Night Wanderer

The embrace came unexpectedly. Though Zong Ying only lightly wrapped her right arm around him, Sheng Qingrang's back instantly tensed up unnaturally.

Zong Ying didn't notice this reaction. After briefly completing the gesture, she withdrew her hand and resumed her professional demeanor: "I'll check on the patient's condition. Where's the medical kit?"

Sheng Qingrang collected himself and replied in his usual calm tone: "Follow me."

Just then, the piano music downstairs abruptly stopped. Second Sister said to Sheng Qinghui: "Don't you have anything better to do? What are you playing piano at this hour for?"

Qinghui glanced at Fourth Brother sitting on the sofa and said, "Fourth Brother asked me to play to see if I've improved."

Second Sister immediately glared at her: "Is he your teacher? If he tells you to play, you just obey?" She then turned her gaze upstairs, seeing Zong Ying and Sheng Qingrang entering Eldest Brother's room together, and promptly stomped up the stairs.

When Second Sister pushed open the door and barged in, Zong Ying was examining Eldest Brother's surgical wounds.

As Second Sister was about to speak, Zong Ying—whose face was mostly covered by a mask—suddenly turned around. Her gloved hands suspended in midair, her gaze sharp, she said in a muffled voice: "The patient needs as sterile an environment as possible. Please leave for now."

Second Sister had no retort and could only follow them out.

Eldest Brother's recovery wasn't progressing well—he remained unconscious most of the time, and the wound infection was difficult to control. After patiently tending to him, Zong Ying faintly heard another argument downstairs.

She removed her gloves and stepped out, silently observing from the hallway.

Sheng Qinghe, lounging on the sofa, remarked: "So Eldest Brother was rushing to sign a deal with the Germans when he got caught in the air raid?" He smirked meaningfully and shot Sheng Qingrang a sidelong glance: "What a farce. Can't tell if it's worth risking half your life for such worldly gains."

Second Sister scolded him: "Have you no sense of propriety?!"

"Propriety?" Sheng Qinghe brazenly struck a match to light a cigarette, stretching his legs as he said: "Let me enlighten you. Right now, the bombing may be concentrated in Hongkou, but soon it'll likely shift to Yangshupu. The Sheng family's machinery factory will be destroyed sooner or later. And whether it's the Japanese or our own people who bomb it—who can say? Even if it is the Japanese, in the chaos of war, who would admit to dropping the bombs? Expecting reparations from the Japanese military afterward? Pure fantasy."

He clearly cared little for the family fortune and disapproved of the others' attempts to mitigate losses, indulging instead in his cigarette smoke as he freely expressed his disdain.

As Second Sister fumed, he added: "Anyway, as a married woman, you won't get a cent of the Sheng family wealth. Why bother helping here? Better hurry and tell that useless husband of yours to take the kids and flee to Hong Kong. Your in-laws' place will soon become a warzone—at least you might save your lives. Don't you think?"

"Sheng Qinghe!" Second Sister nearly leaped up in rage. At that moment, Sheng Qinghui entered the living room carrying a tray laden with tea and pastries, trying to diffuse the tension: "Let's have breakfast first."

Qinghui set the tray on the coffee table and looked up to see Zong Ying, whose mask left only her eyes visible, calling out: "Miss Zong, won't you come down for some tea?"

With Qinghui's invitation, all eyes turned to the upstairs hallway.Qinghui secretly winked at Zong Ying, as if she had something else to discuss with her; the fourth brother glanced up at her with a meaningful curl of his lips; the second sister suppressed her anger and asked, "Have you changed the dressing? How is he? Has the fever gone down a bit?"; Sheng Qingrang turned toward the staircase and looked up, his gaze as steady as ever.

Zong Ying descended the stairs and briefly explained the eldest brother's condition, causing the second sister's expression to darken further.

Qinghui quickly invited her to sit down. Zong Ying removed her mask, silently picked up a cup of tea, and drank it all in one go, listening as Qinghui leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Is it okay to give milk to a child?"

Fresh milk wasn't the best choice, but under the circumstances, it would have to do. Zong Ying nodded, and Qinghui immediately stood up and left the room.

The fourth brother finished his cigarette, grabbed a plate of pastries, and stuffed them into his mouth one after another. After wolfing them down, he gulped a cup of tea and suddenly stood up, walking over to Zong Ying. "With the nation in crisis, Miss Zong, have you ever considered that instead of staying here to serve one person and still face complaints, you could go to a frontline hospital and save more lives?"

His invitation to Zong Ying was calculated and confident—after all, someone who helped the weak even in dire straits would surely hold themselves to high moral standards.

Zong Ying held her teacup steadily and looked up at him.

The question touched on personal interests, professional duty, and even the perceived value of individual lives. Setting aside the fact that she didn't belong to this era, even if she had been born into it, she would have struggled to answer immediately.

The atmosphere grew heavy. Sheng Qingrang replied on her behalf, "Miss Zong will be leaving Shanghai soon."

The fourth brother responded with an indifferent "Is that so?" and added, "Self-preservation—very wise." As he spoke, he fastened his collar and strode out of the Sheng family's living room without a backward glance.

Soon, the sound of a car engine starting came from outside the mansion, followed only by the relentless chirping of cicadas.

Zong Ying suddenly turned to look at the family portrait hanging behind her. Sheng Qingrang walked over and bent slightly to ask, "You look exhausted. Would you like to rest first?"

Zong Ying met his gaze—his face was equally weary. "Alright," she said.

He patiently sought her opinion: "Back to the apartment, or stay here?"

Zong Ying didn’t want to move again. "Here," she replied.

Sheng Qingrang escorted her upstairs. Before closing the door, she said, "Mr. Sheng, you should rest too."

