In the blink of an eye, the game of Dou Di Zhu went on until past six in the evening. Sun Fatty was the first to lose patience and loudly declared he was leading everyone to the restaurant for dinner. When they arrived, before anyone could even sit down, they spotted Wu Rendi and Po Jun casually strolling into the restaurant as well.
（Note: Dou Di Zhu (literally "Fight the Landlord") is a popular Chinese card game usually played by three players. In this game, one player assumes the role of the "landlord," while the other two team up to compete against the landlord in a one-versus-two poker match.）
Once everyone was gathered, they arranged to share a large table. The hotel didn't offer buffet dinners at night, so following Po Jun's suggestion, they planned to just order some basic set meals to get by. But Sun Fatty was not having it — a picky eater despite being poor, he insisted on not being sloppy with food. Politely, he pulled Yang Xiao along and ordered six or seven local specialty dishes.
When the dishes arrived, Wu Rendi rarely gave Yang Xiao a genuine smile — and this time, it was not his usual sneer or cold smirk, but a warm and normal human smile. He said, "Thank you for your hard work. Has your Bureau received any news about anyone fainting last night and becoming a vegetable?"
Yang Xiao looked a bit flattered and replied, "No, my Bureau has already sent people down to investigate. Plus, Leader Pu (Po Jun) emphasized the importance of this matter. If there's any news, we'll notify you immediately."
Wu Rendi nodded and exchanged some polite words. Something was off! This was completely out of character for Wu Rendi's usual style. I glanced at Sun Fatty, who looked just as shocked, then at Po Jun flipping through the menu. Suddenly, I had a thought — now that the Sixth Division has no investigators, Wu Rendi was already scouting and stockpiling backup talent.
Soon the ordered dishes came one after another, and everyone began eating. Sun Fatty was the most enthusiastic; never one to touch chopsticks unless he could use his hands, within minutes he had dismantled the duck nearest to him down to the bones.
In contrast, Yang Xiao had little appetite and put down his chopsticks after just a few bites. I understood his thoughts and called the waiter to pack a portion of grilled meat and stir-fried seasonal vegetables to go. Except for me, only Sun Fatty knew what was really going on. He gave me a cheeky grin before returning to battle a plate of oil-burst shrimp.
Before long, the two packed dishes and staple food were brought over. I handed them to Yang Xiao and said, "It's almost seven. Take this to your wife. I don't know her tastes, so just let her eat whatever."
Yang Xiao's face flushed, and he repeatedly declined, "No need, everything is prepared at home. I'll just take it there."
Wu Rendi and Po Jun didn't know what was going on. Sun Fatty explained about Yang Xiao's wife, and Wu Rendi softly said, "Spinal injuries are troublesome, but it's not a big deal. I know a doctor who is skilled in spinal treatment. Even a full recovery is not impossible."
Had Wu Director really changed? Offering to connect Yang Xiao with a doctor? I wouldn't have believed it even half a day ago.
Yang Xiao hesitated, then said, "The surgery has already started, and expectations are high. I'm afraid if things change now…"
Wu Rendi interrupted with a wave, "Forget it then. I understand. If you need anything, just contact me."
After a few polite words from Yang Xiao and my insistence, he finally left the hotel carrying the packed food.
Not long after Yang Xiao left, our meal was ending. Wu Rendi put down his empty soup bowl and said, "Finished eating? Let's go out and walk off the food."
Sun Fatty swallowed a piece of cured meat sadly and said, "Director Wu, aren't you still practicing soul travel?"
Wu Rendi gave him a faint, almost amused look, "So, are you coming or not?"
"Going," Sun Fatty replied weakly.
Twenty minutes later, we were back at Qilin City Central Hospital. Before entering the hospital gate, Po Jun received a call, "Huh?! Wang Ziheng has woken up." Wu Rendi was stunned too — Deputy Director Wang was supposed to take another three to five days to wake, he said it himself, no way he was mistaken.
Wu Rendi had no intention of going into the hospital. Suddenly he turned to Po Jun and asked, "Where did Wang Ziheng's accident happen?"
Po Jun paused for five or six seconds before remembering, "Seems like it was in a residential building, but I don't know the exact location. Should I ask Deputy Director Wang?"
