Night Wanderer

From August until now, Zong Ying hadn't returned to the 699 apartment in 1937 for dozens of days.

The changes in the apartment were obvious—the dining table was no longer tidy, piled high with children's belongings. Clothes and books were strewn across the sofa, an empty milk bottle sat on the coffee table, and a shattered white porcelain bowl lay on the floor, spilled rice porridge yet to be cleaned up.

It seemed Qinghui wasn’t particularly adept at taking care of children.

At this realization, Zong Ying suddenly became aware that Qinghui and the children were all in the apartment at this moment, while she had abruptly appeared at the doorway of Sheng Qingrang’s bedroom, one hand still tightly gripping his—far too suspicious.

She let go as if electrocuted. Upstairs, a child’s cry abruptly rang out. Qinghui leaned over the railing to look down and, upon seeing Zong Ying, thought she must be seeing things. She hurriedly carried A Jiu downstairs, stopping a few steps away and staring at Zong Ying in confusion. "Miss Zong, weren’t you... abroad?"

Zong Ying stuffed her hands into her pockets, quickly composing her emotions and thoughts before looking up. Just as she was about to speak, Sheng Qingrang turned slightly and answered first, "Miss Zong encountered some obstacles with her trip abroad, so she’ll be staying in Shanghai for a couple of days."

Zong Ying thought his explanation was reasonable, but Qinghui grew suspicious.

"When did Miss Zong arrive?" she asked.

Zong Ying was currently standing at the entrance of Sheng Qingrang’s bedroom, wearing a T-shirt and loose pajama pants, two mosquito bites reddening her exposed ankles, her hair disheveled from sleep—clearly, she had spent the night here.

Sheng Qingrang glanced swiftly at Zong Ying before feigning calmness as he replied to Qinghui, "Miss Zong happened to drop by last night while I was out, so she stayed here for the night."

"I must have been dead asleep—I didn’t hear a thing." Qinghui hadn’t been able to rest properly these past few days because of A Jiu. Exhausted, she had fallen asleep upstairs by evening yesterday and didn’t even know when Sheng Qingrang had left.

Looking weary, she glanced at Sheng Qingrang, who was neatly dressed, and asked, "Third Brother, did you just return?"

"Yes." Just as Sheng Qingrang was about to hand over the medical kit, A Jiu, still crying in Qinghui’s arms, began wheezing again.

Zong Ying stepped forward, reaching out to check. The child’s breathing was rapid but clearly labored, lips even turning slightly purple—not a good sign.

"Upstairs, now," she said, taking the medical kit from Sheng Qingrang with one hand while lightly guiding Qinghui’s back with the other, urging her to carry the child back to the room upstairs.

As the two hurried up the steps, a small head peeked out from the guest room to the west—A Lai, who had just woken up.

Seeing Sheng Qingrang, he cautiously greeted, "Good morning, sir," before walking into the living room to help tidy the mess on the dining table and sofa.

Upstairs, the guest room Zong Ying had once slept in had now become Qinghui and A Jiu’s bedroom. Lacking organization, the space exuded chaos.

Zong Ying took A Jiu’s temperature again, carefully listening to his lungs before asking the flustered Qinghui beside her, "How long has the fever lasted?"

Qinghui replied, "Quite a while. He won’t take milk, and his energy is very low."

Sensing the anxiety in her voice, Zong Ying straightened up and said, "Don’t panic." She then opened the medical kit, retrieving a fever-reducing patch and medicine, handing Qinghui a box of alcohol wipes and a dropper. "Sterilize the dropper."Qinghui followed the instructions, peeking curiously at the strange packaging boxes in the process. She found Zong Ying increasingly mysterious, yet inexplicably felt a sense of reassurance, as if she had found a reliable authority to lean on, and her panic immediately lessened.

She handed over the sterilized dropper and watched as Zong Ying drew medicine from the bottle, bending down to feed A Jiu.

Curious, Qinghui leaned in for a closer look, but Zong Ying suddenly paused.

Zong Ying had initially intended to do it herself, but then it occurred to her that this might be something Qinghui needed to learn. She straightened up and handed the dropper to Qinghui instead. "You do it."

