Early morning.
The sky was faintly bright. For most city residents, it was still bedtime, but for some, it marked the start of a dayâs work.
Every city is more or less the same.
It seemed there was nothing special today either.
But for some individuals, todayâs dawn was a signal, one that shattered more than a decade of peaceful living.
The Fifth Floor Messengers hidden within the city began to act.
They were prepared right on time, almost without needing to communicate. Just seeing the supernatural phenomenon appearing at the post office, they knew the balance on the fifth floor was lost. They must rush back to the post office at full speed to regain the balance. Only then could they continue living the lives they wanted.
So at this moment, the Fifth Floor Messengers almost all united.
Whoever dared to restore the Ghost Post Office to operation was going to die.
There was no reason, nor any excuse needed.
It was all just to stay alive.
âTime to set out.â A fifty-year-old man, wearing pajamas and slightly balding, emerged with his body covered in mud from a small grove in the suburbs.
He was slightly gasping for breath, holding something muddy in his hand, as if he had just unearthed it.
In front of him, a path leading to the post office was extraordinarily clear.
The post office was calling them.
If they didnât head to the post office for a long time, the curse of the post office would occur, and the messenger would be relentlessly hunted by a fierce ghost.
So, no one dared refuse the call of the post office.
Very soon.
This fifty-year-old man, wearing slippers and ignoring the dirt covering him, stepped onto the path leading to the post office.
Although it wasnât his first time walking this path, after many years, he still felt a bit sentimental and uneasy because he knew how often walking at night would always make you encounter ghosts, and going too many times to the post office would eventually result in one trip you wouldnât return from.
âHopefully, this time will be just a false alarm like the previous ones, with the problems quickly resolved.â The man was expressionless and indifferent, yet his heart was no longer as cold-blooded as it used to be.
He had a wife and children.
A decade of ordinary life had already turned him back into an ordinary person, and if given another ten years, once his child grew up, he might not even make this trip.
Itâs just thatâŠ
Now, his child was still young, and the family still needed him. He couldnât die, at least not now.
This fifty-year-old man was named Wang Yong, an extremely ordinary name. If not for that cursed letter back then, he would still be a very ordinary person, with an ordinary life, an ordinary family, and an ordinary job.
However, among the former messengers, the name Wang Yong represented a kind of awe.
Because while on the fifth floor, he had successfully delivered two letters, just one short of being free from the post office.
But Wang Yongâs luck wasnât good. On the last occasion, he encountered a black letter, forcing his delivery task to stop.
Wang Yong quickly walked the eerie path, arriving in front of the Ghost Post Office.
Multi-colored neon lights flickered, illuminating a signboard with the clearly written words âGhost Post Officeâ.
His eyes flickered slightly as he looked and then pushed the door open to enter.
The lights in the first-floor lobby of the post office were already on, the dim and yellowed light dispelling the darkness, not bright enough but illuminating the surroundings.
Although it was quite early, the post office lobby on the first floor already had people, more than one person, clearly indicating someone had arrived early according to the time.
There were three people in the lobby.
A middle-aged man in a chauffeurâs uniform, slightly out of shape, not in the condition he was in his youth.
Another was a man wearing a suit and tie, looking like an elite professional. He wore glasses, his face holding a faint smile.
The other was a woman, also in her forties, hair disheveled as if she hadnât fully awoken, with dark circles under her eyes and low spirits.
âYou are⊠Wang Yong?â The others, seeing someone pushing the door and entering the lobby, immediately turned around and scrutinized.