"I still have some matters to attend to." Caught off guard by her sudden concern, he averted his gaze slightly before continuing, "Then I’ll take my leave. I’ll come back for you in the evening."

Zong Ying said nothing, so he emphasized, "I will definitely come."

She closed the door and collapsed onto the bed.

She was long accustomed to shift work, so falling asleep at this hour wasn’t difficult.

Yet daytime sleep often brought vivid dreams.

She dreamed of a gloomy birthday party, then of a failed surgery, waking up drenched in sweat, her heart racing dangerously fast.

Grimacing in discomfort, she pressed a hand to her chest and focused on steadying her breath. Only when she had recovered did she realize the sky had darkened. She got up and pushed open the north-facing window—the wind had died down, the typhoon seemingly gone for good, leaving behind the oppressive summer heat to reclaim its territory.

Suddenly, a child’s wail echoed through the second-floor hallway, followed by the second sister’s sharp voice: "Why are we bringing this ragged, unknown child into our home?! Did that Dr. Zong bring it this morning? And you all conspired to hide it from me?!""What do you mean by 'of unknown origin'!" Qinghui held the infant in one arm while shielding the young boy behind her, her youthful face taut with anger. "This is class discrimination!"

"Sheng Qinghui! If you dare bring strangers into this house today, tomorrow they’ll have the nerve to empty your jewelry box! Don’t test me!" The second sister spoke with the authority of someone accustomed to weathering storms. "Send them away now!"

The little boy trembled under her scolding, shrinking back as he fought back tears. "I-I’ll leave… Please, just save my brother…"

Qinghui’s heart softened instantly. She glanced down at the baby in her arms, then defiantly met her sister’s gaze. "This child is in terrible health. If we send him away, he might not survive!"

But the second sister remained unmoved. "You’re a spoiled young lady who’s never known hardship, living off the family’s wealth. You think kindness alone can fill your belly!"

Just as she finished, a servant called from below, "Second Miss, your husband has arrived!"

The sister shot Qinghui a glare and pointed at her. "Was the concession orphanage built for nothing? You have three days to send them there." With that, she hurried downstairs.

Left standing in the corridor with the children, Qinghui seethed with anger, so much so that she didn’t even notice Zong Ying opening the door nearby.

When her temper had cooled slightly, Zong Ying spoke up. "I’m truly sorry."

Qinghui quickly changed the subject. "Miss Zong, please take a look—is his condition critical?"

Zong Ying stepped forward to examine the infant carefully. Qinghui watched her expression closely, but it remained unreadable the entire time.

She only said, "He’s a bit weak."

Qinghui frowned. "What should we do, then?"

Zong Ying didn’t answer. Instead, she looked up to see Sheng Qingrang ascending the stairs.

Outside, dusk had not yet faded into full night. This time, he had arrived punctually.

Zong Ying turned to Qinghui. "Take them to rest first. I’ll come find you later." Then she gestured for Sheng Qingrang to enter, holding the door open for him.

Qinghui hurried upstairs with the two children in tow, while Zong Ying entered the room and sat on the sofa, motioning for Sheng Qingrang to take the seat opposite.

He had come to take her back to the apartment, but she said, "I need to stay here tonight." After a pause, she added, "I promise not to leave. I’ll wait for you to return."

Her elder brother’s condition was unstable—tonight was critical. Leaving the infant in Qinghui’s inexperienced care was also unwise. Though she didn’t explain, Sheng Qingrang understood.

He had no reason to refuse. After a long silence, he replied, "Then I’ll come for you tomorrow."

Zong Ying nodded. "There’s something else I need your help with."

"Go ahead."

She extended her hand. "Paper and pen, please."

Sheng Qingrang retrieved a notebook and fountain pen from his briefcase, unscrewed the cap, and handed them to her.

Bending over the round coffee table, Zong Ying quickly scribbled a list: infant formula, bottles, two types of medicine… and finally, a change of clothes.

"Near the hospital by the apartment, there’s a shop open until midnight and a 24-hour pharmacy next to it. You can get everything there."

She reached for her wallet, intending to give him cash, but found only loose change inside. Instead, she pulled out a bank card. "You can use this to pay."

Sheng Qingrang had seen her use it at the Pujiang Hotel. "I know," he said."Then you should know the password as well." Zong Ying pushed the card toward him.

"Why would it be that string of numbers?"

"I'll tell you when there's a chance later."

Zong Ying promptly shut off the switch that triggered her memories and looked up to ask, "Were there any issues on your end while I was away these past few days?"

"I ran into Miss Xue at the apartment."

Zong Ying lowered her gaze but didn't seem surprised. "Did she leave my key behind?"

"Yes."

"Did you eat anything she gave you?"

"I drank a glass of water."

Zong Ying frowned. "Did she take the glass with her?"

"Hmm?" Sheng Qingrang suddenly recalled the paper bag Xue Xuanqing had taken with her when she left. "Is there a problem with that?"

Unfamiliar with fingerprint collection or DNA testing, it was natural for him to be unsuspecting.

Zong Ying stayed silent for a long moment before finally saying, "It's nothing. Not important."

After speaking, she made to stand up and check on her elder brother's condition, but Sheng Qingrang spoke again, "There's one more thing."

She sat back down on the sofa. "Go ahead."

"A lawyer named Zhang called. He said he wants to reschedule the meeting originally set for Wednesday to Saturday and asked for your reply."

Zong Ying's gaze turned icy, and the hand resting on the sofa armrest suddenly withdrew. After a pause, she asked, "Did he say anything else to you?"

After hesitating, Sheng Qingrang answered truthfully, "He mentioned that you might need to draft a will."

Author's Note:

Qing-ge: This Republic-era boy is too young, too simple.