Night Wanderer

Zong Ying returned to the search page, combing through for any clues. But even after flipping through several pages, she couldn't find any records regarding Sheng Qingrang's cause of death.

She had determined the causes of death for many people, yet all she knew about Sheng Qingrang's death was a single date.

An unprecedented sense of panic surged within her. On this cool autumn night, cold sweat beaded on her forehead. With a sharp "snap," Zong Ying shut her laptop screen, closing her eyes briefly to steady herself. Then she pulled open a drawer and picked up the Omega watch Sheng Qingrang had given her. The hands pointed to 9:49—11 minutes before he would arrive in this era, and 8 hours and 11 minutes before he would leave it again.

But where was he now? She didn’t know.

The sudden ringing of the phone in the silent room startled her, sending a shiver down her spine. She quickly stood up, nearly running to the living room to answer it. Xue Xuanqing's voice came through the line.

Staring at the empty hospital bed, Xue Xuanqing asked, "Your surgery is first thing tomorrow morning. Why aren’t you resting at the hospital so late at night? What are you doing at home?"

Zong Ying replied, "I need your help."

Hearing the unusual urgency in her tone, Xue Xuanqing glanced sideways at the nurse beside her and asked, "What is it?"

Zong Ying closed her eyes. "Open the first drawer of the bedside table. There’s a phone inside."

Xue Xuanqing did as instructed and indeed found the phone with a cracked screen. She picked it up and pressed the power button. "What do you need this for? It’s already broken."

Zong Ying offered no explanation, only saying, "Bring it to me."

Xue Xuanqing swiftly pocketed the phone and turned to leave. The nurse hurried after her, calling out, "Make sure she comes back! The surgery is early tomorrow!"

"Got it," Xue Xuanqing replied dismissively before striding out of the hospital and heading to Apartment 699.

Late at night, the streets were nearly empty. A lone streetlight illuminated the entrance of the apartment building, while students from the nearby drama academy wandered past in small groups. Only one shop across the street remained open.

After parking, Xue Xuanqing strode inside and took the elevator up. As soon as the doors opened, she saw Zong Ying’s apartment door ajar, dim yellow light spilling out.

Slightly puzzled, she walked in and found Zong Ying standing in front of an old-fashioned clock, staring blankly at its rapidly spinning hands.

Hearing the noise, Zong Ying snapped out of her daze and turned to look at her. "Where can I get this phone fixed right now?"

Xue Xuanqing frowned. "I told you to fix it ages ago, and you ignored me. Why the sudden urgency in the middle of the night? What’s going on?"

Zong Ying turned away. "I need to find someone."

Xue Xuanqing said, "Then call them."

It was already past 10 p.m. Before Xue Xuanqing arrived, Zong Ying had used the landline to call Sheng Qingrang’s number three times in a row. Each time, the response was the same: The number you have dialed is currently switched off.

She shook her head. Xue Xuanqing vaguely pieced together the situation and asked, "Is this about that Mr. Sheng? What happened?"

Suppressing her anxiety, Zong Ying replied, "It’s important."

To Xue Xuanqing, the only thing that mattered was Zong Ying’s surgery—everything else could wait. She marched toward Zong Ying. "What could possibly be so urgent that it can’t wait until after your surgery tomorrow? You need to come back to the hospital now." But as she reached Zong Ying, she suddenly stopped, her gaze falling on an A4 sheet of paper lying on the side table.Picking it up, she saw a black-and-white resume with a photo on the right—it was the Mr. Sheng she knew.

The resume listed a date of death. Xue Xuanqing’s temples throbbed as she quickly realized the source of Zong Ying’s anxiety—that old-fashioned lawyer she had repeatedly given a hard time was going to die tomorrow.

For a moment, Xue Xuanqing wrestled with conflicting thoughts.

Part of her wanted Zong Ying to stay out of danger and wait quietly for her surgery. On the other hand, she knew exactly how important Mr. Sheng was to Zong Ying. Doing nothing and letting him die in that era was impossible—but what could they do? Could a man destined to die in the past simply stop dying because of Zong Ying’s intervention?

Hesitating, she looked up and met Zong Ying’s gaze. Gritting her teeth, she made up her mind. “Put on your coat and come with me.”

They left in a hurry. As Zong Ying closed the door, she glanced up at the hallway light, froze for a second, then reached back inside and flicked the switch off—plunging everything into darkness.

