Chapter 14: Strange Neighbor 14

Yu Bai adjusted the telescope and aimed it squarely at the book, planning to study it more closely.

He felt a twinge of hesitation deep down. What if the guy really was keeping a diary? Spying like this would make him a total creep—and thoroughly unethical to boot.

But… did non-humans even keep diaries like people did? And if they did, what on earth would they write about?

He had to admit he was just the tiniest bit curious.

After a brief internal debate, Yu Bai lowered his gaze and stole a deep, seemingly casual glance through the lens.

Then he realized he’d been worrying for nothing.

The book lying open on the dining table wasn’t very thick. The pages looked old and yellowed but sturdy, reminiscent of the parchment from some fantasy flick.

The writing on it, though, was straight out of a fever dream—far more bizarre than anything in the movies.

The pen nib quivered lightly across the page, tracing one enigmatic symbol after another. It paused now and then, as if the writer were pondering his next move.

The script flowing from the pen looked elegant, but Yu Bai couldn’t make out a single character.

Assuming it even was writing.

Yan Jing noticed him zoning out and curiously snatched the telescope for a peek.

“What the hell is this scribble? Total nonsense.” He shot a look of disdain at the so-called muscle-bound neighbor. “My handwriting in elementary school was better than that.”

Yu Bai ignored his roommate’s habitual one-upmanship and mused aloud, “It looks like some ancient script.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, it doesn’t resemble any modern language I’ve ever seen.”

Yan Jing took another look. “Yeah, you’re right…”

He scratched his head in bewilderment, then pulled out his phone without hesitation. He fired up the browser’s camera, aimed it at the telescope’s lens, and hit the image recognition button.

“Let me search what language this is.”

“Hey, there’s no way it’ll find anything—”

The guy’s probably not even from Earth.

But Yu Bai’s protest died on his lips.

Once the recognition settled, the screen lit up with results.

A page full of math problems, riddled with symbols.

The two men stared at each other in stunned silence.

A moment later, Yu Bai let out a quiet sigh. “Math really is heavenly script.”

Yan Jing nodded vigorously, his face twisting in agony. “I can’t look at it anymore. Just thinking about math makes my head spin. I’m heading back to game.” He waved dismissively. “You enjoy your peeping.”

“I’m not peeping,” Yu Bai shot back.

He kept watching as the neighbor scribbled away at his heavenly script.

Yu Bai noticed that after jotting down a line or two, the man would occasionally flip back to the front of the book for a glance.

The first half was crammed with the same dense array of mysterious symbols, but it was clear they weren’t from the same hand. Those earlier pages looked well-thumbed, their corners slightly frayed.

It was astonishing how Yu Bai could already distinguish the writing styles in this gibberish.

Human adaptability was downright terrifying.

Unbidden, Yu Bai recalled the thank-you note he’d received a week earlier—the one from the day after.

His non-human neighbor had mimicked Yu Bai’s format perfectly, replying in crisp, fully legible Chinese with impeccably neat handwriting.

The style of this heavenly script matched it: precise and attractive. The scrawl in the book’s front half, by contrast, was far looser and more haphazard.

Before long, the man at the table set down his pen, snapped the notebook shut, and rose to leave.

Yu Bai blinked in mild disappointment.

He’d just started trying to puzzle out the heavenly script on his own.

One symbol in particular stood out amid the mystery—a chubby little arrow shape that cropped up several times under the neighbor’s pen but nowhere in the earlier pages.

What on earth did it mean?

What was this guy actually writing? And what filled the existing pages up front?

A week ago, while Yu Bai had been holed up in his study cranking out a manuscript, had the neighbor been sitting there scribbling just like this?

Yu Bai’s mind wandered as the light and shadow danced across the living room wall next door.

The non-human neighbor had left the table and headed into his living room.

The faint silhouette on the wall dipped low.

From the positioning, he’d probably settled onto the sofa.

A TV sat opposite the sofa, but no blaring sounds or flickering colors emanated from next door.

A cool evening breeze whispered outside the window. Yu Bai sat in his kitchen, telescope in hand, while the invisible man next door lounged on his sofa.

The shadow on the wall hardly stirred, as if its owner had drifted into a daze.

Heeding Tian Ge’s advice, Yu Bai stayed patient and kept his eye on the dull, motionless scene.

…Even if his rear end was starting to go numb.

Footsteps approached from his own living room. Yan Jing, fresh from his gaming session, crouched cautiously beside Yu Bai and prodded him. His voice carried a hint of unease.

“Little Bai, I swear someone next door is crying. It’s super creepy.” He jabbed a finger at one of the apartment’s interior walls and shrank back instinctively. “Must be some little girl from the building. Does she do this a lot? The sound’s way too close.”

Yu Bai paused, remembering the eerie wails from the wall during his last manuscript crunch—right around this time of night.

Yan Jing had been convinced over the phone that it was Yu Bai crying his eyes out.

As if he could ever produce a sound like that.

With a straight face, Yu Bai informed him, “No little girl lives next door. That wall backs onto open air.”

Yan Jing sucked in a sharp breath and instinctively ducked behind him. “Then what is it? A ghost?”

“A ghost?” Yu Bai gave him a faint smile. “Pfft. Since when did you get so superstitious?”

“I’m serious—no joke! There’s crying!” Yan Jing grabbed his arm in a panic. “Come listen! It’s still going!”

