Doctor Gao's confusion was palpable, his brow creasing as he struggled to follow Chen Ge's cryptic declaration about a "room of three" and chasing a presence from Men Nan's dreams. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine bewilderment, his eyes darting between Chen Ge and the unnaturally postured Men Nan. The psychologist's rational mind, grounded in diagnoses and therapies, couldn't grasp the supernatural thread Chen Ge was weaving. It wasn't Doctor Gao's fault; only Chen Ge knew the black phone's mission, its title—A Room of Three—serving as the linchpin for his theory. The phone's hints were his alone, a secret he guarded fiercely, even from allies like Doctor Gao. Without revealing its existence, Chen Ge offered no explanation, simply brushing past the doctor and stepping out of the bathroom, his focus shifting to the puzzle of Men Nan's nightmares and the malevolent force lurking in Room 303.
Men Nan's recurring dream hinged on the act of washing his hair, a detail so vivid it overshadowed the initial terror. At the park, Men Nan had admitted that the first dream wasn't frightening; it was mundane, almost ritualistic, his body moving without fear. The horror only began when the man appeared, inching closer each night, his presence transforming the dream into a nightmare. The hair-washing itself wasn't the threat—it was a neutral act, perhaps even comforting, as traditional Chinese dream interpretation suggested it cleansed bad luck. The true danger was the man, whose slow, deliberate approach radiated hostility, culminating in the strangling attempt in the latest dream. Chen Ge's mind raced, piecing together the mission's framework: in A Room of Three, Men Nan was the victim, one presence sought to protect him, and the other meant him harm. The dream was a warning, the protective force trying to alert Men Nan to the encroaching danger.
With Men Nan's childhood trauma uncovered—his mother's murder, her body hidden above the bathroom ceiling, blood dripping onto his head—Chen Ge suspected the protective presence was her spirit. She and Men Nan had relied on each other in his early years, her love a shield against his father's absence. She had no reason to harm him, even in death. The malevolent figure, then, was likely tied to Room 303, the ex-tenant who had died there, as the neighbor in 301 had revealed. From the moment Chen Ge entered Hai Ming Apartments, the red strings knotted around the stairwell railings had caught his eye—a traditional ward against evil spirits, their specific tying method a clue to the building's haunted history. The neighbor's warning about the room's vacancy and bad luck, combined with the black phone's hint about the Third Sick Hall, solidified Chen Ge's suspicion: a dark entity resided in 303, invading Men Nan's dreams.
To identify the man in Men Nan's nightmares and free him from his torment, Chen Ge knew he had to enter Room 303. The black phone's Trial Mission demanded it, its midnight deadline a ticking clock. The entity harming Men Nan in his dreams was no benevolent spirit; its methodical torment mirrored the mirror monster Chen Ge had faced, a malevolent force that thrived on fear. The thought of confronting another such creature sent a flicker of dread through him, but Chen Ge pushed it down. He had faced monsters before—lingering spirits, Xiaoxiao's playful but potent presence, the mirror's bloodied reflection—and emerged stronger. Good and evil existed among the living and the dead, and Chen Ge had no qualms about destroying a specter that preyed on a traumatized child's pain. Room 303's tenant, dead and vengeful, was likely as powerful as the mirror monster, a baleful spirit with a grudge.
I wasn't afraid then, so why should I be now? Chen Ge thought, steeling himself. Doctor Gao and Men Nan were nearby, living anchors if things went wrong, and the building's other tenants could be roused in an emergency. The neighbor in 301 had confirmed a death in 303, the room left vacant to avoid its curse. Chen Ge had encountered various ghosts: lingering spirits, weak echoes of consciousness; Xiaoxiao, a step above with playful agency; and the mirror monster, a predatory force. The entity in 303 was likely in the mirror monster's league, its dream invasions a sign of calculated malice. To proceed, Chen Ge needed access to the room. He approached Men Nan, who stood rigid in the living room, and asked softly, "Do you know where the landlord is?" Men Nan's eyes flicked up briefly, muttering "first floor, Room 101," before sinking back into his silence. Chen Ge nodded, leaving Room 304 and descending to the ground floor.
At Room 101, Chen Ge knocked firmly, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. After a long pause, the door cracked open, revealing a heavyset woman in her fifties, her face etched with suspicion. She eyed Chen Ge up and down, her lips pursed. "You want to rent a room?" she asked, her voice gruff, as if the question was an accusation. Chen Ge kept his tone polite but direct. "Yes, my friend lives in 304. I'd like to rent 303, right next to him." The woman's expression hardened instantly. "303's not for rent. Pick another." Chen Ge pressed, undeterred. "It's empty, isn't it? Why not rent it out?" The woman's eyes narrowed, her patience thinning. "There are rooms on the fourth floor. Take one or leave." With that, she slammed the door, the lock clicking with finality. Chen Ge stood there, the rejection confirming his suspicions: Room 303's history was a closely guarded secret, its darkness too potent to risk new tenants.