Xue Xuanqing got into the car and made a call, waking up a friend who repaired phones. After a brief exchange, they arranged to meet at his shop. She hung up, fastened her seatbelt, and started the car.

Zong Ying rolled the window halfway down, letting the wind rush in. The radio played a soft melody as they drove through the heart of the city toward their destination.

Xue Xuanqing’s phone rang every ten minutes—all calls from the hospital. She ignored them.

The car eventually turned into a narrow alley and parked under a camphor tree by the roadside. As they opened the doors, dried leaves spiraled down onto their heads.

Late at night, only one repair shop across the street was still lit with a white glow.

Xue Xuanqing pushed the door open, Zong Ying following close behind. Behind the counter, a young man with dyed blond hair was playing a game on his laptop. Hearing them enter, he turned to look.

Xue Xuanqing pulled a phone from her pocket and placed it on the glass counter. The blond guy glanced at it, reached over, picked it up, and turned it over a few times. Muttering, “It’s so broken it won’t even turn on?” he switched on the repair desk light.

He disassembled the phone, analyzed the issue, and replaced parts—working at a leisurely pace.

Zong Ying checked her watch. Time was slipping away—it was almost midnight. Only six hours left.

Xue Xuanqing frowned and rapped her knuckles on the counter. “Can you hurry up?” The blond guy drawled, “What’s the rush? Good work takes time!”

No matter how much Xue Xuanqing urged him, he stuck to his own pace. Finally, he tightened the last two screws, pressed the power button with his thumb, and turned his head toward them. “Wanna bet if it’ll turn on?”

The moment he spoke, the screen lit up. The phone searched for a signal, and notifications flooded in. The blond guy said, “How long has this been off? My hand’s numb from the vibrations! You know—” Before he could finish, Xue Xuanqing leaned over the counter, snatched the phone from his hand, and passed it to Zong Ying.

The screen illuminated Zong Ying’s face—pale from low blood sugar due to fasting and sheer exhaustion.

She quickly scrolled through the notifications for any news about Sheng Qingrang, but aside from a few missed call alerts, there was nothing.

As Xue Xuanqing asked, “Find anything?” Zong Ying steadied herself and opened the device tracking app. The map loaded, but only her own device appeared—no other signal.

It was past midnight. The other red dot still hadn’t appeared.

Was the phone dead—or had something already happened to him?In the wartime era, the recorded time of death might not be accurate—perhaps the date was noted later than the actual occurrence. Zong Ying's gaze dimmed abruptly, while Xue Xuanqing frowned and pressed her lips together beside her. In the cramped room, only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard in that instant.

The blond-haired guy suddenly broke the silence, "You were in such a hurry earlier, but now that it's fixed, why the sudden silence? I still need to get home, you guys—"

Xue Xuanqing pulled Zong Ying aside, turned to the blond, and said, "Leave me a message when you're online. I'll transfer the money to you," before hastily stepping out the door.

The two sat in the car for a few minutes before Xue Xuanqing fastened her seatbelt and made a decision. "Let's head back to the hospital first, no matter what. We'll deal with any developments later."

With that, she started the car and drove toward the hospital. The night grew even lonelier—even the Oriental Pearl Tower had turned off its lights. Only night-shift taxis sped past on the roads, as if the entire city had fallen asleep. Zong Ying kept her eyes fixed on the red dot on the screen, but even upon arriving at the hospital, the map still showed only her location, as if Sheng Qingrang had never appeared at all.

The nurse finally breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing her return, muttering a few complaints before urging her to rest.

Zong Ying lay down with a somber expression. Sensing her distress, Xue Xuanqing sat beside her for a while until her phone vibrated in her pocket. She quietly stood up and stepped out, turning off the lights in the room as she left.

Darkness enveloped everything, and silence settled in. Zong Ying could even hear her own heartbeat. The medication dulled her thoughts, but sleep remained elusive. Every footstep in the hallway during the night was crystal clear to her.

At some unknown hour, her phone screen lit up with an almost imperceptible vibration in the darkness.

Zong Ying snatched it up instantly, tapping the notification from the tracking app. Another red dot had abruptly appeared on the map—

Without time for further thought, she instinctively zoomed in to locate the other phone's position. But just as she glimpsed the location—before she could even take a screenshot—the red dot vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Calling Sheng Qingrang's number again yielded the same result: still powered off.

