Zong Ying had always been reticent, seemingly uninterested in anything, but her sudden barrage of questions left her cousin momentarily stunned.
“Bai Xiang Pharmacy…” Her cousin struggled to recall before answering, “Yes, yes, there’s one at the west gate. Probably not a chain—just a privately owned one, I think.”
Zong Ying didn’t even have time to finish her cigarette. The moment her cousin finished speaking, she pinched out the ember with her fingers, sparing only a curt “I’m going out” before rushing past the bewildered cousin, through the living room, and out the door.
The instant the security door slammed shut, everyone in the living room froze.
Her great-aunt snapped out of it first and asked, “Who… just left?”
Xiao Nan, curled up on the sofa eating ice cream, piped up, “It was Auntie from Shanghai!”
Her grandmother turned toward the door in confusion while the cousin stepped back in from the balcony and said, “She went to the pharmacy, I think… maybe to buy medicine?” Given how oddly Zong Ying had acted, even the cousin didn’t fully believe her own explanation. But the priority was keeping the elders from suspecting anything, so she didn’t elaborate, even throwing in a plausible reason for Zong Ying’s abrupt departure.
The old residential complex had low-rise buildings with no elevators. Motion-sensor lights flickered on as Zong Ying sprinted down the stairs, illuminating each flight as she descended.
Her sense of direction was sharp. She dashed out of the west gate, turned left, and abruptly pushed open the pharmacy door. A blast of cold air rushed over her, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
Gasping for breath, she scanned the entire store—medicine shelves, checkout counter—but there was no sign of Sheng Qingrang.
Struggling to steady her breathing, she asked, “Did someone just buy medicine here for 56 yuan and 50 cents?”
The cashier blinked in surprise. “How did you know?”
“How long ago did they leave?”
Still baffled, the cashier replied, “Uh… maybe three or four minutes ago?”
Before he could finish, Zong Ying released the door handle and bolted out. The glass door swung shut slowly behind her, taking its time to close completely.
The street was lined with parked cars, and the streetlights flickered intermittently. Zong Ying moved so fast she could hear her own labored breathing, a thin layer of sweat forming on her forehead from the stifling heat.
At a fork in the road, she hesitated, unsure which way to go—until her phone chimed with a new notification. She unlocked the screen to see a fresh transaction alert: convenience store, 7.80 yuan spent.
She vaguely remembered passing a convenience store on her way in. Without hesitation, she veered right and sprinted toward it with all her strength.
As she passed by a building, someone cautiously called out, “Miss Zong?”
She skidded to a stop, bending over with hands on her knees as she struggled for breath. Looking toward the voice, she saw the person sitting on the steps and managed to wheeze out, “Mr… Sheng.”
Sheng Qingrang immediately stood up. Zong Ying straightened as well, her face tense as she fought to steady her breathing.
“Why are you in Nanjing? And how did you know I was here?” Sheng Qingrang suppressed his shock, keeping his tone as composed as possible.
“It’s a long story. No time to explain now.” Only after saying this did her breathing finally stabilize enough for her to take a proper look at him.Under the dim glow of the streetlights, his exhaustion and gauntness were visibly apparent. A fresh cut marred his face, his collar was stained with blood, and he carried a plastic pharmacy bag containing medical supplies along with a bottle of water and a loaf of bread.
Zong Ying had no time to inquire about his injuries or what had transpired in recent days. She simply asked, "Do you have a pen?"
Without his briefcase, Sheng Qingrang fished out a fountain pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.
Unaware of her intentions, he watched as she abruptly seized his hand, spread his palm, and swiftly wrote the name of a hotel. "Take a cab and wait for me there," she instructed, capping the pen before pulling out her wallet and pressing two bills into his hand. "I need to fetch someone first and might arrive later. Please wait patiently."
Her rapid-fire actions left Sheng Qingrang no room to react. By the time he fully processed her words, Zong Ying was already a hundred meters away, her retreating figure decisive and resolute.
Returning to her great-aunt’s home, Zong Ying was immediately questioned by her cousin. "Did you just go to the pharmacy?"
She gave a vague affirmation. "Yes, I had a headache and bought painkillers. I’ve already taken them."
Her grandmother asked, "Feeling better now? If driving is difficult, shall we call a chauffeur?"
Zong Ying shook her head. "It’s fine. I’m better now."
As fatigue set in, the family’s reluctance to part was tempered by the lack of space, subtly revealing the awkwardness of hosting guests overnight.
Her grandmother, sensing this, said to her great-aunt, "It’s late—time to rest. We’ll still be in Nanjing tomorrow and can gather again."
Her great-aunt nodded, and with that, everyone finally relaxed and prepared to leave.
The group escorted Zong Ying and her grandmother out of the neighborhood, watching until they got into the car before dispersing.
