Anyone who has visited my home knows that I live in a typical three-story building. The building was constructed with high-quality cement produced by our factory, designed to withstand earthquakes of magnitude 6 to 7. I've lived here for over ten years. Each floor has three apartments, with doors facing east, west, and north, and my apartment is conveniently located in the middle, with a door that opens to the north. The stairs are quite ordinary, consisting of two flights, with a total of six segments leading from my apartment to the first floor. I go up and down these stairs at least four times a day, so I know them extremely well—so well that I could navigate them with my eyes closed.

The first incident occurred last summer, which wasn't as hot as this year. One evening at around eight, a friend invited me over to play games, and I left home as usual. It was an overcast day, and it felt unusually dark for that hour. On clear days, it's still bright at eight. I descended the stairs cheerfully. After two flights down, I noticed that the first floor was pitch black because the streetlights are installed low; a tall person could easily reach them, and some inconsiderate people often unscrew the bulbs to take them home, leaving the first floor dark. I muttered a curse under my breath and continued down.

After another flight, it became even darker, and I was surprised—I hadn't reached the first floor yet; there were more stairs below! This surprise was fleeting. As I mentioned earlier, I know these stairs too well, and familiarity can sometimes blur reality. Try writing your name dozens of times; eventually, you'll question if you wrote it correctly. So, I continued descending, but after another flight, I still found more stairs.

At this point, I began to realize something was seriously wrong, and unease crept in. I rushed down more than a dozen flights, yet the stairs continued with no exit in sight. I stopped, a chill running through me. This was impossible—I knew my building only had five floors and no basement. From the top five floors down, there were only eight flights of stairs. Yet here I was, down more than a dozen, still without an exit. I'm not easily scared, but I felt a flicker of fear. Slowly, I walked down another two flights, still no end in sight. The dimness made it hard to see anything clearly. I usually don't fear the dark, even if the building is completely black, because I'm familiar with it. But now, this was not the place I knew; everything felt mysterious and terrifying.

Suddenly, cold sweat broke out on my forehead. The first thought that flashed in my mind was—I must be dreaming, a nightmare! This idea seemed easy to accept; after all, if it's a dream, nothing matters. But I felt fully awake; this was no dream! I remembered to take a closer look. As I mentioned, each floor has three apartments, and all the signs look the same. In the dim light, I hadn't thought to check closely. Heart racing, I moved down the stairs towards the middle door... The darkness was so thick that I could barely make out the outlines of the doors and windows. As I approached, I was ready to run at any moment. Each door had a number: my apartment was "402", above was "502", and below were "302", "202", and "102" in order. If I could just see the signs, I'd know which floor I was on. But it was so dark that, despite the signs being reasonably sized, it took a lot of effort to finally see—I was on "14"! My scalp prickled with dread, and I wanted to scream, but at that moment, everything went dark, and I lost consciousness.

I was jolted awake by a commotion, finding myself standing in front of my door. My mind was blank as I fumbled for my keys, opened the door, turned on the light, and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, downing it in one go before stepping into my room. Just as I entered, the phone rang—it was my friend, asking why I hadn't shown up after waiting four hours. I mumbled some excuses and hung up. I remembered leaving home, but what happened next? I wanted to sleep, but sleep eluded me. A loud noise came from a distance—someone must have bumped into something while moving a bicycle on the stairs. There were often many things piled up in the stairwell, making it hard to move stuff. My heart skipped a beat: the stairs! The dark, endless stairs! Those stairs that seemed to lead to hell! I vividly recalled everything that had happened until I fainted after seeing the sign, and now I was back at my door. I checked my watch—it was already 12:30.

I left at eight, and now it was 12:30. I swore I had only been on those dark stairs for less than ten minutes. So where had I been for the last four hours? I couldn't sleep a wink that entire night, just lying there staring at the ceiling. Although I wanted to check the stairs again, I lacked the courage. As dawn approached, I dozed off, only to be startled awake by various noises. When I looked at the clock, it was already time to go to work. As I left, I hesitated, the events of last night still fresh in my mind. Fortunately, a coworker from upstairs was also heading to work, and we greeted each other as we went down together.

I silently counted, "3", "2", "1"! When I saw the familiar exit on the first floor, an overwhelming sense of joy washed over me; the familiarity nearly made me forget the terrifying experience from the previous night. Perhaps it was just my imagination or a nightmare after all. The days that followed returned to normal—work, home, and my fear of the stairs gradually faded.

