appartement abandonné du village

Chapitre 6

Click search.

There are four records about the "three-story building," all from books about old buildings, including the "Shanghai Old Buildings Atlas" that I saw last time, so the content must be similar.

There is no information that contains both "three floors" and "Sun Yaozu", but there is one piece of information about "Sun Yaozu".

That is the "Zhabei Chronicle of 1937".

It contains only one sentence:

“The renowned gentleman Sun Yaozu generously assisted the government in filling in Qiujiatang to build Zhabei Garden. Construction began in February and was completed in September.”

Zhabei, construction began in February 1937 and ended in September. The name is Sun Yaozu. Based on the time and location, it can be confirmed that this is indeed Sun Yaozu, the eldest of the four brothers.

My fingers tapped lightly on the table. If I'm not mistaken, Qiujiatang should be similar to Zhaojiabin, a stinking pond. Therefore, filling in the pond and creating a garden is a righteous act that benefits the surrounding residents.

But given the Sun brothers' mysterious behavior, I simply cannot believe they would take on such a charitable undertaking without a reason.

What could be the connection between Qiujiatang and the "three-story building"?

I called Zhao Wei over and showed him this passage.

"Wouldn't the Republic of China government at the time have relevant documents recording such incidents?"

Zhao Wei nodded: "There should be some kind of memo or similar document archived."

Is there any way to find out?

“Documents like these are currently kept in the archives, but firstly, the amount of data is huge and it takes a lot of time to search for them, and secondly…” Zhao Wei looked troubled.

"No problem, as long as there are documents from that time, I'll talk to Ouyang myself."

It wouldn't be appropriate for Zhao Wei to take me directly to access these long-archived and sealed documents, especially if the higher-ups found out. I called the deputy curator, Ouyang Xing. He likes to be in the public eye and attends important press conferences, so we've met a few times and I guess we know each other.

This was no big deal. He readily gave me face and said that Zhao Wei could take me there directly, but I couldn't borrow the room.

As I opened the door to Archives B, the distinctive smell of old papers wafted into my nose, making my nasal cavity slightly itchy.

Zhao Wei led me to the fifth row of bookshelves, pointed to the entire wall of iron bookshelves in front of me and said, "It's right here. You'll have to find it yourself. I have a lot of things to do. Oh, and don't mess it up. Put it back exactly where you pulled it out."

"Of course," I readily agreed, but inwardly I felt bitter; there was so much to investigate, I wondered how long it would take.

Two hours later, I left the Shanghai Library, bought two rice balls at the nearby Lawson supermarket, and ate them to settle my lunch. Then I went to a hair salon to wash my hair. I hadn't washed it for several days, and after flipping through old documents from the last century all morning, I felt covered in book dust, and my head started to itch.

The dry cleaner gently massaged my scalp with just the right amount of pressure, which felt incredibly comfortable. It's wonderful how such small things can bring such satisfaction.

After rinsing and drying off, the dry cleaner began his routine massage. I asked him to pay special attention to my shoulders and neck, pressing harder than usual. As someone who spends so much time in front of a computer, I'm already experiencing neck problems at such a young age.

I was grimacing from the pressure, but it felt incredibly satisfying. My shoulders felt much more relaxed, and my brain started working again. The morning's experiences transported me back in time, allowing me to vaguely glimpse the Sun brothers' plans from back then.

In the afternoon, I received an assignment from the newspaper. A reader called the hotline to complain that the elderly lady next door always brought in scraps, making the stink in the stairwell. Most of the time, mobile reporters exist to handle the hotline calls. When there are no major interviews, even a seasoned reporter like me gets just as flustered by the hotline operators as the newbies at the newspaper.

After the interview, I returned to the newspaper office to finish my article, and ate dinner there. Every reporter has several takeout phone numbers near the office; over time, we exchange information, refining what's available, and what remains is considered the best. Today I ordered Northeastern dumplings—thin-skinned and fragrant.

I got home close to nine o'clock, and as usual, I turned on my computer and went online. Time flew by, and I spent ten o'clock chatting on MSN and browsing aimlessly. I installed a satellite TV receiver, so I can watch many Taiwanese programs. Every night from ten to eleven o'clock, I must watch "Kangxi Lai Le" on CTi Variety Channel. The golden duo of Little S and Kevin Tsai are so entertaining. You can't see such interesting talk shows on the mainland; they're all the same old sentimental stuff, and the more they try to be sentimental, the colder I get.

