Dog rì! My scalp exploded, my whole body shaking, and I thought to myself, what is going on? In 1990, the seal of a university in Changsha actually had my handwriting?

Wrong! It's certainly not wrong! I thought to myself, this could not happen, but at the same time, I knew very well that my intuition about handwriting, the professional instinct of hundreds of thousands of rubbings, would definitely not deceive.

That's a coincidence, I learned thin gold font, maybe that person also learned this font, so it's a bit similar in Shen Yun.

I patted my head and found a hundred reasons for this, like a man who wants to find an excuse to explain himself after cheating. I felt ridiculous when I thought of it in the end, knowing that these excuses would never deceive me.

I looked at my watch, it was midnight, and it was unrealistic to call Cuckoo Mountain out again at this time, but I couldn't sleep tonight. Anyway, the door was outside the archives, so you can see it without a key, so I cleaned it up, pulled Wang Meng, and set off again to go to the university to see what was going on.

I took a taxi, but I didn't have a work permit from Azalea Mountain, and the doorman wouldn't let me in. Those who have studied at the university will not be unable to understand this thing, so they went back to the small shop on the side and bought a bag of Chinese, easily mixed in, and returned to the old auditorium from memory.

The lights of the whole school were all turned off, only the street lights were lit, and it was terrible darkness all around. However, I was so anxious that I didn't care at all, and went all the way to the underground archives and went directly to read the words on the seal.

Naturally, the handwriting didn't run, it was there.

My heart was beating wildly, and I hurriedly shone my flashlight on it as if I wanted to see the women's bathhouse.

July 6, 1990, closed by the Institute of Archaeology of XX University.

This time I saw more clearly, and my mind was clear, every stroke was clear. As I looked at it, cold sweat slid down my cheeks.

It's really my handwriting.

I was stunned, almost collapsing.

Ordinary people, as long as the interval is not too long, can recognize their own handwriting, let alone what line of work I do. It's definitely my handwriting, and there's no excuse for it.

How old was I in 1990? A baker's dozen? Fifteen? Did I know about the skinny gold body at that time? He may not even know about his skinny gold body! What's going on?

"For me, it's all over, but for you, nothing really begins."

The third uncle's voice suddenly sounded in my ears, and the long-lost feeling of headache began to swirl in my mind again.

I took a deep breath to dispel the stuff and began to reassemble all the fragments in my head. Previous experience has taught me that this is useless at all, and once you get irritable, it's hard to calm down, and you have to calm down before you get irritable.

I remembered that in the video sent by Wen Jin, there was a person who looked very similar to me, crawling in the sanatorium in Golmud, but she didn't have time to explain to me at that time, the third uncle once said that it was not easy to ask them, I thought it was his words, but now that I think about it, it is really suspicious.

What happened to me? How exactly should this be explained? It seems that there is not only one me in this world, but another me, in this place nearly twenty years ago, who wrote this seal. At about the same time, the old house in Yugolmu was photographed......

I was so confused that I didn't have a clue at all, which was even more of a headache than the matter of the third uncle.

I take a flashlight and shine it in the space behind the seal.

Assuming that this seal was affixed by "me", then, obviously, there is a drama. At the very least, I can be sure that the "I" who wrote the seal has something to do with this research.

This basement, which they thought no one had been to for decades, had not only been entered, but had also been involved in such strange things. I can't help but wonder, what would it be like then? Looks like I'm going to have to go down and figure out what's going on.

The black rumbling below, like the tomb of an ancient tomb, I have a painful experience in Golmud, and I can't help but be a little afraid. But I thought that this is the urban area of Changsha, not far away is a community police station, the civilized world has always been reliable, and there will never be a plot in the campus ghost story, so I wiped my sweat, and while breaking the chains, I felt depressed, I knew that the key was here, and a pack of China was done, why buy two filial piety to the cuckoo?

The iron chain weighed twenty pounds, and it was extremely rusty, and the movement was extraordinarily large, and it must be a real person who could think of locking this door. After pulling it twice, I suddenly had a bad thought: With such a thick chain, shouldn't it be a monster locked?

How could it be that the thought was dispelled?

Carefully pulling out the iron chain, setting it aside, his hands were full of rust slag, and then he tore the seal, and took two breaths as he walked down, choking on the dust that tears came out.

The staircase was a mess, full of old tables and chairs.

Walking down, I saw a door that was the same as the archive room, unlocked. I took a picture of it, and it was a room the size of my head, but there were no files in it, and it was full of clutter.

After taking a look, I couldn't help but be a little disappointed, this is not the old archive room that Du Juan Mountain said at all, but a sundries warehouse. And looking at this garbage, maybe this house was piled up here when it was built, a thick layer of dust.

I shone around with a flashlight, pulled up my T-shirt and covered my mouth and nose, and the smell of dust was so pungent and uncomfortable. There are messy footprints on the ground, and there is a layer of ash on the head, obviously it has been a long time since the step was taken, and it may have been stepped on when something happened back then. The footprints were stacked in one row, and it was possible to see that there were two or three people, walking very erratically, all the way to the inside of the warehouse.

Follow the footprints, look at the clutter around you, and can't tell what they are. A few steps deeper, I could barely see that there were many large wooden chests.

But to these boxes, a story comes to mind; In the warehouse of the National Archives, a few wooden boxes were found, which were all Tibetan scriptures from Dunhuang, which were transported when paying a fee, but because no one counted them in the early days of liberation, they had been put and tied up, and they only found out when they knew how to carry them.

Will there be such treasures in these warehouses?

The size of the box looks very large to me, and with my own strength, it is unlikely that I can find out what happened in this layer of the warehouse back then. It's too messy and too dirty. Even if clues are found, they don't have the strength to move them away to investigate.

Walking to the end of the warehouse, there was a little less clutter, there was a large square box, covered with something, and the footprints went all the way to the box, I squatted down to look, and found that they did not stop in front of the box, and the footprints were pressed under the box.

"Boss, it's time for this box to be pushed in." Wang Meng arrived.

That is, they blocked something. At the angle between this box and the corner of the wall, there will inevitably be a space in it, and what is in it to block?

I said to Wang Meng, "Go, push away." ”

"Huh?" Wang Meng's face turned green, "Boss, this ......"

"I'll go if I tell you to!" I said. He swallowed his saliva and cautiously pushed the box. The box was so heavy that his face was suffocated into a pig's liver before he stepped aside. I took a flashlight to shine it, and in the corner behind it, there were several large piles of files.