Chapter 3: The Landlord is Here!

Jiang Zhi’s brain whirred at top speed. The landlord was here.

"Little Jiang? Little Jiang, are you home?"

The hazy, dream-like stupor that had clouded Jiang Zhi’s mind just moments ago evaporated instantly.

He bolted upright, his gaze reflexively darting toward Duan Sinan.

The man was still stark naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at him.

Jiang Zhi’s brain let out a sharp buzz.

Outside, the knocking resumed. "Little Jiang? I know you're in there. Open the door."

Jiang Zhi reached out and clamped a hand over Duan Sinan’s mouth, lowering his voice to a hiss. "Don’t make a sound."

Duan Sinan looked at him, motionless and silent. His warm breath tickled Jiang Zhi’s palm, making it itch. Jiang Zhi curled his fingers tightly but didn't pull his hand away.

Jiang Zhi scanned the room in a flash: bed, desk, chair, window, curtains, wardrobe.

The wardrobe.

He pointed toward the old, wooden wardrobe in the corner and whispered, "Get inside."

Duan Sinan glanced at where he pointed, looked back at him, and blinked.

Jiang Zhi had no time for pleasantries. He yanked the man up and shoved him toward the wardrobe. Duan Sinan stumbled from the push but didn't make a peep. He took a few steps, pulled open the door, and scrambled inside.

The moment the doors clicked shut, Jiang Zhi caught a glimpse of those eyes—glistening in the darkness.

Then, the doors were sealed tight.

"Little Jiang? What are you doing? Why are you dragging your feet?"

Jiang Zhi took a deep breath, stepped barefoot onto the floor, took two steps, and hurried back to mess up the quilt on the bed.

He walked to the door and pulled it open.

Sister Wang, the landlord, stood outside. She was in her forties, sporting a perm and a floral-print blouse. She peeked past him into the room and then looked at Jiang Zhi. "Why did it take you so long to open the door?"

"Just woke up." Jiang Zhi stepped aside, his voice steadier than he felt. "Was getting dressed."

Sister Wang strode in, looking the place over. Jiang Zhi followed behind her, his palms slick with sweat and his heart hammering against his ribs, though his face remained a mask of calm.

"Why is there such a..." Sister Wang sniffed the air. "...What is that smell?"

Jiang Zhi sniffed, too.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe it’s the takeout I had last night."

Sister Wang didn't press the issue. She wandered around the room, her gaze sweeping from the bed to the desk, and from the desk to the floor. Standing behind her, Jiang Zhi caught a glimpse of the wardrobe—it was shut tight, without a sliver of an opening.

"Little Jiang," Sister Wang turned to face him. "It’s been three months."

Jiang Zhi nodded. "I know."

"It’s not easy for me, either," Sister Wang sighed. "I bought this place with a loan; I have to make payments every month. You miss three months, and that means I have to cover three months out of my own pocket. You understand that, right?"

"I do," Jiang Zhi said.

"So, what are you going to do?"

Jiang Zhi was silent for a second. "I'll transfer it to you now."

Sister Wang paused, as if she hadn't expected him to be so forthcoming. Jiang Zhi had already pulled out his phone, opened his banking app, and transferred six thousand out of the eight thousand three hundred he had left in his account to her.

"Transferred," he said, holding the screen out for her to see.

Sister Wang glanced at it, a smile blooming on her face. "Alright, Little Jiang, you’re straightforward, so I won't make things difficult for you. Scrape together the last month as soon as you can and get it to me."

Jiang Zhi nodded. "Understood."

Sister Wang handed his phone back and scanned the room one last time. This time, her gaze landed on the wardrobe.

Jiang Zhi’s heart skipped a beat.

"This wardrobe," Sister Wang walked a few steps closer, "why is it wobbling?"

Jiang Zhi followed her gaze. The doors were closed, but the panel was indeed vibrating slightly. It was so subtle one would miss it if they weren't looking.

Inside the wardrobe, Duan Sinan heard the voices through the wood. He pressed a hand against the panel, holding it steady.

"Oh," Jiang Zhi said, "the leg on that wardrobe is a bit off. I put something under it, but it might not be level."

Sister Wang approached the wardrobe and reached out a hand...

Jiang Zhi’s fingernails dug into his palms.

"Sister Wang," he called out, his voice higher than usual. "Did you get the transfer?"

Sister Wang’s hand stopped mid-air. She turned back to him. "I did, didn't I? You just showed me."

"Good," Jiang Zhi said. "I was worried about a delay."

Sister Wang looked at him, then back at the wardrobe, before pulling her hand back.

