Night Wanderer

In the darkness, eyelashes fluttered, lips pressed together in intimacy—yet it was hardly about desire.

For the first time, Zong Ying noticed how feverishly warm Sheng Qingrang’s face was. She opened her eyes, her fingers still resting against his jaw, her lips retreating half an inch.

Foreheads touching, breaths mingling, moments later, Sheng Qingrang’s injured hand cupped her cheek, slowly and deliberately continuing—and deepening—the kiss.

Beyond the quiet kiss were tense bodies, racing heartbeats, and hands fumbling to clasp tightly together.

Until a sharp scolding from downstairs abruptly shattered the moment: "You little brat! Have you lost your mind? Who told you to throw the matchbox into the pond? I can’t even light my candles now! Go call your father to borrow a box of matches from Mr. Ye!" The spell was broken, the kiss ended, and they returned to reality.

The faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air, the crumpled cigarette pack still lying beside the glass. In the pitch black, neither could discern the changes in the other’s expression.

Zong Ying let go, casually reaching for the bottle and filling the small 1-ounce liqueur glass to the brim. She took a sip, the cold liquid sliding down her throat into her stomach, granting her a moment of composure.

The night wind grew stronger. Sheng Qingrang stood and returned indoors, groping in the dark for a blanket on the sofa. He walked straight to the balcony, draping it over Zong Ying’s shoulders with precision before sitting back down in the wicker chair beside her. His voice slightly hoarse, he said, "Don’t drink too much."

Zong Ying had only taken a few sips, but at his urging, she set the glass down, unfolded the blanket, and handed him a corner.

This time, Sheng Qingrang uncharacteristically didn’t refuse, and so they naturally shared the same blanket.

In this lightless night, they were like trapped beasts, with nowhere convenient to go. Sitting and gazing at the nightscape, their vision was swallowed by darkness—the city, too, was a caged beast.

Nearly four hours remained before returning to that bright era. They had to talk about something.

After a long pause, Zong Ying asked him, "When you first arrived in my time, was there any moment that struck you particularly?"

Sheng Qingrang thought for a moment before countering, "Do you remember the dictionary I borrowed the first time?"

Zong Ying recalled the notebook he had left in the entryway cabinet, its first entry reading: "Borrowed one copy of Xinhua Dictionary from the bookshelf, returned the same day."

She answered, " Xinhua Dictionary ."

"The 1998 revised edition, published by The Commercial Press." He spoke unhurriedly, gazing into the distance. "It survived."

The Commercial Press, listed among the relocated institutions, had endured the ravages of war and multiple relocations—yet it had ultimately survived.

When he saw those familiar words on the dictionary in her apartment, what surged in his heart was not just the sense of continuity across eras, but an indomitable hope.

Zong Ying said, "It wasn’t just The Commercial Press. Many things survived."

Though the war was long and brutal, it could never destroy all conviction and effort.

Suddenly, Xiao Nan’s cheerful cry of "The power’s back!" rang out downstairs. One by one, lights flickered on against the black curtain of night, dotting the darkness and lending some brightness to this silent, eerie evening.

Sheng Qingrang stood to turn on the lights, while Zong Ying cleared the table.

Then, together, they moved the chairs and table back inside and locked the door leading to the balcony—

The apartment’s owner was about to embark on a long journey. This place might remain uninhabited for a long time, and no one knew when storms would come. Thus, the doors and windows had to be secured.Sheng Qingrang packed his luggage simply and sat in the dim light of the living room, taking one last look around the apartment, feeling an inexplicable sense of parting.

Years ago, he had returned to the country and moved out to live alone. Every piece of furniture and decoration in this apartment had been chosen and arranged by him. After living here for so long, he occasionally had the illusion that he could stay here forever, as if this apartment would always remain exactly as it was.

But in reality, decades later, this apartment would undergo earth-shaking changes.

The furnishings he had personally selected would vanish without a trace, replaced by the belongings of other tenants. Almost all traces of him would be erased, leaving only a single lampshade in the hallway.

What would happen in those decades?

When and for what reason would he leave this apartment?

Sheng Qingrang tilted his head to glance at the standing clock on the side table.

The clock ticked steadily, and the dim hallway light illuminated the path ahead.

Zong Ying glanced at her watch—it was getting closer to ten in the evening. She asked for his opinion, "Let's turn off the light to avoid wasting electricity."

Sheng Qingrang nodded.

Zong Ying walked to the entrance and switched off the hallway light.

The room plunged back into darkness, doors and windows shut tight, the air seemingly frozen in place.

Sheng Qingrang stood up, picked up his wicker suitcase and briefcase, and walked toward Zong Ying. Freeing one hand, he took hers, and the two waited together for the chime to sound.

After the "dong" of the clock, Zong Ying reached out and found the familiar hallway light switch. With a soft "click," bright, stable modern light poured down from above.

Sheng Qingrang looked up, then lowered his gaze to meet Zong Ying's eyes as she asked, "Are you planning to rest here tonight and leave tomorrow, or are you heading out tonight?"

Before he could answer, Zong Ying glanced at the suitcase he was carrying and guessed that he had already decided to travel through the night. "Let's go," she said. "I'll see you off."

She released his hand, turned to rummage through the entryway cabinet for a set of keys, then pushed the door open and stepped out. But when she looked back, Sheng Qingrang was still standing there.

He said to her, "It's too late. You need rest—there's no need to see me off."

