Night Wanderer

The moment the door opened, one feigned composure while the other lifted their gaze to scrutinize.

Xue Xuanqing raised a brow and asked, "Who are you looking for?"

Sheng Qingrang recognized her voice as the woman who had picked the lock earlier and quickly made an excuse. "Apologies, I might have the wrong building."

He turned to leave, but Xue Xuanqing glanced at the key in his hand and said, "Not likely. That key belongs here." Then she pressed further, "Probably not the wrong door—just didn’t know the lock’s been changed, right?"

Cornered, Sheng Qingrang decided there was no point in avoiding it.

He pocketed the key and looked at Xue Xuanqing. "Then may I ask, is Zong Ying home?"

Xue Xuanqing hadn’t expected such boldness but answered truthfully, "No."

Sheng Qingrang phrased his next question carefully. "I recall this is Zong Ying’s apartment. Did she invite you here?" In reality, he was exposing Xue Xuanqing’s own unauthorized entry.

Caught off guard, Xue Xuanqing visibly bristled and shot back coldly, "What does it matter to you whether she invited me or not? Who are you to her? How do you even have a key?"

"A friend," Sheng Qingrang replied.

"A friend?" Xue Xuanqing studied him under the porch light—his entire demeanor exuded old-fashioned restraint, right down to his vintage-style briefcase. "What kind of friend?"

"A rather special one."

Vague but intriguing. Instinct told Xue Xuanqing his presence was directly tied to Zong Ying’s recent odd behavior. She stepped aside and gestured him in. "If we’re both friends, why not come in and wait? Zong Ying might be back soon, yeah?"

"Yes." In this era, Sheng Qingrang had nowhere else to go but this apartment, so he accepted the offer.

As he passed her, Xue Xuanqing caught an unusual mix of scents—gunpowder, blood, even antiseptic.

Her suspicion piqued, she glanced down and spotted faint bloodstains on his trouser leg.

Silently, she closed the door, then went to the kitchen for a clean glass. She dried it, placed it on a tray, and filled it with water.

Setting the tray on the coffee table, she said, "Help yourself."

Sheng Qingrang thanked her.

Xue Xuanqing lit a cigarette and eyed him across the table. "Your surname?"

Sheng Qingrang pressed his lips briefly. "Sheng."

"And your name?"

"That’s unimportant."

"So, Mr. Sheng, is it?" Xue Xuanqing exhaled smoke and cut to the chase. "What brings you here to see Zong Ying so late?"

"That falls under privacy. May I decline to answer?"

"Were you with Zong Ying this morning?"

"Are you interrogating me?"

Xue Xuanqing certainly had the air of an interrogator, but her questions held no real weight—he could refuse to answer.

She watched as he picked up the glass, his tense posture relaxing slightly as he sank into the sofa. Her tone softened. "Mr. Sheng, I’m also Zong Ying’s friend. Since we’ve crossed paths, why not get acquainted? How about exchanging numbers?"

She pulled out her phone, but Sheng Qingrang set down the glass. "Apologies, I don’t have one.""No phone number? That's impossible." Xue Xuanqing stubbed out her cigarette. "Are you joking?"

Sheng Qingrang remained seated, answering calmly and logically, "I've just returned from France, so I don't have a domestic number yet."

"What about your French number then?"

"I've terminated the lease and it's inconvenient to share the landlord's contact."

"Your French mobile number?"

"Deactivated." Sheng Qingrang retrieved a notebook and pen from his briefcase, flipping to a blank page and turning it toward Xue Xuanqing. "Why don't you leave your number instead?"

Turning the tables. Xue Xuanqing lowered her gaze, staring at it for a moment before finally picking up the pen and scribbling her phone number across the blank page.

After setting the pen down, she picked up the tray and stood, heading straight for the kitchen.

The kitchen lights were off, shrouded in darkness. Xue Xuanqing pulled a resealable bag from the cupboard, her back to Sheng Qingrang as she expressionlessly placed the empty glass from the tray inside and sealed it shut.

She then haphazardly stuffed it into a paper bag before turning around. "Mr. Sheng, since Zong Ying hasn't returned yet and it's inconvenient to stay here any longer, we should leave."

But Sheng Qingrang didn't budge. "I'd like to wait a little longer."

"That's not appropriate." Xue Xuanqing could see his determination, but she had no intention of letting him have his way. "You're only here because I opened the door. So if I leave, how can you stay? Since I opened this door, I have to ensure everything is exactly as it was before I arrived when I leave. Understand?"

Sheng Qingrang was well aware of Xue Xuanqing's stubbornness. If she wanted him gone, she would make sure of it one way or another.

Not wanting to prolong the confrontation or cause unnecessary trouble for Zong Ying, he stood up and agreed to her suggestion.

