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Knowing how much his younger brother could be spoiled, Song Buxian felt at ease leaving his partner Xin Yi, who never indulged in such behavior, by Song Bunan's side. He thought that if these two were to sit together, there would surely be some wonderful chemistry between them. After all, he had been tormented by the sticky sounds that Song Bunan occasionally made for many years; it was time for someone else to suffer.
However, upon seeing Xin Yi display a rare tenderness and joy in response to Song Bunan's antics, he decided that he would go to the hospital tomorrow to buy two pounds of quick-acting heart pills to eat as meals. Either he had misread the script or those two had gotten it wrong.
After cleaning and bandaging Song Bunan's wounds, he looked up to see it was already past two in the morning. Thankfully, their late-night work had become a habit; even pulling an all-nighter wouldn’t delay their tasks. But Song Bunan, who was still slumped on the sofa, clearly couldn’t hold on any longer. He mumbled incoherently in response to questions, his eyes barely opening. Xin Yi was no better; his bandaging technique was skillful and gentle. If it weren't for Song Bunan's character—something Song Buxian was well aware of—one might truly think he was treating a precious treasure with such care.
After covering the slovenly boy on the sofa with a blanket, they skillfully divided the rooms and decided to sleep. Just before turning off the lights and entering the bedroom, Song Buxian blurted out, “Are you interested in my brother?”
The answer he received kept him awake all night, staring at the ceiling. His partner of over ten years replied seriously, “Yes.”
After two nights filled with surprises and scares, Song Bunan felt that he had grown up and would no longer be afraid of such things. It was just a ghost; how could it possibly eat him? So when he was abruptly awakened by a loud singing ringtone from his phone, he merely felt annoyed and not scared at all.
The caller was Xiao Mei. On the other end of the line came a greeting with an accent; after exchanging a few words about being fine and setting up their next meeting, she hung up. It took Song Bunan a moment to realize what time it was when he looked at the screen showing eleven o'clock.
He lay sprawled on the sofa, the aroma of food wafting through the air. Looking towards the kitchen, he saw an unfamiliar figure bustling about inside. Not knowing where his glasses had gone, he lay there like a caterpillar for a while before finally sitting up and shouting for his brother.
Song Buxian, working in his study, was infuriated by this pig-like noise and rushed over to Song Bunan without saying a word, twisting his ear painfully until he quieted down. Only then did he scold him: “Are you an idiot? Why are you screaming like a pig! It's late at night; look at what time it is! If I give you an inch at home, you'll take a mile! Do you think I don't have work to do or money to earn?”
Trying to save his ear from being yanked off, Song Bunan could find no valid rebuttal against such baseless accusations. He could only whine and grab his brother's wrist: “I’m sorry! Can you let go? My ear is going to fall off! Besides, this was an accident; I used to be fine alone at home!”
Frustrated but unable to bear it any longer, Song Buxian released him and shoved a cup of water into his arms: “Drink this and wash your face; how can you sleep until noon?” Not daring to add fuel to the fire, Song Bunan nodded obediently but hesitated to ask where his glasses were.
The mint-flavored toothpaste helped clear his mind completely as memories of last night flooded back. The hardest thing to comprehend was that old man—how could a ghost open his front door and come in to touch his wound? What was that black mist? Who was ringing bells in his dreams? Many questions piled up into a big mystery. Discussing these matters at home would only lead to accusations of overthinking; aside from the newly acquainted Xiao Mei, there seemed no one else with whom he could share these thoughts.
Having lived over twenty years without encountering supernatural events suddenly thrust him into this realm. As these thoughts crossed his mind, Song Bunan felt both excited and anxious; after all, all his knowledge about such matters came from storybooks and forums. Until now, he had merely believed but watched from afar; now that it was happening for real, he felt unprepared. Should he buy some related books to read? Lost in thought, he began humming a tune; since there seemed no effective solution at hand, perhaps believing that everything would work out in the end would suffice.