"You really should tidy up this place," she said. "It’s a mess, and that wardrobe is rickety—it’ll collapse on you one of these days."

"I will," Jiang Zhi said. "I'll take care of it."

Sister Wang headed for the door. Jiang Zhi followed her, opened the door, and stood aside.

"I’m leaving then," Sister Wang said, stepping out and glancing back. "Don't forget about next month."

"I won't."

Jiang Zhi shut the door.

He stood behind it, listening to Sister Wang’s footsteps fade, descend the stairs, and vanish into the distance.

Only then did he turn and stride toward the wardrobe, yanking the doors open.

Duan Sinan was inside.

A man over six feet tall, hunched over in that cramped, narrow space, his head bowed. The clothes hanging in the wardrobe pressed against him; the sleeve of a shirt draped over his shoulder.

He looked up at Jiang Zhi, his expression unreadable, though his ears were burning red.

It was stifling inside. A thin sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead, his breathing ragged.

Jiang Zhi looked at him, and Duan Sinan looked back.

"Get out," Jiang Zhi said.

Duan Sinan stepped out of the wardrobe and stood before him.

Jiang Zhi watched him, suddenly feeling as if everything happening today was utterly absurd.

"You," he said. "Who are you, really?"

"Duan Sinan," the man said.

"I know your name is Duan Sinan," Jiang Zhi said. "You said it in the dream, and you said it just now. But why should I believe you? You’re the CEO of the Sinan Group? How do you prove it?"

Duan Sinan looked at him, paused for a second, and then rattled off a string of numbers.

"National ID: 11010119970815XXXX. Address of Sinan Group: 89 Jinbao Street, Linzhou District. My office is on the 27th floor, south-facing windows, there’s a cactus on the desk—a gift from the receptionist. Corporate bank account: XX Bank, XX Branch, 321..." He paused. "Do you need me to go on?"

Jiang Zhi froze.

Duan Sinan added, "You can search it online. Duan Sinan, Sinan Group."

Jiang Zhi pulled out his phone, opened the search engine, and typed the name.

The moment the results popped up, his finger hovered.

The man was real. The Sinan Group was real.

The headlines were stark and eye-catching:

"Sinan Group CEO Duan Sinan involved in car accident; vehicle plunged into river, whereabouts currently unknown."

"Duan Sinan missing for one month; police expand search area."

"Sinan Group offers million-dollar reward for information; family has not given up."

Jiang Zhi scrolled down, eventually finding a link with a photo.

The man in the photo wore a sharp black suit and stood at a press conference. Deep-set eyes, an imposing aura that could fill a room. The features, the contours, the posture—they were identical to the man standing in his room.

Jiang Zhi looked up at Duan Sinan.

Duan Sinan was watching him.

Jiang Zhi’s gaze fell on his shoulder—the scar was faint, looking as if it had only recently healed.

The news report mentioned the car plunging into a river and his disappearance, so a scar on his body seemed entirely plausible.

"You," Jiang Zhi said, "you’re... missing?"

"Strictly speaking," Duan Sinan said, "I was trapped inside that doll for a month."

Jiang Zhi fell silent for a long moment.

"Then why can't you turn back now?"

Duan Sinan glanced at him. "I don't know."

Jiang Zhi set his phone down, paced the room twice, and circled back.

"Fine," he said. "You’ve turned back, so you can go. Go home, find the police, do whatever it is you need to do."

He walked to the door and pulled it open.

Duan Sinan stood rooted to the spot, unmoving.

Jiang Zhi glared at him. "Go."

Duan Sinan said, "I have nowhere to go."

Jiang Zhi was taken aback. "Didn't you just say...? You have a home, an office address—you stated all of that. You have nowhere to go?"

Duan Sinan was silent for a while before saying, "The car accident might not have been an accident."

Jiang Zhi’s hand remained on the doorknob.

He understood the implication.

Not an accident. Someone wanted him dead. If he went back now, he would be walking straight into a trap. That "home" of his was likely no longer a place where he could return safely.

"Then," Jiang Zhi said, "you can't just stay here."

Duan Sinan didn't respond.

"That’s trespassing," Jiang Zhi said.

Duan Sinan replied, "You’re the one who brought me here."

Jiang Zhi was choked for words.

"I fished you out of a claw machine!" he argued. "I caught a doll! How was I supposed to know there was a... there was a..."

He didn't know what to call him.

"That claw machine," he said, "has been removed."

Jiang Zhi froze again.

"How do you know?"

