Basement of the Fifteenth Floor, Chapter 1

“Chang’an, what’s wrong?”

I asked proactively as I stepped out of the entrance hall first, casually leaving my front door ajar.

My friend noticed that I deliberately chose the corridor of the apartment building as the setting for our conversation. Though slightly puzzled, he didn’t question it and instead began with casual greetings. “I saw your text about asking for leave from school. Are you feeling unwell or is there an emergency? If it’s inconvenient now, I can come another day.”

“It’s convenient, just that I’m not in the mood for class today,” I replied, brushing off the leave request and redirecting the topic back to him. “Tell me about your problem first. You don’t look well, and since you came all this way, is there something you need my help with?”

“Yes, there is…” His attention was unusually easy to capture today, and he looked heavy-hearted. “This matter…I can only discuss it with you.”

“Oh?” I immediately perked up. “Could it be…”

Before I could probe further, he bluntly admitted, “It’s exactly the kind of thing you’re thinking of.”

I nodded, unsurprised.

I knew all too well how my friend and others perceived me. If there was any topic that would specifically require me as a consultant, it would invariably be something of a supernatural or strange nature.

Though I often took the initiative to visit people involved in such strange events, it was rare for someone to seek me out first for advice.

Moreover, this time it was my friend coming to me. He was neither a fool lacking basic scientific understanding nor someone who would fabricate stories to tease me. The clues he brought were serious enough to warrant my full attention.

At that moment, a phrase from earlier echoed unexpectedly in my mind:

—I’m different from you all; I’m a jinx.

—People around me, those connected to me… always tend to get caught up in inexplicable, supernatural incidents far more easily than others.

She only just mentioned this to me, and now a strange event has come knocking at my door. Could it truly be her curse at work?

Is it really that effective?

That would be too uncanny… or rather, too unfortunate.

Or is it merely a coincidence?

In my eyes, Maza was an utterly extraordinary girl. If this incident was indeed linked to her in some karmic way, I had to elevate my level of concern to the highest degree.

However, to be honest, without concrete evidence, even I couldn’t take Maza’s “jinx” claim fully seriously.

“Since you’re free, why don’t you come to where I’m living now?” my friend suggested.

Maza was still at my place, and I didn’t want to go far.

“Can’t you explain it here first?”

“That’s possible…” He hesitated. “But for this matter, unless you see it with your own eyes, you probably won’t believe me.”

“Is that so…”

“Are you really caught up with something urgent? Then I can wait until you’re free.”

Though he said that, his eyes were filled with eager expectation. If I refused him here, he would surely be deeply disappointed.

I made a pause gesture. “Give me a minute to think.”

My friend patiently waited while I lowered my head to contemplate—

At first, what I wanted from Maza was simply her hidden secrets, and she had already revealed everything, so half the challenge was already solved.

The other half was to verify the truthfulness of what she told me.

In other words, I needed to keep her for a few days until she recovered enough to wield her supernatural abilities. Everything hinged on whether she could truly use her powers. So Maza’s situation had shifted from “urgent” to “impatiently waiting.”

I wanted to monitor her closely, but I couldn’t just stay locked inside until she recovered—well, actually, that might work. I could rely on takeout for meals and keep the door shut; more importantly, I was willing to do so.

Yet, after careful consideration, I made another painful decision.

“Let’s go. We’ll leave right now.”

“Great!” My friend was instantly delighted.

“Wait for me a moment. I need to pack up at home. It’ll be quick.”

I let him wait outside, then went back home, closed the door behind me, and explained to Maza that I was going out briefly. She seemed not to suspect that her proclaimed “jinx” would manifest so soon, merely reminding me to be careful. To prevent her from grabbing the handgun, I packed it deep inside my backpack when I left.

Since Maza couldn’t move freely now, there was no need to worry about her escaping while I was gone. Still, worry made me overthink, fearing she might flee when I wasn’t around. Part of the reason I went out with my friend was to satisfy another motive.

