Night Wanderer

Sheng Qingrang turned toward the sound and found a face smeared with blood amidst the rubble.

Pale gray dust covered the body, which was pinned under heavy debris, leaving only trembling lips to emit weak, barely audible pleas.

Recognizing him, Sheng Qingrang immediately bent down and strained to move the heavy objects crushing him. Blood gushed out as soon as the weight was lifted.

Both legs were mangled, white bone exposed, nearly shattered.

"Eldest Brother?"

"Third Brother... save me..."

He only repeated this one phrase, his voice growing fainter.

Sheng Qingrang was clearly at a loss, unsure how to handle the situation. He turned to Zong Ying, calling out helplessly, "Miss Zong."

Zong Ying remained standing at the staircase entrance, oblivious to the cries for help.

She had been to many scenes and dealt with numerous corpses, but none were like this. Only when someone rushed down the stairs and bumped into her did she snap back to reality, finally hearing Sheng Qingrang's voice.

Pressing her lips tightly together, Zong Ying stepped over the bodies on the floor and approached him, seeing the nearly unconscious eldest Sheng brother lying on the ground.

"Step aside," she said.

Sheng Qingrang moved out of the way, then heard her order, "Find some clean towels." He immediately went upstairs to search.

The eldest brother's injuries were severe. After crouching down to examine him, Zong Ying silently scanned the lobby. Medical conditions in this era were far from ideal—even in a major city like Shanghai, resources were unlikely to cope with such a massive disaster. The chances of timely rescue were slim.

Sheng Qingrang quickly returned downstairs and handed the towels to Zong Ying, who promptly applied pressure to the wounds—stopping the bleeding was critical.

The lobby grew increasingly chaotic, with people rushing in and out, some vomiting from the overwhelming stench of burning.

Keeping her hands pressed on the towels, Zong Ying turned to Sheng Qingrang. "Mr. Sheng, your brother needs an amputation and immediate surgery. Arrange for a vehicle to take him to the hospital as soon as possible."

At that moment, the hotel manager crawled out from behind the front desk, trembling as he picked up the phone and dialed repeatedly—after several busy signals, the call finally connected.

"Send an ambulance! Ambulance! The Cathay Hotel! We need an ambulance!" he shouted frantically, shaking violently, clutching the receiver to his ear even after the other end had hung up.

Sheng Qingrang approached him, reached over the counter, took the phone, and swiftly dialed another number.

He called a doctor friend at the International Settlement Hospital, but a nurse answered. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sheng. We just received a distress call—the Great World Theatre has also been bombed. The casualties there are even worse. Ambulances are being dispatched there first, and Dr. Karl is already preparing for surgery."

The Great World Theatre had also been hit.

A relief station had just been set up there, distributing food and supplies to thousands of refugees. They had fled the war zone into the Settlement, only to face an even crueler fate—a bombing akin to slaughter.

After a few seconds of silence, Sheng Qingrang hung up and dialed another number—the Municipal Council.

A British secretary answered and, after hearing his request, gave an affirmative response: "Mr. Sheng, I will arrange for a vehicle. Please hold on a little longer."The wait felt interminable. Sheng Qingrang glanced down at his watch, each tick of the second hand tightening his nerves.

The vehicle arrived belatedly. Outside the hotel, injured victims who had failed to secure rescue spots pleaded for a ride upon seeing the Municipal Council car. But with limited seating, the driver refused with a grim expression. After shutting the door, he entered the hotel and helped carry Sheng Qingxiang into the vehicle.

Zong Ying boarded with them, finally finding a moment to survey the devastation outside the hotel.

Two bombs had struck the entrance, leaving craters in the road. Pedestrians on the street had suffered even more casualties than those inside the building.

A Lincoln burned on the road, its driver’s seat occupied by a charred corpse—the Sheng family’s car and chauffeur.

Zong Ying averted her gaze, recalling the wall clock she’d seen at the hotel entrance earlier. Impacted by the blast, its hands had frozen forever at the moment of detonation: 4:27.

Her lips pressed tighter as the car navigated the blood-dampened streets. Outside, helpless victims sprawled everywhere; inside, another world existed.

All lives were equal, yet fairness had never been guaranteed.

Arrival at the hospital didn’t guarantee safety either. The sudden influx of casualties overwhelmed the building, leaving medical staff scrambling without enough hands to tend to everyone.

Shortages plagued everything—medicine, beds, personnel. No resource sufficed. Even after contacting an acquaintance, they received only helpless regret: "Mr. Sheng, nearly all our doctors are in emergency surgeries. We’re truly powerless."

