Night Wanderer

Why give up the hospital? Even after the imaging was completed and she was discharged the next day, Zong Ying still hadn't figured out the answer.

The answer wasn't important. Her feelings for her current work were no less passionate than her love for neurosurgery back then. Knowing that was enough.

The report would be ready in three days. When Xiao Dai called, Zong Ying had just moved from a high-altitude fall case scene to the funeral home. She was halfway through filling out a form when she picked up the call.

"Senior Sister, you should come as soon as possible."

"I still have work to finish. I'll pick up the report when I have time."

Her tone was unhurried, as if this matter had little to do with her and didn’t require much concern. In contrast, Xiao Dai sighed on the other end of the line. "Senior Sister, why do you seem a bit indifferent?"

"I'm not," Zong Ying said. "I’ve seen the preliminary screening results. I know what’s going on, and panicking won’t help." She set down her pen, stepped outside, and looked at the lush cemetery. "Why don’t you tell me about the consultation results?"

Xiao Dai seemed to gather herself before speaking. "The consultation opinion is that although the situation is complex and the risks are high, they still recommend surgery as soon as possible. Otherwise, if a rupture occurs—" The consequences were something Zong Ying surely understood, so Xiao Dai didn’t elaborate.

"Mm, I see." Zong Ying lowered her gaze, watching a small butterfly flit past the flowerbed.

"Then you should get admitted right away. Once the plan is finalized, the surgery can proceed. If you don’t feel comfortable with our hospital, transferring to Senior Brother Sheng’s would be even better."

Xiao Dai kept offering suggestions, and Zong Ying listened to all of them.

Yet in the end, she replied calmly, "Let’s wait a bit on the surgery. There are some other matters I need to handle first."

"What could be more important than the surgery?" Xiao Dai blurted out in frustration, but immediately regretted it.

As a doctor, she should have considered the risks of the surgery—especially for such a complex and difficult case. Success would be ideal, but failure would render everything meaningless. If something went wrong, even the basic wish to survive might become impossible, let alone "handling other matters."

Zong Ying spoke again, "Xiao Dai, I’ll go when I’m ready."

In Xiao Dai’s eyes, Zong Ying had always been decisive. Since Zong Ying had made up her mind, there was no point in pressing further. She could only say, "Then we’ll have to rely on medication for now to manage it."

"Thank you."

"Don’t mention it. Go ahead with your work, but make sure to rest and try to keep your emotions stable."

Zong Ying hung up and returned to filling out the form. Nearby, Xiao Zheng was putting on protective gear.

As he dressed, he asked, "Teacher Zong, do you think the victim in this high-altitude fall case committed suicide, had an accident, or was murdered?"

"Based on the scene, suicide seems more likely."

"Ah, why would someone so young take their own life? Her child is still so small—what will happen to them now? How selfish."

Zong Ying finished the form and glanced up at him.

Xiao Zheng, remembering Xue Xuanqing’s usual reminder—"Don’t casually judge the deceased"—quickly stopped himself and handed Zong Ying her protective suit.

Outside, the sun blazed, and the cicadas grew louder. Inside the autopsy room, the heat and the peculiar smell lingered. Zong Ying, sweating in the stifling suit, worked while explaining to Xiao Zheng, beads of sweat trickling down her temples.After completing the abdominal closure sutures, Zong Ying set down the instruments, removed her double-layered gloves, and bowed deeply to the deceased.

Xiao Zheng followed suit, stealing a glance at Zong Ying’s profile from the corner of his eye. For some reason, she seemed unusually solemn today.

He didn’t ask, and of course, Zong Ying didn’t offer an explanation.

After handing over the body to the funeral home staff, the two stepped outside for a smoke.

Zong Ying absentmindedly stared at the distant cemetery while smoking.

Xiao Zheng glanced at her and suddenly recalled that she always looked toward the cemetery whenever they came here. He couldn’t help but ask, “Teacher Zong, what’s so interesting over there?”

“My mother is resting there,” she answered without hesitation, flicking the ash from her cigarette before adding in a sigh-like tone, “She also died from a high fall.”

Xiao Zheng immediately realized he had touched on a sensitive topic and hastily offered her another cigarette.

Zong Ying glanced down at it and said, “No more. I’m planning to quit.”

“Huh?” Xiao Zheng had once heard Xue Xuanqing say that nearly all field investigators smoked due to the heavy stress and lingering odors. He asked skeptically, “Really quitting?”

“Slowly but surely. It’s doable,” Zong Ying replied.

The sun was blinding, the leaves utterly still. Weather forecasts repeatedly issued high-temperature warnings, counting down in the midst of public complaints: “The heatwave will persist for two more days—” “The extreme heat is expected to end tomorrow, followed by heavy rainfall in the coming days—”

Finally, after enduring ten consecutive scorching days, Shanghai cooled down rapidly thanks to several bouts of rain.

Public interest in the Tunnel 723 case seemed to wane as well, leaving only the victims’ families still clamoring for more support.

Meanwhile, the Pharmaceutical Research Institute released a statement clarifying that Xing Xueyi’s drug possession was an individual act, unrelated to Xinxi or the institute. Xinxi’s injectable anti-tumor drug would proceed with its scheduled market launch as planned.

Despite the attempt to distance itself and emphasize the new drug’s release, Xinxi’s stock continued to plummet.

