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Song Buxian knew all too well how spoiled his younger brother could be. He felt at ease leaving his partner, Xin Yi, who had never been one to indulge in such behavior, by Song Bunan's side. He mused that if these two were to sit together, it would surely create some wonderful chemistry. After all, he had endured Song Bunan's occasional clinginess for many years; it was time for someone else to bear the burden.
However, upon seeing Xin Yi display a rare tenderness and delight in response to Song Bunan's antics, he found himself begrudgingly accepting the situation. He decided that he would soon head to the hospital to buy some quick-acting heart pills to cope with this new development. Either he had misread the script, or the two of them had gotten their roles mixed up.
After cleaning and bandaging Song Bunan's wounds, he looked up at the clock—it was just past two in the morning. Thankfully, both of them had grown accustomed to working late; even an all-nighter wouldn't hinder their tasks. Yet, Song Bunan, who was still sprawled on the sofa, clearly could not hold on any longer. He mumbled responses to questions, his eyes barely open. Xin Yi was equally tired; his bandaging technique was skilled and gentle. If it weren't for Song Bunan's character—something Song Buxian was well aware of—one might think he was treating a precious treasure with such care.
After tucking the troublesome kid under a blanket on the sofa, they skillfully divided the rooms and decided to sleep. Just before turning off the lights and heading into the bedroom, Song Buxian couldn't help but ask, "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 earnestly, "I am."
After enduring two nights filled with surprises and scares, Song Bunan felt that he had grown up and would no longer be afraid of such things. After all, what was a ghost? It couldn't possibly eat him! So when he woke up from a loud ringtone blaring from his phone, he felt more annoyed than scared.
The caller was Xiao Mei, who greeted him with an accented voice. After exchanging pleasantries and making plans for their next meeting, she hung up. It took a moment for Song Bunan to realize it was already eleven o'clock—a time that felt oddly familiar.
He lay on the sofa, the aroma of food wafting through the air. Looking toward the kitchen, he saw an unfamiliar figure bustling about. 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 wailing and rushed over without hesitation. He twisted Song Bunan's ear without saying a word. Only after Song Bunan quieted down did he scold him angrily: "Are you an idiot? Why are you screaming like a pig? It's late at night! Look at what time it is! If I leave you alone at home again, you'll cause trouble for me!"
Trying to save his ear from being yanked off, Song Bunan could find no suitable retort against these baseless accusations. Instead, he whimpered and grabbed 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 when I was home alone!"
Frustrated yet resigned, Song Buxian finally 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 stoke the fire further, Song Bunan nodded obediently but hesitated to ask where his glasses were.
The mint-flavored toothpaste quickly revived his mind as memories of last night flooded back. The most puzzling part was that old man—how could a ghost open his front door and touch his wounds? What was that black mist? And who had been ringing bells in his dreams? A multitude of questions piled up into a great 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 before now left him feeling both excited and anxious. After all, all his knowledge about such matters came from storybooks and forums; before experiencing it firsthand, he had merely believed but remained an observer. Now that it was real, he felt utterly 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 time would suffice.
Xiao Mei never expected that such formidable beings resided in the building where Song Bunan lived. Upon arriving at the entrance of the community, she noticed that the entire unit building was shrouded in a faint white mist. At around noon, only a few windows emitted light; counting the floors where Song Bunan lived revealed that its orange glow differed entirely from other homes' incandescent lights. Zhang Long handed her a baton from the car and signaled that he would stay behind while she checked on Song Bunan.
The elevator stalled on the seventeenth floor; glancing at it briefly made Xiao Mei decide to take the stairs instead. She sprinted up three flights before noticing she had reached the fifth floor. A faint smell of burnt paper wafted through the corridor mixed with an unusual fragrance that grew stronger as she ascended—this peculiar scent made her feel inexplicably anxious.
Upon reaching the fifteenth floor door, she discovered that something blocked the fire exit door from opening. Fortunately, there were two glass panels on it; peering through one revealed a white ghost standing outside Song Bunan’s home. The ghost remained still but knocked rhythmically on the door.
Fearing that Song Bunan might mistake her for someone else and open up for him, she quickly dialed her phone and shouted not to open the door just as it swung wide open—the ghost stepped inside without hesitation while simultaneously she heard a click as if someone unlocked the fire exit door behind her.
With no time to ponder how this door had opened by itself, she dashed into Song Bunan’s home only to find that ghost examining the back of someone who had already fainted. Unable to assess the situation closely enough, she brandished her baton intending to disperse the spirit; however, it appeared protected somehow—despite being struck by her talisman-laden baton without any effect—it simply passed through her into the living room.
Turning around revealed an elderly figure hunched over with a cane standing in the living room; she couldn’t see their face as they faced away from her. Xiao Mei noticed that as soon as that ghost stood beside this person, they swiftly began wreaking havoc among household items with astonishing speed before rushing outside together.
"Someone's gone upstairs! Retreat!" Zhang Long’s voice crackled through her earpiece as Xiao Mei confirmed that while Song Bunan wasn’t in immediate danger of death—just unconscious—she needed to get out quickly.
Returning to where she had been waiting for the elevator earlier found it now functioning properly—it had descended down to ground level after having previously refused to budge at all. Both figures—the person with a cane and the ghost—had vanished without leaving any trace behind; thus she headed back upstairs instead.
Song Bunan mentioned earlier that there might be someone holding a funeral above them; perhaps this spirit was being manipulated by that person.
However, as she climbed higher starting from sixteenth floor onward every fire exit door became locked tight with heavy chains allowing only narrow gaps for entry or exit. The building comprised twenty-five floors total; she pushed against every locked door but found nothing until returning from her fruitless exploration on top floor when enveloped by thick smoke upon reaching eighteenth floor.
The acrid scent made her head spin while visions of an altar materialized before her eyes—a corpse lay upon it resembling precisely that old man from earlier at Song Bunan’s place.
Seated cross-legged before him on a mat was an elderly woman with a cane beside her adorned with an unusual hairpin in her bun—was this perhaps that grandmother whom Song Bunan mentioned? Dizziness intensified making standing upright increasingly difficult while nausea surged within her stomach; just as she reached for her knife intending to cut herself for clarity—a sound like bells rang nearby.
The crisp and orderly sound helped him calm down; the dizziness quickly faded, and the thick smoke dispersed. However, the ringing was distant, not coming from within the building. Realizing that someone had come to help him, Xiao Mei didn’t linger. As he descended the stairs, he paused at the Fifteenth Floor, intending to check the situation inside, but found the door once again unyielding. Looking through the glass, he saw a person who bore a slight 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 another; no one has come out since."
After tucking 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 home still shining. He said to Zhang Long, "There’s someone formidable inside that building. I’m not sure 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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