Sheng Qingrang asked, "How long must we wait?"

The man shook his head.

He turned to Zong Ying, whose lips remained sealed—her usual expression when deep in thought. She only said, "Surgery must happen immediately."

Another deadlock.

After a long hesitation, Zong Ying suddenly frowned and asked, "Are there any interns who’ve observed surgeries?"

"One," came the reply. "But he’s never led an operation."

Zong Ying bit her lower lip hard before releasing it. Lifting her gaze, she stated, "Let him do it."

"Miss, may I ask—"

Zong Ying had no talent for persuasion. She turned slightly toward Sheng Qingrang, delegating the task: "Please convince them."

Sheng Qingrang lowered his voice. "Will you assist in the surgery, Miss Zong?"

"No," she replied. "But I’ll stand by throughout."

Her sparse words carried inexplicable conviction, her gaze harboring fathomless calm. After several seconds of silent exchange, Sheng Qingrang finally resolved to persuade the staff. They conceded, but warned, "No operating rooms are available. Only an office can be cleared."

Sheng Qingrang looked at Zong Ying uneasily. "Will this suffice?"

Her jaw tensed. She withdrew her hands from her pockets. "It’ll have to."

The surgical conditions were abysmal, the equipment barely functional. After changing and masking up, Zong Ying entered the makeshift operating room where anesthesia had already begun.

The intern, who’d only ever assisted, was more nervous than anyone about this sudden assignment. Glancing at the enigmatic Zong Ying, he began, "Well—"

Most of her face obscured by the mask, only her steady eyes remained visible. "I’ll guide you," she said. "If necessary—" A pause. "I’ll step in."

Her tone exuded authority and reassurance. The intern could only grip his instruments and begin.Amputating both legs was no minor procedure—it demanded strength, patience, and skill, all the more so under such rudimentary conditions. The sweltering heat filled the room with the metallic tang of blood, and the single dim light did little to help. Sweat beaded at Zong Ying’s temples and forehead.

She guided the intern through separating the blood vessels and nerves at the amputation site, instructing him on safer ligation and suturing techniques—yet never once did she pick up a scalpel. Her hands hovered in the air, her right trembling faintly with what seemed like a nervous tremor, the veins at her temples taut throughout.

By the time the surgery concluded, night had fallen. The intern, convinced everything had gone smoothly, hastily thanked Zong Ying before even removing his mask. “Thank you for your guidance, Doctor. May I ask your name?”

“It’s not important.” Exhaustion pooled in her eyes as she added, “Monitor the patient’s vitals closely. You’ve worked hard.”

With that, she washed her hands, removed her mask, and stepped out of the room. As she lifted her gaze, she was met with the sight of the Sheng family standing in the hallway—Second Sister and Fifth Sister Sheng Qinghui, who had just arrived upon receiving the news.

Sheng Qinghui’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. The woman before her had shifted from “passerby” to “Third Brother’s assistant,” and now to “doctor.” The layers of identity left her baffled as to who this person truly was.

But the young girl kept her astonishment mostly to herself, only turning to Sheng Qingrang behind her and saying, “Third Brother, it seems the surgery is over.”

Sheng Qingrang looked up, and Zong Ying’s gaze locked onto his alone.

With no one else to report to, she walked straight toward him. “The surgery went smoothly, but the patient is still in critical condition and needs constant monitoring.” She slipped her hands into the pockets of her white coat and lowered her voice. “Mr. Sheng, it’s dark now. Shouldn’t we return to the French Concession?”

Her meaning was clear—time was running short, and with the 10 p.m. curfew approaching, heading back to the apartment in the French Concession was the safer choice.

Just then, Second Sister erupted into an argument with a nurse.

The nurse informed her, “There are no available beds in the hospital.” Second Sister retorted, “How can there be no beds? Not even in the private wards?” When the nurse insisted it was impossible, Second Sister’s temper flared. “This hospital is in chaos today—we wouldn’t want to stay here anyway. Fine, then send a doctor to the Sheng residence for overnight care!”

The nurse remained firm. “No doctors are available for dispatch.”

Second Sister jabbed a finger at her. “You just wait—” With that, she stormed off in her high heels toward the director’s office.

But her haughty departure ended in a deflated return—clearly, she had been refused.

Only then did she notice Zong Ying. “Aren’t you the doctor who just performed the surgery? The hospital is in shambles today—staying here is thankless work. Why not come to the residence instead? We’ll pay you ten times your usual fee.”

