Night Wanderer

As if their minds were connected, Sheng Qingrang looked up and saw Zong Ying.

One stood in the dim light of dawn, greeted by a drizzle, while the other stood on the balcony, the faint glow of the room behind her.

Across nearly thirty meters of height, Sheng Qingrang took out his phone from his bag and dialed a number.

The landline at home rang abruptly. Zong Ying snapped out of her thoughts and hurried back inside to answer, leaving only the sheer curtains dancing wildly with the typhoon winds on the balcony.

Zong Ying picked up the phone with a "Hello?"

Sheng Qingrang glanced up at the now-empty balcony and replied, "It's me."

Hearing his familiar voice, Zong Ying said, "I saw you."

"I know," he said. "The wind is strong outside. Don’t catch a cold."

Zong Ying turned to look at the balcony, where the wind whipped the curtains into a frenzied dance. It was indeed chilly—he had called her inside this way.

She averted her gaze and asked, "Why are you back at this hour?"

He entered the building, walking through the wide corridor to the elevator, the signal slightly unstable. "I didn’t see you at the hospital, so I came home to check."

As the elevator ascended, he asked, "It’s been days. How have you been?"

Zong Ying thought of last night and answered truthfully, "Not well."

His voice was urgent but steady. "Is it your health, or did something happen?"

Zong Ying sidestepped the heavier details. "My health is fine. I’ve been taking my medicine on time and resting well enough." She paused, then countered, "What about you?"

Sheng Qingrang was far from presentable—his clothes were soaked, his hair damp, and the typhoon hadn’t managed to blow away the lingering scent of gunpowder and dust on him.

Stepping out of the elevator, he said, "I’m not doing too well either. Don’t be too shocked when you see me." With that, he stopped at the apartment door and knocked. "I’m here."

Zong Ying hung up and rushed to the entrance. The hallway light illuminated the doorway as she opened it, casting light on his face.

Sheng Qingrang glanced down at his watch and looked up at her. "We have one minute left."

What could be done in a minute? Zong Ying did nothing but stare fixedly at the collar of his shirt.

Sheng Qingrang lowered his head to inspect his attire, puzzled and slightly embarrassed. "Does my appearance... frighten you?"

But before he could finish, Zong Ying suddenly stepped forward. The door clicked shut behind her, followed by the sound of the lock engaging. She released the handle and, quite naturally, took half a step forward, wrapping her arms around him.

Her nose pressed against the hollow of his shoulder, Zong Ying inhaled the damp, smoky scent. His slightly cool body temperature seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt, and she could hear his heartbeat.

Sheng Qingrang tensed at first, then freed one arm to return the embrace. Reason reminded him they had only "a dozen seconds left," but he couldn’t bring himself to push her away.

Zong Ying didn’t seem opposed to returning to that era.

Here, someone had tried to kill her, and they would soon learn of her contact with Zong Yu. Before everything came to light, she subconsciously even wished to step away from this whirlpool, if only temporarily.

The clock struck six. Returning to 1937 was inevitable.

The hallway was filled with the aroma of rice porridge. A radio crackled with intermittent news broadcasts. A woman sat by her door, glancing sideways at the elevator before shifting her gaze to Sheng Qingrang’s apartment. The sudden appearance of two people startled her. She coughed lightly, her eyelids fluttering, and immediately called out to her child, "Go back inside."The two, who had been embracing, abruptly let go of each other upon hearing the noise.

Zong Ying stepped aside as Sheng Qingrang took out his keys.

Just a minute ago, she had been the one opening the door; now it was his turn.

The hallway light flickered on, casting a dim glow over the familiar furniture and floor. The air felt stuffy, likely from the windows being shut for so long.

Sheng Qingrang ushered her inside, closed the door, set down his briefcase, and hurried to the telephone. He picked up the receiver and dialed a number.

It took a long time for the call to connect.

Zong Ying settled into the sofa, listening as he spoke: "Yes, I'm fine." "Did the ship leave afterward?" "I'll explain to Eldest Brother." "Contact me once it reaches Zhenjiang. Alright, thank you. Stay safe."

Throughout the call, his expression never relaxed. After hanging up, he remained silent for half a minute before dialing another number.

This one was likely to his family home, as a servant answered promptly. Then came another wait.

Less than a minute later, he called out, "Eldest Sister-in-law."

Before he could continue, her hoarse voice replied, "They’ve already told me about last night. No matter what, at least the factory was evacuated and didn’t fall into Japanese hands. That alone was no small feat." She sighed deeply before adding, "You sound exhausted. Leave the factory’s aftermath to me. Don’t worry about it—rest at the apartment today. We’ll discuss the move tomorrow when you come to the mansion."

