Night Wanderer

Ding ling ling, ding ling ling—an old-fashioned bicycle wobbled past Zong Ying.

A little girl in a silk dress stood at the street corner, clutching a jar of soy milk, staring blankly. As if startled by the sudden appearance of the two strangers, she abruptly turned and ran into the shop, crying out, "Mama, there are ghosts!"

Zong Ying felt a tug on her arm. When she came to her senses, her gaze met Sheng Qingrang's. Clearly, he hadn’t anticipated such an unexpected turn of events either, but now that it had happened, standing frozen on the street wouldn’t help.

Though the streets were still drowsy at this hour, early risers were already coming and going. Zong Ying’s uniform looked somewhat out of place.

He quickly lowered his voice and said to her, "Miss Zong, please come with me."

Zong Ying noticed he had released her arm, but there was no time to ask questions. She could only follow closely behind.

They crossed unfamiliar streets, walking briskly for about ten minutes until a thin layer of sweat formed on Zong Ying’s back. When she looked up, she suddenly saw a familiar apartment building.

The walls were different—painted in the color they had been before renovations—and the gate wasn’t the same either. Only the distinctive L-shaped structure remained unchanged.

Inside was a wide corridor connecting the north and south ends, empty and silent, dimly lit by overhead lamps, casting a cool, quiet gloom.

Sheng Qingrang suddenly stopped. Zong Ying watched as he methodically opened the mailbox, retrieved the latest newspaper, and picked up a glass bottle filled with milk.

Just then, a voice speaking Shanghainese called out from ahead, "Mr. Sheng, you’re back! Need the elevator?" Only then did Zong Ying notice a thin, middle-aged man sitting behind the service counter, his hair slicked back, only half his head visible.

"No need," Sheng Qingrang declined. He swiftly freed one hand to lightly grasp Zong Ying’s sleeve, turning to signal her to follow before heading up the southern staircase toward the top floor.

At the door, Sheng Qingrang stepped aside and gestured, "Miss Zong, please come in."

Zong Ying glanced at him, then at the doorway, before scanning her surroundings. The eerie feeling in her heart grew stronger. Finally, her gaze landed on a corridor light, and she found it strangely familiar.

No wonder her grandmother had once said this lamp was a genuine antique from the old days. Turns out it had already been in use at this time—and remained in use decades later.

Sheng Qingrang followed her gaze and remarked, "In your time, Miss Zong, the apartment was almost entirely renovated. Only this corridor light was preserved." Cradling the newspaper and milk bottle in one arm, he shifted his attention from the lamp to Zong Ying. "This light has illuminated my path and now yours—a rare kind of fate." He paused. "So please, come inside."

He was always polite and gentle, his words and actions kind.

Zong Ying finally stepped inside. Sheng Qingrang set the milk and newspaper on the entryway cabinet, bent down to retrieve a pair of shoes, and placed them at her feet before changing into slippers himself.

The interior was lined with narrow wooden floorboards, the curtains drawn over the windows, leaving everything dim and shadowed.

After changing her shoes, Zong Ying sat on the sofa, feeling the sweat on her back turn cold.

The living room was silent except for the ticking of a clock. The clanging of a tram downstairs faded as quickly as it came. Sheng Qingrang stood nearby and said to Zong Ying, "I deeply apologize for the mistake of bringing you to this era."Listening to his apology, Zong Ying thought to herself that perhaps she should thank him, after all, he had pulled her back in time to prevent her from being hit by the car.

But thoughts were just thoughts—she didn’t say a word, because another question arose in her mind.

She remembered yesterday morning when she had merely tested the waters by grabbing his hand, only to be sternly warned and pushed away. Clearly, he was well aware of the consequences and had been making every effort to avoid such situations.

So why had he acted so out of character this morning? Appearing on the street at the brink of vanishing was completely at odds with his usual meticulousness and rationality.

So she asked, "Why were you there today?"

Sheng Qingrang replied, "Because I was looking for you."

"Looking for me?" Zong Ying lifted her gaze.

"Miss Zong seems to have taken some of my personal belongings. There’s an urgent document in one of the folders that I need, so I had to find you."

"How did you know I was at the hospital?"

"I didn’t at first," he said. "Initially, I called your number from the apartment phone, but it didn’t connect. Later, I decided to go out and look for you. I assumed you’d be at your workplace, so I found it on a map, borrowed the bicycle parked in the storage room, and left in the middle of the night."

In just a few sentences, Zong Ying recognized his ability to extract useful information.

She offered no comment and let him continue. "And then?"

"That map didn’t seem to be the most updated, and the route wasn’t smooth. Fortunately—" He brought up the convenience store again. "There were many all-night shops along the way, and most of the young clerks were happy to give directions. They were quite skilled with a certain tool that could quickly search—"

Zong Ying pulled her phone from her pocket and placed it on the coffee table. "This?"

"Yes," Sheng Qingrang confirmed.

"This is a mobile phone, also called a cell phone. The number you dialed is my mobile number." Zong Ying kindly explained.

"I went to ask for directions, and the young man was using his phone. He handed it to me to check myself, and I saw you on it."

"Saw me?"

"To be precise, it was the number on your uniform."

He meant her police badge number.

"Was it a news photo?"

"Yes, taken at the hospital. In the photo, you and another person were standing at the end of a hallway, seemingly in conversation, but your face was blurred."

Zong Ying suddenly frowned.