Zong Ying turned her head slightly, her expression indifferent, and made no move to respond.

But Sheng Qingrang immediately countered, “This lady’s status is special. It’s out of the question.”

Second Sister didn’t seem to recognize Zong Ying as the “assistant” Sheng Qingrang had brought to the residence last time. With a dismissive scoff, she said, “What’s so special about her? She’s just a doctor. It’s settled, then. I’ll have them take Eldest Brother home—” She turned to Sheng Qingrang, her tone bordering on an order. “You’re coming back too. We still have unfinished business to settle!”Zong Ying noticed the change in Sheng Qingrang's expression and glanced at Second Sister and Sheng Qinghui. Suddenly, she grasped Sheng Qingrang's hand and whispered in an extremely low voice, "Mr. Sheng, you decide. Wherever you go, I'll follow."

Only Sheng Qingrang could take her back to her own time—she had no other choice.

Sheng Qingrang chose to return to the mansion, though in truth, he also had no other choice.

The group left the hospital by car, heading back to the Sheng Mansion on Jing'an Temple Road. There were two cars in total, with Zong Ying, Sheng Qingrang, and Sheng Qinghui seated in the rear one. The atmosphere was heavy, and even the usually talkative Qinghui had grown quiet due to the family crisis.

"Mr. Sheng—" Zong Ying tilted her head slightly, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible unless one leaned in close.

Sheng Qingrang turned to meet her gaze. Her tone was earnest: "I'm starving."

"I know," Sheng Qingrang replied just as quietly. "I'm truly sorry. Could you... wait just a little longer?"

At that moment, Sheng Qinghui suddenly handed over a piece of candy.

Sheng Qingrang took it, unwrapping the crisp candy paper to reveal a coffee-colored toffee resting on the silvery foil. He extended his hand toward Zong Ying, who swiftly picked it up and popped it into her mouth. Turning her face toward the boundless night outside the window, she muttered a dry "Thank you."

The journey was uneventful, but the moment they arrived home, chaos erupted—as irrational and turbulent as the typhoon weather outside.

After settling Eldest Brother in his bedroom, Second Sister called Sheng Qingrang into the adjacent room for questioning, leaving only Sheng Qinghui and Zong Ying behind.

Seeing Second Sister leave, Sheng Qinghui waited a moment before quietly heading downstairs.

Zong Ying remained in the room, faintly catching the furious reprimands from next door: "If you hadn't brought it up that day, Eldest Brother would never have gone to negotiate with the Germans! He wouldn’t have arranged to meet at the Cathay Hotel! A perfectly healthy man is now crippled! If anything worse happens to him, I swear I’ll break your legs before our ancestors!"

When it came to blame and accusations, they suddenly became a family again—even dragging their ancestors into it.

Zong Ying found it all too familiar.

Next door, Second Sister’s anger showed no signs of abating, though her words lacked originality—she simply pinned all responsibility for Eldest Brother’s injuries on Sheng Qingrang.

But Zong Ying distinctly remembered that it was Eldest Brother himself who had arranged the meeting at the Cathay Hotel and changed the time from morning to 4:30 p.m. If he hadn’t rescheduled, Sheng Qingrang wouldn’t have had to rush back to the concession early that morning, and Eldest Brother could have avoided the air raid altogether.

Even she wouldn’t have been dragged into this mess or endured the trauma of narrowly escaping an explosion.

Zong Ying sat silently in the chair when the door suddenly opened. Sheng Qinghui entered, carrying a wooden tray.

On the tray were four dishes, a large bowl of rice, and a bowl of soup—all steaming hot.

"Everything's been reheated," Sheng Qinghui explained as she set the tray down. "Third Brother quietly told me in the car to have the kitchen prepare something for you to eat."

Zong Ying picked up her chopsticks and said another "Thank you."

Sheng Qinghui glanced at Eldest Brother lying in bed and said, "You saved his life. Our family should be thanking you." She was full of curiosity about Zong Ying but knew it wasn’t the right time to ask questions, so she simply watched her eat.

Zong Ying ate quickly, yet without any trace of unseemly haste.

Her rhythm and movements were perfectly controlled, Sheng Qinghui observed.Ten minutes later, the rice bowl, soup bowl, and dishes on the tray were all empty.

Zong Ying placed her hands on either side of the tray. Sheng Qinghui, snapping out of her thoughts, quickly said, "Just leave it on the counter. The maid will take it later."

