There are countless similar faces in this world, but those who resemble each other even in demeanor to such an extent are exceedingly rare.
Sheng Qiushi recalled his brief observation in the store and stared at his phone screen for a long while before suddenly closing his email and switching to the dialing interface, directly calling Zong Ying.
The mechanical prompt tone sounded again: "The number you have dialed is currently switched off."
When he had called two days ago to inform her about Zong Yu's condition, he had received the same response.
For several days now, Zong Ying's phone had been turned off, and calls to her apartment went unanswered. A faint unease rose in Sheng Qiushi's heart, and he decided to visit her apartment after work. But before that, he tried calling the landline at Apartment 699 once more.
When the phone suddenly rang, Sheng Qingrang was holding a booklet, his fingertips just brushing over the golden Möbius strip embossed on the cover.
He turned his head toward the doorway, where the ringing persisted relentlessly in the darkness. Finally, he set the booklet aside and walked out of the bedroom to answer the phone.
"Zong Ying?" The voice on the other end sounded tentative, then seemed to relax slightly. "You're finally there. I thought—" The worried words trailed off, only for suspicion to creep in abruptly. "Is that you?"
Sheng Qingrang replied, "Hello, who are you looking for?"
"Who are you to Zong Ying? Why are you in her apartment?"
Even over the phone, Sheng Qingrang immediately sensed the other party's noticeably hostile tone. He deduced that the caller might have a close personal relationship with Zong Ying. To avoid causing her further trouble, he responded, "Sir, I believe the call may have been misdirected. The person you're looking for isn't here."
Sheng Qiushi on the other end was stunned for three seconds before Sheng Qingrang hung up.
Outside the hospital building, the area was sparsely populated, with only the wail of an ambulance piercing the air. Apartment 699 fell silent again as Sheng Qingrang turned to look at the wall clock, its second hand ticking steadily. It was already late.
He suddenly remembered Zong Ying's parting words—urging him to "get some good rest"—and quickly composed himself. Returning to the bedroom, he retied the booklet and placed it back in its original spot.
Just then, a gust of wind rose outside, rattling the old sixteen-pane window. The air felt damp, as if rain was imminent.
Yet on this night in 1937, the typhoon had passed, the clouds were thin, and the moon was nearly full—only a sliver missing from its perfect circle.
Zong Ying, having tended to the frail newborn, found herself unable to sleep and stepped out of the mansion alone.
The garden was bathed in silvery moonlight, the leaves shimmering. Distant barks of dogs could be heard, but there was no trace of the city's usual clamor or the tension that should accompany wartime.
Everyone in the mansion slept peacefully, as if Shanghai remained an untroubled paradise where nothing was to be feared.
But Zong Ying knew this tranquility wouldn't last much longer.
She turned and looked up at the pristine mansion, faintly recalling its appearance and ownership more than half a century later... A trace of melancholy and confusion inexplicably clouded her brow.
What paths and fates awaited those now sleeping soundly within these walls?
Would this family eventually fracture, or would they hold tightly together through the trials of the coming decades?
Soon, the first piece of tragic news would arrive at the still-slumbering mansion in just a few hours.The sky wasn't fully light yet when Uncle Xu from the eldest uncle's household arrived in disarray to deliver the tragic news. Second Sister remained upstairs, unwilling to come down, leaving only Qinghui to hastily dress and descend. She stood helplessly outside the small building, watching as Uncle Xu wept bitterly, his words barely coherent through his sobs.
Qinghui's ears buzzed, the details of his account lost to her. All she grasped was that her eldest uncle, who lived in Hongkou, had been killed in the bombing. Uncle Xu, the steward, had been out on errands and thus escaped the disaster, but now had nowhere to go.
Her eldest uncle, along with his house, had been reduced to a pile of charcoal.
"If only it had been a little sooner, just a few hours earlier..." Uncle Xu's voice was hoarse from crying. "Had I known, I would have dragged the master to the docks by force. Once aboard the ship, none of this would have happened... I've failed the master and betrayed the trust placed in me by the sir!"
Second Sister finally deigned to come downstairs, frowning as she listened, her irritation palpable.
The eldest uncle's family had always been lazy and gluttonous, only knowing how to take advantage of others. She had harbored a poor impression of that branch since childhood, and their relationship had naturally been distant.
Now that the eldest uncle was dead, she felt not an ounce of grief. Suddenly, she stepped forward, pulling Qinghui aside and addressing Uncle Xu sharply, "Third Brother isn't here. If you want to cry, go to his apartment." She then turned to glare at Qinghui and snapped, "What are you doing down here? Go back inside!"
Sheng Qinghui stood frozen for a few seconds before being shoved back through the door. As it slammed shut behind her, she could only turn and head upstairs.
Zong Ying stood on the upper corridor, watching silently before retreating into her room.
One child slept on, oblivious, while the other had risen early to help in the kitchen.
Seated on the sofa, Zong Ying watched as Sheng Qinghui entered and went straight to the vanity, sitting before the mirror and absently picking up a wooden comb, her movements stalled.
Zong Ying remained silent, and Qinghui continued to sit there. After a while, she saw Qinghui reach into the drawer and pull out a stack of boat tickets—
The very tickets Sheng Qingrang had left behind during his last visit to the mansion.
Only then did she realize that today was the 17th, the date printed on the tickets.
What Qinghui held in her hands was, in fact, a chance to leave Shanghai—one that would soon expire.
Yet in this household, not a single person showed any intention of evacuating.