Upon seeing a middle-aged man in pajamas, slightly balding, they immediately frowned, recalling familiar faces from the past, and finally, cautiously said from memory, âYouâre not Wang Yong, are you?â
Wang Yong nodded slightly and said, âWe havenât seen each other for a decade; youâve changed a lot.â
The man in a suit and tie took off his glasses and wiped them, âThis time is very peculiar; all night, the post office has been summoning us. Clearly, the black letter has fallen into the hands of that new messenger, but he should still be in the post office. I think we should be cautious, so Iâm waiting here on the first floor for your arrival.â
âAfter all, times have changed. Supernatural events are now appearing in the city. Some even control fierce ghosts and deal with such incidents, so we canât underestimate someone just because theyâre new. It very well could be that the newcomer didnât just get lucky with the game in 502 but genuinely managed to take the black letter with ability. If thatâs so, many might die today.â
The woman in her forties with dark circles under her eyes said, âOver the years, the Fifth Floor Messengers have accumulated quite a few, certainly more than just our numbers.â
Li Yong glanced over, âSurviving messengers arenât as many as imagined. Some get possessed by spirits. Though theyâve left the post office, they wonât live long, with fierce ghosts resurrecting over the years, causing a series of supernatural events. Itâs hard to say how many remain in the end.â
âBut surviving Fifth Floor Messengers tend to show two extremes: either too weak or frighteningly strong. Those in between inevitably canât last and leave first.â
âOur opponent is just one person. I think our four are enough.â The chauffeurâs face was grim, âLetâs kill him; I need to get back to delivering food. I canât let it affect my work.â
He seemed to work nonstop, delivering food during the day and driving at night. Considerably exhausting.
âSince weâre all here, letâs wait a bit longer. If we guard the first floor, that new messenger wonât get out.â Wang Yong said.
The others found it reasonable and had no objections.
After waiting all night, a little longer wouldnât make a big difference.
About ten minutes later, more messengers arrived one after another. Initially, there were only four in the lobby, but now six were gathered.
They figured six should be enough to take action. Although other messengers hadnât shown up yet, waiting longer was uncertain, and against a new messenger, this number was sufficient. Any more wouldnât add much significance.
âLetâs stick with us for now; letâs move to the fifth floor.â Wang Yong said.
The others couldnât wait. They werenât willing to stay long in the post office, wanting to quickly resolve matters and leave.
A series of hurried footsteps echoed on the old wooden staircase.
They rushed directly to the fifth floor without hesitation, and since it was daytime, they werenât worried about encountering ghosts in the post office. Therefore, they didnât need to be overly cautious, given that this time they were dealing with a human. In all their subconsciousness, humans are much easier to handle than ghosts.
At least they wouldnât feel fear and dread.
Very quickly.
The group, resolved to restore the post officeâs tranquility, traversed the last flight of stairs.
They pushed open the wooden door and entered the fifth-floor hall.
Even though some messengers hadnât returned here for years, the oil paintings that covered the walls, and this silent hall often appeared in their dreams, drawing them back in the middle of the night.
âThe mere smell here is enough to make oneâs heart race. If possible, I never want to return to this place in my lifetime,â the man in a suit surveyed his surroundings, growing wary and tense.
âThe door to room 502 is broken. What happened last night to not only damage the door? Has the ghost inside the room escaped?â
The speaker, a middle-aged woman, stared at the empty doorway and the wood shavings scattered across the floor.
One could only imagine someone had forcibly wrecked the door last night using brute methods.
âNow is not the time to worry about the door. This newcomer on the fifth floor is indeed not simple. His ability to break the door means his methods are formidable. By now, he should be resting in a room, so be cautious. Our presence may have already alerted him,â
Wang Yongâs gaze shifted slightly as he eyed the other doors.
Excluding rooms 501, 502, and 505, there werenât many rooms left for people to stay in.
âA group of people canât handle a newcomer? I donât believe it,â another unfamiliar fifth-floor messenger said gravely.
âItâs not wrong to be cautious. Even if we win, the opponent isnât defenseless. They could take a few of us down with them,â the man in a suit added.
However, as they spoke,
suddenly.
âBang!â
A loud noise shattered the heavy atmosphere, and the door to room 507 swung open abruptly.
The next moment,
a person was thrown out, rolling to the ground, and finally lay on his back, motionless.
This somewhat overweight man wore an apron, stained with blood, his eyes wide open but devoid of any light.
âThis is⊠Soul-Reaper, Zhao Feng? How did he end up here?â
âHe probably couldnât resist coming to the post office alone last night to deal with this newcomer and ended up getting killed. This guy used to be somewhat overconfident, didnât expect he still hasnât changed,â someone sneered.