Since Qinghui said so, Zong Ying left the tray where it was and sat silently in the chair, one hand slipping into her trouser pocket.

Listening to the endless scolding from the next room, Zong Ying hesitated over whether to smoke, but Sheng Qinghui kept watching her from across the table.

Just as she was about to stand and leave, Sheng Qinghui finally couldn’t hold back her curiosity. "Miss Zong... did you come back from abroad?"

Zong Ying was wearing the casual clothes she had changed into after work the previous day—a short-sleeved top, trousers, and sneakers. Everything from the fabric of her clothes to the style of her shoes looked completely different from current trends, leading Qinghui to assume they were imported. Combined with Zong Ying’s unconventional demeanor, Qinghui was even more convinced she must be from somewhere far away.

Faced with the inquiry, Zong Ying gave a noncommittal hum.

Sheng Qinghui pressed further, "So, you’re actually... a doctor?"

A doctor? She had been once, and in some ways still was, but strictly speaking, not anymore. Zong Ying lifted her gaze and countered, "Does it matter?"

Qinghui was taken aback by the question. What was the point of asking these things? But she still couldn’t grasp the other woman’s intentions—why was this person staying in Third Brother’s apartment, and why was she pretending to be his assistant? It made no sense to her.

The two sat in silence for a long while. Seeing that Qinghui had no further questions, Zong Ying stood up to go outside for a smoke.

Qinghui turned to watch her leave, only to suddenly see her reach out and grip the doorframe before nearly collapsing to the floor.

Perhaps it was the aftermath of the explosion earlier that day, or the intense focus during the surgery, but Zong Ying’s headache struck suddenly—unexpected, yet not entirely surprising.

Qinghui hurried over to check on her, but Zong Ying’s muscles were locked tight from the pain, rendering her unable to speak a single word.

Just then, a maid came upstairs, and Qinghui called for her help to carry Zong Ying into her own bedroom.

Next door, Second Sister had gone from discussing Eldest Brother’s brush with the air raid to the relocation of the factory. "With the waterways blocked now, moving the factory would mean taking detours along Suzhou Creek. Anyone with half a brain knows how dangerous that would be," she ranted, while Sheng Qingrang kept glancing at his watch.

As the minutes ticked closer to ten o’clock, even the usually unflappable Qingrang grew restless.

He abruptly stood up, telling Second Sister only, "I have urgent business. I must take my leave." With that, he strode out and barged into the neighboring room—only to find Zong Ying gone.

A sudden panic seized him. He strode toward the guest rooms, checking each one—nothing.

Sweat beaded in his palms as he scanned the area in confusion, calling out, "Miss Zong?"

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed, its deep tones marking ten strikes.

In the bedroom, where she was tending to Zong Ying, Sheng Qinghui frowned and stood up. She pushed open the door and stepped into the stairwell, asking the maid, "Was that Third Brother calling for Miss Zong just now?"

The maid hesitated. "I think so?"

Qinghui looked around but saw no sign of Sheng Qingrang. Muttering, "Where on earth did he go?" she shook her head.

At 10:30 p.m., Xue Xuanqing waited for Zong Ying at Apartment No. 699.She received a notification from the traffic police early this morning. Her car had been illegally parked right in the middle of the road, and in such a bizarre and terrifying manner—there wasn’t a single person inside. Witnesses claimed, "That car drove there, stopped at the red light for a while, and then just wouldn’t move after the light turned green. When we ran over to check, there was no one inside! Damn it, it’s like seeing a ghost! The doors didn’t even open, and no one got out!"

Putting aside the fine and penalty points, she really needed to have a talk with Zong Ying.

Zong Ying’s recent behavior had become so abnormal it was downright alarming.

That’s why, during the last lock change, she had secretly kept a spare key. Though highly unethical, she couldn’t care less now.

At 10:31 a.m., she heard footsteps, followed by the sound of keys jingling.

Xue Xuanqing silently approached the door. Through the barrier, she could tell the person outside was trying to insert a key into the lock, but whether it was the wrong key or some other reason, they just couldn’t manage it.

The sound of keys stopped. Suddenly, Xue Xuanqing pressed down the handle and swung the door open.

Author’s Note:

Xue Xuanqing: Well, well, this ignorant Republic-era boy, I’ve finally caught you.

Qing-ge successfully captured an ignorant Republic-era boy trying to open the lock (unaware that the lock had already been changed)—

Notes:

Additionally, the two bombs likely fell only seconds apart. The previous estimate of over ten seconds was also incorrect, so this is corrected as well.