“Hey!”
Seeing them daze off, the old ghost repeated himself somewhat impatiently, “Are you the new security guards?”
The group exchanged glances.
Chen Xi reacted the fastest, taking his lead and speaking in a calm tone, “Yes, we just arrived to report for duty.”
The old ghost snorted and slowly sat up from his lounge chair.
Their hearts all skipped a beat at the same time.
“Paper-thin” was not a figure of speech; the old ghost in front of them really looked like he was made of paper.
Kang Xiaojia stood behind Chen Xi, her hand clamped tightly over her mouth to suppress the scream rising in her throat.
Chen Xi didn't budge, her expression as calm as usual, acting as if she hadn't seen anything.
【Taboo One: Never let the native residents discover that you are “different.”】
“I already said you were the security guards. Follow me.”
The other party didn't notice their abnormality. Instead, he hung his key ring on his waist and shuffled into the first room in his flip-flops.
His voice was muffled and slurred, and it was hard to tell where it was even coming from:
“Today is your first day, so I'll take you on a patrol around the building once. Listen to the rules clearly. From now on, you'll be patrolling by yourselves.
“The previous security guards had no sense of responsibility. They ran off after working for just two days. I hope you guys will last a bit longer.”
He walked in front, his back looking light and airy, floating up slightly with every step he took.
Chen Xi and the others immediately followed. The moment they stepped into the stairwell, they felt as if they had crawled into a sealed, stuffy jar.
The smell of mold, urine, salted fish, rotten food, and the scent of burnt incense ash and paper money blended together, making their heads spin.
Furthermore, to them, the corridor was ridiculously narrow.
The corridor was only a meter wide, yet both sides were piled high with clutter.
Tattered children's bicycles, stacked cardboard boxes, piles of empty oil drums, and bundles of scrap newspapers.
It was so cramped that less than half a meter of space was left for pedestrians in the middle, forcing them to squeeze through sideways.
It was the kind of scene that would make mainland fire safety inspectors scream on the spot, write self-criticism letters overnight, and call emergency meetings.
On both sides were densely packed subdivided flat doors.
The wooden doors behind the iron grates lined up one after another, the door panels as thin as plywood.
Traditional Chinese room number plates hung on the doors, barely noticeable if one didn't look closely.
Glancing over, they felt as though the doors and households were practically squeezed together.
These apartments were packed tightly together, resembling upright coffins or rows of standing tombstones.
At the thought that this was a projection of reality, they felt a chill run down their spines.
Living people residing in coffin homes.
...
...
The old ghost seemed oblivious to the movement behind him and kept walking forward without turning his head:
“Me, I'm called Uncle Biao, the manager of this building. Today is your first day on the job. I'll take you on a patrol once and tell you the rules.”
He fetched a paper-made lantern from the room. A green, eerie glow shone through the paper, casting a sickly green light over half his face:
“From now on, you'll patrol on your own, once in the morning and once at night. The night shift starts at twelve and ends at four.”
With that, the old ghost handed over a large red plastic bag containing the most ordinary incense sticks, which smelled slightly of mold.
Chen Xi reached out to take it. It was incredibly light, like holding a clump of air.
“The girl is quite sharp.”
Uncle Biao nodded in satisfaction and praised her:
“As a security guard, you need to have a keen eye. Don't ask about everything, and don't meddle in everything. Don't mind what shouldn't be minded, and don't ask about what shouldn't be asked. Got that?”
“Got it,” Chen Xi nodded.
“As for the rent, even security guards have to pay it. No exceptions.”
Uncle Biao jingled his keys and walked toward the stairwell:
“One gold ingot every three days. I'll collect it at night. Your rooms are arranged on the seventeenth floor, from 1702 to 1705. Four rooms, pick them yourselves.
“Take care of the facilities. If you break anything, you have to pay the original price as compensation. If you're not comfortable living there, come down and find me to swap keys.”
As he spoke, he lifted his wrist to check his watch:
“It's already 1:05. Let's go, time to patrol. If we're late, some tenants will be unhappy.
“This building has twenty-three floors, with twenty households on each floor. Most of them are tenants, and they're easy to talk to.”
The old ghost who called himself Uncle Biao walked ahead with his hands behind his back:
“As security guards, you only need to patrol once a day—at midnight. You can rest during the day. If there's nothing wrong, don't go knocking on tenants' doors randomly. It's annoying.”
He spoke with a local accent, occasionally throwing in Cantonese words, but fortunately, they could all understand him.
