Night Wanderer

The plane tree leaves rustled in the humid summer night as Xue Xuanqing recognized the person stepping out of the car—

Zong Qinglin, Zong Ying's father.

A spark of anger flared hotter in her chest, but she released her tight grip on Zong Ying's hand and silently stepped aside, her peripheral gaze flickering toward Zong Ying's face.

Zong Ying, of course, recognized him too. She straightened her uniform and called out, "Dad."

Zong Qinglin's eyes swept over both of them before he finally said, "Let's go up."

Zong Ying remained silent, while Xue Xuanqing turned her face away in irritation.

In the end, Zong Ying turned around, pulled out her key to swipe the access card, and held the door open for them.

Zong Qinglin entered first. Xue Xuanqing, expressionless, fished out a cigarette case and refused curtly, "I'm not going up. I need a smoke."

Zong Ying respected her decision and let the door close automatically. Through the glass door, the glow of Xue Xuanqing's cigarette flickered in the darkness.

Zong Qinglin hadn’t visited Apartment 699 in a long time—perhaps ten years, or even longer. A sudden visit like this was rare.

Father and daughter remained silent in the elevator. Only as the doors opened did Zong Qinglin speak. "They informed me you were missing. I thought it necessary to check on you. So, where were you?"

Zong Ying effortlessly repeated her lie, but unlike Xue Xuanqing, Zong Qinglin didn’t press her with repeated questions.

He seemed to accept her explanation easily, finding nothing suspicious about it.

Only when he saw the forced-open lock did he remark, "Why break it? That was reckless."

Zong Ying ignored the comment and stepped inside, intending to play host. But there wasn’t much to offer. A cold forensic kit and evidence box lay haphazardly by the sofa, the ashtray on the coffee table brimming with Xue Xuanqing’s discarded cigarette butts. The apartment carried a smoky, stifling scent, leaving an impression of scorched restlessness.

She filled a kettle in the kitchen, and as it began to boil, the sound grew louder, filling the space.

Zong Qinglin didn’t sit down. Instead, he observed, "This place hasn’t changed much." Zong Ying stood by the kettle in silence, watching him move through the apartment.

The heat made the water boil quickly. Zong Ying took out a clean cup and rummaged through the cupboard for a box of black tea. She pinched some leaves, hovering them over the cup before finally giving up.

Never mind. He probably wouldn’t like it anyway.

She poured a glass of plain water and carried it to the living room, only to find Zong Qinglin stepping into the south-facing room.

That space served as Zong Ying’s study, but before her, it had belonged to her mother.

Zong Qinglin stopped in front of a bookshelf, the dim overhead light illuminating the glass cabinet.

A photo frame sat quietly in the corner—a black-and-white image of dozens of neatly dressed individuals, some seated, others standing. In the front row sat several professors.

It was a commemorative photo of the 1982 graduating class of the School of Pharmacy.

Among them were himself, Xing Xueyi (Zong Yu’s uncle), and Zong Ying’s mother, Yan Man.

Their faces were youthful, their lips curved in smiles. A photograph could freeze a joyful moment, but it couldn’t preserve it.

Now, Yan Man was dead. Xing Xueyi was dead. Only he remained.

Zong Qinglin raised his hand, instinctively reaching for the frame, but the glass cabinet barred his touch.

Behind him, Zong Ying said, "That cabinet holds Mom’s things. Grandma locked it. I don’t have the key."

Zong Qinglin withdrew his hand and turned away without a word.

Zong Ying asked, "How is Zong Yu doing?"Zong Qinglin's expression grew increasingly grave. "I heard it's not good. I was just about to go check on him."

Zong Ying wasn’t particularly close to this younger brother—perhaps the age gap was too wide, or perhaps hostility had been ingrained from the start. It was hard to say.

The only thing she could be certain of was that after her mother’s death, she had grown up too quickly, advancing through school at an accelerated pace, all just to distance herself from the family.

Now, as she had wished, she had become a "stranger" in that household, where concern and inquiries could only go so far.

Zong Qinglin’s phone rang just then—likely a call from Zong Yu’s mother, urging him to hurry to the hospital. He answered curtly with a "Got it," then turned to Zong Ying and said, "You’re almost thirty. You should know better. Disappearing like that—don’t let it happen again."

He never offered any substantive advice, nor was he interested in real communication. His words were always along the lines of "You can, you can’t," "Good, bad."

