you, since you thought it was a joke at the time, why…"

Zhao Yue chuckled and said, "When I checked my bank account the next day, I really found an extra million."

"Who wired it to me?" I asked immediately.

Zhao Yue's eyes flashed, and he said, "You reacted quickly. I only remembered on the third day that I could go to the bank to check, but I couldn't find it."

"Can't find it? How is that possible? Banks have records and are obligated to inform their customers."

"The bank told me that, due to their internal confidentiality regulations, they could not disclose the identity of the person who made the transfer to me."

"You're a reporter, didn't you reveal your identity? How dare they answer you like that? Aren't they afraid of being exposed?" I said, frowning. This matter is getting more and more complicated, and it looks like I'm about to be dragged into it.

Zhao Yue glanced at me: "After so many years as a reporter, I still know what I can and cannot touch. The only thing I know by virtue of my position is that even the head of the Shanghai branch of the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China probably doesn't know the identity of the person who remitted the money."

Zhao Yue spread his hands: "I have no other choice. I don't want to go against that mysterious person. This isn't a Hollywood blockbuster where the protagonist can be as audacious as they want without any consequences—besides, at least on the surface, I don't see any harm this would cause to anyone or anyone else. By the way, you've already got that notebook. Is there any trouble?"

"No, nothing happened." Actually, not long after I got this notebook, I encountered a terrifying "murderer," but that didn't seem to have anything to do with this incident.

Zhao Yue breathed a sigh of relief, his expression visibly much more relaxed.

"But how did you know I'd happen to be assigned to your old locker?"

"Your surname is quite rare, so I'd heard that there was an intern named Na at the Morning Star. I was wondering if you might be Na Duo. When I called the newspaper to ask, you hadn't started yet. A month later, I called again and they said it was basically settled. There weren't many empty lockers at the newspaper, so I put my black notebook in my own locker and then specifically returned the key to the general affairs department. I even chatted with Xiao Wu, who was in charge of this, saying that new people replace the old, and that I was leaving while new blood would be coming in. I mentioned you in passing. That way, I thought he would think of me first when assigning you a locker. Even if you don't get this locker, I've already prepared a spare key. We can find another way to get it later."

I admire Zhao Yue's method quite a bit. With just a few words influencing my subconscious, he easily got the notebook into my hands. But why didn't he just give it to me directly? I told Zhao Yue this question, and he smiled wryly: "Because I don't want to have direct contact with you, to avoid getting involved in anything."