I wholeheartedly agreed with Xiao Shu’s proposal; the library was the most peculiar place I had ever seen. Inside, there was a retrieval lift, akin to a voice-activated system; just shout out what you needed to find, and the lift would whisk you directly to the relevant books. This time, I was determined to ride it myself.

“Then let’s head to that room first, going through the passage,” I said.

Having made up our minds, the two of us slung our packs on, keeping our gear light, and set off toward the scene of the tragedy at Ah Li’s house, which provided a direct route to the villa.

The feeling of coming here for the first time was vastly different from the second. The first time, all I remembered was Xiao Shu leading me through countless turns into a room so filthy you couldn’t bear to set foot inside.

This time, I had my wits about me. I took a careful look at the neighborhood layout. This complex was unlike the usual ones prevalent in Xiangcheng. There was no grand arched entrance structure at the main gate; instead, welcoming flowers were planted on either side, and a single stone stele stood squarely in the middle of the road, its gold inscription bearing three large characters: “Chengxiang Ju.” So, this was that famed community that collected no management fees yet maintained impeccable order. When Xiao Shu mentioned the lack of property fees last time, I had assumed other complexes were merely imitating Chengxiang Ju. Only by looking closely at the sign today did I realize this was the real deal.

Thinking about the management fees brought a familiar frustration. The complex where my sister and I lived demanded two or three thousand Yuan annually, yet the management was a shambles. Cars were parked haphazardly, the lawns went untrimmed, and trash was everywhere. When would we ever manage to switch to a new management company, or perhaps, like Chengxiang Ju, hire a few honest resident representatives to manage things themselves?

Without another word, Xiao Shu and I headed straight for Apartment 302 in Building 18—the same room we had visited before. Xiao Shu pulled out her key, and with a series of sharp clicks, she turned the lock and opened the door.

As always, a wave of musty odor rushed out as the door swung open. I resolved that the next time we came here, the most pressing task would be a thorough cleaning. The memory of Xiao Shu using that blood-stained, insect-egg-ridden, cobweb-covered sheet to fish me out of the water last time sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn't that I suffered from mysophobia; it was simply too disgusting here. If anything like that were to happen again, I’d lose my mind.

“Go on in,” Xiao Shu said, shutting the door. Seemingly unfazed by the abysmal state of hygiene, she walked directly into the bedroom, stepped over the wardrobe, and disappeared into the passage beyond.

That wardrobe was clearly old and neglected. One hinge held half the door awkwardly, and as Xiao Shu brushed past, the imbalance made it swing back and forth with a grating creak.

I followed Xiao Shu, navigating around the swaying wardrobe door, and carefully squeezed through the opening into the passage entrance. Just as I was about to step across the threshold into the corridor, I heard a loud crash behind me. I turned to see the wardrobe door lying flat on the ground, having ripped clean off its hinges. This was followed by a clatter as the entire wooden panel tipped backward, crashing down. Instantly, dust billowed up from all four edges of the door panel, involuntarily reminding me of a coffin lid.

“Are you alright?” Xiao Shu turned back, pushing past my body which was blocking her view, to see what had happened outside the wardrobe space.

“I’m fine, the wardrobe door just fell off,” I said calmly.

“Oh. Well, let’s continue then.” With that, Xiao Shu returned to the passage and walked ahead as if nothing had happened.

I stared at the wardrobe door lying there, wondering how long it had hung in that spot. And why now? What uncanny coincidence caused it to finally give way at this precise moment?