Chapter 635: The Apartment of Souls
“Zero?” Roland asked, uncertain.
She rolled her eyes. She set the plates on the coffee table and folded herself cross-legged onto the floor beside it. Her voice was soft and childlike, her figure slight, her feet—small enough to fit inside his cupped palm—disappearing beneath the hem of a light blue dress and white silk stockings. Nothing about her resembled the pure witch who had tried to tear his mind apart.
She hadn’t denied the name. That was admission enough.
What do I do? Kill her?
He studied her. In this form she was twelve years old, fragile, and completely without the inhuman speed and strength of an Extraordinary. He slipped into the kitchen, found a paring knife on the rack, and tucked it into his belt before walking back to the table.
His plate held a fried egg and two crullers. She had one cruller—he’d gotten an extra egg. It was a perfect specimen: gold at the edges, slightly scorched, the center domed gently over an orange yolk still liquid inside.
Zero picked up her egg with chopsticks and finished it in three bites, then moved to the crullers. “What were you doing yesterday? Looking for cockroaches on the ceiling?”
“No. It was dirty. I wanted to clean it.”
She glanced up at the ceiling, then at him. “Why didn’t you just tie a rag on a pole?”
“Didn’t work.” He cleared his throat. “Did you make breakfast?”
“Uncle.” A faint edge of concern crossed her face. “Are you all right? I’ve been making breakfast since I moved in.”
Since I moved in. He let it pass—pressing the point would only make her suspicious. “Where were you living before that?”
He didn’t ask it aloud.
She finished eating quickly, with the unselfconscious efficiency of someone used to making time for things other than meals. Then she extended one hand toward him. “Give me some money. We’re out of food.”
“The market?”
“I have to shop. I can’t go without money.”
A middle school student, already managing the household. Roland patted his pockets and found nothing. Zero sighed. “Second drawer of the nightstand.”
He returned to the bedroom and found it: a thin wallet containing roughly three hundred yuan and a handful of lottery tickets.
“How much do you need?”
“Twenty. I can only carry so much anyway.”
He handed her fifty. She looked at the bill with brief surprise, then tucked it into her coin purse without comment.
“Your hands.” He’d noticed the band-aids as she reached for the money—two fingers, index and middle.
“Cut myself picking up the broken glass. It’s nothing.” She stood, hiked her backpack onto her shoulders. “It would help if you didn’t smash things.” She pulled on her shoes at the door. “I’m going to school. I won’t be back at noon—clean the dishes. And if your head still hurts, see a doctor. Don’t do anything stupid again.”
“Isn’t it summer vacation?”
“Tutoring center.” She poked her head back through the doorway. “Uncle. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Then she was gone.
Roland stood at the corridor railing and looked down. Through the crowd below, Zero’s white hair moved like a signal light—conspicuous, and somehow ignored. No one on the street looked twice. A moment later, two blonde girls ran toward her from an alley, and the three of them disappeared together.
She has friends here.
He rubbed his forehead. What an absurd dream.
He turned back toward the apartment—and stopped.
A woman was walking toward him down the corridor.
She had long grey hair, eyebrows arched high, a nose and mouth that rhymed with Tilly’s. But where Tilly’s face invited, this one warned: cold and proud and composed in the specific way of someone who has always had the power to make the warning stick.
Prince Roland’s memory recognized her before the rest of him did.
Garcia Wimbledon.
Roland’s hand moved to the knife at his belt.
“Get out of my way,” she said, expression contemptuous, not even looking at him directly.
“You—don’t recognize me?” It came out as genuine surprise.
She sneered. “Why would I? Because you dye your hair the same color as mine?” Her gaze finally landed on him. Something in it hardened. “If you know my name, then you know not to trouble me.” She curled her fingers one by one—slow, deliberate—knuckles cracking in sequence. “Walk away.”
She doesn’t know me. But she wasn’t startled that I knew her name.
Garcia passed him and turned into room 0827.
Roland looked at her door. Then he began to think.
He walked the full length of the corridor, moving toward the far stairwell at a slow jog, counting doors as he went. When the corridor finally ended, the last room number read 0899. Nearly a hundred households on one floor. The building was designed in the old tube-apartment style of the seventies and eighties—which could accommodate a dozen households at most, crowded together in a single row. This structure was impossible.
He climbed the stairs.
Iron railings with most of their green paint flaked away. Rust visible beneath. Walls pasted over with small advertisements of the kind that had been illegal in cities for thirty years. The details were perfect—the smell of concrete dust, the slightly greasy handrail, the echo that only empty stairwells in old buildings have.
He climbed to the top floor. Floor twenty-two.
He found the first room on the topmost corridor. Number 2245.
Roland did the arithmetic: twenty-two floors, each with something close to a hundred units. More than two thousand households.
“It’s impossible for you to win. I’ve devoured thousands—soldiers, an Extraordinary—over the years.”
He remembered Zero’s voice from the rooftop battle.
He looked at the length of the corridor and understood.
This apartment was not Zero’s imagination. It was her record.
The people living here—the losers of the Soul Battlefield.
And now, it seemed, Zero was one of them.
Chapter 635: The Apartment of Souls
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
“Zero?” asked Roland hesitantly.
She rolled her eyes and bent down to lay the plates before sitting crosslegged at the coffee table.
“What’re you doing there? Don’t you want to have breakfast?”
The little girl had a soft tender voice and a slender figure. She wore a light blue dress and white silk stockings. Her feet were about the size of his palms. She was totally not like that crazy Pure Witch who threatened to kill him.
However, she did not deny the name, which meant that she admitted that she was Zero.
“What should I do? Kill her?”
“Now that she’s just a little girl, isn’t it impossible for her to tear me into pieces bare-handed like an Extraordinary?”