Having achieved her goal, Xue Xuanqing carried the paper bag to the door and, right in front of Sheng Qingrang, slammed it shut with deliberate force, locking it twice and tucking the new key into her bag.

Sheng Qingrang stood silently behind her.

They took the elevator down together. Xue Xuanqing went to retrieve her car while Sheng Qingrang stood under the plane tree outside Apartment 699.

Penniless and having gone without food all day, he had nowhere to go in this era.

Xue Xuanqing got into her car, opened her phone, and glanced at the photo she had secretly taken earlier. Looking out the window, she could see Sheng Qingrang still standing under the tree. He had been there for a long time, an air of helpless confusion about him.

She averted her gaze, glanced at the paper bag on the passenger seat, and drove off.

Compared to Sheng Qingrang, Zong Ying was far more comfortable back at the Sheng residence.

She had slept soundly and woke up a little past four in the morning to find Qinghui asleep beside her, a book still clutched in her hand.

Zong Ying sat up, startling the other girl. Sheng Qinghui rubbed her eyes and said hoarsely, "Oh, you're awake, Sister Zong." Seemingly surprised at having dozed off, she explained, "I was sitting here reading, but I must have been too tired and fell asleep..."

Zong Ying still had a faint headache, but it wasn't too bothersome. She watched as Qinghui got out of bed and listened to her ramble before finally asking, "Where is Mr. Sheng?"

"Third Brother? I don't know when he left." Sheng Qinghui sat at the dressing table to tidy her hair. "Second Sister was scolding him about it in the hallway for quite a while yesterday."

It seemed she had been left behind in this era again, Zong Ying thought, rubbing her temples.

She lowered her head and asked, "Second Sister seems to have some grievances against Mr. Sheng?"Sheng Qinghui pursed her lips, turned her head, and lowered her voice to say, "Well, of course. After all, Second Sister and Third Brother have some history."

Zong Ying responded with a questioning "Hmm?" Qinghui then continued, "When Second Sister and Second Sister's Husband were about to get engaged, his family's factory got tangled up in a lawsuit. Third Brother happened to be the defense lawyer for the workers involved. Second Sister's Husband's family lost the case, which offended him and, by extension, Second Sister. Once this grudge was set, their relationship worsened. Second Sister thinks Third Brother came back with a vengeance after gaining independence—" Qinghui seemed to dislike Second Sister's Husband's family. "But his family was in the wrong. If I were Third Brother, I’d also uphold the law and side with justice over family ties."

"Is that so?" Zong Ying had assumed he would unconditionally side with his family without principles.

Qinghui detected the skepticism in her tone and immediately asked, "Sister Zong, do you think Third Brother seems too mild-mannered and easy to push around?"

Zong Ying didn’t answer directly, instead offering a different assessment: "He’s very considerate and knows when to yield."

"You think so too?" Qinghui tucked her hair behind her ear. "I heard from Nanny that when they were naming Third Brother, Father casually chose the character 'Rang' (meaning 'yield') and settled on it—as if he were destined to yield." And sure enough, he grew up to be someone who always considers others, seemingly indifferent to short-term gains or losses. He holds everything in, appearing at first glance like someone easily taken advantage of. But he does have his limits." She emphasized each word: "Within those limits, everything’s negotiable. Cross them, and nothing’s up for discussion."

From Qinghui’s animated expression, Zong Ying could tell how much she admired Sheng Qingrang and asked, "Do you think your Third Brother is a good person?"

"Of course! Third Brother is the most reasonable and intelligent person in the family, and he’s never relied on the family’s influence. He’s my role model." Having said this, she stood up abruptly and changed the subject. "Sister Zong, do you want to rest a bit longer or eat something?"

"No more rest," Zong Ying replied.

"Then I’ll go to the kitchen to find some food." Sheng Qinghui headed for the door but collided with a visibly flustered maid. "What’s wrong?" she asked.

The maid answered, "The eldest young master is burning up with fever! The temperature we just measured is terrifyingly high! Second Sister is asking Dr. Zong to come see him immediately."

Qinghui turned her head, but before she could speak, Zong Ying was already behind her. "Let’s go."

The two entered the room, where Zong Ying ignored Second Sister’s complaints, took the eldest brother’s temperature again, and examined the wound—the infection was severe.

The surgical conditions had been poor, the postoperative care environment less than ideal, and most critically, the medication’s effectiveness was limited.

Second Sister stood nearby, demanding accountability: "Didn’t he take the medicine? Why is he like this? Was there a mistake during the surgery?!"

Qinghui listened awkwardly, stealing glances at Zong Ying’s expression. But Zong Ying showed no anger, only pressed her lips together as if deep in thought.