Zong Ying had long grown accustomed to this authoritarian demeanor.

By the time she saw him out, Xue Xuanqing had already finished two cigarettes.

Watching Zong Qinglin get into his car, Zong Ying turned to head back upstairs, with Xue Xuanqing following closely behind. Frowning, Xue Xuanqing asked, "Is he still eyeing the shares your mother left you? Otherwise, why would he stoop to coming here?"

Zong Ying shot her a glance, and Xue Xuanqing quickly backtracked. "I spoke out of turn."

Without turning back as she stepped out of the elevator, Zong Ying said, "You broke the lock—you find someone to fix it. I don’t want to sleep with the door wide open."

Xue Xuanqing was absolutely in the wrong about the lock-picking, so she dutifully started calling around for a locksmith. Unfortunately, it was too late, and most weren’t willing to come out. Xue Xuanqing eventually decided to go out and find one herself.

She was already at the door when she suddenly backtracked to the living room, snatched up the evidence box like it was treasure, and fixed Zong Ying with a wary, guarded look. "I’m taking this with me first. No chance for you to tamper with it."

Zong Ying knew her too well—there was no point stopping her at a time like this. So she simply said, "Take it."

After Xue Xuanqing left, Zong Ying tidied up the apartment and opened the windows, letting the southern breeze rush in.

She thought of last night, right here, but in a completely different state—more orderly, more peaceful, allowing her to sleep deeply.

Standing in the wind, gazing at the sea of city lights, Zong Ying reminded herself not to dwell on it any longer. That era, and the impending war, had nothing to do with her.

Xue Xuanqing returned sometime past two in the morning, carrying a new lock she had somehow procured. She rummaged through Zong Ying’s toolbox and decided to replace the lock herself.

Both of them were the type to focus silently on their tasks. Xue Xuanqing worked on the lock without a word, while Zong Ying sat on the sofa and watched. Not a single exchange passed between them.

By the time the lock was replaced, it was already past three in the morning. Xue Xuanqing stood up, dusted off her hands, and grumbled, "What a hassle." Then she swiftly packed up the toolbox, slammed the door shut with a loud bang , and went inside to wash her hands.

Under the sound of running water, she called out, "It’s almost dawn. Want to take a shower and ride with me to the station?"

"No," Zong Ying refused.

"Then get some sleep while you can." Xue Xuanqing turned off the faucet, dried her hands, and tossed the new key onto the coffee table in front of Zong Ying. "Change it later. I’m heading out. If you turn off your phone on purpose again, I swear I’ll kill you."

Zong Ying lay on the sofa without responding. Seeing her play dead, Xue Xuanqing stormed out, intending to slam the door hard in frustration—but in the end, all that sounded was a soft, careful click .Zong Ying raised her hand to cover her face. After a long while, she finally got up, plugged in her phone to charge, and then went to take a shower.

The long-awaited hot water washed away her exhaustion, and her heartbeat gradually quickened. After changing clothes, she bent down to pick up a set of keys from the coffee table. After a moment’s thought, she removed a spare key and placed it in the entryway cabinet. She then found a slip of paper, wrote "The lock has been changed," and pressed it beneath the key.

When she looked up, she inadvertently caught sight of the hallway light that had been shining for nearly a century.

At that moment, she suddenly remembered something and hurried back to her room. She opened the safe, retrieved Sheng Qingrang’s briefcase, grabbed her phone, and rushed out.

By the time she left, it was already past five. The subway wasn’t running yet, so a taxi stopped for her on the dimly lit street and took her straight to the Pujiang Hotel.

Unexpectedly, they hit traffic along the way. The driver said, "Seems like an accident up ahead." Sitting in the car, Zong Ying watched the time inch closer to six o’clock and decided to get out early, running the rest of the way.

The waking streets blurred past in her peripheral vision. By the time she arrived at the hotel, panting, the clock at the front desk showed just past six—she was too late.

Steadying her breath, she asked the receptionist if the guest had already checked out. The receptionist replied, "Yes, ten minutes ago—it was a gentleman." She then asked if there had been any messages left for her. The receptionist gave a polite, puzzled "Hmm?" before offering a standard smile and answering, "No."

It was the expected answer, yet Zong Ying couldn’t help feeling an uncontrollable twinge of disappointment. The briefcase in her hand suddenly felt heavier.

