Three People Have Died in This Room

I'm a real estate agent.

I've been in the business for twelve years and handled over a thousand resale homes. At least forty of them had someone die inside.

My colleagues call me the "haunted house specialist."

I don't like the name, but the commission for selling a haunted house is three times what I'd get for an ordinary listing.

And I'm 3,247 yuan and 50 cents short on my credit card bill, due on the twentieth of next month.

So I took the listing for Unit 302, Riverside Gardens. It's 84 square meters, and the previous owner died in the kitchen.

The official ruling: accidental gas leak. The case was closed almost twenty years ago.

The first time I stepped inside, my stomach started to knot.

Something that had been screwed into the corner of the second bedroom wall for over twenty years had been removed.

The gas pipe connector showed signs of being repeatedly twisted.

When the neighbors mentioned the owner's son, they stopped short of saying what they meant.

Then I discovered that people had died again after some of the haunted houses I'd handled were sold.

And this house? One person has already died here, and two more will.

Who'll be the second? And the third?

I don't want to investigate.

I'm just an agent, earning a base salary of four thousand yuan a month, with 38,000 yuan in savings and a phone with a cracked screen that I haven't replaced in three years.

Wouldn't it be better to leave investigations to the police?

But every time I try to give up, something pulls me back in.

Maybe it's because of the hidden thread:

It doesn't just connect these three "accidents." It also connects several other houses in this city that seem to have nothing to do with one another.

People have died in those houses, too.

Three deaths in every house.

I don't have yin-yang eyes, vengeful ghosts, or a System.

I'm just an ordinary person, with a tape measure and a phone with a shattered screen,

and one skill I've spent twelve years learning:

House hunting.