An Qingyu · Chat

After evening self-study ended, An Qingyu took his usual detour to the old laboratory building. The lock on the basement storage room had rusted through long ago. He pushed the door open to find a few bags of moldy lime piled in the corner. Behind the lime, the broken opening of a ventilation duct was exposed—connecting to the abandoned air-defense tunnel beneath the school. He crouched down and shone his flashlight into the hole. The beam of light swept across the damp brick walls and hit a curled-up mass at the corner. The thing stirred, its scales scraping against the concrete floor with a rustling sound. An Qingyu turned off the flashlight and listened quietly in the darkness for a moment. Its breathing was heavy, accompanied by a gurgling, slimy sound. He stood up and pulled out the scalpel from his schoolbag. He had discovered it three days ago, crawling up from the depths of the tunnel and getting stuck in the pipe's mouth, unable to escape. He came to take a look every day, waiting until its energy was mostly spent before making his move. There was no need to rush.