July 2nd. Rain.

I started talking to those kids upstairs.

I know they’re ghosts. I don’t care.

More and more people are dying. I’ve given up all hope of leaving this apartment.

I just hope someone will talk to me before I die. Even in this place that’s rotting and stinking through and through.

I asked them why they ran upstairs, and the children answered me eagerly.

Some of them were residents from over a decade ago; others couldn’t say for sure how long they’d been upstairs. There were also newcomers, like Xiaoding, who had just gone up.

Xiaoding told me that it’s very safe upstairs, not at all as terrifying as us adults think.

There’s endless food and endless time. Once you come here, you never have to do those frightening green-text tasks again.

Maybe I’m crazy. Hearing them describe their paradise, I actually felt a hint of envy.

I asked Xiaoding what that room was called.

Xiaoding answered me: the Children’s Home.

Just as I thought.

July 7th. Rain.

My health has been getting worse lately.

I’ve been having visual and auditory hallucinations.

Walking down the fourth-floor hallway, I heard someone call my name from behind.

I turned to see innocent children standing on the steps leading to the fifth floor. But when I looked closely, they vanished. It was like a mirage.

I took some fever medicine, and my sanity returned a little.

Another administrator died. Now I’m the person in the apartment with the most completed tasks.

An improper thought stirred in my mind.

Maybe, before this whole apartment goes to hell, I should take the initiative and go up to the fifth floor to find that legendary Children’s Home. I need to see what’s really going on up there.

If Old Cao were still here, he would have been dead set against this plan.

But Old Cao is dead now. I can go wherever I want. No one has the right to order me around anymore.

’Let me think... when should I go?’

My head hurts so much. I can barely hold my pen steady.

Maybe tomorrow, then. I’m not sure how many more days this body of mine has left.

Before I die, I have to find out the truth of the Apartment of the Living. Otherwise, I won’t be able to rest in peace.

...

...

Reading up to this point, Zhao Zhenjia paused.

There were fewer and fewer pages left. It seemed Lin Nan’an’s life, like the remaining pages of his journal, was on a countdown.

Seven years ago, the administrator for the previous generation of residents, Lin Nan’an, had faced such a broken and helpless situation.

He wasn’t like Xu Yuan, who had terrifying talent and managed to complete ten tasks.

Nor was he like the administrators of this generation, like Xia Ta and Jiang Yang. When the idea of going upstairs was proposed, everyone unanimously agreed. Not a single person objected.

Zhao Zhenjia, Gao Tian, Xia Ta, and the others—though they each had their flaws, none of them were selfish villains who only cared about their own survival.

It was no wonder all the residents of that generation died, given that gray and hopeless atmosphere. They even left a mess for their successors, allowing the fourth floor to be completely consumed by the supernatural.

Zhao Zhenjia:

"I have a question, Jiang Yang."

"You and Xia Ta are the most senior residents of this generation, right? You moved in about two years ago."

Jiang Yang:

"More or less."

"Xia Ta arrived a month before me. When we came, we started from the very first rookie task. There were very few people in the entire apartment back then. The most capable person had only completed three tasks, and the concept of an apartment administrator didn’t even exist."

"We were all just fumbling our way through life and death. Many of the rules were established later."

Zhao Zhenjia:

"Given how hopeless their situation was, Lin Nan’an’s generation of residents must have been completely wiped out. There’s no other possible ending."

"Is it possible... that this apartment is running on some kind of cycle?"

Jiang Yang:

"What do you mean?"

Zhao Zhenjia:

"Think about it."

"The legendary Xu Yuan, who completed ten tasks, was about thirteen years ago."

"Lin Nan’an’s generation was about seven years ago."

"Our generation started about two years ago."

"Every so often, the Apartment of the Living meets one of two ends: either everyone dies, leaving no survivors, or a powerhouse like Xu Yuan emerges as the final victor."

"In either case, the apartment then closes for a period of ’maintenance.’ After a certain amount of time, it recovers, reopens, and starts recruiting the next generation of residents."

"This apartment is like a living organism. It hibernates for a while, then reawakens and begins to feed. Except its food is human life and fear."

It was a truly chilling conclusion.

