Night Wanderer

The anger in Second Sister's heart was doused by Zong Ying's words, extinguishing at least half of it. Her nostrils flared, leaving only frustration with nowhere to vent.

Hearing this, Sheng Qingrang turned around and looked at Zong Ying at the door, clearly not expecting her to come in: "Miss Zong?"

Zong Ying had entered the building not only out of concern that Sheng Qingrang might get entangled with his family again but also driven by a subconscious sense of duty as a medical professional. Just as she reached the door, she overheard Second Sister arguing with her husband, completely disregarding Sheng Qingrang's well-intentioned advice—

Ignoring priorities at such a time was highly irresponsible, both for the child and for themselves, even for others.

Zong Ying continued, "Vomiting and diarrhea aren't necessarily cholera, but if someone returning from an epidemic area exhibits classic cholera symptoms, caution is essential. If it really is cholera and left untreated, A Hui could suffer severe dehydration from vomiting and diarrhea, go into shock, or even die. Everyone in this building would also be at risk of infection."

Her voice was neither loud nor soft, yet carried an authoritative tone, making it seem as if hers was the only voice in the entire house.

Second Sister only knew there was an epidemic outside but had always assumed it was confined to refugee areas, never imagining it could have anything to do with her. Naturally, she refused to admit cholera could be so close to home. She pointed at Zong Ying and said, "You—you're just fearmongering!"

Zong Ying walked over and handed her the newspaper, saying calmly, "Read this before jumping to conclusions. There's no hurry."

The borrowed newspaper's social news section included an announcement from the Health Department, detailing the current state of the epidemic while urging residents of the concession to remain vigilant. It also instructed anyone exhibiting suspected symptoms to immediately seek isolation and treatment at the designated cholera hospital in the concession.

Though Second Sister's English wasn't perfect, she could still understand the announcement. Before she could react, Second Sister's Husband snatched the newspaper, quickly scanning it. His tone and demeanor immediately grew anxious: "Hurry, hurry! Tell Uncle Yao to take A Hui to the hospital right away. Where is that special cholera hospital?"

"Send him to a cholera hospital?!" Second Sister's temper flared up again, her voice rising sharply. "That kind of hospital is a plague zone itself! Going there would make you sick even if you weren't before!"

Her shrill voice made Zong Ying's eardrums ache. She instinctively frowned and said, "Epidemic hospitals have professional disinfection and isolation measures—"

Before she could finish, Second Sister cut her off: "Have you been there?"

"I have." Sheng Qingrang stepped forward, descending the stairs quickly to stand in front of Zong Ying, separating her from Second Sister. "As Miss Zong said, they do have proper procedures. I also have a friend who has already recovered and been discharged. The earlier cholera is treated, the better, so we shouldn't waste any more time." He then turned to Second Sister's Husband. "It's best to get him to the hospital as soon as possible."

Though Second Sister's Husband had some past grievances with Sheng Qingrang, at this moment, they were of one mind. He immediately called to the servants: "Quick, bring A Hui down! Tell Uncle Yao to prepare the car—we're going to the hospital right now."

"Who dares?!" Second Sister blocked the stairs, preventing the servants from going up. Her eyes were filled with unmistakable panic, yet she resisted instinctively, her voice growing more hysterical: "Even if it is cholera, we can't go to the hospital! Call a doctor to treat him at home!"

"At a time like this, doctors are in the shortest supply in all of Shanghai. Which doctor would have time to come to your house?" Second Sister's Husband's voice rose sharply as he scolded, "Sheng Qingping, be reasonable!"“Isn’t she right here?!”

Second Sister, frantic with anger, pointed directly at Zong Ying. Sheng Qingrang immediately countered, “Miss Zong is a guest, not a servant you can order around.”

As he turned to ask Zong Ying to step outside, a servant’s urgent cry suddenly came from upstairs: “The young master is vomiting so badly he’s about to faint!”