Qinghui suddenly looked unsure, but Zong Ying glanced down at her and said, "It's not difficult. Give the medicine slowly—I'll teach you how to control the pace."

Encouraged, Qinghui took a shallow breath, clenched her fists nervously, then carefully took the dropper and began feeding A Jiu the medicine with great caution.

Zong Ying was clearly a patient teacher. Once Qinghui finished, she finally straightened up and exhaled in relief, asking, "Will he be fine after taking this medicine?"

Zong Ying replied, "Not yet." She picked up the small measuring cup that came with the medicine box. "I’ve written the dosage for each meal on a note. Use this to measure—don’t give too much." Then she pointed to the cooling patches and explained, "These are for physical fever reduction. Keep an eye on his temperature—if it gets too high, you can use one."

After speaking, Zong Ying pressed her lips together out of habit and picked up a small IV bag.

Seeing her silent, Qinghui asked, "What’s wrong?"

But Zong Ying set the IV bag down and quickly walked out the door.

At the staircase, Sheng Qingrang, who had been busy in the living room, looked up at her and asked, "Do you need help?"

"The medical kit I gave you last month—is it here or at the Sheng residence?"

"It’s at the residence. Do you need it? I’ll go get it now."

Zong Ying said, "A Jiu needs an IV, but I forgot to bring the infusion set. I left extras in that bag—there should still be some."

Sheng Qingrang’s tone was steady and calm. "Understood. I’ll go get it now."

After speaking, he went to call a car. Zong Ying added, "We also need to pick up some medicine. I’ll go with you."

Her eyes held a firmness that brooked no refusal. Sheng Qingrang thought for a moment and simply said, "The clothes are still in the usual place."

The bottom drawer of the dresser by the bedroom door. Zong Ying remembered clearly.

She quickly found the clothes and changed. When she stepped out, she saw Sheng Qingrang instructing A Lai to watch the porridge on the stove. "Turn off the gas once it boils, understand?"

A Lai nodded seriously. He straightened up and turned to Zong Ying. "We can go now."

Zong Ying walked out with him, heading downstairs. At the service desk, Mr. Ye sat behind the high counter reading a newspaper. Hearing the commotion, he looked up, and his dull expression brightened instantly at the sight of Zong Ying. "Miss Zong, you’re back! When did you arrive?"

Now wasn’t the time for small talk. Sheng Qingrang replied, "We have urgent business—we’ll be on our way."

Mr. Ye tactfully sat back down. Zong Ying casually grabbed the newspapers from the mailbox.

Sheng Qingrang probably hadn’t collected them in days—a small stack had accumulated, both Chinese and English.

Holding the newspaper in one hand, Zong Ying walked with her head down, reading. At the entrance, a cool breeze brushed her face. She looked up to find only gloomy clouds, not a trace of sunlight in sight.

Sheng Qingrang swiftly unfolded the short jacket he had draped over his arm and draped it over her shoulders, saying only, "The temperature’s dropped a bit," before stepping to the taxi and opening the door for her.

Zong Ying snapped out of her thoughts, pressing the collar closed with one hand as she got into the car, still reading the newspaper.The newspapers, editorials, announcements, and advertisements—their layouts were no different from before the war, and their content hadn’t shifted focus toward the ongoing conflict.

These were the papers of the foreign concessions, distinct from those of the homeland. People were more concerned with the football association’s leadership change in September or the new products in department stores, tacitly dividing Shanghai into two parts—the Chinese-administered areas and the concessions, the war zones and the non-war zones.

The overwhelming mundanity of daily life served as a veil to cloak the flames of war.

Zong Ying couldn’t finish reading. She lifted her gaze to the window.

The car smoothly exited the French Concession, heading toward the Sheng family mansion in the International Settlement. As they passed Nanjing Road, a familiar building flashed by—the Cathay Hotel, where she had once stayed and which had been bombed, had reopened.

That afternoon, two bombs had fallen from the sky, the explosions deafening, the corridors strewn with blood and flesh.

Yet barely a month later, it was back in business, as if the bombing had never happened.

“When did it reopen?” Zong Ying instinctively straightened in her seat, her eyes still fixed outside.

“Just these past couple of days.” Sheng Qingrang followed her gaze and added, “The Great World Theatre, which was bombed the same day, has also reopened. There’s even a new film screening recently.”

