Early morning.
The sky had only just begun to brighten. For most city residents, it was still too early to get up, but for a small number of people, the day's work was just beginning.
Every city was more or less the same.
Today seemed no different.
But for a select few, daybreak was a signal—a signal that shattered more than a decade of peaceful life.
The fifth-floor messengers hidden throughout the city began to move.
They had timed their preparations precisely. They hardly needed to contact one another; the moment they saw the supernatural phenomenon at the Ghost Post Office, they knew the balance on the fifth floor had been broken. They had to return to the post office as quickly as possible and restore that balance. Only then could they continue living the lives they wanted.
Thus, at this moment, nearly all the fifth-floor messengers had joined forces.
Whoever dared make the Ghost Post Office resume operations would die.
There was no reason for it, nor did they need an excuse.
It was all for the sake of survival.
"It's time to go." A balding man in his fifties, dressed in pajamas and covered in mud, emerged from a small grove on the outskirts of the city.
He panted lightly. He seemed to be holding something in his hand, caked with dirt as though he had just dug it up.
Ahead of him, a narrow path leading to the post office stood out with unusual clarity.
The post office was calling them.
If they stayed away from the post office for too long, its curse would appear. The messengers would be hunted by vicious ghosts without end.
Therefore, no one dared refuse the post office's summons.
Soon.
The man in his fifties walked onto the road leading to