8 Basement on the Fifteenth Floor, Part 2

Before describing where my friend currently lives, let me first tell you about him.

We met in college. His full name is Zhu Chang’an, so I call him “Chang’an.” He is also a sophomore at Xianshui University, a young man with a charming and dashing appearance, always dressed in designer clothes.

Although his manner of speaking has remained relatively normal so far, he is actually a well-known “second-generation” privileged youth. His father holds a high-ranking government position, and his family is extremely wealthy. I don’t know the exact extent of their wealth—certainly far beyond what an ordinary student like me could imagine—and I’ve never cared much about such matters. Occasionally, though, I’ve overheard some malicious whispers among students calling him “Young Master Zhu” with contempt.

It would be an oversimplification to say this hostility stems solely from resentment toward the rich. If my reputation at school is merely eccentric, Chang’an’s is utterly infamous. The reasons lie squarely with himself.

He is known on campus as a notorious troublemaker. People often say he abuses his father’s influence to act arrogantly and recklessly, stirring up trouble. Rumors even circulate that he frequents disreputable and immoral places with his shady friends—places no decent student should be caught dead in. Over time, most of the respectable students have shunned him.

There is more to his bad reputation than meets the eye, though he has indeed committed some misdeeds. Our relationship started rather tumultuously, but that story is long and complicated. For now, let me focus on his current residence.

Perhaps influenced by proximity to darkness, he shares my interest in urban legends. Having no close friends at school, he rented an apartment off-campus. Coincidentally, there was an unused apartment with a grim history in a regular residential complex near Xianshui University. It was on the fifteenth floor—considered a high-rise unit.

When I say “grim history,” I don’t mean a natural death or a tenant’s suicide. This was a genuinely horrifying murder case.

Eight months ago, the previous tenant was found gutted in the bathroom by an unknown assailant. The scene was shockingly bloody; even the neighbors next door were so terrified they moved away. The killer’s identity remains a mystery, free and unpunished to this day. Understandably, nobody dared rent that apartment afterward.

It’s said the place is haunted at night. I investigated and even stayed there for three days and nights myself—nothing happened. That was nearly two weeks ago. Afterwards, Chang’an rented it as a dare, moving in with a reckless bravado.

“So, does the place really have ghosts? Is it the spirit of the former tenant haunting you?” I asked.

“No, no…” He shook his head repeatedly. “It’s the basement. I found a basement.”

“Wait, what? You said ‘basement’? In that apartment?”

“Yes, right there in the fifteenth-floor unit.”

Still uneasy, he explained the whole story.

It began two nights ago when he watched a video online of someone cleaning an old, dirty carpet. Plush carpets, especially, tend to harbor filth. The uploader even deliberately chose a particularly filthy carpet to clean on camera. After watching, Chang’an thought about the black plush carpet in his own living room.

That carpet had been there since he moved in, probably having seen many tenants before him. He’d never paid it much attention, but now he had misgivings. Black is a good color for hiding dirt, so it was likely hiding a lot beneath—maybe even traces of blood from previous tenants. He wanted to replace it.

When he lifted the carpet, the floor beneath revealed something utterly out of place in normal life.

There was a complex “magic circle” painted in black paint.

Could a previous tenant have been some delusional occult enthusiast, leaving behind this symbol? Such a thought crossed Chang’an’s mind.

Soon, he noticed something else impossible to ignore—a square wooden panel embedded in the floor at the center of the magic circle, about a meter wide.

Driven by curiosity, he opened the panel.

What he found shocked him: a staircase descending into pitch-black darkness, seemingly bottomless.

He was stunned.

A basement? But this was the fifteenth floor—how could there be a basement here?

He quickly came up with a plausible explanation: the stairs probably led down to the apartment below. To be safe, he didn’t descend the stairs himself but went downstairs to ask the neighbors for permission before checking.

There was no staircase in the apartment below. No hidden openings in the ceiling.

He was gripped by an indescribable dread.

The dark stairwell led to a space that did not exist in reality.

—

I was deeply captivated by his account, my curiosity piqued.

“Have you gone down there?”

Chang’an slammed the table and exclaimed, “How could I go down there?!”

The waitstaff and other customers in the café looked over. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and sat back down.

