I, the screenwriter, have experienced a resurgence of inspiration.

"Hello!"

Seeing them in a daze, the old ghost repeated impatiently: "Are you the new security guard?"

The group exchanged glances.

Chen Xi reacted the fastest, following the conversation smoothly: "Yes, I just arrived to report for duty."

Old Ghost snorted and slowly sat up from the recliner.

Several people felt a sudden jolt in their hearts.

"Paper-like" is not an adjective; it means that the old ghost in front of me really looks like he was made of paper.

Kang Xiaojia stood behind Chen Xi, covering her mouth tightly with her hand to suppress the scream that was about to burst from her throat.

Chen Xi didn't move, her expression unchanged, as if she hadn't seen anything.

[Taboo 1: Never let the indigenous people discover that you are "different".]

"Excuse me, you are security guards, come with me."

The other party did not notice anything unusual about them. Instead, they hung the keychain on their waist, slipped on their flip-flops, and went into the first room.

His voice was muffled and unclear, and it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.

"Today is your first day. I'll take you on a tour of the building to make sure you understand the rules. From now on, you'll be patrolling on your own."

"The previous security guards were irresponsible and ran away after two days. I hope you guys can stay longer."

He walked ahead, his back light and airy, as if he were floating upwards with every step.

Chen Xi and the others immediately followed, and as soon as they entered the building, they felt as if they had entered a stuffy can.

The smells of mold, urine, salted fish, rotten food, and burning incense ash and paper money mingled together, making people dizzy.

Moreover, in their opinion, the stairwell was ridiculously narrow.

The narrow passage, only one meter wide, was piled with miscellaneous items on both sides.

A dilapidated children's bicycle, stacks of cardboard boxes, piles of empty oil drums, and bundles of waste newspapers.

The crowd was so tight that there was less than half a meter of space left for pedestrians, and several people had to squeeze through sideways.

—This is the kind of propaganda from mainland China that would make you scream on the spot and write a self-criticism overnight and hold a big meeting.

On both sides are densely packed doors to subdivided flats.

Behind the iron fence, wooden doors stood side by side, their panels as thin as plywood.

The room number was displayed on the door in traditional Chinese characters, so small that it was easy to miss if you didn't look closely.

Looking around, the group saw that the doors were next to each other and the houses were next to each other.

These "houses" are densely packed together, like upright coffins or rows of tombstones.

The thought that this was a projection into reality sent chills down their spines.

Living people live in coffin rooms.

……

……

Old Ghost seemed oblivious to the commotion behind him, continuing to walk forward without turning his head.

"My name is Uncle Biao, and I'm the building manager."

Today is your first day at work, so I'll take you on a tour of the building and explain the rules.

He pulled a paper lantern out of the house; its greenish light shone through the paper, making half of his face appear green.

"From now on, you will patrol on your own, once in the morning and once in the evening. The night shift starts at midnight and ends at four o'clock."

As he spoke, Old Ghost handed over a large red plastic bag containing ordinary incense sticks that smelled slightly musty.

Chen Xi reached out and took it; it was very light, like carrying a wisp of air.

"The girl is quite shrewd."

Uncle Biao nodded in satisfaction and praised:

"As a security guard, you need to be observant. Don't ask questions or meddle in everything. Don't meddle in things you shouldn't, and don't ask questions you shouldn't. Got it?"

"I've got it." Chen Xi nodded.

"As for rent, even security guards have to pay it; there are no exceptions."

Uncle Biao jingled his keys and walked towards the stairwell:

"I collect a gold ingot every three days at night. The rooms are arranged on the seventeenth floor, 1702 to 1705, four rooms in total. You can choose one yourself."

"Take good care of the facilities. If you break them, you'll have to pay the original price. If you're not comfortable staying here, come down and ask me to change the key."

As he spoke, he raised his wrist to glance at his watch.

"It's 1:05. Let's go, time to patrol the buildings. If we're late, some tenants will be unhappy."

"This building has 23 floors, with 20 units per floor. Most of them are tenants, so they're easy to talk to."

The old ghost, who called himself Uncle Biao, walked in front, his hands behind his back:

"You security guards only need to patrol once a day, once at midnight. You can rest during the day. Don't knock on tenants' doors unless it's necessary, or you'll annoy them."

He spoke with a local accent, occasionally throwing in a few Cantonese words, but fortunately, everyone could understand him.