The landlady's curt dismissal—her refusal to even discuss 303—reeked of fear, not just indifference. Was she naturally abrasive, or had Chen Ge struck a nerve by mentioning the cursed room? Either way, her reaction underscored 303's tainted legacy. She wouldn't divulge the dead tenant's story, so Chen Ge shifted tactics, climbing back to the third floor and knocking on Room 301. The television volume dropped immediately, and the door opened to reveal the unshaven, alcohol-reeking man from earlier, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. "You again?" he growled, scratching at the mosquito bite on his cheek. Chen Ge pulled a 100-yuan note from his pocket, offering it with a disarming smile. "Boss, got a minute?" The man's demeanor softened as he took the money, his gaze warming slightly. "What do you want?" he asked, stepping aside.
Chen Ge entered the cramped apartment, navigating a sea of trash—empty beer cans, takeout containers, cigarette butts—that left barely any floor space. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of sweat and liquor. "I want to know about Room 303," Chen Ge said, his voice low but firm. "Everything you know, the more detailed, the better." The man leaned against the wall, pocketing the money, his eyes glinting with a mix of greed and wariness. The room's chaos mirrored the building's decay, but Chen Ge's focus was razor-sharp: the man's story could unlock the identity of the dream figure, the third presence in A Room of Three, and bring him one step closer to completing the black phone's mission before midnight.
The man shut the door with a deliberate click, sealing them inside the cluttered apartment, then reached for the remote and cranked the television volume until the laugh track of a late-night game show drowned out the hallway's eerie silence. Only then did he lean in, his bloodshot eyes glinting with a mix of caution and relish. "You're a nosy one, kid," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of a grimy hand. "But take my advice—for your sake and that friend of yours in 304—pack up and leave Hai Ming tonight. Not everyone who walks through these doors gets to walk out again." His words carried the weight of experience, the kind earned from years of living beside something rotten. The sour smell that permeated the building seemed to thicken in the cramped space, clinging to the piles of trash and the man's alcohol-soaked breath.
Chen Ge kept his expression neutral, though the warning sent a ripple of tension through him. "What do you mean, not everyone can stay here? Is there some kind of criteria for tenants?" he asked, his voice steady despite the man's ominous tone. The neighbor's earlier mention of Room 303's deadly history had already set Chen Ge on edge, and now this cryptic warning about the building itself felt like another piece of the black phone's puzzle. The man took a long swig from a half-empty beer bottle he'd grabbed from the cluttered table, the liquid sloshing as he swallowed. "Funny you should ask," he said, smirking. "It all ties back to Room 303. You know the name of the first tenant who lived there?" Chen Ge shook his head, trying to ignore the alcoholic fumes that wafted with every word. It was hard to tell if the man was spinning a tale to scare him or recounting a truth buried in the building's bones.
"Wang Haiming," the man said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "This whole damn building? It's his. Built it with his own money, back when he struck gold." Chen Ge's brow furrowed, recalling the landlady he'd met on the first floor—a stern woman in her fifties who'd slammed the door in his face. "But the landlady I saw was a woman, middle-aged," he said, prompting a sharp glare from the man, who waved a hand to silence him. "That's his ex-wife," he snapped. "Wang Haiming got lucky, hit it big, then ditched her for some woman with a shady past. Married her, thought he'd live the high life. Few years later, she cleaned him out—took every yuan and had him committed to a mental hospital. Left him rotting there until his ex-wife, out of pity or guilt, bailed him out. She gave him a room to crash in—Room 303, right next to your friend." The story was a tangled web of betrayal and loss, and Chen Ge's pulse quickened at the mention of a mental hospital, the black phone's hint—"He came from the Third Sick Hall"—echoing in his mind.
"Wang Haiming was in a mental hospital?" Chen Ge asked, his voice low to mask his excitement. The connection to the Third Sick Hall was too precise to be coincidence, tying the mission's origins to this broken man and his cursed room. The neighbor nodded, taking another gulp of beer. "Yeah, and whether he was crazy going in or not, he sure as hell was when he came out. Something in that place—or that woman—broke him for good." The man's eyes darted to the wall separating his apartment from 303, as if expecting it to creak in response. Chen Ge leaned forward, the cluttered room's chaos fading as his focus sharpened. "Broke him how? What does 'abnormal' mean?" The man tapped his temple with a shaky finger, his smirk fading. "Simple example: every night at midnight, Wang Haiming would start banging his head against the wall. Hard. Like something had crawled into his skull and he was trying to crack it open to get it out."
The man's voice grew animated, his hands mimicking the motion—fists slamming against his own forehead. "He'd scream, wail, argue with himself like there were two people in his head. Blood would pour down his face, but he wouldn't stop. Sometimes he'd keep going until he passed out, forehead split open. We'd bang on the walls, yell at him to quit, but nothing worked. Had to call the cops more than once to drag him away, kicking and howling." The image was vivid, grotesque—Wang Haiming, a man shattered by betrayal and institutionalization, trapped in a nightly ritual of self-destruction. Chen Ge's mind raced, linking the man's behavior to Men Nan's nightmares: the strangling figure, the slow approach, the sense of something pressing down. Was Wang Haiming's specter the third presence in A Room of Three, invading Men Nan's dreams from beyond the grave? The red strings on the railings, the landlady's refusal to rent 303, the neighbor's warnings—all pointed to a malevolent force tied to that room, one that refused to let the living rest.