“In any case, I haven’t gone down. I’ve temporarily moved to a nearby hotel—I just can’t live there anymore.” After calming down, he added, “But I haven’t given up the lease. I still have the keys.”

I nodded and pressed on, “Have you tried shining light down those stairs?”

“I did. It’s about three meters deep, and the floor at the bottom is gray concrete,” he said dejectedly. “That’s all I know. I’m too scared to explore further.”

“Besides me, did you tell anyone else?”

“Yes, I told my sister yesterday, but she didn’t believe me.”

“You mean Zhu Shi? You met with me yesterday during the day too. You told her but not me?” I voiced my annoyance.

Zhu Shi, Chang’an’s younger sister, is a year junior to both of us. I’d met her several times before. She just started her freshman year at Xianshui University. Unlike her infamously notorious brother, she gives off an impression of pure, serene beauty—as if she stepped out of a delicate ink painting, evoking images of streams, clear springs, and misty lakes.

It’s no wonder she didn’t believe him; any sane person wouldn’t.

Chang’an forced an awkward laugh and tried to change the subject. “Also… when it happened the night before last, I called the police right away.”

“You called the police?” I frowned reflexively.

Given my current stance, I find it hard to feel any sense of security from the police.

“And? You told them there was something strange at your place, and they actually came?”

“There’s no way I said that outright. I made up some excuse to get them over. When they arrived, I lifted the carpet again right in front of them. But…” Chang’an’s face darkened further, “the wooden panel was gone. The entrance to the basement vanished without a trace. Only the suspicious magic circle remained on the floor. They thought I was making a false report and almost detained me.”

Noticing my expression, he hurriedly added, “Wait, I’m not lying. I really saw the basement!”

“While I want to believe you…”

In the past, many people who claimed to have witnessed paranormal events shared a common trait: they insisted on having experienced supernatural phenomena, but whenever I accompanied them or investigated based on their clues, the phenomena vanished.

Chang’an’s situation was strikingly similar. He claimed to have encountered something strange, but only he could perceive it. Whenever others were present, the anomaly disappeared.

How was I to fully trust him?

Still, he was my friend, so I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Believe me! I know you’ve been deceived before, which is why I avoided talking to you at school yesterday. I was afraid you’d think I was like those people!” He looked desperate. “But… but last night I just couldn’t let it go. I felt I had to talk to you. I think you’re the only one who might believe me now…”

“Last night? Around what time?”

“Uh… around ten o’clock?” he said uncertainly.

That was when I had just met Maza.

If both Chang’an and Maza were telling the truth, then I should have missed the strange event Chang’an experienced. Yet, because of Maza’s misfortune-attracting nature, Chang’an unexpectedly changed course and came knocking at my door with this mystery.

Chang’an’s testimony was full of suspicious details but somewhat echoed Maza’s account…

As I pondered the connection between these two incidents, I said to Chang’an, “Words are easy to say—show me your place.”

“All right, but…” he hesitated.

I retorted, “Isn’t that why you came to me—to accompany you back there?”

“…Yes. I’m sure this isn’t a hallucination or nightmare of mine alone. It’s a real anomaly. I hope you can help me prove it…” He admitted but then faltered, “But if nothing shows up this time…”

“Just bring me there,” I said firmly. “I promise, even if there’s nothing under the carpet, I won’t blame you.”

Having said that, he had no choice but to agree. After a quick bite at the café, we headed to the apartment together.

We passed through the complex’s entrance, entered the residential building through the security door, and took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. Chang’an unlocked the door with his key and led me into the living room.

Despite its grim history, the apartment looked no different from any other. Chang’an’s recent stay had even given it a lived-in feel—clutter scattered about, some wrinkled clothes tossed on the sofa, a trash bin filled with leftover takeout containers smeared with sauce and rice grains.

Between the sofa and the TV lay the black plush carpet he mentioned. It looked ordinary and worn, with several large brown letters spelling out the word “Carpet.”

“Well… I’m going to open it now.” Chang’an swallowed nervously.

Not wanting to act on his behalf, I urged him, “Go ahead.”

After a tense ten seconds of mental preparation, he crouched, grasped the carpet’s edge, and pulled it back sharply.

Beneath it was the black-painted, intricate magic circle.

At its center lay a light brown wooden panel.