The secret hidden underground (6)

At eleven o'clock, I turned off the TV and computer, sat down at my desk, and opened my work manual.

This notebook, with its outdated format still in use today, was something I got from the general affairs department of my workplace. Each reporter was entitled to one per month. Many reporters didn't bother getting one because the notebook nowadays looks rather plain and unattractive, making it difficult to take notes during interviews. Besides, it's too small; reporters always prefer larger notebooks so they don't have to constantly flip through pages, which slows down their note-taking.

I didn't receive this workbook for interviews, of course. I use this ordinary little notebook to record extraordinary things.

Just like taking notes in class, when faced with extraordinary events, I will briefly jot down the relevant events of the day before going to bed each night, if conditions permit. This serves two purposes: first, it helps me to sort out my thoughts, find clues, and get closer to the truth; second, it serves as an outline for when I formally write the "Na Duo's Supernatural Notes Series" in the future.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004.

I found information about the Sun brothers' project to fill Qiujiatang and build the Zhabei Garden at the Shanghai Library.

A memorandum signed by the Sun brothers and the Zhabei government was discovered.

The memorandum shows that the Sun brothers unconditionally assisted the government in carrying out this project. The stated reason was that an air-raid shelter was to be dug downstairs from their building, and the excavated soil would be used to fill in Qiujiatang.

From the government's perspective, it was merely an excuse for good people to do good deeds, and there was no need to delve into it further.

I drew two lines under the "air raid shelter" with a pen.

Air raid shelters? Where would there be any air raid shelters? If there were, why didn't they hide in them when the Japanese bombed?

The answer is simple: the Sun brothers were digging underground in the "three-story" area, perhaps creating passageways, but definitely not air-raid shelters. Air-raid shelters have specific standards, with considerable requirements for resistance per square centimeter; you can't just dig any hole and expect it to be safe. Therefore, the Sun brothers' concerns during the Japanese bombing likely stemmed from their fear that their underground work would be affected by the bombing. At that time, they were very close to success.

Recalling Zhong Shutong's words, what he saw one morning years ago—he didn't know what it was, but I know now. Those things being pushed out of the building by handcarts were soil, soil dug from the ground. The workers dug the soil at night and pushed it to Qiujiatang, not far away, in the early morning to fill the pond and create a garden.

With Qiujiatang as cover, they had a legitimate place to put all the soil they dug out. If I'm not mistaken, the amount of soil dug from the "three-story building" area far exceeded the amount dug for air-raid shelters. Without the cover of Qiujiatang, people would have wondered about their actions sooner or later.

A public welfare project has filled this gap.

The Sun brothers' plan was truly meticulous and thorough.

The problem now is, how do we get into that underground facility?

Zhong Shutong didn't know the entrance, and neither did Su Yicai. Did Zhang Qing, who refused to cooperate, know that either?

But in any case, surely Mr. Qian should know this?

A thought suddenly struck me, and I wrote a sentence in my notebook.

"He died before achieving his goal, a tragedy that often brings tears to the eyes of heroes."

Could the words Qian Liu told me conceal the entrance to the underground passage?

Perhaps the Sun brothers never came out after entering the passage; they are still there!

What exactly is hidden beneath the three floors?

When I woke up, it was already noon.

Although I sleep until I naturally wake up every day, it is very rare for me to wake up close to noon. It takes a lot of effort to even open my eyes, and my head is dizzy.

There was an unusual smell in the air. The air conditioner had been on all night, but the smell couldn't possibly be caused by poor air circulation.

I struggled to sit up in bed and suddenly gasped for breath.

Someone has been here!

The room had been disturbed; drawers and cupboards were open. I turned my head toward the bed, and my bag had been rummaged through.

I've been robbed! But with such a loud commotion, how come I didn't react at all?

It must be that smell that's causing the problem, maybe some kind of sleeping potion?

I opened the window to let the smell dissipate as quickly as possible.

I walked through several rooms, and they were all pretty much the same; all the places where things could be hidden had been searched. I checked the doors, and there were no signs of forced entry. These days, thieves with that kind of skill are rare.

