Night Wanderer

Sheng Qingrang was well aware of Zong Ying's connection to Sincere.

Whether from the news exposing her father-daughter relationship with Zong Qinglin or from the scrapbook documenting Yan Man's life, piecing together the scattered information could essentially outline the whole backstory.

Seeing the English name "Sincere," Sheng Qingrang recalled an interview with Yan Man in the scrapbook, where she expressed her ideals and determination for independent research and development. Sincere seemed to embody all her efforts and sincerity—a truly fitting name.

"Sincere." Sheng Qingrang couldn't help murmuring it aloud. "A meaningful name."

"It was the first English word I learned, even earlier than 'yes' and 'no.'" Zong Ying leaned against the bicycle rack, her voice still slightly nasal from her lingering cold. "This English name was given by my mother."

Her openness in talking about Yan Man surprised Sheng Qingrang a little, but it also gave him a pleasant sense of closeness, as if he had taken a step further into her world.

She continued, "It's said that all the partners unanimously approved this name back then, and only afterward came the transliteration 'Xinxi.'" Her tone gradually softened, tinged with a sigh. "When Sincere was founded, everyone was young and shared the same ideals—just wanting to make good medicine with sincerity. But human forgetfulness can be terrifying. After years of power struggles, the original purpose gets lost."

Zong Ying, unusually talkative, fell silent after speaking, her gaze fixed on the Sincere building. Sheng Qingrang stood quietly beside her.

Then, his phone suddenly rang. Startled, he hurriedly opened his briefcase. The lit screen displayed only a string of numbers—even without it being saved in his contacts, he immediately recognized the caller as Xue Xuanqing.

He had memorized her number after their first confrontation at the apartment.

These past few days, every time he came to this side, Xue Xuanqing would call. But since Zong Ying wasn't with him, he worried this reckless friend might do something extreme, so he simply ignored the calls.

The screen remained lit, the default ringtone blaring obnoxiously.

He handed the phone to Zong Ying. After hesitating for three seconds, she pinched it between three fingers, unlocked the screen swiftly, and barely raised it to her ear before a long-missed voice exploded through:

"Good heavens, you finally know how to answer a phone?!"

At first glance, the tone was furious, but every waver and tremor in her voice betrayed the accumulated worry and panic from repeated failed calls.

So the next sentence was—

"You scared me to death. Thank goodness you're alive."

Zong Ying replied, "Yes, I'm alive. Where are you?"

Xue Xuanqing turned up her headset volume. "Just left the funeral home. Xiao Zheng went back to the station. I was planning to head home, but now I’ve decided to come find you. Send me your location."

"What for?"

"Miss Zong." She suddenly mimicked Sheng Qingrang's way of addressing her. "Do you remember the message you sent me days ago? I’m someone who delivers on requests."

Zong Ying recalled she had indeed sent Xue Xuanqing a message.

She had asked her to retrieve the case file on Yan Man's fatal fall years ago, but she hadn’t received a response that day.

"The case file?"

"Obviously."

Zong Ying quickly opened the map app to share her location but then remembered it was Sheng Qingrang's phone and stopped.Finally, she pulled out her phone from her pocket and held down the power button. After a few seconds, a flood of messages surged in—

She had been disconnected from the world for far too long.

Without time to check each message, she first sent her location to Xue Xuanqing, who simultaneously sent hers back. The distance between them showed less than three kilometers—very close.

Zong Ying stuffed her phone back into her pocket. Sheng Qingrang asked, "Should I step aside?"

Zong Ying replied, "No need." After a pause, she added, "She knows about you. I’m sorry for not telling you in advance."

Sheng Qingrang quickly said, "It’s alright. That friend of yours seems quite suspicious—knowing the truth might actually be for the best."

He wasn’t wrong. Since Xue Xuanqing learned about this bizarre situation, she had stopped making random attempts to probe or interfere.

Besides, one of Xue Xuanqing’s strengths was keeping secrets she ought to keep, so there was no worry about her spreading the news.

The night deepened, and the lights of the Oriental Pearl Tower dimmed.

A car pulled over by the roadside and honked.

Zong Ying and Sheng Qingrang turned to look as Xue Xuanqing stepped out and strode toward them.

Two steps away, she suddenly halted, eyeing the vintage bicycle, then Sheng Qingrang, and finally scrutinizing Zong Ying repeatedly. "You two are something—riding a bicycle in the middle of the night? How fast can that thing even go? And these clothes—"

She took a big step forward, pinching the fabric of Zong Ying’s shirt and rubbing it between her fingers. Unable to hold back, she asked, "From 1937? Have you been stuck over there this whole time you were missing?!"

Zong Ying met her gaze and answered truthfully, "Yes."

Even though she had mentally prepared herself, an incredulous expression still flickered across Xue Xuanqing’s face.

Her eyes dropped to the half-empty glass bottle of cola in Zong Ying’s hand. Almost unconsciously, she took it and examined it under the streetlight. "You drank this?"

Zong Ying replied, "I did."

Xue Xuanqing hesitated for a moment before curiosity got the better of her, and she took a sip.

The fizz was gone, leaving only an overly sweet taste, like sugar water left out too long—a flavor that carried the weight of time.

After drinking, she finally muttered, "Damn, I must be out of my mind."

Xue Xuanqing’s reaction time to this matter was terrifyingly slow.

Back at the airport when she was searching for Zong Ying, she had been too busy blaming herself and sharing Zong Ying’s anxiety to think much about it. Only much later did the panic rise like a tide.

