Dao Qi Wu Zang Guan Guan: I became a Daoist Master in the 1990s

Chapter 46 'Archived' Work

Qi Yun got out of the car and followed Li Jianguo into the small red brick building.

The hallway was dimly lit and slightly chilly.

The floor underfoot is terrazzo, polished smooth, and you can barely hear your footsteps.

Li Jianguo walked slowly, leading him deeper into the area.

After turning two corners, I found myself descending into an even narrower staircase.

He led Qi Yun into the only office with light coming through on the basement floor!
The room wasn't large; at the top was a large, dark-colored desk with documents pressed under the glass top.

An old-fashioned desk lamp with a green shade was lit on the corner of the table. The lampshade was made of bulging green glass, and the light was gathered into a dim, warm halo the size of a pebble, which barely illuminated the few thick files spread out on the table and a dark blue enamel mug in the corner.

The edge of the halo barely outlined the figure of a person hunched over a desk.

Hearing the door open, the man looked up.

He was an old man, thin, wearing a faded, meticulously ironed dark gray Zhongshan suit, with the top button fastened at the collar.

He wore a pair of old-fashioned black-rimmed glasses on his nose.

"Director, Comrade Qi Yun has arrived."

The old man pushed up his glasses and stood up.

"Comrade Qi Yun, you must be tired from your journey."

We should have let you rest first, but our work is special and time-sensitive, so we can't afford to delay.

I'm sorry you had to go through this, please understand.

"I understand, that's only right." Qi Yun nodded, his gaze sweeping over the office that had sunk into the ground.

"Sit down." The old man pointed to the wooden chair opposite the desk.

The chair is hard; it's uncomfortable to sit on.

The old man sat back down and gave Li Jianguo a look.

Li Jianguo understood, turned and went out, and a moment later led four or five people who were also wearing dark jackets, with serious expressions and carrying thick folders in their hands to file in.

They silently sat down on the long wooden bench against the wall behind the old man, spread out paper and pens, unscrewed the pen caps, their movements were uniform, and their eyes all fell on Qi Yun.

Qi Yun felt as if those gazes were like fine needles, pricking his back and making him stiffen slightly. His hands, which were on his knees, curled up unconsciously.

"Don't be nervous," the old man saw through his unease, his gaze behind his glasses calm and unwavering.

"These are all rules."

Necessary observation and recording are required to ensure the integrity and accuracy of the process.

The main reason I invited you here today is to give a final, face-to-face account of some special events you have recently experienced.

We have reviewed the reports of Comrades Zhong Weiguo and Zhao Yue, but for final archiving, you yourself need to reiterate and sign them for confirmation. Do you understand?

"Understood." Qi Yun took a deep breath, suppressing his unease.

The old man precisely pulled out a file from a stack of documents on the table, opened the first page, and read it aloud in a flat voice.

Qi Yun was born in 1973 in Pucheng, Shaanxi Province.

Unmarried. Political affiliation: Member of the Communist Youth League. Father: Qi Dayong; Mother: Wang Xiuying; both were workers at Qinchuan Machinery Factory.

In 1979, my parents moved to Yangzhou, Jiangxi Province, due to their job transfer.

In 1988, both my parents died in a major production safety accident at the Qinchuan Machinery Factory.

He then relied on his pension and part-time work to complete his studies.

In 1991, I was admitted to Gongji University in Shanghai, majoring in Classical Chinese Literature.

During my time at school, I excelled academically and morally, and received scholarships multiple times. I graduated on July 1, 1995, and have not yet secured employment.

Is the above information accurate?

"Accurate," Qi Yun answered crisply.

This resume is spotless, yet it also reveals a touch of loneliness.

The old man nodded, pulled a piece of stiff paper with the same content from the file, pushed it in front of Qi Yun, and handed him a fountain pen filled with blue-black ink, the pen barrel cold: "It's confirmed, please sign here."

Qi Yun took the pen, the tip gliding across the paper with a soft scratching sound, leaving behind two slightly restrained characters: "Qi Yun".

The old man took back the signed paper and pulled out a second document: "On July 3, 1995, you accepted the invitation of your college classmate Zhao Xinmin and traveled by train from Hangzhou to Guizhou Province to attend his wedding."

The wedding ended on July 5th. On July 6th, you went to the so-called "Fairy Mountain" in the area alone. You got lost in the mountains, encountered dense fog, and seemed to have entered an abnormal area, where you were stranded for five days and five nights.

On the morning of the sixth day, July 12, he came down the mountain on his own and appeared at the entrance of Zhao Village.

They then took a southbound train to Hangzhou that afternoon.

Are there any additions or corrections to this part of the itinerary?

"No." Qi Yun signed again.

"Alright." The old man pushed up his glasses and looked at the third document, which was obviously thicker. "Now, please recount in detail your experience on July 6th at Shenxian Mountain in Guizhou Province."

From the moment you decide to go up the mountain to the moment you come down. The more specific, the better.

Qi Yun composed himself and then recounted what he and Zhong Weiguo had learned earlier.

The old man listened intently, his eyes behind his glasses sharp as probes, occasionally interrupting to ask questions:
"Did you notice anything unusual on the way up the mountain? For example, a sudden change in temperature, distorted light, or strange smells?"

"Were there any celestial signs before the dense fog appeared? For example, the color of the clouds, the wind direction?"

"Please draw the exterior facade and interior layout of the Five Organs Temple!"

When memories of martial arts techniques surface in your mind, do you experience any severe physical discomfort? Headache, dizziness, nausea?

"Besides the Five Internal Organs Fist Technique, did any other information appear in your mind at that time?"
Even just fragments of images, sounds, or words?

The questions were tricky, specific, and interconnected, carrying a ruthless quality of peeling back layers.

Qi Yun answered each question with a sense of dread, knowing that every answer was being caught by the ears of those behind him and recorded by the scratching of pens.

He carefully avoided the core of the Crimson Hunt Fire and the Jade Slip, only emphasizing that the fist technique emerged "naturally" and was the means to "endure the cold night".

When I finally signed the document, my palms were slightly sweaty.

Then came the train incident: a landslide, a deserted grave in the rain, a ghost train appearing, companions dying one after another, and a terrifying night of escaping alone.

The process of retelling the story felt like being dragged back into that dark, hopeless rain, and Qi Yun's voice unconsciously lowered.

The old man's questions were equally numerous and precise, especially regarding the characteristics of the ghost bus D584 and how Qi Yun ultimately "confusedly" escaped the ghost realm.

Qi Yun insisted on the story of "running away in a panic" and "leaving at dawn," his tone conveying a sense of bewilderment and exhaustion from surviving a disaster, leaving no room for doubt.

When Qi Yun signed his name on the last page of the confirmation document recording his experiences in the Ghost Realm, he felt as if he had just finished an invisible, arduous battle, and his spirit was somewhat exhausted.

The hands of the wall clock had quietly slid past two hours.

The old man closed the last file and let out a soft sigh. "That's how archival work is."

Trivial and repetitive, but indispensable.

Every record is of great importance. Thank you for your hard work, Comrade Qi Yun.

He waved his hand. The cadres behind him, who were carrying folders, quickly packed up their papers and pens and filed out. Their footsteps disappeared outside the iron gate, restoring the silence of the office to Qi Yun and the old man.

(End of this chapter)