Being alone reveals one’s true nature. I wanted to see how Maza behaved in my home when I wasn’t there.

To do this, I needed to set up “surveillance cameras” in my place.

Naturally, such a thing couldn’t be done quickly without alerting Maza, nor was I the type to regularly install covert cameras at home.

So I decided to use my supernatural ability.

Back at the entrance hall, I turned and extended my finger into the air.

As for the nature of my ability, I’ll keep that a secret for now.

Actually, the power I possess isn’t complicated enough to warrant such secrecy; on the contrary, it might be quite common and simple among those with supernatural skills.

Still, since my friend was about to take me to witness a paranormal event, this special ability might come in handy. Many fantasy stories depict psychics demonstrating their powers and explaining their abilities simultaneously—I secretly looked forward to trying that.

For now, I revealed just the “tip of the iceberg” of my power.

A small orange-red light appeared at my fingertip, fluttering like a firefly into the air. Then a second, third, fourth...

A dozen “fireflies” scattered one after another into every corner of the room.

These tiny entities were mentally linked to me; they acted as my “eyes” when I was not present.

With these precautions taken, I turned and opened the door, saying to my waiting friend, “Thanks for waiting. Let’s go.”

He was eager as we descended the stairs, left the complex, and headed toward his place.

Silently, I sensed the images and sounds of my home through the “fireflies.”

Strictly speaking, the information they transmitted wasn’t exactly visual or auditory in the usual sense. If I had to describe it, it was like uncontrolled imagination painting pictures and sounds within consciousness.

Many people have experienced scenes or music replaying vividly in their minds after watching a movie or hearing a catchy song—this was much the same.

When I first left, Maza showed no reaction, sitting silently on the bed resting. But as time passed and she seemed to accept that I wouldn’t return soon, the gentle expression on her face quickly faded, replaced by a cold, numb demeanor.

She immediately got off the bed, slipped on slippers, and moved slowly to the entrance hall. Then she opened the door and looked around the corridor outside.

Was she planning to escape?

My heart jolted; I wanted to turn back immediately.

But before I could even turn, she went back inside and closed the door behind her.

My friend noticed my sudden change.

“A-Cheng, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just suddenly felt like sneezing…”

I calmed my heartbeat and continued to observe the mysterious, beautiful girl, analyzing her every move.

Maza was as tense as a small stray dog newly adopted by strangers, constantly looking left and right, occasionally glancing back toward the entrance hall, clearly wary of my possible return.

She occasionally handled objects around her, picking them up and carefully placing them back, not searching for anything in particular but seeming to investigate my background.

Perhaps not only did I find her full of enigmas, but from her perspective, I was equally mysterious.

Realizing this made me somewhat pleased—so I was a “mysterious character,” too?

From the start, she viewed me as suspicious, bristling with clear resistance and a defensive posture. But after I dealt with the police, she suddenly dropped her guard. I had wondered if my act of kindness had fooled her, but now I realized otherwise.

Her sudden change of demeanor likely hinged on a very practical reason—I had a gun.

Yet, despite such a disadvantageous position, she never tried to curry favor with me. Was it because she possessed an extraordinary sense of integrity, or did she fear that too much friendliness would annoy me?

Ultimately, why was she identified by the police as a serial killer?

Why was she wearing hospital clothes when I first found her? Was she previously held in some hospital? Or perhaps she was a patient who escaped from a psychiatric institution, and everything she told me was mere delusion?

I wasn’t in a hurry to find answers. There was plenty of time ahead—I intended to savor this extraordinary cohabitation experience slowly.

—

My friend, heavy-hearted, led me to a nearby café, where I focused my attention on him.

“To avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings later, I want to explain the whole story clearly before showing you what I’m talking about,” he said gravely.

“Go ahead,” I gestured.

He started with a question: “You still remember where I live, right?”

“Yes, that house where someone died,” I replied.