His tone carried a helpless unease. The artillery fire from the enemy positions a hundred meters away was real and relentless—there was hell on the other side, and this place was certainly no paradise.

The increasing presence of foreign troops on the streets betrayed the panic and anxiety beneath the facade of normalcy. Police from the patrol bureau were everywhere, arresting suspicious figures and riotous refugees. The Public Health Department of the International Settlement had already issued its third cholera outbreak report… The order they struggled to maintain was as fragile as glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

By the time the car arrived at the Sheng residence, the household was in chaos over a child.

Sheng Qingrang stated his purpose to the gatekeeper. Uncle Yao frowned and said, “The house is in complete disarray right now. It’d be best if you took what you needed and left quickly.”

Zong Ying noticed that Uncle Yao’s attitude toward Sheng Qingrang was no longer one of outright rejection—there was even a hint of goodwill.

What had happened in the days she’d been away?

Sheng Qingrang inquired, “What’s going on?”

Uncle Yao explained, “Yesterday, the young master went out with his father-in-law, and somehow he slipped away on his own. They searched all the way until curfew and still couldn’t find him! It wasn’t until this morning that the police brought him back. You’d think everyone could relax then, right? But as soon as he returned, he suddenly started vomiting and had severe diarrhea. The situation was so bad that the second young lady started arguing with her husband!”

Listening to him, Zong Ying realized the “young master” he referred to was the child of the second sister’s family.

She asked, “Where was he found?”

Uncle Yao replied, “They said he’d already made it to the refugee camp in the west. If the family hadn’t repeatedly contacted the patrol bureau, there’d have been no chance of finding him at all!”

Sheng Qingrang frowned slightly and said calmly to Zong Ying, “There’s a cholera outbreak there.”

Zong Ying instinctively pressed her lips together and stayed silent.

Sheng Qingrang added, “I’ll go in and get the medical kit, then come right back. Wait here for me.”

Standing in the damp, cool breeze, Zong Ying watched him stride toward the building, her fists unconsciously tightening.As Sheng Qingrang reached the doorway, he was immediately met with the sound of a heated argument erupting from the living room. On one side was Second Sister's scolding, while on the other, Second Sister's Husband defended himself with excuses and denials. The accusations were nothing new—"How could you not keep an eye on the child when you took him out? Were you fooling around with some actress again? Just who has you so bewitched that you can't even bother to watch your own son?" and so on. Second Sister's Husband retorted, "If I really wanted to mess around, why would I even take the kid out? Use your brain for once! You control all the money in this house—where would I even get the spare cash to fool around?"

The same old arguments cycled endlessly, tiresome and unproductive.

Sheng Qingrang had intended to slip past them and head upstairs to fetch the medical kit. But just as he climbed two steps, Second Sister suddenly called out to him, "You come home without even a word? Sneaking around like that—are you trying to scare someone to death?!"

He halted, turned, and descended the stairs, his expression stern. "Sheng Qingping, taking your anger out on me is pointless. The most urgent thing you should be doing right now isn't arguing—it's taking A Hui to the hospital immediately."

With that, he turned back to go upstairs. Second Sister's Husband seized the opportunity to chime in, "A Hui's condition obviously calls for a hospital. What’s the point of making a scene here?"

Second Sister only grew more furious. "Don’t you dare try to change the subject, Zhou!"

Sheng Qingrang paused mid-step. "The western district is dealing with a cholera outbreak. A Hui came back from there vomiting and with diarrhea. I suggest you take responsibility—for A Hui’s sake, and for everyone else in this building."

"Third Brother, what are you implying?!"

Having said all he needed to, Sheng Qingrang had nothing more to add.

Ignoring her, he quickened his pace upstairs. Second Sister shouted after him, "Are you cursing A Hui now?! What exactly do you mean?!"

"Highly suspected cholera case. Immediate isolation is mandatory."

At the sound of the voice, Second Sister whipped her head around to see a familiar, long-absent figure standing at the doorway.

She stared blankly, reflexively snapping, "Say that again?"

Zong Ying’s face was expressionless, all her attitude conveyed in a pair of icy eyes. "I said now."