Though Zong Ying held shares in Xinxi, she paid no attention to the falling stock prices. While her colleagues discussed the Tunnel 723 incident, she finished the last of her forensic reports.

“That kid’s aunt is clearly trying to stir up trouble for a payout. After all, they’re the ones stuck raising the child now, and raising kids is no small expense—” “Exactly, it’s ridiculously expensive. The kindergarten next to my place has raised its fees to outrageous levels.” “By how much?”

The conversation among her colleagues shifted rapidly. Zong Ying set aside her work and turned to another task—

Completing her sick leave application, attaching scanned copies of her medical reports, and submitting it.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

She hadn’t breathed a word of this to Xue Xuanqing. During shift handover, Xue Xuanqing even cheerfully handed her a large box of fresh meat mooncakes. “No need to thank me. Just bring me some freshly roasted pork jerky tomorrow.”

“I’m not working tomorrow,” Zong Ying said, sitting in her chair as she took one of the pastries.

“Then give it back.” Xue Xuanqing shot her a glare and swiftly snatched the box away.

Zong Ying swallowed the mooncake with effort, drained the last of her water, packed up, and left work.

Taxis were harder to come by in the rain. After finally flagging one down, she settled into the backseat as the radio played an old, nostalgic tune."Why did the letters stop, I've waited until now, the night is deep and the moon bright, holding only my seven-stringed qin, playing a tune and singing a song..."

Zong Ying looked out the window as rain poured down onto the river surface, wild yet bewildering.

It suddenly occurred to her that Sheng Qingrang hadn't appeared for over ten days.

Today was August 11th, Tuesday, with southerly winds shifting westerly, temperatures around 26°C—comfortable and pleasant.

Over there it was also August 11th, but Wednesday. What kind of weather would it be? Was his absence due to the inconvenience at Apartment 699 from last time, or was there another reason?

Zong Ying pondered this all the way until she reached Apartment 699, by which time it was already dark.

In the elevator, she ran into Xiao Nan, who usually practiced piano early in the morning. The girl smiled, her dimples showing, her voice clear and sweet: "Sister, do you play piano too?"

Zong Ying didn't. The piano at home was something her mother used to play.

"One night last month around ten o'clock, I heard piano music coming from your place! It was that..." She scratched her head, then her eyes lit up: "Chopin's Nocturne, right? But it didn't sound quite like the recording. Did you forget the notes, sister?"

"..."

The elevator doors opened, and Xiao Nan bid her farewell before leaving first. Zong Ying turned the other way, opened her door, and turned on the hallway light.

She'd forgotten to close the window when leaving in the morning. The old items in the room had absorbed the dampness from the rain, carrying a faint, familiar musty smell from childhood.

Zong Ying walked over to shut out the wind and rain, then glanced at the old piano in the corner. After her mother passed away, almost no one had touched it. She sat down, carefully lifted the lid, and pressed a few keys stiffly—only a few abrupt notes sounded.

A musical instrument that no one plays lacks vitality, no matter how well it's maintained.

She stood up and closed the lid, as if she could see her mother sitting there, or perhaps Sheng Qingrang playing the Nocturne from memory. But when she snapped back to reality, there was truly no one—only a light overhead, shining peacefully.

Zong Ying took a shower, ordered takeout, then sat down and opened her laptop to continue watching the unfinished documentary about Lapland.

By the time she finished one episode, the grandfather clock at home struck ten times.

Ten at night.

Zong Ying looked around, then finally up at the staircase—empty and silent.

She suddenly frowned, closed the video page, and opened a search bar, quickly typing:

"Sheng Qingrang."

What was his background? What was his history? What would his fate be? With one click of "Search," everything would be at her fingertips.

Her throat tightened. Her right hand hovered over the ENTER key, hesitating for about half a minute before clenching into a fist.

Suddenly, she took a deep breath, unclenched her fist, and pressed DELETE three times with her ring finger, clearing the search bar completely.

This was his life. She had no right to know it in advance.

Zong Ying abruptly stood up, urgently craving a cigarette, but she didn't have any left.

She paced around the living room a few times before grabbing an umbrella from the entryway and deciding to go out. The rain had lightened outside. She walked across the street under her umbrella to a shop frequented by students from the nearby drama academy, where they sold all sorts of exotic imported cigarettes.

The shopkeeper recommended a pack of women's cigarettes to her—black packaging with "Black Devil" printed on it.

"Very fragrant, with a creamy taste," he said.It sounded suitable for quitting smoking, so Zong Ying took a pack, opened it right away, pulled out a cigarette, and borrowed a light from the shopkeeper.

She walked back while smoking, instinctively looking up. Across the street, she unexpectedly spotted a familiar figure standing by the plane tree in front of the gate of No. 699.

At his feet were fallen sycamore leaves from the day, while raindrops pattered down from above.

He looked weary from travel, completely drenched, the streetlight illuminating most of his face.

Holding a briefcase in one hand, he struggled to stand straight, his voice already strained as he said, "Miss Zong."

Zong Ying quickly stubbed out her cigarette and hurried over. Just as she reached him, he suddenly swayed, and she swiftly extended both hands to catch him.

Author's Note:

Mr. Sheng: Miss Zong, did you think that since I hadn’t appeared for so long, I might have died? I didn’t. I was just ill.

—

A few notes:

The lyrics are from Wu Yingyin’s "I Have a Love Story," a song not as old as "The Bund."