Dr Chen quietly climbed out of the first-floor window. The howling wind made him pull his coat tighter. “How can it still be so cold in June?” he muttered.
“Are they all asleep already?”
Not a single light glowed on the first floor. Darkness swallowed everything. Dr Chen didn’t dare switch on his flashlight—afraid of tipping anyone off. He felt his way along the wall, inching slowly toward the old crooked tree.
“When was this window opened?”
Only after climbing the tree did he dare turn on the flashlight. The beam revealed something strange: the window, firmly shut that morning, now stood open.
Had someone beaten him here?
“Just as I thought…” He dropped through the second-floor window and swept the light across the floor. Dust coated the long-neglected hallway—exactly as expected. But fresh, messy footprints now marred the surface.
Dr Chen instantly recalled the old man’s mention of a live-streaming crew. He pulled out his phone, searched “Linping Apartment” across platforms—and found it.
Inside the stream, two figures fumbled up the scorched stairs under a dim flashlight beam, narrating:
“Brothers, this is the Linping Apartment fire site. Over twenty died. Room 304’s owner doused hallway clutter in gasoline and lit it. No one knows why. Neighbors said he was gentle… until his wife cheated. That night, a woman’s scream echoed—then flames.”
Suddenly, the feed glitched with static. Glass shattered. A dark shadow flashed across the lens. The streamers froze.
“What’s up ahead?”
“Bro, I’m scared. Let’s go back?”
The live chat exploded:
“So scary, eek~” / “Kids, ghost ahead—run!” / “If she’s a female ghost, I volunteer!” / “Fake! Actor hired.” / “Previous comment? One punch per ‘eek’.” / “My legs went numb!” / “Add WeChat: 13831937103xxx~ Sexy sis calling~” / “Nah, I stan Billy!” / “Stream viewers: third stall left, 3F restroom, XX Wanda Plaza—bring TP, my legs are dead.” / “Hey, I’m right beside you.”
Reading the silly comments, Dr Chen felt the eerie tension melt away.
“Brothers… I’m nervous. Should we go? That’s Room 304. Legend says anyone who opens it dies. Light up your little red hearts if you want me to go!”
Viewers surged. Hearts flooded the screen.
“Thanks to Japanese bro Zuogang Wanteng for the big rocket! For your support—I’m entering Room 304!” Emboldened by the donation, the streamer pressed on.
“Should I warn them? Someone might get hurt…”
They were right above him. Hesitation wasn’t an option. Dr Chen quickened his steps up the stairs.
“Brothers, this is Room 304. Let’s—”
The stream cut to black. *Offline.*
Chat erupted:
“?????? Scammed my hearts?!” / “Ghost dragged him?!” / “Call police?!” / “Nah, *I* dragged him.” / “Saw a shadow rush him!” / “WHERE’S MY TISSUE?!” / “RIP rocket donor.”
The moment Dr Chen stepped onto the third floor, his flashlight flickered. Cold deepened. Silence pressed in—absolute, suffocating.
“Where are they?” Logically, they’d just been here. Yet… nothing.
“GHOST!!!!!!!!!!!!”
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the darkness—right behind him.