If Jiang Yang’s generation was wiped out, would the Apartment of the Living be temporarily sealed away, leaving their bones and stories to rot in some forgotten corner?

Then, after seven, six, or maybe five years, a brand-new-looking apartment would open for business again, awaiting a new batch of residents.

An administrator would rise from among them, countless stories would unfold, and a new cycle would begin...

But right now, Jiang Yang was more concerned about another problem:

"This ’supernatural descent’ is an objective phenomenon, not unique to our generation. Lin Nan’an and his people experienced it too. They just decided to let it all go to hell, waiting for everyone to be wiped out."

"I’m guessing that back in the legendary Xu Yuan’s time, they could live up to the fifth floor. By Lin Nan’an’s time, only the fourth floor was left. For our generation, we’re already down to the third. If we all die, the next generation to enter the Apartment of the Living will be confined to just two floors."

"Before every supernatural descent, the same omens appear. First, children go missing, and people start hearing the voices of children from the floor above their rooms."

"Then, all sorts of supernatural events start spreading downwards. At first, these incidents don’t kill anyone; they just cause a certain amount of anxiety. But if left unchecked, they quickly trigger a chain reaction."

And back then, Lin Nan’an had just stood by and watched as the entire apartment spiraled into decay and death.

Zhao Zhenjia:

"This so-called Children’s Home is the core of this whole mystery."

"Why are there so many children in the Children’s Home? Why are they gathering so many children upstairs?"

"According to Lin Nan’an’s description, the Children’s Home is located on the fifth floor. It seems that to end all this, we have to go up to the fifth floor again today."

"Of course, that’s assuming we get out of here alive and meet up with Xia Ta and Gao Tian."

Could the tragedy of seven years ago be brought to a final end by Jiang Yang’s generation?

His gaze swept over to the desk where the corpse in the study sat. There seemed to be a few more pages in the journal.

Jiang Yang:

"Have the Wind Attendant Buddha read the last few pages."

Zhao Zhenjia:

"Those two pages seem to be stuck together."

"Hang on, I’ll have the Wind Attendant Buddha tear them apart. It’ll take a moment."

Finally, the Wind Attendant Buddha managed to tear the journal pages apart. Some of the writing was blurred, but the content Lin Nan’an had written was mostly legible—

July 10th. Rain.

I had made up my mind. I should have set out for the fifth floor the day before yesterday.

I don’t know why, but when a man is about to die, some small instinct for survival still kicks in.

I kept procrastinating, holing up in my room and wasting another two days.

This morning, when I went downstairs to the food pantry to get something to eat, I discovered the third and second floors were completely empty. Not a single resident was left alive.

Either they were killed by a green-text task and their rooms were empty, or they were killed by a supernatural event within the Apartment of the Living, their bodies left to rot and stink in their rooms.

Or they moved out early, pretending the Apartment of the Living didn’t exist, just waiting for the day their lives would end.

In any case, I don’t know when it happened, but in this massive apartment, I’m somehow the only person left alive.

This feeling of desolate loneliness is just awful.

It’s even worse than waking up on graduation day to find all your dorm-mates have already left.

’Can’t I even find one person to talk to before I go upstairs to my death?’

Back in my room, my headache worsened.

Maybe I should put it off for one more day. I’ll go upstairs tomorrow.

July 10th. Late Night.

I was fast asleep in bed when I was suddenly awoken by a series of urgent knocks on the door.

Groggy, I got out of bed on instinct, ready to open it.

It took me a long moment to remember something: everyone else in the apartment was dead. I was the only one left. There were no other living people in this building.

’So who could possibly be knocking on my door at a time like this?’

I tried not to respond, to pretend no one was home. But the POUNDING on the door grew louder and louder, like an elephant trying to break down the wall.

I crept to the door, wanting to look through the peephole to see who my visitor was.

The apartment’s power had been out for a long time. The hallway was pitch-black. I could only make out two human silhouettes. Nothing else was visible.

It seemed these two visitors wouldn’t give up until I opened the door for them.

I slowly opened the door.

Standing before me were a thin, silver-haired young man and a burly man in his fifties who was built like a gorilla.