At first, Sheng Qiushi thought she was asking about someone in the first photo. Only when he leaned in did he realize she was referring to the second one.
The black-and-white image filled the screen—a warm, joyful family scene. To Sheng Qiushi, it was merely a snapshot from the 1930s, but for Zong Ying, it was a moment she had witnessed firsthand just hours ago.
Now frozen on the 4.7-inch screen, Qinghui was smiling, A Lai was smiling, and the infant in her arms slept peacefully. It felt as though it had just happened, yet the relentless tide of time had swept it away for nearly a century.
Unaware of Zong Ying’s shock, Sheng Qiushi glanced briefly at the screen and answered candidly, "Are you asking about Miss Sheng? She was my grandfather’s adoptive mother."
Zong Ying held the phone in one hand while the other suddenly dropped to her side.
The suspicion that had surged within her was confirmed without hesitation. For a moment, she was at a loss. Glancing toward the bathroom, she abruptly handed the phone back to Sheng Qiushi, strode to the entryway cabinet, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one swiftly, then returned to the living room and turned on the TV, cranking the volume to maximum.
The news broadcast covered follow-up reports on a major explosion days earlier. Amid the clamor of eyewitness interviews, Zong Ying took a drag and asked Sheng Qiushi, "Can you tell me about that photo?"
Only then did Sheng Qiushi grow slightly suspicious of her curiosity. After all, she rarely showed interest in others or their affairs—this line of questioning was unusual.
Still, he glanced at the screen and answered truthfully, "This photo was likely taken during the war. According to my grandfather, Miss Sheng took them in, and by chance, they went out to take this picture. As for the exact date, he didn’t know."
By chance. What kind of chance? What kind of coincidence? Had her involvement altered anything?
Zong Ying kept smoking, the thin haze masking her unease. "Which one is your grandfather?"
"The baby in Miss Sheng’s arms was my grandfather," he continued. "The boy standing beside her was his older brother. They were refugees she took in during the chaos. In those brutal times, without Miss Sheng, he might not have survived—and none of what came after would have happened."
"Which one is Miss Sheng?" The cigarette burned quietly as Zong Ying lifted her gaze through the smoke.
She caught something peculiar in his phrasing—he kept referring to her as "Miss Sheng," never as his great-grandmother.
"Probably a wealthy young woman with a generous heart," Sheng Qiushi described. "My grandfather was too young to remember much about her, only that her surname was Sheng and she came from a well-off family."
"At the time?" Zong Ying frowned.
"They only lived together for a few years," he sighed. "It was a turbulent era—separations were common. Not just from Miss Sheng, but even from his own brother. Sadly, in all these years, my grandfather never heard from either of them again."
Lost in the vast sea of humanity, each went their own way. Sheng Qinghui’s fate remained a blank page.Zong Ying's mind conjured up that kind, innocent face, and she couldn't help but close her eyes briefly. She casually picked up an empty soda can from the table, dropped the half-smoked cigarette into it, and absentmindedly shook the can—the cigarette was immediately extinguished.
The smoky haze in the room dissipated, but the news on the TV continued, the volume turned up so loud it seemed capable of drowning out everything else.
Faintly, she heard Sheng Qiushi say, "More than a decade later, Grandfather left the country and his home, but he always carried the photos he took with Miss Sheng. Those are probably the two most treasured old photographs in the family."
The clock's hands ticked steadily onward. Zong Ying stared blankly at the TV screen, lost in a haze of confusion where cause and effect blurred.
The infant she had brought into this world—A Jiu—had once clung to her clothes out of instinctive fear. That had been the reason she took him to the Sheng family, which in turn seemed to have led to his adoption by Sheng Qinghui. His adoption by Qinghui had resulted in him taking the Sheng surname, and thus, the Sheng Qiushi of today.
But even without her involvement, Sheng Qiushi would still have been the same Sheng Qiushi she had known long before.
It was as if A Jiu and Qinghui's meeting, and all the separations that followed, had been predestined—completely unrelated to whether she had played a part or not.
