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"Xiangyang really is foolish. Does he actually think I'm just an ordinary girl? It's just a door—I can use my superpower. There's no need for a locksmith."

Zhu Qingyue slowly pushed the door open, muttering to herself.

"Mom, I'm back!"

As she changed into a new pair of slippers near the shoe cabinet, holding her dirty old shoes in the other hand, she walked towards the living room.

As expected, she received no response.

The lights weren't on all the way, and only the flickering glow of a television screen could be seen in the distance; peering down the dark corridor, it resembled a dancing bonfire, except it was ghastly white, weak fire.

If one went up the stairs, they would see doors, some closed tightly, some ajar; open rooms were like caves that emitted cold drafts, or like gaping dark maws... She could only close them, waiting for daytime to clean and tidy up.