Suddenly, Zong Ying spoke up: "The medication needs to be changed."

Second Sister raised her voice further: "Then change it quickly!"

"The medicine isn’t here." Zong Ying met Second Sister’s gaze calmly. "It should be at Mr. Sheng’s apartment."

"Go get it immediately!" Second Sister, now beyond reason, didn’t even question why the medicine would be there and ordered, "Call Chen to drive to the French Concession to fetch it!"

Qinghui interjected, "Chen drove Eldest Brother to the Cathay Hotel yesterday. He was killed in the explosion."The second sister looked anxious: "Then call another driver!"

Sheng Qinghui secretly grasped Zong Ying's hand, signaling her to go downstairs together.

Once outside, Sheng Qinghui instructed the maid to prepare the car and asked, "How could Third Brother have medicine there?"

Zong Ying had previously prepared a medical kit for Sheng Qingrang. She explained, "There are some medicines I brought back—they're quite effective."

Sheng Qinghui didn’t question it further. Zong Ying went to wash her face alone in the first-floor bathroom.

She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face. When she looked up at her reflection in the mirror, she felt almost unrecognizable. Silently drying her face, she opened the door to find Sheng Qinghui waiting outside. "All right, let’s go," she said.

Only Zong Ying and the driver got into the car; Qinghui stayed behind.

The car drove off in the dim morning light. The typhoon hadn’t yet passed, and the weather remained terrible. Refugees slept everywhere, and the patrolling police seemed overwhelmed.

Fortunately, it was still early, and the roads were relatively clear. They arrived at Sheng Qingrang’s home in the French Concession before six o’clock.

Zong Ying approached the service desk, where Mr. Ye greeted her: "Miss Zong! Today’s milk has been delivered!"

Zong Ying had no time to boil milk. She asked directly, "Mr. Ye, does the service desk have a spare key to the apartment?"

"We do, but..." Mr. Ye frowned. "Isn’t Mr. Sheng at home?"

"He’s not. But I urgently need something from his apartment," Zong Ying said earnestly. "Mr. Ye, it’s a matter of life and death. Please help."

After hesitating, Mr. Ye retrieved the spare key and personally escorted her upstairs.

He waited at the door while Zong Ying entered, listening to the rustling sounds inside.

Zong Ying finally found the medical kit in the bedroom. She took out some medicines and packed them into a paper bag. Before leaving, she opened the hallway cabinet—only two dollars remained inside. She took them all and stuffed them into her pocket.

Mr. Ye glanced at the contents of her bag. "Pills? Miss Zong, are you a doctor?"

"Something like that," Zong Ying replied, not bothering to explain further. She thanked him, closed the door, and hurried downstairs.

By the time she got back into the car, the sky had shifted from dark blue to pale gray. The wind was fierce, and more pedestrians had appeared on the streets.

The car moved slower and slower until it came to a complete stop. The driver, a novice, stared at the dense crowd of refugees ahead and said uncertainly, "I don’t think we can get through..."

"Is there another route?" Zong Ying asked.

"We’d have to take a detour," the driver replied, frowning. "At best, it might take an hour."

Unfamiliar with the area, Zong Ying left the decision to him.

The driver turned the car around, attempting to bypass the crowd and enter the International Settlement from another direction. As they headed east, Zong Ying observed the passing streets—none of them looked familiar. After nearly an hour, they encountered another wave of refugees. "Where are we now?" she asked.

"Now, we’re..." The driver stammered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He couldn’t answer.

Realizing he might be lost, Zong Ying took a deep breath. "Are we in the Chinese-administered area now?"

The driver remained silent. "Find a way back," Zong Ying pressed. "Do you remember the original route?"

Wiping his sweat, the driver said, "I can only try."The wind outside grew fiercer, whipping the foreign flags hanging along the streets into a furious flutter. The residents of the Chinese district attempted to seek a self-comforting form of protection through this method.

After half an hour of driving, the entrance to the concession became faintly visible, but the car suddenly stalled. The driver turned around and cautiously said to Zong Ying, "We're out of gas."

Zong Ying stepped out of the car. The gale was so strong it nearly swept her off her feet. All she could see beyond the iron gates was an even more desperate and crowded mass of people—

The entrance to the concession had been shut.

Author's note: Mr. Sheng, penniless and brutally tormented by Qing-ge, was locked outside with no one to help him. After starving for an entire day, he couldn't hold on any longer and had to go to the 24-hour store at No. 620 to beg for their discarded oden: "D-don’t throw it away!"

Qing-ge, who successfully set the trap for Mr. Sheng: "Zong Ying, hurry back! I’ve already gotten the fingerprints of this ignorant Republic-era boy."