Mou Da is a renowned university known for its arts programs, and I happen to be studying in the fine arts department with a specialization in oil painting. In this environment, students like me are as numerous as grains of sand, all striving day and night in pursuit of a high-paying job and a beautiful spouse. Our department's building, spanning from the 3rd to the 7th floor, offers classrooms for rent. For just 50 yuan a month, students can secure a small studio. This semester, I arrived late and could only secure one on the 7th floor. It was considered too high, and nobody wanted to go there. So, on this floor, it was just me, which I found suitable. It was quiet.
I enjoy painting the human form, particularly the graceful, fair-skinned female figures with captivating lines. I yearned for and was deeply captivated by them. However, I didn't have a model, so I had to rely on my imagination and fragments of memory from art books and movies. My studio held only two wooden chairs, an easel, and an assortment of paints.
One evening, as I was setting up my canvas to work on the female lead in my painting, a faint knocking sound echoed. It startled me, as I couldn't fathom who would visit so late. Very few ventured to this floor, and glancing at my watch, I saw it was precisely 10:30 PM. I opened the door, and it creaked as I did, the screeching noise amplified in the empty seven-story building. Outside stood a girl, quite delicate in appearance but with a somewhat pallid complexion. "Classmate, what brings you here?" I inquired. "I apologize for the disturbance. I'm from the neighboring studio. I'm feeling quite bored; could you tell me a story?" The girl spoke softly, her pale face devoid of expression. Her request puzzled me; as far as I knew, there was no one else in the studio across the hall. Perhaps she was new here, I thought, and invited her inside. She halted in front of my partly completed human form painting and studied it attentively. "You're working on human forms. I could be your model. But, you have to tell me a story," she said earnestly. I was taken aback, struck by my extraordinary luck. A girl as exquisite as her... I blushed and nodded.
Excitedly, I shared this piece of luck with my roommates. To my surprise, they turned pale and told me the story of a girl who had died in the previous year's art studio, room 714. She had mistakenly entered the room and met a boy who instantly fell for her. He asked her to be his model and tell her a story every week. She fell pregnant, refused to abort the child, and he had forced her to drink a bottle of medicine one evening, on their seventh week of knowing each other. That night, he hadn't followed their agreement to tell her a story, and the girl bled to death in that room.
Studio 714! 714! I was startled; that was my studio. A shiver ran down my spine, and the place suddenly felt eerie. But I quickly regained my composure; I wasn't superstitious, and I proceeded as usual. I met the girl every week, telling her a story, and she would knock on my door precisely at 10:30 PM. Time flew by, and I'd already completed six human forms. It was now the seventh night, and the seventh night! I couldn't help but recall the ominous legend. My hair stood on end, and I shook my head vigorously to dispel these irrational thoughts. What were the chances? She was so beautiful. But then again, the girl hadn't appeared. It was past 10:30 PM, and for some reason, she was absent. I felt somewhat uneasy. It must be due to exhaustion over the past few days, I reasoned. I turned my attention back to the painting, only to find that I couldn't think of a story to tell her that night. It was likely due to exhaustion; I reasoned with myself once again. I wasn't superstitious, and she looked so unreal, like a dream. The girl approached me, her face tilted toward me, long black hair framing her expressionless visage on either side. The eyes, empty and lifeless. I was taken aback; then I accidentally knocked over a jar of red paint. The vivid liquid ran down her short skirt and her legs. It was blood-red, shocking. And suddenly, I remembered the legend. I envisioned the girl's distorted face, and she shouted loudly, "Give me back my child! Give me back my child!" She reached out her blood-soaked hands towards me. "No, no, stay away!" I cried out in fear, jumping to my feet. That's when I saw the familiar surroundings, the unfinished oil painting, and realized it was all a dream. I wiped the cold sweat from my brow, breathing a sigh of relief. But then, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. "Why haven't you told me a story tonight?" the girl asked softly. I turned abruptly, her face tilted towards me, long black hair framing her expressionless visage on either side. The eyes, empty and lifeless...