âNo, he seems to be breathing; heâs not dead yet.â
Someone checked and found that Zhao Feng hadnât completely succumbed; he was still alive.
âEven if heâs not dead, his current state isnât much different from being dead. The other party spared Zhao Fengâs life for some reason? Doesnât want to burn bridges? Or perhaps doesnât want to deal with a corpse?â
âQuiet, all of you.â
Wang Yong immediately barked lowly, silencing the murmurs of the fifth-floor messengers.
Seeing Zhao Feng in this state, didnât any of them have the slightest sense of alertness?
Between killing Zhao Feng and capturing him, which is harder? Itâs obvious with just a bit of thought.
Although Zhao Feng used to be overconfident, it couldnât be denied that he was indeed very capable, having previously taken out new messengers on their way to the fifth floor by himself.
The rest of the group, after Wang Yongâs outburst, set aside their varied thoughts.
Everyone turned their gaze to room 502.
At this moment,
the door of the room was open, and heavy footsteps could be heard from inside, signaling someone coming out.
âYou came to the post office so early; you must not be here just for the mail delivery task. Also, there should be more of you fifth-floor messengers, yet not everyone is here?â a cold, emotionless voice echoed.
A young man in his twenties, holding an odd long spear, appeared at the doorway with an expressionless face.
As expected, Yang Jian had been waiting for them since a little past six.
They couldnât wait to come to the post office to restore the so-called balance.
âSo youâre the one who took out Zhao Feng? Are the new post office people so formidable now? An old fifth-floor messenger ending up so miserably,â Wang Yong stepped forward, showing his stance and attitude.
âWang Yong?â Yang Jian looked at him and said, âA ruthless man who delivered two letters on the fifth floor.â
âYou know me?â Wang Yong frowned, then glanced down at Zhao Feng on the floor.
This guy probably spilled all the information about the fifth floor; no wonder the newcomer captured him first and didnât kill him outright â to extract crucial intel.
âI know what I need to know. Thereâs no need for false pretenses. Youâre after this thing, right?â Yang Jian waved his hand slightly.
A black letter appeared in his hand.
âSo it was with him.â A person nearby immediately showed a change in expression and couldnât help speaking up.
âReturn that letter to room 502, and we can avoid conflict. The messengerâs curse shouldnât continue. You should leave the post office like us and return to freedom. If you keep delivering letters, youâll meet a grim fate,â Wang Yong glanced at the letter, not rushing to tear the situation apart.
He hoped to perhaps persuade this newcomer to stand on their side if possible.
If the stance changed, then there would be no enmity, and the misunderstanding could be alleviated.
âWhat if I say no?â Yang Jian pocketed the black letter.
âYou better think carefully before you answer. The black letter is crucial to the balance of the fifth floor in the post office. Once it leaves, the post office will continue assigning mail tasks, and all of us fifth-floor messengers will lose our freedom, controlled by the post office. You, coming up from downstairs, should understand the dangers in delivering mail,â
âI just canât figure out why something beneficial for everyone still faces opposition,â the man in a suit and glasses spoke slowly.
âLiu Ziwen, formerly an old fifth-floor messenger at the post office, who delivered a letter once,â Yang Jian looked at him and named him, even knowing some of his past.
The suited man Liu Ziwenâs gaze flickered: âSince you know so much, I donât understand your actions even more.â
âNo need to understand, because you wonât grasp my methods either,â
Yang Jian said, not intending to explain, but instead said, âHowever, I can offer you an opportunity. If youâre willing to cooperate with me, Iâm willing to help you completely deal with the Ghost Post Office. Even if thatâs not possible, at least take control of it and free yourselves from delivering mail.â
He extended an olive branch.
Yang Jian believed that the fifth-floor messengers were remarkable talents. If any were willing to side with him, he could recruit them to work for him in Dachang City.
âThink carefully before answering. Iâll only give you this one chance. If missed, it will cost lives,â Yang Jian finished, and the ghostly eye on his forehead suddenly opened wide.
The eerie eye rotated, scrutinizing everyone.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
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