She stepped outside and got into the taxi the doorman hailed for her, resigned to heading back to work.

On the way, she took out Sheng Qingrang’s notebook and flipped to the most recent page—

"24th: Provisional meeting at the Resources Committee at 8 a.m., afternoon discussion with the specialist team on relocation matters, evening mock trial at the institute as usual. Will visit my mentor if time permits."

Flipping back—

"23rd: Evening—detailed discussion with Miss Zong (hoping to meet)."

That night had been their first formal meeting.

Zong Ying closed the notebook. Outside the car window, the sun rose, casting its light over the wide river. Everything was old, yet everything was new.

She opened her phone to check the latest news on the 723 Tunnel Incident and saw that an insider had come forward with a statement—

Drugs were indeed found in Xing Xueyi’s car, but the autopsy results showed he had not been driving under the influence.

Skepticism erupted in the comments—

"No vehicle malfunction? If he wasn’t high, why did the car lose control? Was the forensic examiner in charge really Zong Qinglin’s eldest daughter?"

The insider replied—

"The forensic examiner assigned to the case is someone else, not the Zong surname mentioned in the news." They also attached a blurred internal document.

The doubts persisted, now laced with sharp sarcasm—

"Just the usual bait-and-switch tactic after being exposed. So obviously fake."

The insider didn’t respond further—perhaps out of anger, or perhaps because… it wasn’t worth it.

Some people might not truly care about the truth. Their skepticism exists only to validate the "facts" they choose to believe.

Among other related updates, aside from the victims’ families condemning the authorities and Xinxi Pharmaceuticals, there was also a photo of a child.

His shoulder was fractured, wrapped in bandages and a cast as he sat in a wheelchair, his gaze lost and helpless. The headline read: "He lost both parents and his unborn sibling in the accident." It said little, but it was enough for onlookers to swallow the abrupt, overwhelming grief.A detached and indifferent consumption.

Zong Ying closed the page and exhaled slowly. After a long pause, she pulled out her contacts and dialed a junior colleague working at the affiliated hospital.

She got straight to the point: "Xiao Dai, can you help me schedule a cerebral angiography?"

The junior was taken aback: "What's the situation? Going straight for DSA?"

Zong Ying looked out the car window: "The preliminary screenings are done. I need a definitive diagnosis report."

There was silence on the other end for about half a minute before the reply came: "Alright. Can you free up two days? How about Friday and Saturday?"

As the office building came into view, Zong Ying answered: "Okay, thanks."

On the last day of July, Zong Ying took leave and checked into the hospital as scheduled.

After completing the pre-angiography tests, Xiao Dai finished inquiring about her condition and only asked: "You've strictly fasted and avoided water, right?"

Zong Ying confirmed. Xiao Dai added: "Our hospital isn't as strong in this area as Senior Brother Sheng's. Why go out of your way? Don’t want him to know?"

Zong Ying said: "If he knows, it’s practically the same as everyone knowing."

Xiao Dai gave a wry smile: "You came to me because you know I can keep secrets." She then handed over the informed consent form: "Sign here."

After the allergy test, Zong Ying turned off her phone and entered the examination room. The scrub nurse disinfected her as sterile drapes were layered over her. Xiao Dai, masked, asked from the side: "Senior, you could’ve switched to another department back then. Why give up on the hospital entirely? The public security system isn’t necessarily easier than the hospital."

With 1% lidocaine injected for local anesthesia, the puncture needle advanced through the skin into the artery.

Lying on the angiography table, Zong Ying’s mind wandered.

Author’s Note:

Mr. Sheng: From the morning of July 27th to July 31st, I wasn’t at Apartment 699 because I was in Nanjing. I wonder if Miss Zong from 699 missed me even a little. Also, during those nights I traveled through time in Nanjing, I spent almost all of the 2000 yuan. Why in your era can’t you stay at a hotel without identification?

———

A few explanations:

The Chief Forensic Examiner is a professional title, roughly equivalent to a hospital’s attending physician level.

DSA > CTA > MRA in terms of precision, cost, and other aspects. CTA and MRA are only preliminary screenings for vascular examinations. Definitive diagnosis and subsequent treatment generally still rely on DSA.

Following standard procedures, official accident results can’t be produced too quickly, especially since this case isn’t just a traffic incident—it involves multiple relevant departments.