The historian followed me , running his fingers over the divider ’ s scratched glass in wonder . “ It looks new , doesn ’ t it ?” he mused to himself . Meanwhile , I contemplated the circular table with interest . Around the table were nine chairs . I pondered the number ’ s significance . A sketch was slipped from my arms , disrupting my concentration . “ Hmm . Very nice . So you think that it used to be a family house when it was first built .”
I blinked at the man beside me , thinking it rude of him to interrupt my work . He didn ’ t notice my indignation . “ This is good , this is good ,” he muttered , “ yes , we will make our way through the house and discover all the purposes it has served . Through art .”
Tuning out his mumblings , I curiously inspected the dragon designs on the backs of the chairs , sketching them for later reference . They looked imperial , but whether they were Chinese or Japanese , I couldn ’ t tell yet .
“ Look at this !” I pressed my lips together after yet another interruption from my companion . He was grinning and pointing at a small brown protrusion on the wall . I peered closer to find that it was actually a rusted metal hook . “ I wonder what a family would have hung here ?”
I hummed in acknowledgement , mulling over the dragon carving . I knew I had seen it before somewhere . “ This room looks adapted . Not as familial ,” I observed . It was minimalistic , the only other furniture apart from the table being a low glass tea table in the corner . “ Almost … official .”
The man suddenly straightened up , and before I could blink , another piece of paper from my arms had been snatched away . He stared pensively down at my dragon sketch with a furrowed brow , tracing the outline with his finger repeatedly . Suddenly , his eyes shot to mine . “ No wonder it looked so familiar ! It ’ s the same as the ones on the Nine-Dragon Wall in the Forbidden City . And the nine chairs …!”
That made sense . I could picture this room as a meeting place for government officials to discuss strategies or imperial matters over cups of oolong tea , constantly watched over by a likeness of the Emperor . Perhaps the family home had been seized by the government to be used as a Shanghai office about one or two decades into its life . The location of the building was close enough to the city centre to be convenient , yet far enough to be unaffected by the plebeian hustle .
“ Let ’ s see what we can find on other floors .”
***
The second floor was revealing , as if whoever had used the pagoda after the government had ignored the ground floor and just fashioned the next one to suit their uses . The interior design differed entirely from traditional Chinese . Wooden doors exchanged for the intimidation of metal , with large locks . The air smelt heavier too , as if this floor had been abandoned a long time , consciously avoided by generations of inhabitants . I thought briefly on whether or not to follow their discretion .
“ Curious , very curious indeed ,” the historian remarked , reminding me to breathe . “ Shall we try investigating one of these … rooms ?”
I realised immediately why he had hesitated to put a name to the unforgiving single walkway , along which the doors stood to attention like uniformed soldiers . The vision bore a startling resemblance to the rooms in mental asylums , and a shiver touched my spine . I trailed hesitantly as my companion jostled the padlocks on each door until he found one that was rusted enough to give way . The door creaked horribly on its hinges in protest against our combined pushing . I gripped my pencil tighter , glad that it was sharp enough to act as a weapon . What dangers lay beyond , I didn ’ t know . What a thin graphite pencil could protect me from , I also didn ’ t know .
“ Oh . Wow .” His voice held a slight tremor , but I wasn ’ t sure whether it was in awe or fear . Gingerly , I allowed myself to soak in the sight of the room . To say it was bare would be generous . There were no decorations in sight . On the ceiling was a lightbulb , cracked open with age , now just a filament carcass . In the middle of the room was a single metal chair — this intrigued me this intrigued me : unusual for twentieth century furniture . The room had an unsettling atmosphere , seeming impossibly colder . My skin crawled ; I felt ghostly fingers brushing my arms .
“ Are you sure that we should be here ?” I asked weakly . The man beckoned me closer to a corner of the room , where he was peering intently at something . It was a broken piece of chain , I could tell , and it seemed to disappear into the floor . There was some rust on the greying links .
“ This floor was actually walled off before , but I asked for it to be opened . See this ,” he encouraged , dangling a length of rusted chain in front of my face . I gave it a suspicious whiff . It smelled of iron , and I remarked as such . However ,