With that, she hung up. Sheng Qingrang set down the receiver and turned around.

Zong Ying looked up at him. "Any plans for today?"

For once, he replied, "No plans."

She had only ever seen him busy, with endless tasks at hand. This was truly the first time he had nothing scheduled.

Studying his weary face, she stood up. "I’ll make something to eat. You go take a bath."

She headed straight for the kitchen, opening cabinets to search for the instant food she’d brought last time. Sheng Qingrang stood in the living room, staring blankly at her for a moment before snapping out of it and walking briskly to the bathroom.

Zong Ying turned on the hot water tap—not a single drop came out. The hot water system had gone on strike again, meaning Sheng Qingrang would have to endure a cold shower.

She boiled water for noodles and opened two cans of dace. Pulling the curtains halfway open, she saw the sun rising as usual, the sky growing brighter. It was October 1, 1937. For the people of Shanghai, this day had nothing to do with "National Day" or "holidays." Only the relentless news of Japanese forces breaking through the front lines, fueling unease.

By the time the noodles were ready, the sound of water in the bathroom still hadn’t stopped.

Zong Ying turned off the gas, grabbed the keys, and went downstairs to fetch the milk and morning paper.

Mr. Ye was still seated behind the service desk, only half his head visible. His hair, usually slick with oil, looked unkempt, with more gray strands than before, giving him a worn-out appearance.

Zong Ying picked up the newspaper but saw no milk bottles. She asked, "Is milk no longer being delivered?"

Mr. Ye stood up at her voice, his tone lacking its usual warmth. "They say even the cows in the suburbs were scared off! How can the dairy possibly keep up with fresh milk supplies now?" He sighed repeatedly before asking, "Miss Zong, are you leaving Shanghai soon too? Moving inland with the Sheng family?"

Zong Ying met his gaze and countered, "Inland?"Mr. Ye said, "Yesterday, the fifth young lady of the Sheng family came to collect some things. She mentioned that all the Sheng family factories are relocating inland, so the family will have to move as well. Given how close you are with Mr. Sheng, I assumed you'd be going with them. So you're not leaving after all?"

Zong Ying listened and replied perfunctorily, "I wasn't aware of this matter, so I can't say for sure. I’ll head upstairs first."

She climbed the stairs, the early autumn sunlight streaming through the narrow glass windows, casting light across half the steps.

As she walked, she wondered—if the Sheng family was leaving Shanghai, what about Sheng Qingrang? Was he going with them? Was this what he had mentioned on the phone earlier, about the factory relocation?

Reaching the top floor, she slowed her steps, took out her key, and opened the door. The aroma of instant noodles inside had already gone cold, and the sound of running water from the bathroom had stopped. The apartment was eerily quiet.

Zong Ying carefully closed the door and took a few steps before spotting Sheng Qingrang lying on his side on the sofa.

He had showered and changed into pajamas, his hair still damp. He had fallen asleep the moment he lay down.

Zong Ying approached him, bending slightly to call him awake, but after repeating "Mr. Sheng, it's time to eat" several times, his eyelids remained heavy, his breathing deep.

He was exhausted—his lashes weighed down, one hand curled into a fist against his chest, the other resting on the sofa, the wound on his knuckles not yet fully healed.

Zong Ying didn’t try again. She draped a blanket over him, then picked up the towel hanging on the armrest, gently drying his hair. Her fingers accidentally brushed his face—his skin was cold.

The sun climbed higher, and the autumn wind grew fiercer.

Meanwhile, in the Sheng residence in the International Settlement, the family sat around the dining table, unable to even eat breakfast in peace.

Ever since the factory relocation was announced, the eldest sister-in-law had informed the family of the decision to evacuate Shanghai along with the factories. And because of this decision, the fragile peace within the household had shattered.

The dispute over the family’s relocation boiled down to two things: money and the destination.

Second Sister adamantly refused to go inland. "If Shanghai is in danger, is the interior really any safer? I won’t go. I’m taking A Hui to Hong Kong, and I won’t let Qinghui go with you either."

The eldest sister-in-law didn’t press the issue. "If you don’t want to go, I won’t force you. But Qinghui must come with us. She has two children to care for—you’ll have your hands full in Hong Kong."

Second Sister glared. "Who said anything about bringing those two kids?! Qinghui adopted them on a whim—you can’t possibly take it seriously! If she drags those burdens around, how will she ever marry? Besides, she hasn’t even finished her studies! With universities in Shanghai closed now, it’s best she comes with us to Hong Kong to continue her education."

The eldest sister-in-law countered, "I’ve already made arrangements. Qinghui can go inland—we’ll take care of the children. Third Brother can help her transfer schools. She can still study, and when the time comes, she can still marry."

