Three: The Shepherd

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This “Mask” said the house was far from this elevator shaft, almost on the opposite diagonal. For some unknown reason, the lighting here was dim. A pair of double doors stood before us, and the second floor of the house was lined with rows of windows, all shrouded in darkness.

Mask unlocked the door with a key and said, “Care to take a look inside?” His tone was rather urgent.

I stepped in and was once again struck with awe. The furniture within was all in the medieval style depicted in magazines, distinctly unique. The house had five bedrooms and two large halls, split into two floors, connected by a wooden spiral staircase. The skyscraper’s ventilation system was still functional; though the place had been uninhabited for ages, the air was fresh.

As I passed a mottled glass mirror, I suddenly glimpsed a woman’s shadow flicker behind me—her eyes and mouth were a vivid red. Startled, I turned to look and found it was a remarkably lifelike portrait, clearly of some age.

Mask glanced around and said, “Let’s talk outside. Ahem, it’s a bit desolate here, but once your family moves in, it’ll be lively.”

I laughed. “Now that you mention it, you’re right.”

Once outside, I noticed there were neither shops nor residences nearby—the closest building was 150 meters away, with a screen blocking the path. Mask invited me to a so-called café for a drink called coffee, staring in surprise as I dropped five sugar cubes into my cup.

Mask asked, “You... are new here, aren’t you?”

I thought, “I can’t let him think little of me.” So I smiled and said, “I may be new, but I’m quite well-off. This meal is on me.”

Mask replied, “No, I insist—my treat. Are you hungry?” He ordered some pastries. I had never tasted such fresh and sweet cakes in my life; I nearly devoured them in a single bite, wolfing them down. But I remembered I was in refined company, so I observed the etiquette of those around me and imitated them carefully.

Mask asked, “Are you married?”

A surge of pride swelled within me. I smiled, “Yes, my wife is beautiful, virtuous, and quite renowned.”

Mask inquired, “Is it a recent marriage, or have you been married for some time?”

I replied, “Tonight is the wedding ceremony.”

Mask hurriedly said, “Then there’s no time to lose! What wedding gift could surpass a bright, spacious, and distinctive house? Even a common man below the thirtieth floor can’t hope to marry a young woman without at least a twenty-square-meter property. How much more for a beauty as outstanding as your wife?”

I hadn’t known of such customs.

Mask continued, “Your wife hasn’t mentioned this unspoken tradition—she’s considerate that way. But if you think she won’t be talked about for it, you’re mistaken. Do you want to rent? Do you want to spend your life with your beloved under another’s roof, fretting each year over the landlord’s mood? Why live at someone else’s mercy? A man of your caliber deserves a grand estate. To stand tall in the world, a man must have a place to call his own.”

I found his words very reasonable. Indeed, Faka had me renting, saying that twenty million was enough for twenty years. But if I could own my own domain, why subject myself to tribute? Such an opportunity was rare—how could I let it slip by? Besides, people in skyscrapers did business lavishly and decisively; otherwise, they’d be looked down on.

I said, “What’s your asking price?”

Mask asked, “How much do you have?”

I replied, “A credit line of twenty million.”

Mask gulped, his eyes shining. He shouted, “Deal!” Before I could react, he’d grabbed my hand and produced a stack of documents from his briefcase, instructing me where to sign.

A hint of suspicion arose in me, so I asked, “I’m not the only buyer for this house, am I?”

A drop of cold sweat trickled down Mask’s cheek, but he immediately smiled. “To be honest, you’re the only one.”

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Suddenly, I became extremely hesitant.

Mask explained, “There are two reasons for this. First: even among the thirtieth to fiftieth floors, few wealthy men can produce two million gold coins in cash at once. Only the truly affluent, if not now, then in the future, can show such boldness.”

I laughed heartily, feeling I was just such a man. Money could be earned again—losing face was another matter.

Mask continued, “Second, the skyscraper’s middle class is timid and shortsighted. They see such a large investment and balk at the risk. Only the shrewdest, most visionary heroes dare to spend so freely and act so boldly.”

I thought he was right.

The skyscraper dwellers were innocent lambs, while I was a shepherd brimming with cunning.

They’d lived in comfort too long, forgetting the world’s harsh truths. In this paradise, they’d become naive and narrow-minded. But me? I came from the outside, where every day was life or death. To most here, I was too clever, the gap between us as vast as dimensions.

What they dared not buy, I could buy without hesitation. Such extravagance would earn their admiration and respect.

I declared loudly, “Isn’t it just twenty million? Deal.” I made sure everyone heard, basking in their awestruck stares, my pleasure soaring.

