Chapter 6: The Apocalypse Triggered by One Person

Chapter 6: The Apocalypse Triggered by One Person

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

“Initially, life was simple for me — ‘Mom and Dad’ would return each evening, and I would drug and restrain them inside the bedroom. But then, inexplicably, a stranger has now started calling me ‘husband.’ It’s as if a whole family had materialized around me shortly after transversing that strange traffic tunnel.”

Observing Xuan Wen’s retreating silhouette, a ghostly pallor overtook Gao Ming’s face. A certainty settled in him: Xuan Wen and the parents who had once offered him cake were all altered by a mysterious force.

“It’s clear now that Xuan Wen is aware of the odd events in the tunnel, and she anticipated my visit to Nightlight Studio intending to erase the games.”

It was only after Xuan Wen vanished down the corridor that Gao Ming’s color and composure returned, and the previously immobile cat behind him sprang back into action, cozying up close.

With the heavy rain rendering the roads impassable, Gao Ming realized that for immediate answers, he must confront Xuan Wen. Yet, he pondered the stark contrast between her condition and that of his ‘parents’ — she appeared utterly unaffected, moving about the city with ease in daylight.

“Why have you scampered over here, Richy?” Wei Dayou scooped up the plump cat, caressing it while teasing Gao Ming, “Why not stay, Gao Ming? See, even the cat is loath to part with you.”

“The cat’s reluctance isn’t about attachment; it’s about being wary of life,” Gao Ming noted, having never before seen a cat feign death with such commitment to stillness, regardless of the world’s chaos. “Dayou, I consider you a good friend, and that’s why I urge you one last time: avoid the night, and keep your distance from our new colleague. She’s wrapped in trouble.”

Aware of the recent disturbances in Hanhai, Wei Dayou reassured Gao Ming, “Don’t fret, look after yourself, and remember to call me if need be. After all, we’ve been comrades for years.” Despite the cat’s vehement protests, he carried it back to the office.

The cat, now outside, scratched at the office’s glass door, meowing forlornly at Gao Ming.

“Stick with me, and you’ll witness genuine terror,” Gao Ming murmured with a rueful grin, “This cat’s got sense, albeit not much.”

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Rather than heading home, Gao Ming made his way to the bus station, eyes scanning the city map peppered with various routes.

Hanhai is a metropolis of nineteen distinct districts, each with its own character. The affluent eastern district is a playground for the global elite, offering extravagant pleasures that defy the common person’s wildest dreams. In stark contrast, Gao Ming resides in the old district, a place worlds apart. Here, cramped apartment buildings huddle close, their proximity creating an oppressive air that makes breathing difficult for those navigating the narrow passages.

A century earlier, Hanhai emerged from the ravages of conflict, transforming into a sanctuary for politicians, entrepreneurs, and the displaced. Leveraging its strategic position, it ascended to become one of the globe’s three principal free trading hubs. Yet, as the industrial revolution reshaped the world, Hanhai too found itself at a historic juncture, its future path uncertain.

“Don’t misunderstand; the recent string of murders around Li Jing Apartments aren’t my doing,” Xuan Wen declared amidst the sound of rain. “Truth be told, I’m quite terrified myself and live in constant fear.”

“Is that why you’ve removed all possible threats, to ensure you’re not afraid?” Gao Ming initially hadn’t considered the murders, but Xuan Wen’s statement prompted him to recall Officer Li Lin’s cautionary words. During the three days Gao Ming had been confined to his room, many “things” had already “spread.”

They crossed the apartment courtyard to enter Building 2.

Upon reaching the third floor, they encountered an elderly woman conducting a ritual, burning paper offerings in the hallway. A brazier before her contained the remains of joss paper, and she mumbled prayers, bowing repeatedly before a portrait of a much younger man beside the fire.

The silver-haired lady was paying homage to a portrait of a man in his forties, her adopted son, who had taken his own life three days prior. Neighbors spoke well of him, describing him as a decent, diligent person who cared for the old woman as though she were his own flesh and blood.

“Often, what’s visible is merely the surface; the less articulate may harbor deeper stories,” Gao Ming mused. He remembered seeing the old lady’s adopted son, Mr. Zhao, around the complex. Zhao was perpetually cheerful, often volunteering to clean the communal bathrooms while chatting on his phone.

Yet, Gao Ming had always sensed an element of strain behind Zhao’s smiles.

Having a background in psychological counseling, Gao Ming occasionally conversed with Brother Zhao in the courtyard. However, since the previous month, Zhao’s presence had been missing.

After paying his respects to the portrait, Gao Ming followed Xuan Wen up to the fifth floor.

The hallway was draped with clotheslines, hanging close to exposed electrical wiring, with an array of clothing dangling from them. Whether it was the influence of the surrounding environment or something else, the garments seemed to take on a gray and lifeless hue, listlessly stirring even in the still air.

As they made their way down the hallway, they were flanked by aging iron doors marked by the passage of time, their surfaces marred by rust. The door frames, tinted with shades of yellow and brown, framed these portals to private lives. Bright red couplets hung next to the doors stood in stark dissonance to their dilapidated surroundings. Even the traditional ‘Fu’ characters, usually symbols of fortune, seemed out of place as if they reluctantly clung to the notion of luck in this somber setting.

Arriving at their destination, Xuan Wen produced a key and opened the door to apartment number 2507. Gao Ming, however, paused at the threshold, reluctant to cross into a space shadowed by recent tragedy.

“This apartment once belonged to the old lady’s adopted son. Merely three days earlier, the space had been breached by despair when Mr. Zhao chose to end his life by leaping from the balcony of this unit,” Xuan Wen explains.

“You’ve taken over the lease of someone who’s just passed away? We haven’t even observed the traditional mourning period of seven days,” Gao Ming remarked, his tone a mix of disbelief and unease.

In that moment, Gao Ming’s thoughts veered to a game scenario he once crafted — an unnervingly similar scene where a character, engaged in a ghostly game within a haunted house, eerily confronts a video foretelling his own demise, much like peering into a grim and unavoidable future.