There's nothing going on on the first and second floors; they're mostly elderly people who went to bed early.

At most, it might be a little kid running out to play in the middle of the night. If you see him, just tell him to go home. If you reason with him, he'll listen.

The group listened silently, their eyes scanning the doors on either side.

Dim light shone through some of the cracks in the doors, and the static of a television could be heard from others.

I don't know which room it was, but the radio was playing old Cantonese opera, and the woman's singing was soft and melodious.

In some rooms, the sound of men scolding children could be heard, speaking Cantonese quickly and urgently, interspersed with the cries of children.

There was also the sound of an abacus, a crisp "clattering" sound.

It sounds lively, like an ordinary residential building.

But if you listen carefully, you'll find that's not right.

Cantonese opera plays the same line over and over again, like a broken cassette tape.

The man kept repeating the same phrase when he scolded the child, and he did so for more than ten minutes without changing it.

The abacus clicks with the same rhythm, like a machine repeating the same few numbers over and over again.

It's like a pre-recorded audio track playing on a loop behind the door.

Kang Xiaojia moved closer to Chen Xi, her palms sweaty.

Jiang Chen walked at the back, his eyes scanning each door with curiosity.

So exciting.

He could feel something watching him from behind the crack in the door.

Countless gazes clung to them through the cracks in the door, through the walls, and through the piles of clutter—slippery, like snakes eyeing their prey.

……

……

When he reached the corner on the third floor, Uncle Biao suddenly stopped.

On the open space at the corner of the stairs, there is a small wooden memorial tablet.

The wooden sign was blank, only about the size of a palm, and stood quietly in the corner.

In front of the memorial tablet was a chipped porcelain bowl containing half a bowl of spoiled white rice, with three incense sticks stuck in it, half-burned and emitting thin wisps of black smoke.

There was also half a moldy piece of bread on the edge of the bowl, covered in green mold.

"Hey, you lazy bum! Out playing again!"

Uncle Biao's eyes widened, he squatted down, and began to chant towards the memorial tablet:

"I told you not to run around like that, didn't you? Your mom's waiting for you to come home for dinner! If you misbehave again, she'll come out and skin you alive!"

He had barely finished speaking.

"whee……"

Two soft, childlike laughs suddenly rang out.

It sounded like it was next to my ear, yet also like it was on top of my head; the voice was childish and high-pitched, making it difficult to tell the gender.

No sooner had the laughter subsided than the group blinked, and the memorial tablet on the ground vanished in a flash.

At the same time, a pair of small wet footprints appeared on the ground in the corner.

It's only the size of a palm, like something a mischievous three- or four-year-old child might have stepped on.

The footprints walked step by step towards the base of the wall, finally landing on it and fading away slowly—like an unseen child disappearing into the wall.

"It's nothing."

Uncle Biao dusted off his hands, stood up, and waved to Chen Xi and the others as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

"The kid's naughty, causing trouble."

"If you see these memorial tablets or children when you patrol the buildings in the future, just say a few words to them and tell them to go back inside. If they are obedient, they will leave on their own."

"If they don't listen, light three sticks of incense and coax them a bit, and they'll be fine."

"remember."

At this point, Uncle Biao paused, his tone becoming serious:

"No matter what they tell you, don't agree to anything. If you promise something and then can't keep it, it will really haunt you for life."

[Taboo #2: Do not grant any requests from tenants.]

The expressions on their faces varied, but they all silently repeated it in their hearts.

This is the second taboo.

……

After finishing his sentence, Uncle Biao continued walking uphill, muttering to himself, "These kids are getting more and more disobedient. It's all because their mothers can't control them..."

He acted as if nothing had happened.

The group followed behind, feeling a little uneasy.

The sounds that kept repeating, the child's laughter, and the footprints that had disappeared into the wall—

Everyone was reminded that none of the "residents" in this building were alive.

But Uncle Biao seemed to be used to it, as if it were some kind of "common sense".

The group went up two more floors, and the smell in the hallway gradually changed.

The musty smell had faded, replaced by a faint smell of blood, mixed with a cloyingly sweet perfume scent.

"The seventh floor is where Sister Fang runs her shop."

Uncle Biao casually remarked, "Her fabric is precious. You newbies, don't touch it when you pass by. You can't afford to pay for it if you break it."

Several people silently took notes.

When they turned onto the seventh-floor corridor, Chen Xi, who was standing at the first stop, froze for a moment before finally putting her raised foot down.