Zong Ying studied his face for a long moment before replying, "I'd rather see you off than sleep."

Her words carried an unspoken reluctance to part. Rather than lying awake alone, she preferred to stay with him until dawn.

Hearing this, Sheng Qingrang tightened his grip on the suitcase handle and stepped out the door.

They entered the elevator, watching the floor numbers descend one by one until they reached the ground level. Zong Ying strode out quickly, heading outside to retrieve her car.

She drove up to the apartment entrance, where Sheng Qingrang stood waiting.

Leaning out, she pointed to the back seat. "Put it there." Sheng Qingrang wordlessly opened the rear door, placed the suitcase inside, closed it, then circled around to the front and took the passenger seat, fastening his seatbelt.

Only once they were both settled in the car did Zong Ying ask, "Where's your first stop?"

He answered, "Nanjing first."

Back to the Shanghai-Nanjing Expressway again. Zong Ying rested one hand on the steering wheel, turned on the car's navigation, and entered the destination.

As the navigation voice chimed in, she made a U-turn and drove south.

Shanghai had been overcast all day, the sky thick with dark clouds, the air damp as if rain were imminent. The car moved through the night, accompanied only by neon lights and the occasional passing vehicle—a quiet, lonely scene.

After half an hour of driving, they pulled into a gas station.

Once refueled, Zong Ying walked to the convenience store and bought some food. Returning to the car, she placed the bag of provisions in the back seat, then pulled out her wallet and handed Sheng Qingrang all the large bills inside.Having received assistance multiple times, Sheng Qingrang declined this time: "I still have some cash left, no need."

Zong Ying silently took back the banknotes and continued driving.

It was the night before the peak return period of the Golden Week holiday. The roads were filled with vehicles heading home, yet the destination they sped toward was an unfamiliar city.

On the late-night highway, road signs and trees flashed by in a blur. The lane markings ahead were swallowed up one after another, and the distant horizon remained shrouded in darkness.

By the time they exited the highway, dawn was near. Layers of clouds pressed low, and the skyline appeared unusually close.

Only after entering the city did the first light truly emerge on the horizon. Zong Ying glanced at the time on the navigation screen and pulled over.

The car stopped near the long-defunct Nanjing West Station. Through the window, the old railway station, renovated multiple times over the years, was still visible. This was also Sheng Qingrang’s next departure point—Xiaguan Station in Nanjing, first built in 1905.

No matter how far you escort someone, parting is inevitable.

As the clock neared six, there was nothing left to do but hurry through their farewells.

Zong Ying rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other covering her lips in silence. Suddenly, she sighed, turned, and reached into the backseat, retrieving a suitcase and a plastic shopping bag, which she handed to Sheng Qingrang.

Sheng Qingrang set the luggage at his feet and looked at Zong Ying.

Two minutes remained, and the second hand grew increasingly relentless. After a few seconds of silence, Zong Ying finally spoke: "I hope you stay safe and come back alive."

Sheng Qingrang met her gaze, his voice low but firm and sincere: "And I hope your surgery goes well, that you live on safely. I will return."

Though burdened by their own worries, destined to go their separate ways with no possibility of staying together, in that fleeting moment the night before, two hearts separated by decades had pressed close, both daring to wish—for no parting at all.

After speaking, Sheng Qingrang reached out, and Zong Ying leaned in to embrace him.

Their farewell hug was measured in seconds. No matter how much longing lingered in their eyes, at the moment of separation, it had to be restrained. The hands that touched could only let go.

Sheng Qingrang picked up his luggage and bid her farewell: "Well then, goodbye."

Zong Ying’s gaze flickered once more to the time on the navigation screen—three seconds, two, one—

"Goodbye," she said.

The passenger seat was empty in an instant.

In the distance, Nanjing West Station stood desolate, though in the 1930s, it had been a bustling hub, the starting and ending point of the Shanghai-Nanjing railway line.

As Sheng Qingrang organized his luggage to enter the station, he discovered a wallet stuffed with cash inside the plastic shopping bag. He turned back to where the car had been, as if Zong Ying’s vehicle were still parked there. But there was no car—only a few hurried passengers passing by, the rattling wheels of a bicycle, and finally, a Ford Model T pulling up, from which two well-dressed politicians emerged.

While dark clouds loomed here, the weather was no better where Zong Ying was.

She sat in the car for a while longer before restarting the engine, turning around, and driving back to Shanghai against the pale morning light.

On this early morning of the Golden Week’s final day, a light rain fell over Shanghai. Investigations delayed by the holiday were now entering their confirmation phase.

The elevator doors in the hospital’s VIP ward area slid open, and three uniformed officers stepped out—the first two from the 723 Incident Investigation Team, followed by Xue Xuanqing.

Leading the group, Officer Jiang raised his hand and knocked twice on the door.

Zong Yu’s mother, who had spent the night sleepless by the bedside, went to answer it, only to be met with the sight of light blue uniforms.Officer Jiang showed her his badge and explained the purpose of his visit: "We've obtained some new evidence regarding the 723 incident and are here today to verify a few details."

She looked up, her face full of resentment and wariness: "Haven't you already been here before? Zong Yu doesn't remember anything. If you don't believe me, you can ask his doctor."

Officer Jiang frowned slightly as Xue Xuanqing's voice came from behind him: "No, he remembers."

As she spoke, she reached out her hand, revealing a phone sealed in a transparent evidence bag within Zong Yu's Mother's line of sight.