Roland sneaked into the kitchen and hid a fruit knife which he got from the knife shelf into his belt before he slowly walked toward the coffee table.
There was a fried egg and two fried bread sticks on his plate. Well, he got one more than her.
The fried egg had a golden outer ring and slightly scorched edge, its lightly bulged center revealed a faint orange. It was obviously a perfect fried egg with a soft yolk.
Zero skillfully picked up the fried egg with her chopsticks and devoured it in a few bites before she began to eat the fried bread sticks. “What were you doing yesterday? Had you seen some cockroaches on the ceiling?”
“No… I found it a bit dirty so I wanted to clean it.” Roland casually made a reason.
“Really?” She glanced at the ceiling and asked, “Why didn’t you clean it with a rag tied on a clothing pole?”
“It didn’t work. Anyway, it’s clean now,” he coughed and asked, “you made the breakfast?”
“Uncle, are you alright?” Zero appeared to be a little worried now, “Since I moved here, isn’t it I who has always made the breakfast?”
“Since you moved here? So where did you live before?” Roland opened his mouth but did not ask. Obviously she would suspect his identity if he kept asking.
Zero quickly finished her breakfast. She stretched one of her hands in front of him and said, “Give me some money to buy food.”
“What?”
“We are running out of food in the refrigerator. I have to go to the food market to buy some. How can I go without money?”
“A middle school student already knows how to buy food from the food market?” Roland thought while fumbling in his pocket for his wallet but found nothing, “Well…”
“In the second drawer of your bedside table,” said Zero with a sigh.
He returned to the bedroom and found a nearly empty wallet, in there were about 300 Yuan and several lottery tickets.
“How much do you need?” Roland returned to the living room.
“20. I can’t carry more food anyway.”
Since it was not his money, Roland generously gave her a fifty Yuan bill and said, “You can keep some for the next time.”
Zero took a surprised glance at him and tucked the bill into her coin purse.
“Your hand…” Roland noticed the two band-aids on her fingers.
“I was hurt when I picked up the broken glass. It’s not a big deal. Of course, it would be better if you don’t litter.” She shrugged and carried her schoolbag before walking to the door, “I’m going to school. I won’t come back in the noon, so remember to clean the dishes.”
“Wait, isn’t it summer vacation now?”
“Of course it’s the tutoring center,” said Zero, putting on her shoes and poked her head out from the door. “Uncle, if you think your head is still hurting, go to see the doctor. And don’t do stupid things anymore.”
After half a minute, Roland walked out of Room 0825 and looked down while leaning over the corridor railing.
Soon he saw Zero walk out of the building. Her white hair was particularly eye-catching in the crowd. Strangely, people on the street seemed to be used to it as no one walking by her would cast any curious glance at her. She waited a while until another two blonde-haired girls skipped toward her and they left together through an alley.
“So she has made friends in this world?”
Roland could not help rubbing his forehead and thought, “What an absurd dream!”
“What should I do next? Should I follow her?”
He did not believe that Zero could really create a complete city.
When Roland turned around and wanted to go back to the room, looking for the key, he was suddenly startled by what he saw.
A pretty woman walked toward him.
She had long gray hair, high eyebrows and her nose and lips bore a resemblance to those of Tilly. However, she had a cold and arrogant temperament that kept men at arm’s length.
He never met her before, but Prince Roland’s memory obviously told him that she was his elder sister, Princess Garcia of the Kingdom of Graycastle.
Garcia Wimbledon!
Roland subconsciously reached for the fruit knife in his belt.
“Step aside. Get out of my way,” the woman showed a disgusted expression, “Let me pass.”
“You… You don’t know me?” He was very surprised.
She sneered and said, “Why should I know you? Because your hair is dyed the same color as mine?”
Roland stared at her, slowly getting out of her way, “You are Garcia, right?”
“So what?” Her expression became gloomy, “Since you know my name, you should know what will happen if I am annoyed. I warn you, you will bring trouble to yourself if you trouble me.” She stretched out her right hand and curled her fingers one by one making cracking sounds with her knuckles as if she had prepared to fight.
“She doesn’t know me, but why she doesn’t feel surprised that I know her name?” Roland found it difficult to understand.
Garcia returned to her room, and the door banged shut behind her. He wandered around along the corridor and took a quick glance when he passed by her room.
The room number was 0827, so she lived next to his neighbor.
Looking at the numerous security doors along the long corridor, he suddenly had a horrible speculation.
“How many households are there in this apartment?”
After all, the corridor was terribly long. Standing in front of Room 27, he could not even see the end of the corridor.
He could not help thinking about it.
He returned to his room as soon as possible, fumbled the key in to the front door and then he locked the door and ran along the corridor toward the further end.
It was not shorter than a 400-meter straight track!
Panting and running to the end of the corridor where it was close to the stairwell, Roland saw the last room number, 0899.
This was simply incredible. Who would design a tube-shaped apartment with nearly a hundred households on one floor? In accordance with the style of the 70s and 80s, a row of more than a dozen households had been considered large-scale.
Roland then climbed up the stairs.
Most of the green paint of the iron staircase handrails had peeled off and he could see the obvious rust and dust. There were numerous small advertisements along the corridor revealing distinctive characteristics of the times. These kind of ‘psoriasis’ advertisements should have long since disappeared in the big cities.
The top floor was the 22nd floor.
On the security door at the end of the corridor, there was no nameplate or barred window.
He checked one by one until he saw the first number, 2245.
Through his rough calculation, he found that there were 2,124 households in the entire apartment building.
“It’s impossible for you to win. I have devoured thousands of soldiers and even an Extraordinary over the years!”
He suddenly recalled what Zero said during the fight for life on the rooftop.
Are all people living here the losers of the Battle of Souls?
Roland was stunned by this speculation.
Now, Zero seemed to have become one of them.