After finishing his old story, Sheng Qiushi idly watched the brief evening news with her.
The moment the program's closing music played, Zong Ying suddenly snapped back to attention and turned to him. "What did you need from me these past few days?"
"Zong Yu has woken up," he said. "But his condition isn't great."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"He doesn’t want to talk much. A couple of days ago, he suddenly said he wanted to see you. I thought maybe you could talk to him."
"See me?"
"Yes."
Zong Ying was slightly surprised. She and Zong Yu weren’t as close as some siblings—they rarely saw each other, and with Zong Yu being introverted, he hardly ever spoke in front of her. Why would he suddenly want to see her?
"I’ll make time to visit him tomorrow." She glanced at the clock and said to Sheng Qiushi, "It’s almost eleven. You should head back and rest."
Sheng Qiushi also realized he had overstayed and tactfully took his leave.
As he reached the entryway, the dim hallway light revealed a pair of Derby shoes—likely size 42 or 43—clearly not Zong Ying’s.
Was there a third person in this apartment right now?
Suppressing his curiosity, Sheng Qiushi averted his gaze and stepped out, telling Zong Ying, "Get some rest," before turning toward the elevator.
Zong Ying closed the door and turned off the TV. The sound of running water in the bathroom resumed.
Earlier, Sheng Qingrang had turned off the faucet the moment he heard the door open. He had heard someone enter, heard them talking with Zong Ying, but then everything became indistinct—because Zong Ying had suddenly turned on the TV and, unusually, cranked up the volume. Upon closer consideration, it seemed like a deliberate cover—perhaps she hadn’t wanted him to hear the rest of the conversation, as it might have concerned the fate of someone close to him.
Though he hadn’t caught the crucial details, Sheng Qingrang had begun to form some guesses.
When Zong Ying had mentioned those two children to him before, she had clearly shown guilt and worry. She might have been questioning whether her impulsive actions had altered the course of someone else’s life.
After finishing his shower and changing, he stepped out of the bathroom to find Zong Ying sitting on the sofa, smoking.She extinguished her cigarette when she saw him emerge, momentarily at a loss for words. Opting for silence, she stood up to head for a shower.
In the deep summer night, Zong Ying entered the bathroom and turned on the faucet. Hot water gushed out, and beneath the showerhead, she felt the long-missed water pressure—something even the wartime concessions couldn’t provide.
Soon, she heard piano music. At first, she thought it was Xiao Nan next door practicing again, but after turning off the water and listening for half a minute, she realized it wasn’t.
It was Sheng Qingrang playing.
This made her acutely aware that there truly was another person in the house.
By the time Zong Ying finished drying her hair and stepped out, the piano had fallen silent. Most of the apartment’s lights were off, and Sheng Qingrang had just gone upstairs.
Zong Ying looked up at him, finding him standing at the stairwell landing, gazing back at her.
In the dim light, only their breathing and the ticking of the wall clock remained. Their faces were barely discernible.
Zong Ying didn’t speak, turning quickly to retreat to her bedroom. But Sheng Qingrang suddenly called out to her from above.
He spoke calmly, “Do you believe it, Miss Zong? Even without your intervention, those two children might have found their way to the Sheng family through other means. Given Qinghui’s nature, she would still have wanted to adopt them. I know Qinghui is still a child herself—she lacks the ability to care for two others and can’t stand up to Second Sister’s dominance alone. But you needn’t worry too much, because I’m here.”
I’m here. Please rest assured.
His reassurance was perfectly measured. Zong Ying paused for a moment, then replied without turning around, “Get some rest early, Mr. Sheng.”
From upstairs, Sheng Qingrang responded, “Goodnight, Miss Zong.”
She turned off the last light and entered her bedroom, plunging the apartment into darkness.
Dawn brought light back to the apartment.
A little past five in the morning, the sun rose, and the sounds of the city abruptly sprang to life. Doors opened repeatedly downstairs, bus announcements played at intervals, and Xiao Nan next door resumed her piano practice. Zong Ying stepped out and splashed cold water on her face.
