Chapter Twenty-Three: The Legend of the Hanged Man

He had no idea who—or what—had come, and felt uneasy, not daring to open the door rashly. He could only ask through the door, “Who is it?”

“I’m the security guard of the apartment, I live next door. Please open the door.”

A deep, rough voice came from outside, clearly not the same as the hanging man he had met earlier.

“Security? Yet another new resident?” Shang Yi was full of suspicion. He gripped the demon-slaying blade in one hand and a multifunctional army knife in the other, and opened the door just a crack.

Standing outside was a burly man with a dark face, wearing a security uniform, thick eyebrows, and large eyes.

The dark-faced guard handed Shang Yi a sheet of white paper. “I’m responsible for the safety of the guests here. I have a form I’d like you to fill out honestly.”

Shang Yi took the paper. It was a printed form titled “Luen Apartment Guest Information Registration.”

“There are a few residents on the first floor with some mental issues. They have a relationship with the landlord, so we can’t just evict them. Whatever they tell you, don’t believe it.”

“This form is part of our basic security process. Only by understanding our guests can we better communicate and serve you.”

“Once you’ve filled it out, just knock on the door of Room 203 to the left and give it to me. I work the night shift; I don’t sleep at night.”

The guard smiled sincerely and spoke in a forthright tone—nothing seemed amiss.

Shang Yi accepted the form. “May I ask, who is the landlord of this apartment?”

The guard looked momentarily surprised, perhaps not expecting the question. After a brief hesitation, he replied, “The current landlord is Mrs. Xing Jie, President Fang’s wife, a woman in her sixties who lives on the fourth floor.”

“Thank you, I’ll find you after I’ve filled it out.”

Shang Yi shut the door and began to analyze what the dark-faced guard had said. According to him, the landlord was a woman named Xing Jie who lived on the fourth floor. That meant the hanging man was not the owner of the apartment; he might be a relative of the old lady, or perhaps just someone she hired to manage the place. Furthermore, since Xing Jie was President Fang’s wife, why wasn’t President Fang the landlord? Was it because the property was registered under her name, or was there another reason? Based on what the hanging man had said earlier, President Fang should also be living in this building.

Shang Yi quickly searched for “Luen Apartment,” “976 Jiangbei Road,” and “Xing Jie” online. Soon, he found a record of a property transfer: the property at 976 Jiangbei Road, West District, Donghai City—originally named Yong’an Apartment—had been transferred from Fang Liang to Xing Jie.

Following the trail, he searched for Fang Liang. After filtering out others with the same name, he identified a company called Donghai Fangzheng Building Materials, whose legal representative and chairman was Fang Liang, the original owner of Yong’an Apartment.

Further investigation revealed only that Fang Liang had once been admitted to the West Suburb Psychiatric Hospital in Donghai City for treatment.

Shang Yi noted with particular interest that Luen Apartment was formerly known as Yong’an Apartment. He searched for “Yong’an Apartment” and, after scrolling through several pages, was confronted by a series of chilling headlines:

“A family of five slaughtered, security guard and maid found dead in the apartment, the killer still at large!”

“Seven die in Yong’an Apartment: rape and murder, a scene too horrific to witness—what deep-seated hatred led to this tragedy?”

“The West Suburb Massacre of Donghai remains a mystery, police helpless, likely to become a cold case!”

He read through all available information about Yong’an Apartment and gradually pieced together what had happened. Originally, Yong’an Apartment was a villa built by construction materials merchant Fang Liang for his family in the western suburbs of Donghai. Three years ago, Fang Liang was detained by police for intentional assault. He was later diagnosed with a mental illness and forcibly committed to the West Suburb Psychiatric Hospital in Donghai.

Two years ago, one night, Fang Liang’s son, daughter-in-law, daughter, grandson, granddaughter, maid, and security guard—all seven—were found dead at home. Only Fang Liang’s wife, Xing Jie, survived. The daughter-in-law and daughter had been raped and murdered, the scene gruesome and bloody.

The next day, a deliveryman entered the apartment, found multiple bodies, and called the police. The authorities arrived quickly but found no useful clues. The only survivor, Xing Jie, was in deep shock and mentally unstable, unable to answer any questions.

