"Whirrr—"
The kitchen roared with the blender’s grinding churn.
I sat on the leather sofa in the living room, fidgeting as I waited for the chilled juice the girl had promised.
The black cat had been curled up asleep on the windowsill, comfortable and warm. But since I’d arrived, it seemed to sense a stranger’s presence. It blinked open lazy eyes, scanned the room, then locked its eerie, narrow yellow pupils onto me.
It growled low in its throat, clearly displeased.
Guess it still remembered that light kick I’d given it in a panic the other day. Making friends with this one was probably hopeless.
It stared at me silently for a moment—then suddenly sprang. With a *whoosh*, it leaped from the distant windowsill straight onto the coffee table before me.
It yawned wide in my face, flashing tiny fangs like a show-off, then fixed those needle-sharp cat-eyes on me.
"Hey… sorry about last time. Didn’t mean to hurt you," I found myself saying aloud to the cat.
"*Mew… mew…*"
It let out a pitiful cry, then turned its back to me.
What’s wrong? I leaned closer.
A sticky note was taped to the little black cat’s back. Since cat fur wouldn’t hold it, wide transparent tape had been wrapped all the way around its belly.
No wonder it looked so miserable. Anyone would hate being trussed up like that.
"Easy now. Don’t be scared. I’ll get this off you."
I inched closer, careful not to touch its fur as I reached to free it. Not that I was allergic—I just thought pets were dirty. Who knew what germs they carried into homes?
Only when I got close did I see what was written on the note:
"*Lu Fan #10000.*"
"What the…?" My heart jolted.
Now that I looked, tiny sticky notes were everywhere. The sofa: *Lu Fan #235*. The coffee table: *Lu Fan #237*… Why skip a number? I searched—and found the rug beneath my feet labeled *#236*.
…
Someone please explain what’s going on here?!
…
Yes, Jiang Muqing had finally opened her door. The reason 212 had stayed silent at first? She’d been pressed against the peephole watching me since I stepped out of the elevator.
Right up until that short-haired girl from next door grabbed my arm, pulling me toward apartment 213.
*BAM!* Jiang Muqing kicked her door open, lunged out, seized my wrist, and yanked me inside.
The short-haired girl let go instantly. She stood in her doorway, waving with a smile that looked like a farewell to a dying friend.
"Guess you won’t get to try my chilled juice after all… heh…" She barely held back her laughter.
Dread coiling in my gut, I let the stubborn girl drag me home. Just like last time, she slammed the door shut, then spent ages peering through the peephole.
Only when 213’s door clicked closed did she turn around, back pressed against the door, watching me silently.
Today she wore a light gray camisole nightgown, bunny-eared black slippers on her feet. Her cool-toned outfit and sullen expression built walls higher than any fortress.
"I don’t want to talk. Don’t want to talk. *Don’t want to talk.* Important things need saying three times."
Her entire presence screamed those words.
Arms crossed, she leaned there, black eyes wide and cold as they pinned me in place.
"Uh…"
I’d planned to ask so many things. But under that strange stare, my usual smooth tongue tied itself in knots.
"Want juice?" she murmured.
"Y-yeah…" I forced a smile.
She left me there and vanished into the kitchen.
First, the scrape of a knife splitting fruit. Then the *thud* of flesh tossed roughly into the blender.
"*Whirrr—*"
The blender roared to life.
I sat tense in the living room, listening. That sound made me imagine the girl inside wielding a chainsaw.
Guess my nerves really were shot.
…
I’d barely blinked when Jiang Muqing emerged, carrying a tray with freshly squeezed juice.
A small glass held fragrant orange liquid—fresh-squeezed, judging by the color and scent.
"Drink."
She set down the tray, sat across from me, and spoke one word.
"Only one glass? Aren’t you having any?" I reached for it with a smile.
"*Are* you drinking it?" Her eyes flicked from my face to the glass.
The tension felt like she’d grab a knife if I refused. Why was she so desperate for me to drink this? What if she’d slipped something in it?
"I’m not really thirsty… maybe later?" I pulled my hand back.
"*Crunch—*"
The girl gnashed her teeth.
"Actually, I wanted to ask about something else first. But can you explain *this*?" I showed her the sticky note from the cat.
"Who said you could touch my things?! My life’s none of your business!" She shrieked, leaping up, face terrifying.
"But it has *my* name! Your exam papers—all signed *Lu Fan*! Why do this? Why skip exams? What are you trying to do?! You’re causing so much trouble!"
Anger surged through me. I stood too, voice rising.
"Because I *hate* exams! Hate homework! Because Lu Fan loves them more than he loves *me*!" She screamed it raw.
"What… what are you even saying…" She’d lost her mind.
"If I write the name of the person I like on everything I hate… it makes me happy. Doesn’t it?" Her smile turned ghastly.
"Listen, you can’t just—" My anger crumbled. I softened my voice, wanting to comfort her, but words failed.
"Then I realized… if *everything* around me becomes the person I like… wouldn’t that be even better?" She snatched the note from my hand and stuck it to her own chest.
"*He’s* Lu Fan. *This* is Lu Fan… And soon, even *I’ll* be Lu Fan… heh…" She pointed at furniture, walls, the cat—everything.
The girl before me looked utterly beyond saving.
"You can’t stay here alone anymore. You’re coming home with me. *Now*." I couldn’t watch her drown in this madness. I grabbed her hand.
Just get her out of this nightmare house full of "Lu Fans." Or she’d truly break.
"Who says?" She wrenched her hand away.
Why? Shouldn’t she be happy to leave with me?
"Because *I’m* the real Lu Fan! Those are all fake copies you made! You said you wanted to be with me—so *come with me*!" My own voice cracked, wild.
…
"You’re fake too."
She giggled softly, pulling a stack of sticky notes from her pocket. A marker scribbled words. She peeled one off and slapped it onto my arm.
"*Lu Fan #10001.*"