The room remained quiet for a long while. Zong Ying picked up her teacup, drained the cold water, and suddenly asked without looking up, "How much longer until the ship departs?"
Qinghui snapped out of her daze, glancing at the time on the tickets but saying nothing.
Zong Ying set down the cup. "If there's still time, do you want to go?"
Qinghui had never considered leaving Shanghai. But her eldest brother's injury and her uncle's gruesome death—each incident hammered home the brutal unpredictability of war. Her uncle could have been safely evacuated on today's ship, yet instead, there was only the cold news of his death. Who could have foreseen it?
Faced with Zong Ying's question, Qinghui frowned deeply, unable to answer. She simply turned to look at Zong Ying on the sofa.
Her expression was fraught with worry, yet clung to a naive hope. Her voice lacked conviction as she asked, "The fighting won't last too long, will it? It'll be over soon, right?"
Zong Ying parted her lips, her eyelashes fluttering slightly, but the words died unspoken.
Qinghui's face fell completely. The grandfather clock in the living room chimed loudly. With one last glance at the departure time on the tickets, she tucked them back into the drawer—
[Translation ends here. The text cuts off mid-sentence, but the translation remains faithful to the original's tone and content, maintaining character names and nuances as specified.]It's invalid, just a stack of wasted paper that has been let down.
Sheng Qingrang had clearly anticipated this betrayal. Upon returning to the mansion, he said nothing unnecessary, only speaking privately with Zong Ying for a while. He handed over the items she had entrusted to him and then left to attend to other matters—official business and the aftermath of his uncle's affairs.
Before parting, he mentioned he would come to pick Zong Ying up in the evening, but she refused.
Zong Ying had a solid reason—both patients were still unstable and needed a couple more days of observation.
She wasn’t reluctant to stay, but at the very least, things should be seen through to the end. It was a matter of principle.
In the end, they agreed on one bottom line: no matter what, Zong Ying had to return to her own time by August 19th.
During these two extra days, even without stepping outside, Zong Ying could sense tangible changes—first with the food, as ingredients grew scarce, and the kitchen staff could no longer improvise; then with water and electricity, as hot water was nearly cut off and power outages became frequent; and finally, with the people in the apartment—Second Sister’s family, including Second Sister's Husband and their child, had all moved into the mansion from the Chinese district.
There was some good news too—the eldest brother’s condition stabilized day by day, and the sickly child finally regained a normal appetite.
Just as Zong Ying and Qinghui were beginning to relax, Second Sister still clung to the "three-day deadline" she had imposed on Qinghui—now that the household had grown even larger, she couldn’t stand Qinghui fussing over two unrelated, unfamiliar children. As the temporary head of the family, she finally ordered Qinghui at noon on the 19th to immediately take the children to an orphanage.
Qinghui resisted, refusing to go, but Second Sister dragged and shoved her out the door, standing at the entrance with a broom in hand and delivering an ultimatum: "Sheng Qinghui, if you don’t get rid of these two burdens, don’t even think about coming back!"
Qinghui reluctantly got into the car, and Zong Ying went with her.
The car drove out of the mansion, heading straight for the concession’s orphanage.
The entire way, Qinghui wrestled with her thoughts—if she refused to send them to the orphanage, she might very well be kicked out by Second Sister; but if she actually handed them over, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them behind.
Zong Ying noticed her anxiety and spoke up: "Tell me what you’re thinking."
Qinghui was clearly trying to convince herself: "Sending them to the orphanage isn’t necessarily bad. I can visit them when I have time..." She was so nervous she even bit her nails. "Back in school, we volunteered at the orphanage—it used to be a warm and welcoming place."
After listing all the supposed benefits, they arrived at the orphanage, only to find the car couldn’t even get past the outer gate.
The orphanage, inside and out, was overrun with refugees, its former order long gone. Qinghui stared out the window, speechless. Her self-reassurance paled in the face of reality.
Some refugees even rushed toward the car the moment it stopped, knocking on the windows. Qinghui clutched the child in her arms tightly, instinctively shrinking back, terrified the glass might shatter.
The driver, sensing danger, immediately started the car and warned the two in the back, "We can’t stay here!"
Amid the chaos, the car sped away. Qinghui, tense, instinctively tightened her grip, holding the child even closer. Even after the car stopped, she didn’t let go, squeezing so hard the child burst into loud wails. Zong Ying called out to her, "Miss Sheng—" and, while Qinghui was still dazed, took the increasingly distressed child from her arms. "I’ll take them."Qinghui's arm muscles remained tense, unable to relax immediately. When she finally regained her composure, she looked out the window to see the broad expanse of the Huangpu River, where a British destroyer was anchored, preparing to depart.
For days, bodies had been floating in Suzhou Creek, and the dark smoke rising from the northern part of the city was faintly visible. Refugees continued to pour into the concessions, with looting and riots occurring frequently. Food supply trucks were often intercepted, and the number of shops operating normally dwindled. Residents of the concessions did their best to stay indoors, while the police clearly struggled to maintain order. With the flames of war burning at their doorstep, the evacuation from the concessions had begun—
Over 80% of British women and children boarded the destroyer, bound for Wusongkou to embark on ships and flee the besieged city of Shanghai.
The departing destroyer resembled a distant Noah's Ark.
Author's Note:
On August 19th, British women and children boarded the destroyer to Wusongkou, where they would embark on the Empress of Asia and leave Shanghai.
They had evacuated nearly 90% of the city's women and children.
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