Satisfied with his petty revenge, Yu Bai replied calmly, “Kidding. A little girl cries next door pretty often. Give the wall a good slap, and she’ll stop.”

“What?” Yan Jing gaped at him. “Dude, that’s brutal!”

“…”

Yu Bai shot him a cold smirk and turned back to the telescope. “Sure. I’m the violent one.”

Ten seconds later, the fitness coach came bounding back, grinning ear to ear after punching the wall.

“Holy shit, it actually stopped! You’re a genius!”

Yan Jing wiggled his fingers eagerly. “Think if I slap it again, she’ll start back up?”

Yu Bai shoved him toward the bedroom. “Go amuse yourself. Don’t interrupt my work.”

“You’ve been parked there forever, and now there’s zilch to see. Come on, let’s investigate the wall together.”

Yu Bai opened his mouth to argue on reflex, but a quick scan through the telescope confirmed it: nothing doing.

He’d spent the whole time messing with Yan Jing, yet next door remained deathly still. The harsh white light had dimmed, leaving just a slanted shadow on the wall—blurry and hazy, like mist on the verge of vanishing.

That image jogged Yu Bai’s memory of the events from the other night.

He’d run into Li Nanxiao—who’d come to hear about the incident—and Yan Jing downstairs in the complex. They’d bumped into the strange neighbor, who seemed a touch different that time.

Maybe it was the lonely night’s effect, but the still-nameless man had appeared faintly melancholic.

When Li Nanxiao thanked him for the gift on his behalf, that melancholy had truly dissolved like mist.

Yu Bai paused, then set down the telescope and called after Yan Jing, who was already eyeing the wall for more mischief.

“I’ve got something for you up on the rooftop terrace.”

He corrected himself with precise formality. “More accurately, half of it.”

It took Yan Jing two trips to haul the giant watermelon back inside, leaving him winded and wheezing.

“This thing’s a beauty. It split open with just a light touch.”

He whipped out his phone and circled it, snapping photos with glee. “It’s practically yoga-ball sized. How the heck did you grow something this massive?”

“No clue. It just thrived on its own.”

Seeing the colossal watermelon again stirred a surprising pang of nostalgia in Yu Bai.

The room reeked of mingled peppermint oil and melon sweetness today—enough to kill anyone’s appetite.

“Forgot to snap pics that day,” Yu Bai murmured with regret as he scribbled a note. “Got too caught up eating.”

Yan Jing, busy posing with the two halves for selfies, asked offhandedly, “What day?”

“The day I forgot the pics.”

“Oh, gotcha.”

He struck a peace sign and kept clicking away.

Yu Bai finished the note—identical to the original—then hauled Yan Jing to his feet. “Come on, delivery time.”

It was identical, more or less. Though after a moment’s hesitation, Yu Bai skipped adding the goofy smiley face he’d doodled before, the one meant to amp up the weirdness.

The half watermelon now sat squarely in front of the next-door neighbor’s entrance, its plump, ruby flesh wafting a sweet, enticing aroma.

…Along with that bracing whiff of peppermint oil.

A massive note the size of an A4 sheet was taped to the door.

It read:

This is a watermelon. Very sweet. For you.

—Your neighbor in Room 1205

A brief knock echoed down the hallway.

Yu Bai shut the door. Yan Jing pressed his ear against it, muttering under his breath.

“Is your neighbor really that ripped? I’m betting he can’t even lift it. Should wait till he opens up, then I can carry it in for him… Huh? He shut the door already? Can’t manage it?”

Yu Bai paid him no mind and hurried back to the kitchen to grab the telescope.

Yu Bai couldn’t see how the Non-Human Neighbor had silently carried the giant watermelon into his home, but he could see the play of light and shadow on that small patch of wall start moving again.

The increasingly familiar silhouette suddenly appeared in his field of vision.

The kitchen light next door flicked on, and Yu Bai hurriedly ducked down, leaving just the tip of the telescope poking out.

In the quiet of the night, beneath the watchful gaze of those two round lenses, the man who lived next door stepped into the kitchen. His gray-blue eyes gleamed as brightly as the moonlight spilling through the window.

He opened every cabinet in turn, but they were all empty inside.

So he closed each door firmly, latching them tight.

Then he stood in the kitchen doorway and pulled a phone from his pocket. He stared down at the screen for a moment, his fingertip gliding lightly across it.

This guy actually had a phone—and he knew how to use it.

Where the hell had he learned that?

Yu Bai barely had time to process his surprise before the man switched off the light, turned, and headed out. The sound of the front door opening and closing soon followed.

The Non-Human Neighbor had gone out, destination unknown.

Yu Bai immediately dug into the shopping bag for the gear he’d bought that afternoon and cracked the door open with care.

The hallway stood empty. Squatting by the door, Yan Jing rubbed his eyes and let out a startled “Holy shit.”

“How did he even get the watermelon—” Yan Jing’s words cut off in another, even more shocked “Holy shit!” He gaped at Yu Bai. “Little Bai, you’re heading out again?!”

He glanced slowly around the empty corridor, shaking his head in disbelief. “You were just out this afternoon. This defies all logic. Did you remodel your place or something? You didn’t drag me over here just to help air out the formaldehyde, did you…?”

Yu Bai shot him an irritated glare. “I’m gonna check which gym he’s working out at.”

“Seriously?!”

“Nope.”

On this surreal summer night, Yu Bai tugged on a hat to hide his eye-catching brown hair and plunged eagerly into the warm breeze.

Stalking him was kinda fun, he thought.