Second Sister rushed upstairs in a panic, followed closely by Second Sister’s Husband. The wooden stairs thundered with hurried footsteps, and no one paid any attention to Zong Ying’s warning from behind.

What she had said was, “Wait—don’t come into direct contact with the patient’s bodily waste.” But only Sheng Qingrang heard her.

Sheng Qingrang turned to meet her gaze as she asked, “Where’s the medical kit?”

“I’ll get it.” He moved to go upstairs, but Zong Ying grabbed his arm. “I’ll come with you.”

The two hurried to the second-floor study. Sheng Qingrang pulled open the top cabinet, retrieved the medical kit, and handed it to Zong Ying. She unzipped it with a swift motion, efficiently retrieving disinfectant, gloves, masks, and several antibacterial medications. “Cholera is an intestinal infectious disease. Avoiding contact with bodily waste is critical. They’re rushing in recklessly—it’s too dangerous. We need to warn them about the risk of infection immediately.”

As she finished speaking, she quickly secured her mask. When she looked up, she noticed Sheng Qingrang’s expression shift slightly. Following his gaze, she suddenly spotted the eldest brother sitting in the corner.

He was seated in a wheelchair, his pant legs hanging empty, his face pale. But when he saw Zong Ying, his face flushed red with fury, and he roared, “Was it you who cut off my leg?!”

Zong Ying froze for a moment as he hurled accusations at her: “Why did you cut my leg off?!” “Did I ask you to?!” “Who gave you the right to decide without asking me?!” Amid his barrage, Sheng Qingrang interjected, “I’ve explained the circumstances—”

The eldest brother cut him off harshly. “I want her to explain!”

Zong Ying raised a hand to stop Sheng Qingrang, then turned to the eldest brother, her voice steady and calm. “I was indeed one of the doctors involved in your amputation surgery. The damage to your lower limbs was extremely severe. Blindly attempting to preserve them would have only led to complications and more serious infections—it wouldn’t have helped save your life. Do you want me to continue?”

Her face was mostly hidden behind the mask, and the visible part of her eyes betrayed no emotion.

After a tense silence, she finally turned away, quickly reorganizing the medical kit before heading for the door.

Post-operative psychological counseling wasn’t Zong Ying’s forte, but just as she reached the doorway, she paused, exhaled sharply, and without turning around, said to the eldest brother, “Mr. Sheng, the accident is already a fact. All we can do now is move forward.”

Sheng Qingrang noticed the depth of conviction in her tone, as if she had experienced a similar ordeal herself.

But as he stepped toward her, she simply picked up the medical kit and walked out.

That brief delay was enough for the situation outside to take a drastic turn.

Second Sister’s Husband had suddenly become assertive, scooping up the child and rushing downstairs to the car. Without waiting for the driver, he took the wheel himself, determined to take A Hui to the hospital. Second Sister chased after him, arguing and trying to stop him, but to no avail.

By the time Zong Ying reached the bottom of the stairs, the furious blare of the car horn echoed through the entire mansion.

She stood at the foot of the stairs, her gaze dropping to the trail of vomit stains scattered across the steps and the living room floor.

The air grew stifling. She turned to warn Sheng Qingrang, who was descending behind her, “Be careful—don’t step in it.”

As the sound of the car faded into the distance, only the sporadic chirping of cicadas remained outside.The pale, feeble light of an overcast day filtered through the stained glass into the living room, casting lifeless patches of color on the floor.

Second Sister walked in but had barely taken a few steps before she suddenly collapsed onto the sofa in the living room.

After all the commotion she had caused, two of the buttons on her cheongsam had come undone, and a few strands of her usually meticulously styled curls now hung limply. Her eyes were dull, a far cry from her usual domineering demeanor—utterly disheveled.