The case caused a huge stir at the time. The West Suburb Police locked down Yong’an Apartment for over two months but found nothing. The case became a cold case. As the only survivor and legal heir, the sixty-something Xing Jie gradually recovered her sanity, but she had no recollection of the events on the day of the crime.

After the apartment was unsealed, property rights transferred to Xing Jie according to the law. There was no further information about her online, nor any record of when Yong’an Apartment was renamed Luen Apartment.

With these facts, Shang Yi understood that the “President Fang” mentioned by the hanging man was indeed Fang Liang, who had been committed to the psychiatric hospital. As for the true identities of the hanging man, the woman in red, and the dark-faced guard, those remained to be confirmed.

Putting away his phone, he turned his attention to the form the guard had given him. The first section asked for name, gender, age, occupation, phone number, identity card number, email address, messaging handle, home address, and annual income. The second section required employment details: company name, address, phone, contact person. The third section was for work history over the past three years. The fourth section required family members’ names, relationships, contact details, workplaces, and income.

After reading, Shang Yi immediately sensed something was wrong. In a legitimate hotel, a friendly staff member might hand you a registration form, and many people would fill it out without thinking, never questioning why the form was designed as it was.

But Shang Yi was different. For one, he was a soul who had crossed over from another world, with law enforcement training and life experience. For another, he had been on high alert ever since arriving here, so any unusual detail immediately put him on guard.

To him, even if this apartment were a legitimate business, the form still demanded far too much personal information. Many of the details were entirely unnecessary for the management to know—especially the annual income field, which suggested ulterior motives.

The form resembled a background check by a criminal gang, identifying which guests had money and were easy targets, while leaving alone those who looked like trouble.

They could also use the way a guest filled out the form—or whether they filled it out at all—to gauge their wariness and experience. Either way, by interacting with the guest, they could analyze the person’s character.

And since the process appeared normal enough, it was neither illegal nor against the rules. Even if the form was overly intrusive, it was voluntary, so they bore no responsibility.

This was a trap—a snare from which there was no way to remain uninvolved, no matter what you did.

Shang Yi decided not to fill out the form for now. He folded it and put it in his pocket, having just thought of a possible way to break the trap. Judging by the guard’s tone, he seemed anxious about Shang Yi interacting with the first-floor residents. Since the apartment clearly harbored ill intent, whatever they didn’t want him to do might be the very breakthrough he needed.

With this in mind, he opened his door. The hallway was silent and empty. Not wanting the dark-faced guard next door to hear, he closed his door gently and crept toward the stairs, then quietly descended to the first-floor living room.

The first floor consisted of a large living room and three other rooms. He peered into each door in turn, identifying a kitchen, a bathroom, and what seemed to be a bedroom. The room from which the woman in red had emerged was the bedroom, but its door was now tightly shut.

He glanced toward the entrance, recalling there were two storage rooms outside. He decided to explore the surroundings before knocking on the bedroom door. After lingering in the living room for a moment and hearing nothing, he stepped out into the yard.

There were no dedicated lights in the yard; the only illumination came from the building and the moon, just enough to make out the ground and the two side buildings. He considered using his high-powered flashlight but thought better of revealing his equipment so soon, and instead used his phone’s flashlight, heading toward the right-hand building.

The windows were filthy, and the interior pitch-black—nothing visible inside. Most ordinary guests wouldn’t dream of entering a strange outbuilding in the dead of night.

He looked around. The yard was indeed empty. Gathering his courage, he shone the light on the outbuilding’s only wooden door.

The door was plastered with slips of paper covered in bizarre symbols. Examining them closely, he realized they resembled the runes he’d seen in games like Dark Souls III, God of War IV, and Ragnarok Online.

Suddenly, he remembered that the apartment’s new name—Luen—was a legendary script widely used in games and movies! He racked his brain, recalling that movies and novels he’d seen before crossing over—such as Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings—featured this script as well.

“Spells! This Luen Apartment is cursed, or uses spells? Is that why my skills are sealed—some effect of the runes?”

He quickly searched for “hanging man” on his phone and, at last, found the connection between the hanging man and the runes.

“The legend of the hanging man is that the Norse god Odin hung himself from a great tree for nine days and nights, ultimately gaining the origin of magic—the runic script.”

“If that’s the case, then the hanging man himself is likely the one restricting my abilities. He is probably the key to unlocking the apartment’s secrets!”