Zong Ying froze for two seconds, then grabbed the car keys from the nightstand and rushed out of the ward without even putting on her coat.

A nurse at the station saw her sprint toward the stairwell without a backward glance. By the time the nurse snapped out of it and gave chase, Zong Ying was already gone.

By the time the nurse called Xue Xuanqing to inform her, Zong Ying had already driven away from the hospital. Xue Xuanqing, who had been eating a late-night snack at a convenience store across the street, hung up and hurried outside. The roads were empty. She tried calling Zong Ying repeatedly, but the line was busy. She had no choice but to dial another number: "I think my car's been stolen. Help me track its location. License plate number Hu B..."

An hour later, as the night began to fade and dawn impatiently approached, Zong Ying arrived at the designated spot.

The streets were nearly deserted. Zong Ying slowed down, scanning the area, but none of the people walking toward her from either side was Sheng Qingrang.

She had no way to tell him to stay put. An hour had passed since the location appeared—he could have already moved elsewhere. He could have—

There wasn’t enough time to find him.

Time raced forward, the sky growing brighter, and her anxiety mounting. Zong Ying shifted her gaze out the car window, searching the roadside convenience stores along the way. Just as six o'clock approached, she slammed on the brakes, lurching forward and nearly hitting the steering wheel. Steadying herself, she looked up—and there he was. The familiar figure had stopped right in front of her car.Fear, anxiety, shock, and relief all merged into instinct at this moment—she stepped out of the car and hurried toward him, gripping his hand with trembling fingers, managing only a single sentence: "There's no time to explain."

She didn’t know where he would die, why he would die, or how to prevent it. The only possible way to change anything—was to follow him back to that era.

One second, two seconds, three seconds—the world transformed completely.

Meanwhile, Xue Xuanqing, who had rushed to the scene in a frantic hurry, was met with nothing but an empty car.

Xue Xuanqing froze for a moment before making a call back: "The car’s been found, thanks." She then got into the car and saw Zong Ying’s phone. Pressing the power button, she found it had already run out of battery.

She sat motionless in the car for a while before finally turning back toward the hospital to notify the chief surgeon, Director Xu.

The two who had returned to 1937 were now experiencing an entirely different world.

At dawn that day, the Japanese army had occupied Zhabei and set it ablaze—and their current location was, coincidentally, right in the heart of Zhabei.

Devastation stretched as far as the eye could see, with Japanese flags planted everywhere. Only the distant Sihang Warehouse remained defiantly standing.

After sporadic gunfire in the distance came the sounds of intense combat. Warplanes streaked back and forth across the sky, and the entire district was thick with the acrid stench of burning. Sheng Qingrang abruptly pulled Zong Ying behind a brick wall. The view ahead was nothing but ruins.

Sheng Qingrang smoothed Zong Ying’s disheveled hair with both hands before cupping her cold cheeks. He noticed she was still in hospital clothes, her admission wristband still on—meaning she had fled the hospital in extreme haste. Uneasy, he murmured, "This is far too dangerous. Why would you do this?"

Zong Ying, still shaken from the anxiety of searching for him, took a long moment before replying, "I was afraid that if I didn’t come, I’d never see you again."

Though the gunfire wasn’t nearby, the tension was unbearable. Both their breathing and heart rates were rapid.

Sheng Qingrang was at a loss for words after hearing her response. Regaining his composure, he quickly took off his overcoat and wrapped it around Zong Ying, who was dressed only in thin hospital attire.

Zong Ying looked up and asked, "When did you return to Shanghai?"

"Last night," he answered as he helped her into the coat. He swiftly buttoned it up and explained his rushed return: "The documents for the factory relocation were kept in a bank’s safe deposit box. They needed to be retrieved and submitted to the investigation office for review, so I came back. But by the time I arrived yesterday, it was already late. I had planned to go straight to the bank, but I didn’t make it in time. What about you? Haven’t you had your surgery yet?"

Zong Ying had encountered far too many things during this time—there was so much she could say, but neither the timing nor the setting was right. She could only reply, "My situation isn’t important right now. The question is, how do we get out of here?"

The International Settlement wasn’t too far away, but crossing the Japanese military lines would be nearly impossible.

Sheng Qingrang frowned deeply. His briefcase contained numerous documents related to the Nationalist government’s relocation—if the Japanese searched and found them, the consequences would be dire.

Sensing his worry and unease, Zong Ying took his hand, forcing herself to stay calm.