The sudden outbreak of war had made life even worse—

Her husband’s family’s businesses were almost entirely destroyed in the fighting, forcing them to move back to her parents’ home as their own residence had become a war zone. Eldest Brother had lost both legs and seemed like a completely different person. Qinghui had even gone so far as to sever ties with her over those two children of unknown origin. Her husband spent his days fooling around with who-knows-who, and now even A Hui had suddenly fallen so gravely ill. This usually fearless, overbearing woman now sat slumped on the floor, utterly at a loss.

Zong Ying observed her for a moment before walking over and stopping in front of her. She suddenly bent down and said, “Hold out your hand.”

Second Sister looked up in confusion, resembling an animal stripped of its spines and left defenseless.

Zong Ying repeated, “Hold out your hand.”

When she mechanically extended her hand, Zong Ying unscrewed the cap of the disinfectant, squeezed a few milliliters into her palm, and said, “Rub it in for three minutes, then rinse thoroughly under running water.” Straightening up, she turned to Sheng Qingrang. “Even though the child has already been taken to the hospital, the sickroom at home still needs to be disinfected.”

Zong Ying’s meticulous consideration earned Sheng Qingrang’s complete trust, and he promptly arranged for the servants to follow her instructions for cleaning and disinfecting.

By the time everyone finished, it was already mealtime. The gloomy wind outside seemed to have died down. Zong Ying left behind some antibiotics and entrusted Uncle Yao with distributing them as a preventive measure. Finally, she added, “If anyone else in the mansion shows symptoms, they must go to the hospital immediately. We have urgent matters to attend to and must take our leave now.” She then turned to Sheng Qingrang. “Mr. Sheng, let’s go.”

Uncle Yao said, “Safe travels, sir. Take care, Dr. Zong.”

He stood respectfully until they got into the car, watching as the taxi drove down the street and disappeared from sight before finally closing the mansion gate.

Inside the relatively enclosed space of the car, Zong Ying leaned her head against the window, feigning sleep.

She had been awakened early in the morning by the news of New Hope’s falsified clinical drug data, followed immediately by the emergency at the Sheng residence. Now, cold sweat kept breaking out on her forehead—she was probably running a fever.

Sheng Qingrang suddenly remembered she hadn’t eaten breakfast. After rummaging through his briefcase, he found only a small packet of biscuits, which had already crumbled.

As he hesitated over whether to offer them to her, Zong Ying abruptly sat up, reached out, took the packet, tore it open with a pinch of her fingers, and ate half without complaint before handing the rest back to him. “I don’t hog food,” she said, then leaned back against the cold, hard window and closed her eyes again.

The car fell silent for a moment before the occasional rustle of packaging paper could be heard—careful, as if trying not to disturb her.

He ate almost soundlessly. With her eyes closed, Zong Ying listened as he opened his briefcase again, seemingly retrieving some documents.

Subconsciously, she slightly lifted her eyelids, her gaze silently settling on the papers in his hands—It was a proposal from the Resources Commission, still concerning the funding for relocating Shanghai's factories inland. This time, the proposal explicitly stated that a large number of factories were unable to complete their relocation due to financial shortages and thus requested the Ministry of Finance to provide subsidies for key factories, including even printing houses like the Commercial Press and Zhonghua Book Company.

Zong Ying vaguely remembered that day before the war when they went from the Sheng residence to the Relocation Committee, then to Hongkou to deliver ship tickets, and finally returned to Apartment 699 late at night. On the way back, he had said, "A city as vast as Shanghai, with five thousand factories—destroyed by war or falling into enemy hands—would be a devastating blow to the industrial sector."

She suddenly asked, "Have you been busy with these matters all these months?"

Sheng Qingrang was momentarily taken aback by her abrupt question but quickly nodded.

Zong Ying thought for a moment and asked again, "I'm not very familiar with this part of history, but may I ask how the progress is going? How much has been relocated?"

Sheng Qingrang tucked the documents into his briefcase, his brows tightly furrowed, and raised only two fingers.

Zong Ying countered, "Twenty percent?"

"No, only two percent." His expression grew heavier, and his slightly hoarse voice carried a resolve to "give it his all despite the helpless circumstances."

