In the afternoon, my roommate drove over to help me move. I didn't have much stuff—single guy, not picky about food or clothes. The only bulk came from several large boxes of books. I'm a bookworm, reading every night, and over the years, I'd amassed quite a collection. We huffed and puffed, loading the car at my old place and unloading at Garden Community. Old Wang at the gate was surprisingly helpful, jumping in to lend a hand when he saw me moving in.
Moving stuff couldn't go through the main lobby's passenger elevator; we had to use the freight elevator at the back. By the time we reached it, my roommate and I were panting like dogs, while Old Wang, carrying the heaviest box, didn't even break a sweat. He mocked us, "An old geezer like me has more stamina than you young folks. Sitting in offices all day has ruined you."
My roommate and I exchanged glances but said nothing. When the elevator arrived, the three of us stepped inside.
My roommate casually pressed the top floor button, but it wouldn't light up. He got annoyed, jabbing it repeatedly. Old Wang said, "You're pressing the wrong one. That's not the 21st floor."
We looked closely and realized the 21st-floor button was the second one. Old Wang rubbed his hands, explaining, "This building's too old. The elevator's poorly designed. The top button is useless, does nothing."
The 21st floor was pretty high, and this freight elevator was a nightmare, jerking with every floor. By the 15th, I was so nauseous it felt like carsickness. Finally reaching the 21st, I leaned against the hallway window, stuck my head out, and took deep breaths to recover.
My roommate, tongue hanging out, surveyed the place. "Damn, Old Liu, how'd you pick such a cursed spot?"
I waved him off. "Long story. Let's just get this done."
We made several trips up and down, finally piling all my stuff into the apartment. Looking at the messy room, I had no energy to unpack. I waved my hand. "Let's go, the three of us are hitting the bar."
Old Wang paced the room a few times, nodding. "Not bad, pretty clean. Little Liu, go eat with your friend. I've got to stay at my post. If you really want to treat me, grab some liquor and a few chicken feet for my dinner."
The evening was chilly. My roommate and I found a small hotpot place outside the complex, ordered a table full of meat and a case of beer, and dove in. Old friends don't need formalities—we ate like pigs, heads down, eyes shut. The meal stretched two hours, leaving a table of scraps, our bellies stuffed, and our eyes blurry from drinking. We stumbled out, arms around each other, belching loudly. Though drunk, I didn't forget Old Wang, grabbing him chicken feet, a pork elbow, a bottle of liquor, and a pack of cigarettes.
I told my roommate to crash at my place since he couldn't drive. He shook his head wildly. "Your haunted apartment? My brain would have to be squashed in a door to stay there." I kicked his butt, told him to get lost, and he staggered off in a taxi.
At the gate, I dropped the bag of food and drinks on Old Wang's desk, bantered a bit, and headed back to sleep. Old Wang tore open the cigarette pack, sniffing it with a sleazy grin. "Heh, didn't expect you to be so generous, kid. One last piece of advice: stay the hell away from the rooftop."
"Why?" I squinted at him.
"That rooftop's bad news. Legend has it," he glanced around sneakily, though it was just us in the guardroom, milking the suspense, "there are hanged ghosts and jumper ghosts up there, lingering, looking for substitutes so they can reincarnate. Lin Xia? She was their substitute."
I laughed. "Hanged ghosts, sure, but jumper ghosts? Old Wang, you're full of it, not a word of truth."
He got mad. "I'm trying to help you, kid. Like the saying goes, good advice can't save a doomed soul. Go up there if you want."
I ignored him, scratched my crotch, let out a fart in the guardroom, and wobbled to the elevator.
On the 21st floor, everything was a double blur, my heart pounding erratically, my body hot. Stumbling down the hallway, I tried to check my watch, but my arms felt like lead, impossible to lift.
I thought, This is bad. Don't pass out in the hallway. It was cold, some windows weren't shut tight, and the draft was brutal. Sleeping here would make me sick for sure.
Panicking, I quickened my pace toward my apartment.
A few steps in, a woman's sigh came from a window to my right: "Ahh…"
It came out of nowhere, so sudden it was like ice water dumped on my head. My blood froze.
My joints stiffened; I didn't dare turn, terrified of seeing something horrifying. My heart raced. After a while, I grabbed the wall, slowly turning to look.
To my right was an apartment, door shut tight, but the small window beside it was cracked open. I rubbed my temples. Was that sigh real or just my imagination?