Mask dabbed at his eyes with a napkin. “Sir, you are... remarkable. Meeting you is like a drought meeting rain, or a withered tree finding spring again.”

Mask glanced at the Mercury Bank certificate and exclaimed with delight, “It’s real! Let’s complete the paperwork!”

We went to the thirty-fifth floor, home to the mid-level property bureau—busy with people coming and going, officials behind glass windows working at a leisurely pace, while those waiting to rent or buy looked anxious and dejected. Somehow, Mask got us to the front of the line.

A rather plump female clerk asked, “You want to buy Henry Peitz’s mansion on the thirtieth floor?” Her eyes widened, her voice quivering slightly.

That must have been awe.

I answered with calm composure, “Yes.”

Mask interjected, “And paying in full.”

The clerk said, “I must remind you, the actual value of this house...”

Mask cut her off loudly, “The actual value is even higher! If I weren’t desperate, I’d never sell!” He coughed repeatedly. A man in a suit appeared behind her, whispered something in her ear, and she sighed, quickly processing the documents for us.

Mask handed me the keys and a so-called “property certificate,” saying, “Sir, you are my savior. Farewell, and may you live happily ever after.”

I said, “That’s hardly an auspicious thing to say.”

Mask claimed he had urgent matters and hurried into the elevator. I didn’t know which floor he went to. But by then, I was too elated to care, rushing back to the thirtieth floor to see my new mansion. If I told Lamia, she’d surely be ecstatic for us. In time, I would gather more wealth, but this Henry Peitz Mansion would always have special meaning.

It was my first foothold in paradise, the place where my journey would begin.

Faka’s voice suddenly echoed in my mind. She said, “I noticed the account I gave you is empty—the funds were transferred to the real estate bank and withdrawn immediately.”

I laughed, “That Mask moves quickly.”

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Faka was silent for a moment, then said, “I also noticed you bought the Henry Peitz Mansion?”

I burst out laughing. “That’s my boldness, my style. My little princess, you needn’t praise my decisiveness.”

Faka said, “That house was listed at a hundred thousand and still had no buyers. Even with money attached, no one would take it.”

I snapped, “Don’t make such nasty jokes. Such a fine house, on such a good floor, how could...”

Faka interrupted, “It’s the truth. People have died there, and it’s haunted—this isn’t mere rumor, but hard fact, with twenty cases on record. In decades, no tenant has survived a single night. Even investigators weren’t spared. Those who tried to steal the furniture didn’t dare, for it’s said to be cursed.”

My legs gave out and cold sweat drenched me. Unknowingly, I found myself seated back in that café.

Faka said, “Newcomers like you are the easiest to deceive. In your life, you’ve met fewer than a hundred people, while the residents of the Black Coffin struggle daily to survive—either scheming or being schemed against.”

My throat went dry. “Why... didn’t you warn me sooner?”

Faka replied, “I was busy with work and didn’t get to you in time. I didn’t expect you’d get in trouble so soon.”

Rage flared in me. “Where’s that Mask? Can you track him?”

Faka replied, “Records show he left the middle floors five minutes ago for the lower levels. There’s no surveillance there, so he can’t be tracked. Besides, the transaction was legally complete—no grounds for recourse.”

I thought of the two at the property bureau. They must have taken Mask’s bribe! I might not find Mask, but those two couldn’t escape.

Faka said, “Don’t act rashly. If you end up jailed, it won’t be easy to bail you out.”

I pursed my lips. “Faka, my dear friend, could you transfer me another twenty million?”

Faka answered, “Not a chance.”

This world is cold, that cyborg is cold, everything is so heartlessly cold it’s enough to drive one to despair.

In the stack of documents Mask gave me, I found a small envelope containing a thousand gold coins and a note: “Live well. After five o’clock, do not return home—there will be ghosts, and people will die. Don’t be stubborn.”

Signed, Mask.

Furious, I nearly tore the envelope to shreds.

I gathered my thoughts. It wasn’t the end of the road. I had property, and in the skyscraper, that meant I could stay indefinitely—at least until I couldn’t pay taxes. I still had a thousand gold coins, enough for a month or so. Besides, as a ranger, I’d receive a salary, and since I had Lamia, there was no reason to fear for my livelihood.

Still, my mood was bleak, and nothing could lift my spirits. Faka offered to sing for me, hoping to cheer me up. I found her singing oddly fitting for my mansion’s atmosphere.

Trembling, I opened the mansion’s door and lay down on the sofa. Though this was all a scam, it had become my little refuge. The sofa was spotless—not at all as if it had been abandoned for years.