Chapter 12: The Eerie Sound

The weather looked ominous; flickers of red light within the gray, heavy clouds stirred a sense of unease. The property manager glanced up and sighed, “Let’s call it a day.” It was unclear whether a blizzard or hailstorm was coming next, but the weather, which had only just cleared, seemed poised to revert to its former state.

Everyone took their supplies and dispersed. Zhao Weijie looked down at the wilted vegetables in his hand but said nothing, quietly leaving with his goods.

Back at home, Song Yujuan’s face was deathly pale. If not for the warmth inside the house, the couple might have thought the sudden power outage and chill had frightened her so severely. Her cold hand gripped Zhao Weijie’s arm. “Xiao Jie, I heard a bang from that room. Could it be your father...?”

She swallowed hard, visibly shaken. Sun Jia’s scalp tingled; she was the most afraid of ghost stories and superstitions.

“Mom, please don’t scare us at a time like this. It was probably just some noise from next door—you must have misheard,” Zhao Weijie said, though even he was unsettled by the suggestion.

“I really heard it,” Song Yujuan insisted stubbornly, certain of what she had heard.

“Should I go check it out?” Zhao Weijie asked. That door had remained locked since it was shut; without looking, none of them could find peace. Repeating to himself that it was just his imagination, he grasped a kitchen knife and quietly approached the door, opening it.

Inside, the air conditioner was running; there was no stench of decay yet. The elderly man, dressed in burial clothes, lay serenely on the bed, his expression calm except for a bluish-gray pallor.

“It’s nothing,” Zhao Weijie relaxed completely. His father looked exactly as he had when first laid there, and there was no loud bang.

Outside, the wind howled and snow swirled, rattling the windows. Zhao Weijie stepped back out.

“Maybe the wind made the window rattle, Mom. You must have misheard,” he reassured her. Gradually, warmth returned to Song Yujuan’s limbs.

“That’s a relief,” she murmured, still shaken from being alone earlier when the sudden noise had frightened her greatly.

Outside, the rain pattered against the window, and large snowflakes, as big as thumbs, fell, resembling the recent blizzard. It seemed their efforts to clear the snow earlier had been in vain.

“Let’s cook,” Zhao Weijie said, setting the vegetables aside for Sun Jia to prepare.

---

Meng Ran cooked a pot of corn and pork rib soup and stir-fried two dishes to eat with Nian Nian. Lately, Nian Nian’s appetite had been quite good.

“Mom, how are the chickens in the ring? Have they laid any eggs yet?” Nian Nian asked.

“Not yet, it takes time,” Meng Ran replied. The two chickens had grown plump since she bought them at the market; she hoped they would lay some eggs soon, and maybe hatch some chicks to raise.

Every day, Nian Nian eagerly wondered when those chickens would start laying eggs.

More than hatching eggs, Meng Ran was thinking about her vegetable garden.

Rain drummed loudly against the window. Meng Ran glanced outside, wondering how the weather would change after the rain. The snow showed no sign of melting, and her gaze sharpened.

After dinner, as the evening grew late, Meng Ran put away her thick clothes and stored some kitchen items in the storage space before going to rest in the bedroom.

As night fell, the rain eased, and the ice layer thickened. The freshly cleared ground began to freeze, becoming cold and slippery.

A sudden thud jolted Song Yujuan awake. That sound again—she had heard it this afternoon already.

Fumbling for the lamp on the bedside table, she turned on the room light. Her forehead was slick with cold sweat.

“Old man?” she asked shakily. Her room was close to that locked one, and fear made her limbs numb.

No answer came back, just the howling wind.

With trembling legs, Song Yujuan stood up and steadied herself against the wall.

“Old man, is that you?”

Technically, it was neither the seventh day after death nor the time for a spirit’s return. Holding the lamp tightly, she shouted loudly, waking Zhao Weijie and Sun Jia.

Zhao Weijie groaned and turned over, “Sun Jia, go check it out.”

Sun Jia shook her head vigorously. “I’m too scared.”

Song Yujuan was already at the door. “Xiao Jie, I really heard something from your father’s room. Could you go check again?”

Zhao Weijie had no choice but to get up.

“It’s not the seventh day yet, so nothing should be happening, and those ghost stories are nonsense anyway,” he muttered, less frightened than before. Turning on the living room light, he approached the door.

---

This time, all three entered. Song Yujuan grabbed Sun Jia’s hand. Sun Jia dared not look inside, while Zhao Weijie carefully examined the room, pacing around twice.

“There’s nothing here—no sign of life at all.”

The idea of a corpse moving was terrifying. Zhao Weijie shuddered; the thought was chilling in the dead of night.

“There’s really nothing wrong. Let’s go,” he said.

The body was still where it had been placed, unmoved. The noise must have come from something else.

“Maybe it attracted mice?” Sun Jia whispered.

Song Yujuan looked at the body and then walked out. “Forget it, I’ve probably been too scared lately and overthinking. Let’s just sleep.”

Seeing no clues, they couldn’t stay on guard all night.

Zhao Weijie locked the door behind him and, once confident, left the room.

Just as the three were about to return to their bedrooms, another thud echoed.

This time, more than just Song Yujuan heard it.

Minutes later, Zhao Weijie, terrified, called the property manager’s office, but there was no answer—they were likely asleep.

He then posted a plea for help in the property group chat, clearly shaken.

Though it was late, many were restless due to the weather and saw his message. Some mocked him; others shared his fear.

Apartment 15-509: “How could that even happen? In the dead of night? Are you just trying to scare us like a horror movie?”

Apartment 36-707: “That’s creepy. Wait, your father’s body is still at your place, right? Maybe it’s his spirit coming home for the seventh day?”

Apartment 51-913: “Can you stop? The weather is bad enough; now we have this nonsense on top of it.”

The three sat in the living room, heads in their hands, sighing.

“At least it’s not the door banging anymore. Maybe it really is just mice,” Sun Jia comforted herself with a trembling voice.

They all looked toward the door; aside from the eerie noise, there was no other movement.

“This won’t do—we have to move the body tomorrow,” Zhao Weijie declared.

At this point, filial piety was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Even if they found another place to put the body, it couldn’t stay in their living space; otherwise, they wouldn’t have any peace for days to come.

Rarely did Song Yujuan voice no objection. On the first day when Zhao Weijie suggested moving the body, she had resisted, but after being scared, she immediately became more compliant.