By 5:45, after finishing her morning routine, she rummaged through the entryway cabinet but found nothing of use.
Her gaze fell on the tear-off calendar hanging on the wall, its latest page still displaying a date from days ago. Calculating, she realized today was August 20th, so she tore away all the outdated pages, revealing a fresh start.
The calendar now clearly read: Qixi Festival .
Just then, she heard Sheng Qingrang descending the stairs. She turned and tossed the discarded calendar pages into the wastebasket, looking up to greet him, “Morning.”
“Morning, Miss Zong,” he replied.
Zong Ying walked over and handed him the bank card from before. “Keep this card for emergencies.” She then took a blue transit card from her wallet and passed it to him. “This is a stored-value card for transportation—you can use it for taxis too. It’ll alert you when the balance runs low.”
Her generosity made Sheng Qingrang hesitate to accept.
Seeing his reluctance, Zong Ying wordlessly opened his briefcase and slipped the cards inside. “At least this can avoid some troubles that money can solve. Take it.”
She looked up. “So, are you ready to go?”
Sheng Qingrang nodded. “Yes.”
Three minutes remained until six o’clock. Both knew it, yet neither could find the words.
This was their first farewell in a state of mutual composure—Zong Ying wouldn’t be returning to his era with him, nor did she know what he would do upon his return. It felt like watching a lone boat drift into the vast ocean, leaving her with nothing but a wave goodbye.At six o'clock, Zong Ying once again witnessed someone's sudden disappearance—like a dream evaporating in an instant.
She reached out, but touched nothing. Only the chime of the wall clock echoed in her ears.
She opened the door to a clear, bright day—this was the world she had to face.
She found a breakfast shop and sat by the window, eating her meal in peace. Sunlight spilled generously across the table.
Outside, the streets bustled with ceaseless traffic, as if this was how the world was meant to be.
She waited until work hours began, intending to meet with Lawyer Zhang, only to suddenly remember that he had rescheduled their discussion. Left with no other choice, she changed course and headed to the hospital.
Sheng Qiushi had also just arrived. They crossed paths in the elevator, where he kept his eyes on the ascending floor numbers and said to her, "I’m going to do rounds now. You go upstairs first to check on Zong Yu. Once you’re done, come find me downstairs—I’ll discuss his condition with you."
Zong Ying nodded, watching him step out of the elevator. She straightened her clothes in the mirror-like doors—she didn’t know who she might encounter upstairs. Aside from Zong Yu, there could be his mother, or even Aunt.
Some relationships, she wasn’t good at maintaining.
The elevator doors opened to the hushed quiet unique to high-end hospital wards.
When she inquired about the room, the nurse even asked for her identity and purpose.
Just as she bent to fill out the visitor form, Nurse Liang happened to pass by. Spotting her, she said, "Dr. Zong, here to see your brother? Let me take you there."
Zong Ying followed her, leaving the other two nurses at the station exchanging glances.
One whispered, "Is that the Dr. Zong who used to be in neurosurgery? Nurse Liang said she was really impressive back then—either started school early or skipped grades, graduated super young, and was Chief Xu’s star student."
The other, unaware, asked, "Which hospital is she at now?"
"She’s not even a doctor anymore! Heard she became a forensic examiner."
"Chief Xu’s star student—doing autopsies?!"
"Star student or not, after what happened back then, probably no hospital would take her. So she had no choice but to cut up the dead."
As they chatted, someone approached—wearing a light blue short-sleeved uniform, gray epaulets, carrying a case, her indifferent expression tinged with a hint of arrogance. It was Xue Xuanqing.
She presented her credentials and documents, saying, "Room 2013. Injury assessment."
The nurse glanced up and handed her a form. "Could you fill this out, please?"
Xue Xuanqing took the form and immediately spotted the name of another visitor written in black and white—Zong Ying, heading to Room 2015.
She itched to rush to 2014 and catch her, but instead, she picked up the pen and leaned against the counter to fill out the form, listening expressionlessly as the nurses continued their gossip.
"Explain properly—what exactly happened?"