"That young man told me it was real-time news. I figured if it was real-time, that meant you were likely still at the hospital, so I turned around and went there. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived, it was nearly dawn."

Zong Ying no longer cared about that. She seized on the earlier detail and asked, "Do you remember the headline of that news?"

Sheng Qingrang closed his eyes briefly to recall, then answered, "‘New Hope Chairman and Lead Forensic Examiner in 723 Tunnel Crash and New Hope Executive Drug Case Are Father and Daughter’?"

Zong Ying inhaled sharply.

Just from the headline, she could already imagine the flood of negative speculation and slander beneath it.

She hated trouble, yet trouble clung to her relentlessly.

Sheng Qingrang respected her momentary silence and quietly picked up the milk from the entryway cabinet, heading toward the kitchen.

But Zong Ying turned to look at him and said, "Because of me, you weren’t able to retrieve that urgent document. I’m sorry." She paused briefly before adding, "What kind of trouble will you face if you can’t get that file?"Sheng Qingrang turned on the faucet, and the sound of running water filled the room. He lowered his head to wash his hands and said, "It's alright, Miss Zong." Straightening up, he dried his hands and added, "There's always a solution to problems. You needn't trouble yourself."

Zong Ying didn't respond. Subconsciously, she reached for her cigarette case and took out a cigarette.

Just as she lit it, Sheng Qingrang suddenly paused what he was doing and went to open the window.

Zong Ying realized he might not appreciate others smoking around him. She took a drag out of respect before stubbing it out and tossing it into the wastebasket.

She remained seated, watching as Sheng Qingrang boiled water for tea and took a baguette from a paper bag, slicing it before frying the pieces in a pan.

When the water boiled, he poured in milk and turned to ask Zong Ying, "Miss Zong, how do you prefer your eggs?"

Zong Ying blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "Anything is fine," she replied.

The rich, lively aroma of food drifted through the morning light, reminding Zong Ying of Apartment 699 many years ago, when her mother and grandmother were still alive.

Sheng Qingrang turned off the stove and carried the milk pot back to the living room. He flipped over two glass cups on the table and poured steaming milk tea through a strainer, reminding Zong Ying on the sofa, "Miss Zong, breakfast is ready."

Zong Ying stood up as he returned to the kitchen to fetch plates and food. He then pulled out a chair and finally circled halfway around the table to sit across from her.

Silence during meals was basic etiquette between strangers. Once the food and condiments were served, no further conversation was needed.

Sheng Qingrang finished first but waited until Zong Ying set down her utensils before speaking. "Miss Zong, I need to go out and likely won't return until evening. Please rest here in the meantime—I'll ask the service desk to deliver meals for you."

He stood and pushed in his chair. "After ten tonight, I should be able to take you back to your time." After a pause, he added, "Now I need to take a shower. Please make yourself at home."

Zong Ying had no objections.

Sheng Qingrang went straight to the bathroom. Before entering, he turned on the gramophone and inserted a record. The room suddenly came alive with the rapid notes of a piano, nearly drowning out the sound of running water.

Zong Ying paced the room for a few steps before returning to the entryway, where she picked up the newspaper on the cabinet.

The fresh scent of printer's ink filled her nose as she scanned the densely packed vertical text, detailing the hottest and latest news of this era.

Her eyes flicked to the date at the top of the page—July 25, 1937.

As the hand-cranked gramophone wound down, the sound of water from the bathroom grew clearer but didn't last much longer.

The door suddenly opened, and Sheng Qingrang emerged in a clean shirt, his hair still damp. Drying it with a towel, he said, "Miss Zong, there are clean, unused towels in the leftmost cabinet if you need them." He continued, "The hot water system is having some issues, so if you'd like to take a hot shower—"

Before he could finish, the doorbell rang.

Zong Ying glanced over, then at Sheng Qingrang, before abruptly heading toward the garden-facing balcony. "I'll stay out of sight," she said.

She stepped onto the curved balcony, drew the curtains, and closed the balcony door behind her.

Sheng Qingrang answered the door, and a guest entered. Zong Ying couldn't make out their conversation, though she faintly recognized the voice of a young woman.

Soon, the gramophone started again, this time playing a popular tune.Zong Ying pulled out a cigarette case and lit another smoke. In the gradually intensifying morning light of summer, the vast apartment garden stretched before her eyes, and lifting her gaze, she could almost see the boundaries of Shanghai—an unprecedented quiet she'd never witnessed before.

Inside, the gramophone played, "Ten miles of foreign concessions, oh what splendid sights, riding in cars, living in Western-style houses," lively and bustling. Yet in Zong Ying's mind surfaced the date printed on the newspaper header.

July 25th, Year 26 of the Republic—

This city would soon witness the end of a golden era.

Author's Note:

Mr. Sheng's unique time-travel circumstances have given him a particular attachment and obsession with convenience stores.

Mr. Sheng is single.

——

A few clarifications:

There really is a lamp that has survived to this day and is still in use. The bulb has undoubtedly been replaced, but the lampshade remains the original.

At that time, Shanghai already had its own waterworks, especially within the concessions, so it wasn’t unusual. However, due to water pressure and other factors, by the time water reached the top floor, the flow would be very thin and slow when turned on.

Shanghai during the Republic era had gas stoves. The city was divided into old-style alleyway houses and new-style alleyway houses, with the most important distinguishing factor being whether they were equipped with gas stoves. High-end concession apartments like the one Mr. Sheng lived in certainly had them.