"Closer, even closer. The cheap rental house was now right in front of me.

Dim orange light seeped through the worn windows, like the spiritless eyes of the Grim Reaper.

Mu Zi finally reached the door that both frightened and excited him. The noisy chaos inside was clearly audible. He slowly extended his hand, already numb from the cold.

Just as his hand was about to touch the door, he quickly withdrew it. He took out a crumpled poster from his pocket, crumpled it further, and threw it into a nearby smelly ditch.

The crumpled poster slowly unfolded in the water, revealing a man with glasses and a somber expression. Above his head were two fragmented characters – 'Accident'.

Only when the poster was soaked and torn by the incessant rain did Mu Zi steady his breath and slowly push open the door.

The door creaked open, and Mu Zi finally returned to this place called home.

As he had imagined, the room was filled with smoke, reeking of tobacco and alcohol. Four men sat under the light, clattering mahjong tiles and swearing loudly. They just glanced at Mu Zi as he entered, then continued their game as if nothing had happened.

Sitting with his back to the door was a gaunt, pale middle-aged man with a sharply defined face that must have been handsome in his youth. But now, his face was utterly terrifying, with sunken eyes, bluish lips, a lifeless gaze, and blackened yellow teeth. His long descent into drugs and gambling had transformed him into something neither human nor ghost. He was the most indifferent to Mu Zi's arrival, not even bothering to look back, his brow furrowed and hands trembling, the area under his arm where money should have been, empty...

After entering, Mu Zi first carefully observed the other three men at the mahjong table, then approached the man he called father, who showed no intention of acknowledging him. Mu Zi then turned and entered a small room, partitioned off with broken doors and old curtains – his bedroom. Inside was an old iron bed. He quickly stripped off his soaked clothes, hung them on a nail on the wall, dried his hair and body with a towel from the head of the bed, then climbed naked into bed, curling up in a thin, dark blanket. He closed his eyes as if to rest.

Moments later, his frozen body began to warm, and Mu Zi slowly opened his eyes, his gaze now firm and wise. He carefully observed the large, old ceiling fan above him, now black with dust and grease. Two wires, originally leading to a power strip beside the bed, were cut by his 'ingenious' father to extract the thin copper wires, now chaotically wrapped around the bed's headrail.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Mu Zi stared at the black ceiling fan for a long time, then shifted his gaze to the opposite side of the bed. Between the bed and the wall was a small wooden cabinet with a few of his high school textbooks, not yet sold by his father, and a round fish tank – the only thing left by his biological mother. He had always kept it clean and neatly placed on the cabinet, though he no longer kept fish.

Finally, Mu Zi looked at the floor, covered with old tiles and now wet from the dripping clothes. After pondering for a while, he carefully got out of bed, avoiding the wet floor, and took a banana from the pocket of the hanging clothes.

This was his only food for the day.

He quickly ate it back in bed, then carelessly tossed the banana peel on the floor by the bed, near the wet patch.

He smacked his lips, as if still savoring the taste of the banana, then took a few deep breaths, stood up from the bed, tiptoed to the wall switch at the foot of the bed, and forcefully turned it off.

Immediately, the entire rental house plunged into darkness. At the same time, the mahjong players outside the bedroom started cursing loudly.

After a while, realizing through the window that other houses were still lit, they understood that Mu Zi must have again secretly turned off the main switch. His father's voice loudly called out.

"Mu Zi!" The voice was filled with immense irritability and anger, chilling to the bone. Mu Zi, hiding in bed, shuddered involuntarily. Then, he heard the man's footsteps crossing the floor, step by step, approaching the bedroom.

Mu Zi found it hard to breathe, but he still mustered the courage to shout, "What do you want?"

"Did you turn off the switch again?" The voice grew clearer, the man obviously now at the door, gasping and questioning harshly.

"Yes! You're too loud, I can't sleep!" Mu Zi finally overcame his fear and shouted back.

"Alright, it seems you're asking for it!" The man roared and barged in. Rushing in too quickly, he stepped on the banana peel on the floor, "Ah!" he exclaimed, losing balance and almost falling to the ground. Fortunately, the narrow room allowed him to steady himself by grabbing the bed. "You..." His voice was off-key, like an enraged leopard. "I'll kill you today!" He lunged at Mu Zi on the iron bed.

"Bang!" Mu Zi agilely dodged, and the man missed, collapsing onto the bed. The bed creaked under the man's weight. Just as he was about to curse, the ceiling fan miraculously fell, hitting his head and back hard. The heavy fan and sharp blades caused significant injury. He screamed in pain, holding his head and stumbling back, stepping on the wet patch and banana peel, "Thump!" He fell backward before he could even yell out, hitting the back of his head on the wooden cabinet. Books and the fish tank fell on him...

The man, his head bloodied, lay among broken glass and books, clearly fatally wounded. Meanwhile, Mu Zi, naked, trembled and curled up on the bed, staring blankly at everything.

When the man's mahjong friends rushed into the bedroom and restored the power, this was the sight they were greeted with.

After a stunned silence of several seconds, someone suddenly shouted out loud.

"He's dead!"..."