Apocalyptic Hoarding Diary

She took the keys and held them in her hand; the cold touch brought her back to her senses.

"Thank you," she heard herself say, her voice a little unsteady.

Then she turned and walked out of the crowd.

Even after walking a few steps, I could still hear the whispers of those people behind me.

"Building No. 3, that's the one further inside, right? I heard it's quiet there, and you can sleep peacefully at night."

"Fifth floor, isn't that a bit too high? My old arms and legs are too weak to climb, but for a young girl, climbing a few floors is nothing."

"Sigh, it's so frustrating to compare yourself to others. How come I got the lucky one? We both reached in to grab, so why did they get the lucky one? Their luck is just too good."

"It's not bad to get a middle spot. I even got a lower spot. I'm wondering if I should spend those three water tickets to draw again."

"Then why don't you just smoke it? What are you hesitating for?"

"It's such a waste of water tickets, three of them, enough to drink for several days."

Hearing these words, Xu Xiaoyan couldn't help but smile.

It wasn't smugness, but the kind of secret joy that comes when luck comes and you can't stop it.

She herself did not expect that she could grab a graded item by simply grabbing it. There were so many slips of paper in the box, divided into three grades: top, middle, and bottom. The proportion of top grade slips must have been the smallest, but she just happened to pick one.

She quickened her pace, almost running towards Building 3.

After going around several buildings, we finally found it.

That building looked newer than the ones next to it; I don't know if it was built later or if it was less damaged.

The walls are indeed less damaged, with only a few cracks and peeling, unlike other buildings which are full of potholes.

The windows were also more intact, with most of the glass still intact, except for a few broken pieces that were nailed together with wooden boards.

There was a small open space in front of the building with a few dead shrubs, some trash, a few empty bottles, a broken shoe, and a crumpled plastic bag on the ground, but it was generally clean, probably because the military had cleaned it up.

She stood downstairs and looked up.

Fifth floor, room 502.

From below, you can't see the window; you can only see a bamboo pole hanging on the balcony, completely empty.

Some of the balconies on the lower floors had their windows sealed off, while others were still open, revealing dark, empty spaces inside.

She gripped the key tightly and walked into the stairwell.

The stairwell was very narrow, only about a meter wide, with cement steps leading up one after another. Each step was worn smooth, with a few pieces missing at the corners, revealing the sand and gravel underneath.

The steps were covered in dust, with fresh footprints on them, probably left by the military during their cleanup.

On both sides are mottled walls with water stains and peeling paint in some places, revealing the gray-black cement underneath.

There are some graffiti on the wall, blurry and indistinct, probably drawn by children who used to live here. There are also a few crooked words that read "Wang Moumou was here". It's been so long that it's impossible to tell which year and month it was written.

The door was an old-fashioned security door, the sheet metal was rusty, the dark green paint was mottled, and there were small bulges in some places.

Some of the peepholes on the doors are still there, while others are just a hole.

The Spring Festival couplets on the door frame had long since faded, leaving only a pale white expanse, with a few blurry characters occasionally visible.

She climbed up, one floor at a time.

On the first floor, several doors were tightly closed, sealed with tape, probably because they hadn't been distributed yet.

The second floor was equally quiet, with only the whistling sound of the wind blowing through the corridor.

On the third floor, a door was ajar, and voices could be heard coming from inside. Someone had already moved in. She didn't look any further and continued upstairs.

On the fourth floor, there was a note pasted on one door, but the meaning was unclear. The peephole on the other door was not working, so a sliver of light shone through.

Finally, she arrived at the fifth floor and stood in front of room 502, looking at the door.

The door is an old-fashioned security door, and the paint has peeled off in some places, revealing the rust underneath.

A faded pink "福" (good fortune) character was pasted on the door, half of it stuck to the door and the other half sticking up, swaying slightly in the wind and making a soft rustling sound.

She took a deep breath and inserted the key into the lock.

The key slid in smoothly, and with a click, the door opened.

The moment I pushed open the door, a faint musty smell wafted out. It wasn't strong, as if the house had already been ventilated. There was also a hint of dust mixed in, along with some indescribable, unique scent of an old house.

She stepped inside and looked around.

This is a small one-bedroom apartment, about forty square meters.

The living room wasn't large, but it was very well-organized and square. The floor was covered with old-fashioned light yellow floor tiles, some of which had worn white, but overall it was still quite smooth.

There was an old sofa against the wall. It was an old-fashioned fabric sofa, grayish-green in color, with the armrests worn white and in some places even revealing the fabric underneath.

She walked over and pressed it; the sponge was still elastic. A white lace scarf was draped over the back of the sofa; it had turned yellow, but you could still see how beautiful it used to be.

In front of the sofa was a glass coffee table. The glass was brown, and there was a crack extending from the corner to the middle. She touched the crack with her finger; the edge was smooth and wouldn't scratch her. The coffee table legs were made of stainless steel, and although some parts were rusted, they were still stable.

Opposite me was an old-fashioned television set, thick and square, with a layer of dust on the screen.

She went over to take a look. She didn't recognize the brand of the TV; it was probably from a factory that had gone out of business long ago. There was a DVD player under the TV, which was also covered in dust. There were also a few discs next to it, but the covers were blurry and she didn't know what they were.

The TV cabinet was a modular type with several drawers. She pulled one open and looked inside; it was empty. She pulled another open, and there was a charging cable inside, though she didn't know what it was for; it was old and stiff.

There were some odds and ends on the TV cabinet: a few empty bottles, a magazine with a curled edge, and an electrical wire whose purpose was unknown.

She picked up the magazine and flipped through it. It was a fashion magazine from many years ago, with models wearing outdated clothes and sporting exaggerated hairstyles.

Next to the living room is an open-plan kitchenette. The cabinets are white, with some yellowed spots, but they are kept quite tidy.

The countertop is made of artificial stone, and there are several blackened marks from being burned, probably because people used to put hot pots directly on it.

The sink is made of stainless steel and is not rusted, but it has some scratches. The faucet is an old-fashioned type that you turn left and right. She tried it and it could still be turned, but there was no water.

On the stove was an old-fashioned gas stove with two burners and a cast iron frame, which was rusted in some places.

One of the stove's switches was slightly crooked. She twisted it, and it made a clicking sound, but it could still turn. The wall behind the stove was covered with white tiles, some of which were cracked and some had fallen off, revealing the dark cement underneath.

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