What needed to be done, what could be done—he had done it all. Yet he knew full well that the vast majority of Shanghai's five thousand factories had long lost any possibility of relocation.

Zong Ying didn’t press further. She said, "If you have things to attend to, go ahead. Qinghui and I can manage the apartment. There won’t be any major issues."

Despite her words, Sheng Qingrang still escorted her to the apartment entrance and waited until she went upstairs before getting back into the car to leave on business.

Zong Ying stood on the apartment’s outer balcony, watching the car drive away into the distance, unsure of its destination. A faint sense of parting unexpectedly stirred in her heart.

The sound of a child crying inside snapped her back to reality. She turned and hurried into the living room, wiped her hands with an alcohol swab, grabbed an IV set from the medical kit, and rushed upstairs to administer fluids to A Jiu.

While she was busy, Qinghui said she would go downstairs to cook some noodles for lunch. Soon, the clatter of pots and pans rose from below.

After soothing A Jiu, Zong Ying headed downstairs to help Qinghui. Just as she reached the stairway, the doorbell rang.

Qinghui was occupied, so Zong Ying went to answer the door.

Mr. Ye stood outside, holding out a telegram. "Someone just delivered this to the front desk, so I brought it up directly. Could you pass it to Mr. Sheng, Miss Zong? I’ll head back down now."

"Of course, thank you." Zong Ying took it and glanced briefly at the contents. The wording was unusually verbose for a telegram, reading:

"After half a month of joint efforts, equipment and personnel have finally arrived in Hankou today. The journey was fraught with thorns and storms—truly arduous. We are also grateful for your personal assistance. Since our parting in Zhenjiang days ago, we know not when we shall meet again. Shanghai is now fraught with danger. Please take care." It was signed by someone from a certain steel factory.

This must be one of that successful two percent, Zong Ying thought.

She placed the telegram in the entryway cabinet. Qinghui walked into the living room with a bowl of noodles and asked, "Who was it?"

Zong Ying replied, "Mr. Ye delivered a telegram."

Qinghui asked again, "Whose telegram?"

Zong Ying closed the drawer and turned to answer, "It seems to be from some steel factory?"Qinghui set the bowl down on the dining table with a clink. "Hey, I know about that—has it reached Hankou yet?"

Zong Ying asked, "How do you know?"

Qinghui pulled out a chair and sat down. "This steel plant is really important. Second Sister said last time that if this factory can be successfully relocated, then she’d agree to let Third Brother move the Sheng family’s machinery factory too." She added with a hint of disdain, "All the big factories are moving out one after another—that’s the general trend. She can’t just sit back and watch the Sheng family’s factory get bombed, can she? But she doesn’t have the means to do it herself, so in the end, she still has to rely on Third Brother. The way she talks is just to save face—deep down, she’s been hoping for it all along."

Only after Qinghui said this did Zong Ying understand why everyone in the Sheng family, from Second Sister down to Uncle Yao, had shown subtle changes in their attitude toward Sheng Qingrang.

At this point, Qinghui urged her, "Hurry up and eat. The noodles will get soggy if you wait too long."

Zong Ying sat down to eat. The apartment was peaceful and quiet, but she knew it was only temporary.

The war had only just begun, and no one’s future was clear. Where would Qinghui and the children go? Would the Sheng family’s factories be successfully relocated? Would the rest of the Sheng family leave with the factories? And, of course, Sheng Qingrang—would he stay in Shanghai until the war ended?

Zong Ying waited for him until just before ten in the evening.

It was too late—Qinghui and the children were already asleep, and Zong Ying had dozed off on the sofa for several hours. She had been in a daze all afternoon, and the inflammation in her respiratory tract was unmistakable—she coughed.

"What’s wrong?" Sheng Qingrang noticed immediately and asked, but in the darkness, only a hand reached out to grasp his.

"Don’t speak. Just stay like this for a while."

Author’s Note:

Sponsor: Shh, don’t ruin the moment.