Fortunately, the unnamed man she had deliberately taken to Pudong was unharmed, which eased her conscience.

Pushing someone into danger was indeed unkind, so Xue Xuanqing set aside her previous hostility and looked directly at Sheng Qingrang, saying frankly, "I owe you an apology for last time. Let me treat you to dinner today to make it up—hope you’ll accept."

But Sheng Qingrang replied, "I’ll defer to Miss Zong."

Zong Ying said, "Isn’t it too late for dinner now?"

Xue Xuanqing protested, "How? There’s late-night food all over Shanghai waiting for us. We can eat and talk business at the same time, right?"

Her eyes gleamed with hunger—clearly, she had been busy all day without a proper meal.

Zong Ying understood the feeling and sympathized with her exhaustion, so she agreed.The two of them took Xue Xuanqing's car to go eat, which made the bicycle's placement a problem. Xue Xuanqing seemed somewhat disdainful and said, "No one would want this kind of bike even if it were left on the street, right?" She meant to just leave it there, but when Zong Ying glanced at her, she immediately changed her tune: "Fine, let's just stuff it in the car."

Sheng Qingrang lifted the bike and placed it inside. Zong Ying took the passenger seat, leaving him to sit alone in the back.

The car stopped near a hot pot restaurant—a standalone Shikumen building, an old structure with history.

A dim light illuminated the shop sign, and the interior maintained a retro ambiance from the early 20th century. Someone sat by the wall playing Chopin on the piano. As they climbed the stairs, the right wall was adorned with oil paintings. Xue Xuanqing, walking ahead, turned her head to glance at Sheng Qingrang and asked, "Are you satisfied with this place?"

Sheng Qingrang deferred the question to Zong Ying: "What does Miss Zong think?"

Zong Ying replied succinctly, "It's fine."

The three entered a private room. Xue Xuanqing eagerly ordered dishes and immediately began her interrogation.

"Are you an official, a scholar, or a businessman?" "Is it true that you returned from France?" "What year were you born? 1905?"

A barrage of questions flew out, leaving Sheng Qingrang no time to answer.

The waiter in white gloves pouring soy sauce for the guests involuntarily trembled at this.

Zong Ying said, "Could you leave us for a while? We can manage on our own."

The waiter gave her and Sheng Qingrang a suspicious look before silently exiting.

Once the door closed, Sheng Qingrang answered Xue Xuanqing's questions one by one: "My profession is a lawyer. I teach part-time at Soochow University. It's true that I returned from France, and I was indeed born in 1905."

Xue Xuanqing lowered her head and gulped down a mouthful of sparkling water. "Good heavens, 1905? That means you've been alive for a whole century. So, what's your real name?"

Sheng Qingrang smiled. "I said it's not important."

The broth in the pot patiently awaited boiling. Zong Ying, uninterested in the conversation, took out her phone and scrolled through messages.

Amidst a pile of ads and notifications, a message from an unfamiliar number abruptly stood out.

The sender had texted her an MMS with just one line:

"I'm the reporter who contacted you after the 723 tunnel accident. I just got a lead."

Attached was a screenshot of an email.

Zong Ying zoomed in. It was an anonymous email with the subject: "Do you think Xinxi only started falsifying data today?"

The body was equally brief: "On the day Yan Man died, after she left the old office building for the new one, another car followed hers."

It ended with a license plate number starting with "Hu A."

Zong Ying frowned and pursed her lips. Xue Xuanqing suddenly leaned over. "What are you spacing out for?"

Zong Ying jerked her head up, but before she could put her phone away, Xue Xuanqing snatched it. After a quick scan of the screen, her expression darkened. She handed the phone back and asked, "Do you think it's a prank or a real lead?"

Zong Ying recalled the strange call she received shortly after the 723 tunnel accident. Was it the same person? And who had sent this anonymous email to them?

The email's subject directly accused Xinxi of falsification, yet the content was about the unsolved mystery of Yan Man's death.

What was the connection between Xinxi's fraud and Yan Man's death?Xue Xuanqing noticed Zong Ying was lost in thought and silent, so she bluntly said, "Never mind if it's true or not, let's investigate first."

She took out her phone, swiftly sent a message, and when there was no immediate reply, quickly dialed a number. After the dial tone ended, she spoke, "Help me check a license plate number. I've sent it to your phone."

The hot pot began to boil, steam rising in the air, yet no one added any ingredients. Suddenly, Xue Xuanqing's phone vibrated.

She answered it almost instantly, listened to the information about the license plate holder, then silently put down her phone.

The only sound left in the private room was the bubbling of the pot. The three of them exchanged glances. Zong Ying picked up her glass of sparkling water, took a sip, and asked, "Whose license plate is it?"

Xue Xuanqing glanced at Sheng Qingrang before finally shifting her gaze to Zong Ying, her voice slightly cold. "It belongs to the already-dead Xing Xueyi."

Author's Note:

Republican-era boy: I know the password to unlock the patron's phone is! 0914!

Private room waiter: So regretful I swapped shifts with my buddy. Last night shift, I ran into three weirdos who clearly had screws loose. Xue Xuanqing: Ah, this hot pot meal cost me so much money. Hope the Republican-era boy can let it go now.

This hot pot restaurant has branches on Yueyang Road and in Xintiandi, both set in old buildings. They're open late, serving late-night snacks, with an extremely retro ambiance—looks pretty chic. Shanghai folks interested can check it out.