"I wasn’t here back then, just heard rumors, but they’re probably close to the truth." She lowered her voice. "Heard she injured her hand right after getting promoted—really badly, to the point they said she might never recover. Then somehow she managed to get back into surgery, but that operation failed, and the patient’s family made a huge scene. Sure, all surgeries carry risks, but when something like that happens, people blame the doctor. They’d say her hand wasn’t fully healed, that she shouldn’t have gambled with a patient’s life."
"That’s awful. How did she hurt her hand, anyway?""Who the hell knows? A neurosurgeon's hands are so precious. If you don't take care of them yourself, who else can you blame?"
Xue Xuanqing handed over the form with an indifferent expression, glanced at their employee numbers, and suddenly read them aloud in front of them: "126, 213."
The two opposite her looked baffled, but Xue Xuanqing turned and walked away without another word.
The corridor was eerily quiet, and the same silence filled Room 2015. The humidifier tirelessly exhaled white mist as Zong Yu lay in bed without speaking.
Zong Yu's Mother had left early in the morning for an errand, and the caregiver tactfully stepped aside when Zong Ying arrived, leaving only the siblings in the room.
Zong Ying said, "Dr. Sheng mentioned you wanted to see me. Do you have something to tell me?"
Zong Yu breathed heavily, each breath slow and labored, his gaze dull yet faintly sorrowful as he looked at her.
She poured some warm water from the thermos and asked, "Would you like some water?"
He shook his head with difficulty.
This child, now in his teens, was gentle, kind, and academically excellent—never stepping out of line and rarely making demands at home.
Zong Ying remembered how he had tried hard to get close to her as a child, eager to win her affection. But back then, she had been determined to escape that household, shutting the door early and rejecting his attempts to bridge the gap.
Amid the swirling mist, Zong Ying asked, "That night, why did you and Uncle Xing go out in the early hours?"
From what Zong Ying had learned, Zong Yu was supposed to stay overnight at his uncle's place that evening. Could he have changed his mind at midnight? He wasn’t the type of child to act so capriciously.
Zong Yu looked at her for a long moment before finally saying, "I... don’t remember."
Zong Ying pressed further, "Then, do you remember how Uncle Xing's car lost control?"
He seemed to hesitate before shaking his head again, this time not even bothering to speak.
Given his traumatic brain injury and possible psychological barriers, temporary memory loss was plausible.
Realizing she wouldn’t get much more, Zong Ying stopped questioning. She shifted her gaze to the monitor, sensing his exhaustion, and softened her tone. "If you remember anything or have something to tell me, you can call me anytime, alright?"
When he didn’t respond, she added, "I’ll go now."
She wasn’t keen on running into Zong Yu's Mother and wanted to leave before she returned.
As she stood from the chair and turned to go, Zong Yu suddenly called out to her.
"Sis..." The boy struggled to speak, then unexpectedly said, "I'm sorry."
Zong Ying, already halfway turned, froze. She looked back at him in confusion, but Zong Yu averted his gaze.
Why was he apologizing? Zong Ying couldn’t comprehend this sudden apology—there was nothing between them that warranted guilt. What exactly was this "sorry" referring to?
Just then, her phone vibrated sharply, snapping her out of her thoughts.
Zong Ying answered the call, and the voice on the other end asked, "How much longer are you planning to stay in there?"
Instinctively glancing up, she hung up and headed for the door.
She pulled it open to find Xue Xuanqing leaning against the frame, phone in one hand, the other foot propped against the opposite doorframe, blocking the way.
Zong Ying looked down at her foot, then met her gaze. Xue Xuanqing studied her leisurely and said, "Finally found you."
Author's Note:Republican Era Boy: @Sheng Qiushi, the first can of milk powder your grandfather ever had was bought by me, yet you suspect me of stealing credit cards.
Zong Ying V: Just took a look at the bill and balance—feels like I can go drink the northwest wind now.
Xue Xuanqing V: Ah, finally caught you two upstairs. Let's talk about those illegal parking fines, shall we? Even good friends should settle accounts clearly.
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