Thankfully, we don't have a bankbook at home; all the money is in my credit cards, and the PIN isn't my birthday. Even if the thief takes my ID card along with the card, it won't be of any use. But I need to report it lost quickly. Just thinking about all the trouble that's coming makes my head ache so badly I'm about to go crazy.

The secret hidden underground (7)

Before calling the police, I need to check how much is missing.

At least the money and cards in my wallet are gone. I hope he didn't take my ID card and social security card.

I took my wallet out of my bag and froze when I opened it.

All the credit cards in the wallet were still there, as was the original thousand-plus yuan.

After taking inventory of everything, I put the drawers and cabinets back in their places, thus destroying the scene, since I had not suffered any financial loss.

But I felt no joy at all, because I had still lost something.

Last night before going to bed, the workbook I left on my desk was taken away.

My phone, which I turned off yesterday, was turned back on. I'm sure my call logs and text messages were checked.

The computer had been used, and although the user turned it off afterward, the main power switch on the power strip connected to the computer's power cord was left on.

It turns out I wasn't the only one interested in the "three-story building".

Is this considered a protest?

Or do I possess something the intruder doesn't know? There wasn't any useful information on the computer or phone, but the work manual recorded the events from beginning to end and my various speculations.

I was not directly threatened or harmed, so it seems that the intruder was not one of the participants from back then, but someone like me who wanted to know the truth about what happened back then.

"Looks like I need to be more vigilant," I told myself. I had thought I was exploring alone, but I hadn't expected there to be fellow travelers in the darkness.

I believe that as long as I continue my investigation, I will eventually meet such a fellow traveler.

Determined to speed things up, I immediately called my department head to ask for leave for the day, citing the burglary at my home as the reason. Since there were no major interview assignments, getting leave was relatively easy.

I don't know if Zhabei Garden still exists. I plan to go there and see if I can find any clues.

Zhabei Garden is located in Zhabei District, and it certainly isn't too far from the "Three-Story Building". I got into a taxi, but the driver changed the route halfway there and took me to the Shanghai Library again.

Sure enough, I found it on the 1935 edition of the Shanghai map.

Although it is not marked "Qiujiatang", it is located near "Sancenglou". Comparing it with the current map, it is found that it is actually included in the current Traffic Park, although the current Traffic Park is larger than the original Qiujiatang.

I walked directly from the "three-story building" to the traffic park, intending to go to Qian Liu's place first to get some information, but I didn't expect the basement door to be locked.

Qian Liu is already dead.

Yesterday, the neighborhood committee officials who came to collect the water bill found him dead in his bed. He died of a heart attack, but the time of death was likely earlier. I couldn't help but wonder if my visit the day before yesterday had triggered his heart attack. However, he was nearly eighty years old and spent all his time in the dark basement, rarely going out, so his health was already very poor.

He was an elderly man living alone, and the workplace he had worked for had gone out of business, so the neighborhood committee took care of his funeral arrangements. While he was alive, the basement door was always open, but it was locked after he died.

After leaving the "three-story building," it took about fifteen minutes to walk to reach the traffic park.

I estimate this place is about one kilometer from the "Three-Story Building," and there's no entrance fee. Thanks to Shanghai's "Breaking Down Walls and Creating Green Space" project, this area has become a public green space. There weren't many people in the park; the sun had already risen, and most of the elderly people who came for their morning exercise had already gone home.

I found the park management office. The small room was air-conditioned, and a caretaker in his fifties was drinking tea and reading a newspaper.

Just as I imagined, the Traffic Park was expanded from the former Zhabei Garden after the founding of the People's Republic of China.

"Here, go straight ahead, then turn left. You'll be there when you see a statue." The caretaker casually pointed out the path leading to the former Zhabei Garden through the window.

The original Zhabei Garden has been integrated with the later expanded green space, all with the same garden trimming style, making it hard to tell the difference. However, the stone sculpture puzzled me a bit.

The stone sculpture is dressed in ancient attire, standing proudly on its base with its right hand outstretched and pointing into the distance. Its features are high-nosed and deep-set, unlike those of an Easterner.

This statue must have been there back when it was part of the Zhabei Garden, but who is it?

I went closer and bent down to examine the faded inscriptions on the base.

Sun Quan, courtesy name Zhongmou...

Why is there a statue of Sun Quan standing here?