“The first and second floors are usually fine. They're mostly elderly folk, and they go to sleep early.
“At most, some kids might run out to play in the middle of the night. If you see them, just tell them to go home. As long as you reason with them, they will listen.”
The group listened in silence, their eyes scanning the doors on both sides.
Dim, yellow light seeped through the cracks of some doors, while others emitted the static of a television.
From one of the rooms, a radio played an old Cantonese opera, a woman's singing voice warbling eerily.
From other rooms came the sound of a man scolding a child, cursing rapidly in Cantonese, interspersed with the weeping of a child.
There was also the crisp, rhythmic clicking of an abacus.
It sounded lively, just like an ordinary residential building.
But upon closer listening, things felt off.
The Cantonese opera played the exact same line over and over, looping as if the tape was stuck.
The man's scolding was also the same repeated phrase, unchanging even after ten minutes.
The clicking of the abacus maintained an identical rhythm, like a machine operating, repeating the same few numbers over and over.
It was like pre-recorded audio looping behind the doors.
Kang Xiaojia leaned closer to Chen Xi, her palms drenched in sweat.
Jiang Chen walked at the very back, his eyes curiously sweeping across every door.
This was too thrilling.
He could sense that something was watching him from behind the door cracks.
Countless gazes clung to them through the door cracks, the walls, and the piles of clutter—slimy, like snakes eyeing their prey.
...
...
When they reached the corner of the third floor, Uncle Biao suddenly stopped.
On the empty space at the stairwell corner sat a tiny wooden memorial tablet.
There were no characters on the wooden tablet; it was completely blank, only about the size of a palm, standing quietly in the corner.
In front of the tablet sat a chipped porcelain bowl filled with half a bowl of sour, spoiled white rice. Three incense sticks were planted in the rice, burnt halfway and emitting thin wisps of black smoke.
Beside the bowl lay half a moldy cake, covered in green fuzz.
“Aiyah, you brat! Running out to play again!”
Uncle Biao glared, squatted down, and grumbled at the tablet:
“I told you not to run around, but you wouldn't listen! Your mother is waiting for you at home to eat! If you keep being naughty, your mother will come out to catch you and skin you alive!”
No sooner had he spoken.
“Hehehe...”
The soft giggles of a child suddenly rang out from thin air.
It sounded right next to their ears, yet also right above their heads—high-pitched and childish, making it hard to tell the gender.
To their surprise, the moment the giggles faded, the tablet on the ground vanished with a "whoosh" in the blink of an eye.
At the same time, a pair of tiny, wet footprints appeared on the ground in the corner.
They were only the size of a palm, looking as if a mischievous three- or four-year-old had left them.
The footprints walked step by step toward the base of the wall, finally imprinting onto the wall before slowly fading—as if an invisible child had slipped into the wall.
“It's nothing.”
Uncle Biao brushed the dust off his hands, stood up, and casually waved at Chen Xi and the others:
“Just a naughty kid making trouble.
“In the future, if you see these memorial tablets or kids while patrolling, just say a few words to tell them to go home. The obedient ones will leave on their own.
“If they don't listen, light three incense sticks and coax them with a few words, and that'll do.”
“Remember.”
At this point, Uncle Biao paused, his tone turning serious:
“No matter what they say to you, don't agree to it blindly. If you promise something but fail to do it, they will truly haunt you for the rest of your life.”
【Taboo Two: Do not agree to any requests from the tenants.】
The group had varying expressions, but they all silently memorized it in their hearts.
This was the second taboo.
...
After saying this, Uncle Biao continued walking up, still muttering, “These kids are getting more and more disobedient. It's all because their mothers can't control them...”
As if nothing had happened.
Following behind him, they all felt a bit creeped out.
The recurring sounds, the child's giggles, and the footprints that disappeared into the wall—
—all served as a reminder that not a single "tenant" in this building was alive.
Yet Uncle Biao seemed completely accustomed to it, as if this was common knowledge.
They climbed up another two floors, and the smell in the corridor gradually changed.
The musty smell faded slightly, replaced by a faint scent of blood mixed with a sweet, cloying perfume.
“The seventh floor is Sister Fang's shop,” Uncle Biao said casually. “Her materials are precious. You newly dead ghosts shouldn't touch things randomly when passing by. If you break them, you won't be able to afford the compensation.”
The group silently took mental notes.
As they turned onto the seventh-floor corridor, Chen Xi, who was standing at the very front, stiffened. It took her a long moment to lower her raised foot.
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