Wu Rendi nodded, "Hurry, I want the exact address."
Po Jun called the investigator guarding Wang Ziheng and confirmed the address, then told Wu Rendi, "It's No. 135 Zhongshan South Road."
Wu Rendi thought for a moment, then told Po Jun, "Go handle the thing we talked about this afternoon, and take the Second Division guys with you."
"What about Wang Ziheng?" Po Jun asked.
Wu Rendi rolled his eyes, "What does it matter? If he can wake up, he won't die."
Po Jun agreed and went into the hospital. Sun Fatty and I were about to follow, but Wu Rendi stopped us, "Who said you two could come? You're coming with me to where Wang Ziheng's accident happened."
Not knowing the exact address would be a problem for outsiders, and driving might be slower, so we gave up on the Grand Cherokee and took a taxi instead. When we told the driver our destination, he looked surprised, "It's dark already, why are you going there?"
There was an undertone in his voice. I asked, "What kind of place is it? Can't you go at night?"
"You're from out of town, right? Makes sense. Nobody around here dares to go there at night. Gentlemen, change your plans. There are plenty of fun places in Qilin City. At this hour, the flashy places aren't crowded..." No wonder nine out of ten taxi drivers here are chatterboxes.
Sun Fatty sneered, "That flashy place you mentioned — you must get a commission, huh?"
The taxi driver glanced at Sun Fatty through the rearview mirror and said, "Little Fatty, I'm just looking out for you. The place you're going to, even in broad daylight, no locals dare to get close. It's a famously haunted house."
"How haunted?" Hearing this, Wu Rendi suddenly got interested.
Unexpectedly, the driver clammed up, "Forget it, don't ask. Knowing only brings trouble. I still have nightmares about it at night."
"You." Wu Rendi lifted his chin at Sun Fatty. "Wallet, give it to me."
"What?" Sun Fatty clearly heard, but didn't quite understand. "Oh, you mean the wallet? What do you need that for?"
"Stop talking nonsense, just hand it over!"
Sun Fatty, feeling baffled, took out his wallet and handed it to Director Hao. Director Hao casually grabbed a handful of pink bills from inside (the largest denomination of Renminbi, 100 yuan, each note equals about 15 US dollars) and gave them to the driver, saying, "135 Zhongshan South Road. The faster, the better. And tell me more about what exactly happened there."
Number 135 Zhongshan South Road is a fifteen-story residential building built in the early 1980s. Back then, this building was considered a landmark in Qilin City, as no other building in the city surpassed fifteen floors. Locals simply called it the "Fifteen-Story Building."
The taxi driver driving us had an elementary school classmate who once lived in this fifteen-story building but moved away after graduating middle school. Looking back now, that classmate would break out in a cold sweat at the mere thought. Luckily, he left early — if he had stayed a few years longer and experienced those incidents, no matter how lucky he was, he either would have died on the spot or been so terrified that he lost his mind and spent the rest of his life in a psychiatric hospital.
Originally, ever since people moved in, this fifteen-story building had been peaceful. The worst thing that happened was neighbors yelling over trivial matters—never escalating to physical fights, since everyone was quite docile. This calm life lasted until one day in 1997.
One morning three months after Hong Kong's handover, Wang Shanhe, who lived on the tenth floor, stood as usual by the elevator door, eyes fixed on the changing numbers of the indicator light. A minute later, the elevator door opened. Before Wang Shanhe could step in, he was stunned.
The elevator was packed like a sardine can—completely full of people. This old elevator's maximum load was only twelve persons, but now it looked like there were more than twenty.
A man in all black stood by the elevator door. He was not a resident of the fifteen-story building, at least Wang Shanhe had never seen him before.
He glanced at Wang Shanhe and said, "Come in, only you're missing." Wang Shanhe was dazed, lost consciousness for a moment, and then stumbled into the elevator.
"Beep!" The elevator's overload alarm finally went off, and Wang Shanhe snapped back to reality. He had no idea when he had entered the elevator. Hearing the alarm, he instinctively stepped out. The man in black looked a bit disappointed but still smiled and said, "Next time, there will be another chance."
The elevator doors slowly closed. What happened next made Wang Shanhe collapse onto the floor. The floor indicator numbers flipped wildly downward. Seconds later, a thunderous "boom" was heard, followed by a cloud of dust and smoke spilling from the elevator door gaps.