Duan Sinan said, "When you opened the door just now, I saw the window through the crack in the wardrobe. The window faces the arcade. You can see the entrance from here, but I didn't see the machine."

Jiang Zhi walked to the window and looked out.

Indeed.

The row of claw machines at the entrance was missing one. The one with the "Fifty cents a try" poster was gone.

He turned around and looked at Duan Sinan.

Jiang Zhi suddenly remembered last night.

He had stuffed that dusty, gray doll into his pocket and carried it all the way home. He had talked to it, named it "Little Hope," pinched its ears, and pressed it against his chest.

He had thought it was just a doll.

A dusty, unwanted, miserable little thing he had caught for fifty cents—just as down-on-its-luck as he was.

Now, that doll was gone.

Replaced by this man.

"Fine," Jiang Zhi said, closing the door.

Duan Sinan watched him.

Jiang Zhi walked to the bed, sat down with a heavy thud, and looked up at him.

"You’re sleeping on the sofa tonight," he said. "I’ll help you contact your family tomorrow."

Duan Sinan fell silent. "I don't have any family."

Jiang Zhi paused.

"Didn't you just say," he thought for a moment, "that your family hasn't given up? That the police are searching?"

"That’s the company’s PR," Duan Sinan said. "I don't have family. My parents passed away; I have no siblings, no spouse, no children. I founded the Sinan Group myself. After I went missing, the first thing those people on the board did wasn't to look for me—it was to fight for power."

Jiang Zhi listened in silence.

Duan Sinan continued, "On the day of the accident, my car had been tampered with. The brakes failed; the steering wheel locked. When I plunged into the river, I thought I was dead. Then I woke up, and I was in that doll."

Jiang Zhi looked at him.

"Then," he said, "what about friends? Surely you have friends?"

Duan Sinan was silent for a long, long time.

Then he said, "The car accident might not have been an accident."

He didn't answer the question.

But Jiang Zhi understood.

No friends. Or rather, the people he thought were his friends had likely become something else.

Jiang Zhi suddenly didn't know what to say.

He remembered telling that doll last night: No one wants me, either.

Now, the man stood before him.

Just like him.

Unwanted.

"The sofa is pretty hard," Jiang Zhi said.

Duan Sinan looked at him.

"Don't blame me if you can't sleep on it."

"Okay," he said.

Jiang Zhi stood up, rummaged through the wardrobe, and pulled out an old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He glanced at Duan Sinan and tossed the clothes to him.

"Put these on."

Duan Sinan caught them and looked down at the T-shirt. It was gray, the collar a bit stretched out and faded, printed with a line of English letters that were no longer legible.

He pulled on the shirt and the pants.

Jiang Zhi watched him put on his clothes and suddenly felt the entire scene was completely absurd.

An unemployed loser and a CEO who had turned into a doll—mysteriously stuck together.

"Are you hungry?" Jiang Zhi asked.

Duan Sinan blinked, surprised by the question.

"I only have instant noodles," Jiang Zhi said.

Duan Sinan was silent for a second. "That’s fine."

Jiang Zhi walked to the desk, picked up the half-empty case of noodles, tore open two packs, and poured hot water over them.

Halfway through eating, Jiang Zhi suddenly remembered something and looked up. "How can you prove the car accident wasn't an accident?"

Duan Sinan put down his chopsticks and looked at him.

"It was my own car," he said. "I’ve always supervised the maintenance personally. Two days before the incident, I sent it for service. The person in charge had been with me for a year and a half."

Jiang Zhi understood.

"He did it?"

Duan Sinan didn't speak.

Jiang Zhi was silent for a while. "What do you plan to do now?"

"I don't know," he said.

Jiang Zhi lowered his head and continued eating.

After a moment, he said, "Let’s think about it tomorrow."

Duan Sinan watched him.

Jiang Zhi didn't look up, chewing his noodles as he mumbled, "Today has its own problems. Deal with tomorrow’s problems tomorrow."

Duan Sinan remained silent for a long time.

Then, he lowered his head and continued eating his noodles.

Once finished, Jiang Zhi cleared the bowls and tossed them into the trash. He walked to the bed, lay down, and stared at the ceiling.

"Duan Sinan," he called out.

A low "Hmm" came from behind him.

Jiang Zhi said, "Don't leave tomorrow."

Silence followed.

Jiang Zhi paused, then added, "I mean, if you have nowhere to go, just stay. Don't wander off. Since that accident wasn't an accident, if someone sees you here, I’ll be dragged into this mess too."

The person behind him was silent for another moment.

Then, a voice came—very quiet, devoid of clear emotion. "Okay."