Xiao Mei never expected that someone so formidable lived in the building where Song Bunan resided. Arriving at the entrance of the community, she saw that the entire unit she needed to go to was enveloped in a faint white mist. At around twelve o'clock, only a few windows emitted light; counting roughly which floor Song Bunan lived on revealed that its orange glow differed entirely from others' bright white lights. Zhang Long pulled out a baton from the car and handed it to her while signaling that he would stay here while she checked on Song Bunan.
The elevator got stuck on the seventeenth floor; glancing at it briefly made Xiao Mei decide to run up the stairs instead. She dashed up three flights of stairs quickly until she noticed a sign indicating she had reached the fifth floor. The hallway faintly carried the scent of burnt paper mixed with something uniquely fragrant—an increasingly strong aroma that made her inexplicably anxious as she ascended further. When she arrived at the fifteenth floor door, she found that something blocked the fire escape door from opening. Fortunately, there were two glass panels on the door; peering through them revealed a white ghost standing outside Song Bunan's home—motionless yet knocking loudly on the door.
Fearing that Song Bunan might mistakenly think it was her knocking and open up for him, she hurriedly dialed her phone and shouted not to open the door just as that ghost entered without hesitation. Almost simultaneously, there came a click from the fire escape door lock—the previously closed door now swung open as if guiding her inside.
With no time to ponder how this door had opened, she rushed into Song Bunan's home only to see that ghost examining the back of someone who had already fainted. Unable to assess the situation properly, she pulled out her baton intending to disperse the ghost but found that this spirit had protection; despite being struck by her talisman-imbued baton, nothing happened—it merely passed through her and entered the living room.
Turning around revealed an elderly person hunched over with a cane standing in the living room with their back turned towards her obscuring their face. Xiao Mei saw that ghost standing beside this person but couldn’t take another step forward before witnessing them use their cane to scatter items around the room rapidly before rushing outside alongside the ghost.
“Someone’s gone upstairs! Retreat!” Zhang Long’s voice crackled through her earpiece. Xiao Mei could only confirm that Song Bunan wasn’t in mortal danger but merely unconscious. Returning once more to where the elevator should be located revealed that it had finally descended after previously refusing to move—it now stood ready on ground level. The person and ghost had vanished without leaving any trace behind; thus she headed back up through the stairwell instead. Song Bunan had mentioned earlier that someone upstairs might have died while holding funeral services—perhaps this spirit was being utilized by that person.
However, as she ascended further past sixteen floors, she discovered every fire escape door locked tightly with heavy chains—only allowing her enough space to push open slightly ajar gaps. This building had twenty-five floors total; trying each locked door yielded no results until returning from atop when suddenly engulfed by thick smoke on eighteen floors. The acrid smell made her dizzy while visions of an altar materialized before her eyes—a wrinkled old man lay upon it whose features matched those of that elderly figure seen earlier in Song Bunan’s home.
Seated cross-legged on a mat before him was an old woman with her cane beside her adorned with an oddly decorated hairpin atop her head—was this indeed what Song Bunan described? Dizziness intensified making standing difficult while nausea surged within her stomach; just as Xiao Mei prepared herself for bloodletting as means of staying alert—the sound of bells rang nearby.
The crisp and orderly sound helped him calm down; the dizziness quickly subsided, and the thick smoke began to clear. However, the ringing was distant, and it did not originate from this building. Realizing that someone had come to help him, Xiao Mei did not linger. As he descended the stairs, he paused at the Fifteenth Floor, intending to check the situation inside, but found that the door was once again unyielding. Peering through the glass, he saw a person who bore a resemblance to Song Bunan standing outside, tearing at a piece of paper.
Avoiding eye contact, he continued down the stairs. Zhang Long stood at the entrance of the building, shaking his head. "Only two men rushed in one after the other; no one has come out since."
As he tucked his baton into his pocket, Xiao Mei looked back at the building. The white mist had dissipated, leaving only the light from Song Bunan's apartment still shining. He said to Zhang Long, "There must be someone powerful inside that building. I don't know what they want to do, but their target is definitely Song Bunan. I almost fell victim to it in the hallway as well. But for tonight, we're safe. Let's retreat."
Sitting in the car, Xiao Mei pondered where the bell sound that had awakened him had come from when his phone vibrated. He opened it to find an unknown message: "Beware of the Eighteenth Floor."
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