With a bang, Yu Bai slammed the door shut behind him. Yet his heart refused to settle, racing long after.
When had this guy even moved in? How had he not noticed a thing?
Yu Bai was the sort who loved holing up at home. He never stepped out unless he absolutely had to, which meant there was no way he could have missed the racket from next door if someone was moving in.
Hauling boxes and furniture, chatting with the movers—it all made a serious din.
Unless they’d slipped in without a sound.
Yu Bai racked his brain, trying to recall any unusual noises from the past few days. This was the infamous Haunted Neighborhood, after all. Few people lived here, and turnover was low. It stayed deathly quiet most days, so anything out of the ordinary stood out like a sore thumb.
About two or three days ago, he’d heard a realtor’s booming voice while he was home, showing someone around.
He’d caught snippets like that before, but no one ever actually rented—except him. This building was one of the neighborhood’s haunted hotspots. A gruesome murder had gone down in one of the apartments, so local agents peddled these places as their rock-bottom listings.
Show the clients the creepy ghost house first, then the sunny, slightly pricier normal spots, and deals closed fast.
Even the realtors must have been shocked that two units here rented out in a single month.
But why had this neighbor moved in so quietly? No luggage at all?
And why pick the unit right next door? This floor had plenty of vacancies.
Who in their right mind would choose a room with a “4” in the number in a haunted building? Everyone knew that was bad luck!
What an utterly bizarre neighbor.
Yu Bai stared at the wall connecting their apartments, lost in thought for a moment, as if he could peer right through it to the oddball living on the other side.
He had no superpowers, of course. He couldn’t see a thing—and ended up straining his eyes instead.
Yu Bai took off his black-framed glasses and finally collapsed onto the plush sofa, wrapping one arm around a hug pillow while grabbing the eye drops from the coffee table with the other. Time to soothe the exhaustion from a sleepless night.
He wasn’t nearsighted. The glasses were just a prop to make him look like a bland, awkward shut-in.
Why bother looking like a bland, awkward shut-in?
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Yu Bai yawned and fished it out, squinting blearily through the eye drops at the screen before tapping to answer.
It was a video call.
A rugged face filled the screen instantly, etched with worry.
“Little Bai! You okay? A Qiang said the elevator in your building crapped out—with you stuck inside! Why didn’t you tell them? And no doctor? I’ve got an ambulance en route. Be there any minute.”
The tough-looking man on the other end fired off his words like bullets. In the background, faint voices from his lackeys murmured deferentially: “The chopper’s ready,” “This way, Tian Ge,” and the like.
Tian Ge peered closer and his heart ached even more. “You’re crying! I’ll send someone for Doctor Chen right now. Don’t be scared—I’m coming too. I told you this place is cursed. Pack up and move out today! What kind of junk elevator is that?”
As Tian Ge’s voice grew more furious, laced with curses, Yu Bai snapped awake. He bolted upright. “No ambulance! I didn’t cry. Doctor Chen’s retired!”
“Bull! Tears are still on your face!”
“Eye drops. For real. Just put them in.”
Yu Bai hurriedly held up the bottle.
“Aw, crying’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Tian Ge said, mimicking wiping his eyes with exaggerated flair. His rough-hewn, heroic features softened with paternal warmth. “First time I got my tendons sliced, I bawled like a baby. Got used to it later, though. No big deal—let it out, and you’re good.”
Yu Bai slowly lowered the bottle, giving up the fight.
“Yeah, I cried it out. I’m fine now. Please, no ambulance or Doctor Chen. No injuries, no trauma.”
Calm as ever, Yu Bai swept the phone camera over his whole body.
If an ambulance and Doctor Chen showed up with all that fanfare, then he’d have trauma.
Tian Ge scrutinized him closely and saw all limbs intact, mind sharp. “Really okay?”
“Really.” Yu Bai’s voice stayed utterly even. “Just startled, that’s all.”
Tian Ge relaxed at last. He eyed Yu Bai for a long beat, then sighed out of nowhere. “Why not get contacts? You’d look way sharper—like me back in the day…”
In a flash, Yu Bai jammed the chunky black-framed glasses back on, snatched his laptop, and marched toward the study, phone in hand.
The video backdrop shifted from the drab sofa to shelves crammed with novels, magazines, and comics.
“Tian Ge, deadline’s looming. Gotta grind.” The awkward shut-in settled at his desk and adjusted his glasses. “Don’t rush back. Focus on your trip.”
“Fine, long as you’re good. I’ll wrap up in a couple days and head home. Call if anything comes up—A Qiang and the guys are watching out for you, twenty-four-seven. Oh, you sure you won’t move?”
“Nah, I’m good here.” At least until yesterday.
Moving was a nightmare. Doing it himself sucked, but watching a parade of buzz-cut, loud-shirt goons haul his stuff? Pure agony.
Things weren’t unlivable yet.
Yu Bai chatted a bit more about everyday stuff and finally talked his way out of the crisis—Tian Ge’s over-the-top concern and affection from his black boss days.
Tian Ge was that towering, tattooed brute who’d been unexpectedly saved by a plucky little electric scooter on a crosswalk years back. Once the kingpin of the city’s underworld, his name was Sun Tiantian.
Sun Tiantian. Simple, bold… but it clashed hard with his burly build, tough vibe, and old line of work.
Rumor had it the mockery over that name sparked his first brawl—the start of young Sun Tiantian’s rise to delinquent overlord.
And Yu Bai had nearly followed that path.