I replayed it in my mind—long, mournful, heavy with sorrow, enough to make your heart ache and tears well up.
I checked the door number. My blood ran cold: 2106.
That was Lin Xia's apartment.
My hair stood on end, breathing became hard, and overwhelming fear nearly choked me. I don't know if it was the booze or what, but I shuffled over, pressed my face to the window, and peered through the crack.
It was pitch black inside, but faint moonlight showed a small kitchen with a full set of utensils on the counter. The place looked lifeless, like no one had lived there in ages.
That didn't make sense. Lin Xia jumped this morning. She'd been living here until then—why did the kitchen look unused?
As I pondered, a faint sound came from inside, like rustling wind. I pressed closer, squinting, but the angle only showed the kitchen. Beyond its door was a dark corner, invisible.
I stared for a while. Though I saw nothing, my heart felt uneasy, like watching a cheap horror movie, dreading a jump-scare face. I stepped back, wiped my face, hesitated, then gritted my teeth and tugged the door handle, hoping the police had left it unlocked after their check. It was locked tight. Then I realized—Lin Xia died jumping, not here. This wasn't the crime scene, so why would the police bother? With so many suicides in the city daily, no cop's got time to dig into why a lovesick girl jumped.
Half-sobered, I scratched my head. A cold breeze from the window made me shiver.
Glancing at the dim, silent hallway, I hurried home, growing more scared with each step, feeling a creepy presence behind me. Maybe I was scaring myself. I ran faster, finally reaching my door, unlocking it, and diving into my new apartment.
The place was cold and empty, everything icy to the touch. Staring at the unfamiliar room, discomfort hit me hard. Overwhelmed, I thought of my aimless, hopeless life, and a wave of despair washed over me.
Head down, I crossed the living room, entered my bedroom, and looked at the chaotic pile of stuff. With work tomorrow, my mood sank lower. Too lazy to unpack, I collapsed on the bed, tried to sleep, but couldn't. I sat up.
Fumbling in the dark, I lit a cigarette, leaning against the headboard. The room was pitch black, only the cigarette's faint glow flickering. My eyes landed on something in a nearby box.
A wolf-eye flashlight, bought on sale from Taobao, barely used, gathering dust. Staring at it, Old Wang's warning echoed in my mind.
He'd told me not to go to the rooftop, which made me want to check it out.
But after that terrifying hallway moment, my courage faltered. After finishing the cigarette, I got up, grabbed the flashlight, and tested it. A bright beam shot out, leaving a glaring spot on the wall.
I flicked the switch on and off, debating. Finally, I decided to go to the rooftop. Fueled by booze and not wanting to chicken out later, I figured today was already a mess—might as well go all in.
Cigarette butt in my mouth, I left the apartment and stepped into the hallway. Then I realized—everyone talks about the rooftop, but where's the way up?
I racked my brain, piecing together the floor's layout. No clear path to the rooftop came to mind.
Impossible. How did Lin Xia get up there to jump? Did she fly?
The moonlight was dim, the floor's lighting worse, and the scariest part was the utter silence—just me wandering the hallway.
Was I the only tenant on the 21st floor?
My throat tightened, neck cold. Regret hit hard. Why the hell did I rent here? What was I thinking, sticking my nose in this mess? Too late now.
I even considered knocking on every door to see if I was truly alone.
No use overthinking. I turned on the flashlight and scoured the floor inch by inch, determined to find the rooftop access.
And I did.
The staircase was hidden in the dark alcove of my apartment's entrance. The alcove had two turns: the first led to tenant rooms, the second to a pitch-black staircase.
The design was bizarre. After the second turn, there was a long, empty space, seemingly built just for this staircase to the rooftop.
At the stairwell, I shone the flashlight upward. The stairs stretched up, turning a corner about three or four meters up.
I hesitated, spat out the cigarette butt, and started climbing. The stairs were marble, unlike the concrete below, slick and hard. They were spotless, no clutter or dirt, as if someone cleaned them regularly.
At the corner, I gripped the handrail, aimed the flashlight up, and peered. It was pitch black, nothing visible.
I licked my lips, steeled myself, and kept going. Then, a strange sensation hit me like an electric shock—a strong premonition something was about to happen.
As I hesitated, my phone blared, piercing the tense silence. I screamed, nearly collapsing, my mind flashing to Li Damin.
Holy crap, is Li Damin calling me from the rooftop?