I never imagined I would encounter that night's events again. Six months later, one evening, I was going out with friends at eight, feeling great, and I practically ran down the stairs. However, after descending three flights, I was hit by that familiar darkness, causing my heart to skip a beat. Though I felt fear, I no longer panicked as I did last time. I first checked the middle door's sign: "1-2"—all normal. Yet, the usual exit was gone; the dark staircase continued endlessly. I gritted my teeth, determined to uncover this mystery, and pressed on down the stairs.

Descending below the first floor, the light took on a strange quality, almost unreal. With each flight I took, I carefully checked the door signs. "—1-2", "—2-2", "—3-2", "—4-2"... Gradually, I reached the door where I had lost consciousness last time: "—14-2", still the same sign. Peering down the stairs, I couldn't see anything clearly; the staircase seemed to spiral downwards indefinitely. I pressed on.

"15", "16", "17"—I paused on the seventeenth floor. The stairs still showed no sign of ending. My hesitation felt silly—I thought of the "Eighteenth Layer of Hell". Was this bizarre staircase leading to hell? I hesitated for a long time before deciding to continue down. Part of my motivation was that those three doors were lifeless—no lights, no sounds—and I felt much safer on the stairs than lingering near them. The "18" floor held no unusual sights, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But where exactly was this staircase leading? I continued down, and after a few more flights, my courage began to wane, the stairs still spiraling down with no end in sight.

Just as I hesitated, I suddenly heard a scream. Calling it a scream might be an exaggeration; it was a vague sound that was hard to decipher. It seemed to come from even deeper down. Then I heard another scream. My remaining courage evaporated, and I bolted up the stairs, running until I was gasping for breath. The darkness surrounded me, and as I caught my breath, I glanced at the sign, unable to suppress a wry smile: "—14-2", I was back on the fourteenth floor. The sounds from below had vanished, and I felt somewhat calmer. I gently reached for the door, my hand feeling cool and slick as I touched it. To my surprise, I vaguely saw a shadow flicker inside, followed by a faint "click", as if something was trying to open the door. I screamed and took off running, but I was so panicked that I stumbled on the steps, falling and losing consciousness again...

I was once again jolted awake by the sound of my neighbor returning home, finding myself still in front of my door, my mind blank. I opened the door, and the phone rang urgently. It was the friends from the gathering, asking why I hadn't shown up, informing me that they had been calling for four hours without any answer. What could I say? Should I tell them I had been exploring a mysterious staircase and fainted? I made up a quick excuse and hung up. After hanging up, I noticed something odd on my hand; opening my palm revealed it was covered in moss. I knew this was from that door. But whose door could possibly grow moss? Unless that door had never been opened or no one had ever lived behind it. The first time, I thought it was just a hallucination, but this time I was sure it was real; hallucinations don't leave your hands covered in moss.

In the days that followed, I scoured various books in the library, trying to find similar

 accounts, but found nothing. I wrote to some newspapers and well-known scientists under a pseudonym, but my inquiries sank without a trace. I even mentioned this to a friend, who I call "Blue Mouse" because his last name is Lan, and he's a Rat in the Chinese zodiac. One day, I asked him, "If one day you walked out of your home and found a staircase that never ended, descending layer by layer without any exit, what would you think?" He cheerfully replied, "Which horror movie is this from?" I sighed, "What if it happened in reality?" He laughed heartily. I didn't blame him; after all, if someone had asked me that before, I would have likely reacted the same way.

An endless staircase doesn't even exist in horror movies. Yet this hellish staircase completely changed my life. I couldn't stop thinking about it, constantly wondering what it really was. What lay behind the moss-covered door? Where did that spiraling staircase lead? What were those screams that seemed to come from hell? I entertained various scenarios: perhaps it was a staircase leading to hell itself, the end being the entrance to hell; or it was a mysterious four-dimensional space where the distortion of time and space caused the staircase to extend indefinitely; or maybe my mind had gone haywire. But none of these speculations provided an answer. I began to curse this hellish staircase, for it disrupted my life; I even found myself standing on that staircase in my dreams.

So, I started hoping to encounter that staircase again. No matter what, I had to know the truth. Based on my previous experiences, these occurrences happened between eight and twelve-thirty, so every day, I'd head out at eight. Yet every time, I returned disappointed; I never encountered that staircase again. Nevertheless, I remained obsessed, convinced that one day I would meet it again. No matter what, I would keep descending that staircase. Even if it led to hell, I had to open that moss-covered door, even if it housed a demon. I couldn't continue living like this, plagued by that damned staircase. This summer was unbearably hot, today was gloomy, and now it was eight o'clock. I closed my computer, hesitated for a moment in front of the door, then ultimately opened it and stepped out.

Would I see the familiar staircase again? When I reached the first floor, would I find the familiar exit, or would it be the endless staircase? I no longer hesitated and continued down the stairs.

I would find the answer. To live or to die?