The once-coveted showpiece building had become the haunted block everyone in the neighborhood feared after a murder took place.

In less than a day, sixty percent of the apartment’s residents had moved out. The remainder split into two camps: one hesitated between staying and leaving, while the other carried on with their lives as if nothing had happened, completely unaffected.

As far as Chen Jing’an knew, Mo Xixi on the 8th floor and Chu Hechang on the 12th floor belonged to the latter group.

Chu Hechang was the Taoist priest who bumped into her that morning. Apparently his family had run the death business for generations — if someone needed sutras to send off a spirit on the seventh day, they’d come to him. Since someone on the fourth floor had hanged themselves last night, the property management had invited him to perform a ritual in front of the building to calm people’s nerves.

Before the ritual even started he realized one item was missing and hurried back in, which is when he collided with her.

Chen Jing’an had nothing to do, so she stood among the onlookers and watched the whole ceremony.

It was much like in the movies: peach-wood swords, glutinous rice, talismans, chicken blood — nothing was left out; it was all done properly.

The neighbors around were all buzzing with talk, saying this little ritual might keep petty spirits at bay, but it was useless against a malevolent ghost.

Chen Jing’an laughed it off—there are no gods or ghosts in the world, just superstitious nonsense; only the older folks would take it seriously.

After the ritual ended, Chen Jing’an followed the dispersing crowd out. Chu and Chang saw her and hurried over to give her a talisman, saying everyone should carry it today; it could turn danger away.

Chen Jing’an didn’t believe in it, but she didn’t want to refuse their kindness, so she stuffed the yellow paper with the charms into her pocket.

According to plan, she went to the market, bought vegetables, ate a bowl of shepherd’s purse wontons, and nothing happened along the way.

By the time she got home it was already past 1 p.m.; after finishing the chapter she needed to update today, it was almost time to make dinner.

Wei Chengying had promised he’d come back early, so she cooked a little faster than usual, trying to have everything done before he stepped through the door.

At 5:45 p.m., Wei Chengying arrived home safely.

Chen Jing’an set the table and called him over to eat.

Seeing the dishes on the table were all his favorites, Wei Chengying’s mouth curved into a smile.

He pulled out a chair, sat down, and picked the tenderest piece of fish to put into Chen Jing’an’s rice bowl.

“What did you do around the house today?”

Chen Jing’an ate the piece of fish he’d picked up for her and recounted everything that had happened in the apartment.

At the end of her sentence, she even took the talisman from her pocket and put it on the table for him to see.

Wei Chengying glanced at it once, crushed it into a ball and tossed it into the trash can.

Chen Jing’an, seeing this, raised an eyebrow and teased him: “Why throw it away? Maybe it really could avert disaster and bring good luck.”

Wei Chengying replied in a cool tone, “Don’t take other people’s things next time — they’re not clean.”

Chen Jing’an said nothing, burying her head in the bowl and eating without another word.

Wei Chengying seemed to sense her mood shift; he kept trying to pick dishes for her a few times but couldn’t coax her into speaking.

Alright, girlfriends still need to be coddled.

“After dinner, let’s go downstairs for a walk.”

Chen Jing’an suddenly looked up, her eyes shining as she stared at him, like a dog eager to go for a walk.

Wei Chengying’s smile deepened, and he added, “The charlatan downstairs likes to play at the supernatural. You’d better not believe a single word he says.”

“What about Mo Xixi on the eighth floor?”

Chen Jing’an perked up, growing curious about the two residents she’d met today.

Wei Chengying set down his bowl and chopsticks and looked at her squarely.

“Mo Qianqian is a somewhat well-known internet celebrity. She had a dispute with the deceased on the fourth floor before, and it got ugly. If her boyfriend hadn’t held her back, she probably would have beaten the other person to death.”

“So… she’s a suspect for murder?”

Chen Jing’an immediately thought of Zhang Yuyan’s death. She couldn’t help it — for someone who was writing detective fiction, a real murder occurring nearby was the best kind of material.

