Apartment Life

Over the weekend, while I was out grocery shopping, someone shoved a red envelope into my hand.

Inside was a note: [Three years of your life have been borrowed. If you pass this on or drop it in a merit box, your entire family will perish.]

Clutching the 900 yuan, I chuckled and chased after the person.

“Are you sure you want to try life‑borrowing from me?”

She shot me a glare, barked “Psychopath!” and spun around to bolt.

I couldn’t help but smile. To think someone actually had the nerve to try life‑borrowing from one of the Living Dead.

A couple lived next door to me, and they were like tinder and flint-always ready to ignite.

Every night, their loud, frantic wailing kept me from getting a wink of sleep.

I tried reasoning with them, I tried cursing them out, and I even called the police, but nothing worked.

So, I decided to start pursuing his wife.

On Valentine’s Day, I went out of my way to tuck a small note inside a bouquet of roses: “Your husband hasn’t found out about us yet, has he?” Then, her husband absolutely blew his top.

The insanely hot guy upstairs is six-two, with cool-toned fair skin and gold-rimmed glasses. He looks aloof and abstinent, but apparently, he’s actually a beast.

The very night I moved in, the upstairs unit went at it all night.

So passionate. So impressive.

It would have been even better if I hadn’t been the one suffering through it.

When they were about to start up again, I finally couldn’t take it anymore.

I opened the property management WeChat group and added the hot guy from Unit 802, Building E.

“Hi, you’re the resident of Unit 802 in Building E, right?”

“Could you two keep it down?”

“It’s so loud I can’t sleep…”

He replied, “I’m working overtime at the office.”

I shot up from my deathbed of exhaustion, suddenly smelling the scent of piping-hot gossip.

The next second, he transferred me eight hundred yuan.

Him: “Bro, help me block the door. I’ll be there right away.”

Three months after I moved into Old River Bend, the old lady next door died. While I was helping clear out her belongings, I found a diary.

The first page read: “My daughter died three years ago. The person living next door to me is a ghost.”

But I knew there was something wrong with her daughter from the very first day, because I’m a ghost, too.