Zhang Xiaowai slumped in his dilapidated cubicle in an Ulong City downtown office building, his gaze listlessly fixed on the tangled mess of reports on his computer screen, which resembled a plate of stir-fried noodles. Outside the window, neon lights flickered erratically, casting shifting shadows, while the fluorescent lights on the ceiling hummed a monotonous tune, an unwelcome counterpoint to the persistent ringing in his ears. His eyelids felt as heavy as the skewers on a night market grill, and his mind, a chaotic jumble, felt even more disoriented than if it had tumbled into a vat of seasoning.
Ever since he'd been dragged into the preposterous incidents of the "Eye of Ulong" and the "Ulong Codex," he had genuinely believed he could smoothly return to his mundane salaryman routine: clocking in, eating instant noodles, scrolling through short videos, and generally hiding his unremarkable self behind a keyboard. Unfortunately, reality offered him no respite. There was always some inexplicable force beckoning him out of his comfort zone, straight into the chaotic fray.
This particular night, his manager had once again kept him late for overtime. The sprawling office was eerily silent, save for the faint gurgle of the air conditioning vent, which sounded like a ghostly hum. The eerie "thump-thump-thump" from the top floor grew increasingly distinct. Lately, that sound had begun to blend with a low, uncanny melody, like someone whistling, or perhaps the shrill cry of the wind slipping through a broken window pane.
"Overtime is the devil!" Zhang Xiaowai grumbled, taking a bite of his already-collapsed instant noodles. The broth nearly spilled onto his keyboard. As he licked his fingers clean, he swore to himself: if he had to endure another overtime session like this, he would quit and go sell spicy hotpot instead.
Just as he was about to shut down his computer and make a swift escape, the office broadcast system suddenly crackled to life with a "zzz." Abruptly, a bizarre melody filled the air, a peculiar blend of guzheng and electronic sounds, its tune so discordant and off-kilter that it resembled a chaotic fan-made remix. He frowned, bewildered. "What the hell is this? Is the manager hosting a late-night square dance live stream?" But the melody, the more he listened, felt increasingly wrong, like fine needles pricking into his brain, compelling him to walk towards the hallway.
He pushed open his office door, his scalp tingling with a growing sense of dread. The hallway lights flickered erratically, a yellowish glow that seemed ready to short-circuit at any moment. The music, like a creeping vine, seemed to entwine itself downwards from the top floor, carrying with it an unsettling, eerie magic. The moment he stepped out, his foot kicked something. It was a brown envelope, and on its cover, written in a familiar red handwriting, were the words:
"The Sound of Ulong, awaken destiny."
Zhang Xiaowai's heart leaped into his throat. Instantly, images of the masked figures and shadows from the previous two volumes flashed through his mind. The instant noodle bowl nearly flew from his trembling hand. "No way?! I just had two weeks of vacation!"
With trembling hands, he tore open the envelope. Inside was a crumpled piece of paper, adorned with a distorted musical note. Beside it, scrawled in hurried handwriting, were the words: "Tonight, top floor, find the truth."
He stared at the note, the leftover broth in his stomach suddenly churning uneasily. His first instinct was to call the police, but at that moment, his Ulong Halo began to hum insistently, as if urging him to "follow the plot." He gritted his teeth, grabbed the stapler from his desk to use as a makeshift weapon, took a deep breath, and tiptoed towards the top floor.
The door to the top floor was ajar, and the melody grew even clearer, almost as if enticing someone. The moment Zhang Xiaowai pushed the door open, he nearly jumped out of his skin—in the center of the cluttered room, a vintage radio sat silently, playing that familiar and unsettling melody. Scattered on the floor were several employee ID badges, unmistakably belonging to colleagues he hadn't been able to find recently.
"No way… they really went missing?" Just as he was about to turn and bolt, a shadow flickered. The manager suddenly burst out from a corner, his face flushed, his neck bulging with fury, roaring, "Zhang Xiaowai! It's you again?! The confidential documents on the top floor are missing, did you do it?!"
"I… I didn't touch anything!" Zhang Xiaowai stammered, the stapler flying from his hand. "I just… heard music and came to check…"
The manager was beyond listening, trembling with rage. "Music, my foot! Something happened in the file room last time, and now you want to pass the buck again? Write me a self-criticism report by tomorrow, or don't even think about getting this month's salary!"
With a final furious declaration, the manager slammed the door shut and stormed off. Zhang Xiaowai stood rooted to the spot, questioning his entire existence. This wasn't just bad luck; this was murder of a salaryman's will!
Just as he was about to seize the opportune moment to faint, Wang Dazhuang, police baton slung over his shoulder, ambled by on patrol. Spotting Zhang Xiaowai, he burst into laughter. "Yo, Xiaowai, eating instant noodles in the middle of the night?"
Zhang Xiaowai quickly shoved the envelope into his pocket, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. "N-no… I'm on patrol!"
But a wobble of the instant noodle bowl exposed his lie. Wang Dazhuang laughed so hard he almost choked. "On patrol? I can smell your instant noodles from three floors down! Come on, listen to a cold joke to de-stress—Why are there no ghosts on the top floor? Because ghosts are afraid of overtime! Hahahaha!"
Zhang Xiaowai rolled his eyes, about to pull Wang Dazhuang away with him, when he noticed the radio's melody abruptly accelerate, as if entering "fan-made remix mode." His head felt heavy, and his legs moved uncontrollably towards the pile of miscellaneous items.
His Ulong Halo began to act up wildly at this point. He accidentally kicked over a cardboard box, and out rolled a metal pendant—its musical note pattern eerily identical to the one on the envelope. He picked up the pendant, feeling his heart race. "This… this can't really be a clue, can it?"
Wang Dazhuang leaned in for a closer look, equally stunned. "Well, well, Xiaowai, your halo is online again! This is definitely a major case! Come on, let's go find Sister Piaopiao!"
Zhang Xiaowai felt like crying. "I really… just came here for some overtime."
But he knew that once the Ulong Halo was triggered, even if all he wanted was to eat a bowl of instant noodles, he would inevitably be drawn into the city's most preposterous melodic mysteries. The soundwaves on the top floor continued to hum, and he, once again, was back in the game.
He clutched the pendant, feeling that this "Sound of Ulong" was even more sinister than the troubles of the previous two volumes. The melody on the top floor continued to hum, as if mocking his futile resistance. His halo buzzed, signaling the curtain rise of a new round of Ulong City's bizarre detective adventures. And the source of that melody seemed to be spreading, little by little, from some corner of the night market.