"The elevator fell!" A woman downstairs screamed shrilly.
The incident was officially declared an accident caused by elevator malfunction. Later, Wang Shanhe saw the list of victims—all residents of the fifteen-story building. Even if some names were unfamiliar, their faces were still recognizable. But curiously, the mysterious man in black was nowhere to be found on the list.
In the days after, a sorrowful atmosphere engulfed the fifteen-story building. Just when almost everyone thought the nightmare was over, a second, even more terrifying tragedy began to unfold. Unfortunately, Wang Shanhe's name was not on the list of survivors.
On the seventh night after the elevator accident, which Chinese people commonly call the "first seven" (the seventh day after death), Wu Old Lady, who lived on the sixth floor, was lying in bed, half asleep. She had just celebrated her ninety-ninth birthday, officially entering her centenarian years.
The whole building was filled with the scent of incense and burning paper offerings. This smell made Wu Old Lady uncomfortable. She was used to a very regular lifestyle, usually sleeping no later than nine o'clock, but now her eyes were wide open, and her eyelids kept twitching—she simply could not fall asleep.
Around eleven o'clock, in a half-awake, half-asleep state, Wu Old Lady suddenly felt someone enter her room. At first, she thought it was her grandson (her son had died three years ago) and didn't pay much attention.
"Xiuzhi, leave, Xiuzhi, leave..."
Wu Old Lady jolted. "Wu Xiuzhi" was her real name, though now almost nobody remembered it, and everyone called her Wu Old Lady.
The voice was very familiar, but she hadn't heard it for over thirty years. She opened her eyes and saw a man standing by her bedside—her husband, Shan Ren, who had died over thirty years ago.
For a moment, Wu Old Lady couldn't tell if she was dreaming. She pinched herself. Though old and slow, she still felt the sharp pain clearly.
Her husband who died decades ago had come—there was only one explanation. Having lived to such an age, she had come to terms with life and death. She asked, "Ah Ren, is it you? Are you here to take me away?"
The man by the bedside shook his head, looking uneasy. "Xiuzhi, listen carefully to what I'm about to say. Before midnight tonight, you and the children must leave this building. Remember, before midnight!"
Wu Old Lady was slow to respond. "Leave this building? Why? We're living fine here. Where would the five of us go if we leave?"
The man looked anxious, his face contorted. "There's no time to explain. Tonight, many people in this building will die. If you don't leave before midnight, you'll all die here!"
Wu Old Lady panicked and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already 11:40. When she turned back to ask her husband more, he had vanished. On the wall, a blood-red character appeared—"Leave." Only after turning on the bedside lamp did she see it clearly.
Just then, her grandson rushed into the room, his face full of terror. "I just saw Grandpa."
At 11:59, the five of them left the fifteen-story building. When they passed the entrance, they saw twenty or thirty people entering the building. Almost all were known to them—the twenty-six victims of the elevator accident seven days ago.
At dawn the next day, screams woke those still sleeping in the building. Ten minutes later, the police arrived. News of more deaths in the building after midnight finally surfaced. Sixty-nine people died in the building after midnight—forty-one of them were family members of the elevator victims who had thought they had escaped death. Wang Shanhe's name was also on the death list.
All the deaths shared one cause—suicide, but in different forms. Some hanged themselves, some used kitchen knives to kill themselves (not by cutting their own throats—when discovered, heads were separated from bodies), and others strangled themselves with wire until dead. Wang Shanhe swallowed iron nails and died of massive internal bleeding in his stomach.
Another common characteristic was the silence of the deaths. Some victims died by banging their heads against walls, but neighbors heard nothing.
The police investigated for more than a month without finding any clues, finally concluding it was a mass outbreak of psychosis and closed the case. Rumors about the fifteen-story building spread rapidly, saying the place had been a former graveyard and was now haunted by vengeful spirits occupying the living space.
Remaining residents of the fifteen-story building were terrified and scrambled to find ways to move out. Those who could afford it bought houses elsewhere immediately, while others rented elsewhere and soon moved. Half a month later, the once-bustling 135 Zhongshan South Road—the fifteen-story building—became an empty shell.