Wei Chengying knew her professional instincts had kicked in, and generously offered another clue: “In this apartment building, if you want to know who had the strongest motive to kill, I’d suggest you look into Chen Huaqing on the 10th floor and Xu Hua on the 7th.”

A new lead handed to her, Chen Jing’an didn’t even eat; she stared at Wei Chengying, signaling him to keep talking.

Wei Chengying paused, then ladled her a bowl of tomato-and-egg soup, waiting until she finished drinking before he began to speak slowly.

“They were both the deceased’s lovers. Chen Huaqing on the 10th floor is twenty-four, just graduated from college, and works as a public relations person at a high-end club. The deceased used to be his client, later kept him, and even bought him a house so they could meet more easily. Xu Hua on the 7th floor is about ten years older than Chen Huaqing; he was divorced once and has an eight-year-old daughter. He runs an export trading company that has been suffering losses in recent years and had cash-flow problems. The deceased invested as a stakeholder and helped him through the brink of bankruptcy. They had a sweet period, but when Xu Hua wanted to make the relationship official, the deceased dumped him and withdrew all her shares.”

“How do you know it so clearly?”

Chen Jing’an was stunned, genuinely admiring Ms. Zhang — two-timing someone so blatantly and with such audacity.

Wei Chengying smiled: “At the time Xu Hua and the deceased were causing a scene at the door, yelling and making a big fuss; the whole building knew.”

“Oh… so that’s how it was…”

So that means this man named Xu Hua could very well have turned hatred into love — thinking that if he couldn’t have you, he’d kill you.

Chen Jing’an couldn’t stop imagining wildly in her head. Wei Chengying saw her sitting dazed and reached out to pinch her cheek.

“Alright, I’ve said everything I shouldn’t have. Do you still want to go for a walk? If not, I’ll go by myself and buy an ice cream as an after-dinner treat.”

Ice cream!!

Chen Jing’an sprang up, hurriedly gathering the dishes and dashing for the kitchen.

Wei Chengying smiled and shook his head, his gaze on her full of an indescribable fondness.

Five minutes later, Chen Jing’an looped her arm through Wei Chengying’s and they got into the elevator.

Since more than half the tenants had suddenly moved out of the apartment, there were noticeably fewer people taking the elevator.

They went down from the 13th floor to the 1st and didn’t see any residents from the other floors.

When they reached the lobby on the first floor, they hadn’t even stepped outside before they heard a heated argument.

There were three people arguing, two men and one woman. The men’s voices were unfamiliar; the woman’s sounded somewhat familiar.

Chen Jing’an pricked up her ears and listened for a few lines before she remembered it was Mo Xixi who lived on the 8th floor.

Chen Jing’an and Wei Chengying walked over. The lobby was as bright as day. Mo Xixi stood between the two men, her left and right hands each being held by one of them.

A big boy dressed like a Korean trainee was pointing at Mo Xixi’s nose, cursing loudly: “Mo Xixi, what are you pretending for? Who here doesn’t know you hate Zhang Yuyan, wishing she were dead? I even kept the threatening letters you supposedly wrote to her. Want me to give them to the police so they can arrest you!”

Mo Xixi struggled but couldn’t break free, her features distorted with fury. She snapped back in a shrill voice: “Are you fucking crazy? I hate her, but I never wrote any threatening letters. You’re clearly framing me. I think you’re the one with problems — you were her kept boytoy; you’re pissed she dumped you and now you’re holding a grudge. You’re the one who killed her!”

“You!!”

The big guy’s face went ashen; he raised his fist as if to strike.

“Enough! Can any of you tell me why Yu Yan killed herself? What did she write in her suicide note?”

A plain-looking man with an imposing presence shouted impatiently.

The lobby fell silent. A little girl in a sleeveless dress came bouncing in from the doorway, ran straight to the man, took his hand and said, “Daddy, I saw Auntie’s lights on. Is she at home?”

At those words, all three people who had been arguing went pale at once.