He’d inherited his mother’s chestnut-brown hair and her stunning looks.
From his unremarkable dad, maybe just a quiet, unyielding strength.
At his father’s funeral, Yu Bai first met the people his dad’s heroism had saved.
Sun Tiantian arrived earliest of all. He hid his full-arm tattoos under long sleeves and knelt by the casket all night, his grief-stricken sobs echoing constantly.
The black boss who’d stared down death countless times had never found sobs so raw, life so precious.
The heroic good Samaritan was gone, leaving a kid to grow up alone.
Strangers ushered the boy in. He wore a crisp black mini-suit, his white shirt collar buttoned neat, making his pale, delicate face look even more fragile. The warm brown strands of his hair gleamed almost translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights. His pale irises, cooler than most, mirrored the room’s sorrow in silence. His features were exquisite and aloof, his little dress shoes clicking sharply.
Sun Tiantian froze on the spot.
He figured some other boss’s kid had wandered into the wrong hall.
Before the funeral wrapped, he pulled Yu Bai aside.
“Your dad saved my life. No him, no me. Everything I have is yours from here on. I’m done with the old life—too many surprises out there. From now on, I wanna be a good guy, like him.”
He dropped his voice here, as if scared Yu Bai’s dad might overhear from above.
“But if you want…” He gritted his teeth, steeling himself. “I’ll keep a crew for you to run with.”
Yu Bai, numb with grief and on the verge of tears, gaped in shock, forgetting to cry.
Way too advanced for an innocent elementary kid.
He never imagined a black suit would make him look like a born mafia prince.
His name even sounded more gangster than Sun Tiantian’s.
Over “Young Master Yu” from the crew—which gave him chills—he’d take “Little Bai” any day.
From then on, Yu Bai vowed never to wear formalwear again.
But Sun Tiantian, dead serious about repaying debts, was a bachelor with no kids. He really meant to hand over his empire.
So Yu Bai bent over backward to seem unambitious and ordinary around him.
He didn’t want to be a black boss or a tycoon.
Better a bland, introverted shut-in. Safer that way.
After all, his life goal was dying of old age.
Yu Bai ended the video call with a sigh.
Sleepiness had vanished. He flipped open his laptop and got to work.
Finish the deadline piece, then crash hard.
At his computer, Yu Bai filled his mug, queued up his playlist, and pulled up the file “Last Will – Yu Bai v13.doc.” He tweaked the ending that suddenly bugged him, saving it as v14.
Then he opened the story needing just a wrap-up and dove in, focusing hard.
Had to admit, polishing his own last will then writing horror? Insanely immersive.
Inspiration flooded him. He glued his eyes to the screen, fingers flying across the keys. The quiet room filled with crisp taps and haunting music, like a lament.
By the time Yu Bai realized something was off, night had already fallen outside the window, plunging the sky into deep darkness.
Why did several songs in a row feature faint crying sounds woven into the background? Was this some new trend?
He had finally finished writing his manuscript. He stopped typing, took a puzzled sip of water, then maneuvered the mouse to hit pause on the media player. He planned to grab a bite and head to bed.
The music cut off abruptly.
But the crying didn’t stop.
In the room where he was the only one present, a genuine sob echoed clearly—ethereal and pure, like the sad whimpers of a little girl.
Yu Bai’s movements froze for a moment. He looked up at the walls surrounding him.
The crying was coming from deep within the wall.
Just like Little Star’s cries from late the previous night.
He slowly walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it.
The little girl’s sobs drew even closer—faint yet crystal clear, as if someone were crying right next to his ear.
But he lived in a corner unit. Outside that wall was nothing but open air on the twelfth floor.
Yu Bai drew in a deep breath, grabbed his keys and phone, and stepped out of the apartment. He took a quick lap around the hallway.
There was nothing unusual in the hallway.
He recalled that among the few households on this floor, there were no little girls. In the nearly month since he’d moved in, he hadn’t seen or heard any children.
Yu Bai returned to his apartment, but the crying persisted.
Faced with this eerie phenomenon, there were two possible explanations.
He thought it over for a moment, then dialed his friend Yan Jing and held the phone up to the wall.
“Hello?” A voice answered almost immediately on the other end. “I’m eating right now—hey, what’s wrong, Little Bai? Why are you crying?”
Hearing Yan Jing’s reaction, Yu Bai brought the phone back to his ear and confirmed once more, “You can hear the crying?”
“Of course I can hear it!”
So it wasn’t him losing his mind with hallucinations.
That left only one possibility.
Yu Bai’s expression gradually turned grave.
Yan Jing’s voice grew tense on the line. “What happened to you? Why are you crying? Don’t cry—I’m coming over right now!”
“…”
Yu Bai’s grave expression completely crumbled. “Is that what my crying sounds like?!”
“I don’t even know what your crying sounds like! You didn’t shed a tear at your dad’s funeral! And now you’re crying like this? Damn, you’ve got my heart pounding!”
Yu Bai protested, “No, I was about to cry back then, but it was all because of Tian Ge—”
“Alright, alright, spare me the explanation. I’m not your dad; I don’t mind. Hold on, let me scarf down one more bite, and I’ll rush right over.”
Yan Jing shoveled a few hasty bites of food into his mouth. Even while mumbling incoherently, he couldn’t hold back his astonishment. “I never imagined your crying would sound like this—like a little girl. Thank goodness you held it together at the funeral…”
“Shut up! It’s not me crying!”
Yu Bai nearly crushed the phone in his grip. He bellowed, “It’s haunted!!”
