Chapter 3 Across the Hall
Climbing the stairs, I heard footsteps behind me.
This building had lots of tenants, but not many wore leather shoes.
I paused a few seconds, then slipped inside my Coffin Apartment.
After showering and lying down, the walls were so thin I could hear two girls outside perfectly.
“Holy crap, a Rolls-Royce!”
“And the guy was insanely hot. We should’ve asked for his WeChat.”
“You dare? One look from him and my legs would give out.”
“Pathetic…”
Once their voices faded, I turned off the light and opened my laptop to deal with piled-up files.
Only brutal work could chase away the ghost in my head.
I handled transfers and organized technical documents for this project. Sometimes I had to drink and flatter Clients.
Most days I worked from home.
The next day, knocking woke me.
I checked my phone—already past one in the afternoon.
My empty stomach ached faintly.
I sipped water and croaked toward the door, “Is something wrong?”
The landlord smiled and nearly bowed—a complete turnaround from when I signed the lease.
“Here’s the thing, Miss Su. You might need to move temporarily. This unit is being demolished this afternoon. As compensation, I’ll upgrade you to a better place in another complex for free.”
I frowned, hand tight on the doorknob.
Ten seconds of silence.
The landlord spoke again. “If you’re worried, I’ll send the address. Bring a friend to check it out. I left lunch outside as an apology. Please move soon—call if you need help.”
Footsteps faded.
I packed my bags but didn’t touch the food box.
I sat at the bus stop for half an hour, then went to the address anyway.
This was downtown. My Coffin Apartment cost two thousand five hundred a month. I’d paid two months plus deposit—I couldn’t waste it.
Worst case, I’d get scammed. If I couldn’t keep going, dying wouldn’t be the worst thing.
The new place turned out to be a high-end complex with a park downstairs, old folks walking dogs and grandkids.
I dragged my suitcase off the bus.
At the gate, the guard glanced at me and opened the door.
I swallowed my explanation.
“Elevator’s inside each building, right turn past the entrance,” he said.
I went into Building A, found the elevator, pressed up.
The floor numbers climbed slowly from B1 to 1.
Three seconds.
Then I saw Chen Yinian again.
He wore a white dress shirt and black suit pants, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone to his ear. A strip of pale, cold wrist showed, faint blue veins visible.
I stared at his face. My mind blanked for five full seconds.
He listened to the call, eyes lowered, looking at me coolly.
Like I was a stranger.
The doors began to close. My heart lurched, but I couldn’t move.
The next second, they opened again.
Chen Yinian’s hand held the open button.
I trembled, half wanting to run.
But it was broad daylight. No warning, no cover.
Running with a suitcase would be pathetic.
“In or not?”
He pressed the button again, voice polite and distant.
Only I was imagining things.
My ears burned. I stepped inside, dragging my suitcase.
The button for 28 was lit.
I bit my lip.
The unit the landlord gave me was also on the twenty-eighth floor.
Our first real encounter in six years.
No dramatic apologies or accusations.
Instead, it felt like he’d completely forgotten me.
“Do it yourself.
“Yeah.
“Got it.”
Chen Yinian answered the call absently. His face reflected in the elevator doors looked tired, like he hadn’t slept.
I must have stared too long.
Our eyes met in the reflection.
His dark gaze was cold.
“Heh.”
He let out a soft, mocking scoff.
I froze and looked away.
The elevator dinged open. I fled out, found the unit number, punched in the code, and hid inside.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
My smartwatch beeped sharply—heart rate too high.
After a couple seconds, I stood on tiptoe and peered through the peephole.
Chen Yinian opened the door across the hall.
Before going in, he glanced my way.
I dropped into a guilty crouch.
When I looked again, the hallway was empty.