Both sides claimed to have Qinghui’s best interests at heart, yet their views clashed irreconcilably.

Back and forth they argued, until even the eldest sister-in-law lost her patience.

Qinghui, who had been silently eating, suddenly looked up and snapped, "Can you stop deciding for me? I don’t want to go anywhere! I just want to stay in Shanghai—only Shanghai!"

She slammed her chopsticks down and stormed upstairs.

The living room fell silent briefly before the argument flared up again—this time with Second Sister’s Husband and the eldest brother joining in.The men smoked in silence, the haze of cigarette smoke quickly overpowering the aroma of the meal, filling the room with a stifling atmosphere.

The eldest sister-in-law straightened her clothes and stood up, speaking solemnly, "I’ll go to the factory now to handle the aftermath. I hope there won’t be any more trouble at home."

She stepped out of the smoky room, calling for Uncle Yao to drive her to the factory. The gate opened, then closed, and the sound of the car faded into the distance. The men in the living room dispersed one after another, the children were taken away by the servants, leaving only the second sister sitting at the dining table.

Just then, the nanny hurried over and said to her, "Young Master A Hui still has no appetite. What should we do?"

A Hui had contracted cholera last time and barely pulled through. Now, barely recovered from his illness, his body was still weak and in need of nourishment, yet he had no appetite at all. He lay in bed all day, listless, barely uttering a word when spoken to.

A clear look of worry crossed the second sister’s face. She adjusted her shawl and went upstairs.

Only in front of her own child did she shed her prickly exterior. Seeing his pale, sickly face filled her with both heartache and guilt. Finally, she bent down and asked softly, "Tell Mama, what would you like to eat?"

A Hui thought for a long time before murmuring, "I want... I want cream cake."

The second sister agreed at once, "Alright, Mama will go buy it for you right away."

She instructed the nanny to feed A Hui some rice broth, then returned to her room to change.

The dress she had made last year now hung loosely around her waist. Looking in the mirror, her chin appeared sharp, and her hair had gone untrimmed for quite some time.

With a sigh, she picked up her small handbag and went downstairs, telling the servant, "Call Uncle Yao to drive me."

The servant replied, "Uncle Yao just drove the madam to the factory."

Only then did she remember that the eldest sister-in-law had just left. Reluctantly, she said, "Then call a rickshaw for me."

The servant quickly hailed one for her. The autumn wind was brisk, and even with the sun shining, there was a chill in the air. The rickshaw puller, however, still had his sleeves rolled up as he strained to pull the cart.

They rushed all the way to Avenue Joffre, but the Western bakery A Hui loved was tightly shut. The second sister got out and checked repeatedly—the lock was on the outside, and the glass display cases inside were empty. It seemed the shop had been closed for some time.

The rickshaw puller asked, "Madam, what are you looking to buy?"

Frowning impatiently, she replied, "Cream cake," then complained, "This isn’t a war zone—why shut down and stop business?!"

The rickshaw puller said, "Looking for cream cake? There’s a shop open near New Garbage Bridge."

Hearing this, the second sister quickly climbed back into the rickshaw. "Take me there, quickly!"

The rickshaw carried her swiftly through the autumn wind. Corpses floated in the Suzhou Creek, and the occasional sound of artillery echoed from the northern bank. At the border between the concession and the war zone, sporadic clashes lurked.

The sun climbed to its zenith, then leisurely slanted westward. The last of the cicadas in the Sheng residence wearily fell silent. Those who had taken afternoon naps had long since woken, and the children were playing hide-and-seek in the garden. Qinghui sat in the living room reading, listening to the servants muttering, "Why hasn’t the second young lady returned from buying a cake yet?"

Growing annoyed, she set down her book just as the living room clock chimed five times.

Qinghui stood and went to the small garden to call the children back. Once they had all gone upstairs, she paced alone by the entrance for a while before finally striding back inside to make a phone call.

"Ring—ring—" The sudden ringing of the telephone startled Zong Ying, who had been sitting at the dining table flipping through an old book. She stood abruptly and instinctively picked up the receiver."Hello?" Qinghui's anxious voice came through the line.

"Qinghui?" Zong Ying responded in surprise, then answered, "It's me."

"Miss Zong! Where's my third brother?"

Zong Ying had just begun to say, "Your third brother is asleep, is something wrong?" when someone reached past her from behind and took the receiver.

Sheng Qingrang stood a full head taller than Zong Ying. Startled, she turned slightly, her gaze just reaching his jawline. She watched as his Adam's apple moved faintly, his voice seeming to resonate through the thin skin of his throat: "Alright, understood. I'll call the police station right away."