Driving along the right fork, Zong Ying glanced at the building where she had encountered Sheng Qingrang—its front steps now deserted, confirming he had left.
The car sped unimpeded toward the reserved hotel, arriving at exactly eleven. The lobby was quiet, the front desk staff seemingly drowsy.
As soon as she entered, Zong Ying scanned the surroundings meticulously. Her grandmother asked, "A-Ying, are you looking for something?"
"Not really," she replied, her gaze settling on a sofa near the indoor fountain where Sheng Qingrang sat.
He noticed her too but, mindful of her elder’s presence, remained seated.
Her grandmother moved to check in with her, but Zong Ying insisted, "You’re tired—rest a while. I’ll handle it." Taking her grandmother’s passport, she approached the front desk.
After verifying the reservation, the clerk asked, "One standard room, correct?"
Zong Ying lowered her voice. "No." She handed over her ID and passport. "Two rooms."
"Separate?" The clerk glanced past her at the elderly woman on the sofa, clearly hesitant about leaving an old lady alone but refrained from comment, issuing two room keys without further ado.Zong Ying pocketed one of the room keys and turned around to find her grandmother staring at Sheng Qingrang seated on the other sofa.
She quickly walked over, calling out “Grandma” while helping her up. “The room’s ready. Let’s go rest.”
Her grandmother allowed herself to be assisted but kept her gaze fixed on Sheng Qingrang until she finally turned away, abandoning her scrutiny to say to Zong Ying, “Did you see that young man? He looks refined, yet he’s injured like that—could it be from a fight? And he seems so old-fashioned! How peculiar.”
Zong Ying glanced briefly in his direction again, then hurriedly changed the subject as the elevator doors opened. “Grandma, the elevator’s here.”
After settling her grandmother in the room, the elderly woman began reminiscing about their old hometown in Chun’an. Zong Ying didn’t want to interrupt but kept checking the time. Sensing her restlessness, her grandmother asked, “Do you have something else to do?”
Zong Ying replied, “It’s getting late. I should take a shower.”
Her grandmother said, “Then you go first. I’ll sit here a while longer.”
Unable to argue with a stubborn elder, Zong Ying got up to shower. She washed in record time, drying her hair halfway before slipping into a bathrobe—the entire process took less than ten minutes.
Her grandmother chided her, “Don’t rush. You should take your time bathing properly.”
Zong Ying merely nodded, rummaging through her travel bag for fresh clothes. She swiftly pulled on a shirt and trousers, prompting her grandmother to ask, “A-Ying, are you planning to sleep in that?”
This time, Zong Ying answered without hesitation, “I want to go out for a smoke.”
Though her grandmother disliked smoking, she knew Zong Ying had her reasons. After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly let her go.
Once her grandmother entered the bathroom, Zong Ying finally left the room and headed downstairs to the lobby, where Sheng Qingrang still sat alone. A staff member approached him, politely urging him to leave.
The scene abruptly reminded Zong Ying of her own experience at the Cathay Hotel—disheveled and sitting in the lobby, only to be shooed away by staff. The situation was eerily similar, except now the protagonist was Sheng Qingrang instead of her.
She stepped forward, extending a hand toward Sheng Qingrang and telling the staff, “This gentleman is with me.” When he didn’t react, she leaned in, took his hand, and led him straight to the elevator.
As the enclosed space ascended, the faint fragrance of bath products mingled with the acrid scent of gunpowder and dust from the battlefield.
Zong Ying frowned slightly and shifted her stance. Sheng Qingrang stood pressed against the elevator wall, not daring to move.
Only then did Zong Ying ask, “How did you get hurt on your face?”
Exhaustion seemed to slow his reaction. After a pause, he answered, “Probably shrapnel grazes.”
Her gaze drifted over before settling on his face.
Suddenly, she stepped closer—so near their breaths almost mingled—while Sheng Qingrang, trapped against the metal wall, had nowhere to retreat.
Under the bright elevator lights, Zong Ying furrowed her brow, studying his wounds intently. She even tilted his chin up slightly, revealing two gashes on his neck.
If these really were from scattered shrapnel, he had been incredibly lucky."If it had gone any deeper and cut the carotid artery, then I think... you probably wouldn't be here right now." As she spoke, her hand still lightly lifted his chin, showing no intention of moving away.
She examined the wound with such straightforward professionalism that Sheng Qingrang had no choice but to remain pressed against the wall.
"Let me see what medicine you bought." Finally lowering her hand, Sheng Qingrang secretly let out a breath of relief. But before he could fully exhale, she tilted her head slightly, and her damp hair brushed against his skin—cool, carrying a faint scent of shampoo, the strands not particularly soft.
Sheng Qingrang's throat instinctively tightened, his fingers trembling slightly before he clenched them into a fist.
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