Exhaustion, numbness, and frailty—those were Chen Ge’s first impressions of Wang Qi.

They passed each other in the hallway. Chen Ge handed back the missing person flyer he’d picked up earlier. The man mumbled a quiet “Thanks.”

It was his first time speaking. His voice was raspy, barely audible.

“No problem, just a small thing,” Chen Ge replied with a smile, following the limping man up to the second floor.

Compared to the first floor, the second floor was damper, dimmer. Cobwebs coiled in the corners, and the walls were pockmarked—scraped, it seemed, by a knife.

The limping man led Chen Ge to the end of the corridor, then unlocked a door at the far end. He pulled out a ring of keys. “Fifty bucks a night. Pick any room on the second floor.”

“Fifty? That’s way too steep,” Chen Ge protested.

“This is the only apartment complex for miles. Fifty’s a steal,” the man retorted, his eyes darting nervously backward as he spoke.

“Fine, but why only second-floor rooms? What about the first and third?”

“Why so many questions? Can’t stay there—end of story!” The man snatched the fifty from Chen Ge’s hand, tossed him a key, and shuffled back into his room. As the door slammed shut, Chen Ge heard a low, gurgling moan from inside—like someone choking on food.

Something felt off. Chen Ge pressed his palm to the door lock. “Wait.”

“What now?” The man’s tone sharpened, irritation bleeding through.

Chen Ge peeked through the door crack. The room was small. Besides the limping man, there was an elderly person in a wheelchair, hunched over, facing the wall. The moan had come from them.

“I’m thirsty,” Chen Ge called out. “Do you sell water or drinks here?”

“No!”

“Come on, be nice—why’d you get so mad?”

The door banged shut. Chen Ge stood in the hallway, more confused than ever.

Why’s the front desk hidden on the second floor? Why can’t anyone stay on the first or third? Who’s that old man with the landlord?

The key in his hand had a “208” sticker. Conveniently, that was the room next to the limping man’s.

“Might as well check it out,” Chen Ge thought, exhausted from hours of traveling.

He opened the door. A faint musty smell wafted out. The room hadn’t been occupied in ages—furniture draped in dust, sheets damp and clammy.

“Is this bed even sleepable?” Before he could set down his bag, a sharp crack echoed from next door—like a bowl shattering.

Chen Ge shut his door, pressing his ear to the wall. Muffled curses followed, the limping man’s voice rising in anger. He mixed in a few dialect words—definitely not local.

The old man’s moans faded. Then, abruptly, the TV volume spiked.

“What’s he doing? Why turn up the TV?” Chen Ge strained to listen, but the noise drowned out everything. He gave up. Better focus on my own business. This night’s gonna be a long one.

He tossed his bag on the dresser, pulled out a fruit knife, and slipped it into his pocket. “The real estate listing said there’s bloodstains behind the wallpaper and a stench at night. Suspected haunted house. But I can’t find any records of murders here.”

He knew better than to trust the black phone’s trial missions—they always hid something.

Chen Ge hid the knife, grabbed a multi-tool hammer, and tapped every corner of the room. Nothing. Just a run-down guest room, no red flags.

The landlord only let me pick second-floor rooms. That means they’re safe… right? If I want answers, I need to check the first or third floor.

The trial started at 11 PM. With three hours to kill, Chen Ge grabbed his hammer and tiptoed to the door.

He gripped the lock, just about to pull it open—when he froze.

His palm sweated. A chill crept up his spine.

The limping man was standing right outside. Had he been there the whole time?

Caught off guard, both froze.

“Landlord? What’re you doing here?” Chen Ge’s tone hardened. The man was starting to creep him out.

“Took you long enough to ask. Brought you this.” The man placed a thermos on the floor, avoiding Chen Ge’s gaze.

“Thanks.” Chen Ge picked it up, feigning casualness. “Anything else?”

“Nah. Get some rest.” The man glanced into the room, then mumbled, “No lights in the hallway. Don’t wander around at night.”

He turned and left. Only when his door clicked shut did Chen Ge exhale.

Ugly, short-tempered, bad at talking… but strong enough to push that guy around. Born lame, bullied as a kid—maybe he’s got a god complex. Angry, bitter… could he be a killer?

Chen Ge set down the thermos. If he’s a murderer, I’m sleeping next to a psychopath tonight.

The thought sent shivers down his spine. Worse—since he was the landlord, he probably had master keys to all the rooms…