She retracted her earlier question. "No, trying to leave might only invite more trouble." In enemy-occupied territory, any action that exposed them was perilous. If they could find a safe place to hide, it would be better to wait until nightfall before making any moves.A fighter plane roared overhead, heading straight for the Sihang Warehouse.

Japanese soldiers were still setting fires, columns of smoke rising from various parts of Zhabei, piercing the sky. The scorched smell in the air grew heavier.

Zong Ying quickly scanned their surroundings and, without a word, grabbed Sheng Qingrang’s arm, pulling him westward. Most of the residential buildings had already been shattered by earlier bombings, leaving only a few walls standing. Navigating through the ruins, finding a concealed spot was no easy task.

Suddenly, Sheng Qingrang tugged at her and pointed to a house on their left.

The roof of the house was gone, but the threshold remained. Stepping inside and turning left led to another entrance. Further in stood an Eight Immortals table, stools scattered haphazardly on the floor, surrounded by rough shards of porcelain. The door to the inner room was still intact, the walls solid—a perfect hiding spot behind it.

Staying here meant pushing Sheng Qingrang further down a path of no return, while leaving might help him avoid disaster. Zong Ying had no certainty in her heart.

Not knowing where misfortune might befall him, she couldn’t tell whether her decision was right or wrong.

Gunfire and explosions continued in the distance, likely from the North Railway Station. No one knew how long this battle would last. Zong Ying checked her watch repeatedly until, at 10:15, a brief silence finally fell.

The silence was unsettling. Trapped here with nothing to do, the only option was to wait.

The two sat against the corner of the wall, lacking water and food. To conserve energy, they spoke as little as possible, enduring the agonizing passage of time.

By around 1:45 p.m., the fires outside had intensified. The scorched air filled their lungs, leaving no clean breath between inhales and exhales.

Suddenly, artillery fire erupted from the direction of the Sihang Warehouse. The barrage didn’t last long before ceasing, plunging the surroundings back into an eerie silence.

Five minutes later, movement sounded outside.

Footsteps came and went, interspersed with a few words of Japanese and the clinking of bayonets probing through debris.

There were two of them.

Zong Ying clenched her teeth, her face flushed from suppressing a cough. She glanced at Sheng Qingrang, who met her gaze. Without a word, they grasped each other’s hands and stood, pressing themselves against the door to wait.

The footsteps drew closer. Through the crack in the door, Zong Ying caught a glimpse of a small Rising Sun flag flashing past. Holding her breath, she leaned against the wall as Sheng Qingrang pulled out a loaded Browning from his briefcase—only two bullets left.

Both their heart rates spiked. The loosely shut wooden door was abruptly pushed open, a bayonet thrusting inside. In an instant, Zong Ying seized the rifle barrel and shoved it forward. The soldier, caught off guard, tripped over the high threshold before he could step in. Zong Ying kicked the rifle away, but the man recovered and lunged at her. Meanwhile, the other Japanese soldier rushed in at the commotion. Zong Ying’s head slammed against the doorframe—pain shot through her as she gritted her teeth—

Three gunshots rang out in succession.

Then, silence again.

Dizzy, Zong Ying looked at Sheng Qingrang, but her vision blurred. All she could make out was blood.

The Browning had only held two bullets. Three shots meant at least one hadn’t come from Sheng Qingrang.

Her breathing grew heavier, her eyelids drooping. The world seemed saturated with the scent of blood, so quiet she could hear nothing.

Before her eyes shut completely, one thought remained—Sheng Qingrang had been shot, and she, too, was losing consciousness.Dying in wartime isn't necessarily heroic—countless lives were lost silently in this war.

Their deaths were neither grand nor witnessed by anyone.

The battle for Sihang Warehouse reignited. Japanese forces concentrated their firepower on the exterior, while the Chinese defenders inside fought back fiercely. The battle raged on, attack and defense locked in a deadly struggle, burning as intensely as the great fire in Zhabei.

Meanwhile, in a roofless house, a pair of pale hands struggled to drag Zong Ying away from the door and back to the corner.

Sheng Qingrang settled the unconscious Zong Ying against the inner wall before finally looking at his left leg. A bullet had struck his calf, and blood seeped quietly from the wound. He tore the hem of his shirt with difficulty, stuffing the fabric into the wound to stem the bleeding, but it was soon soaked red.

Waiting alone felt far longer than waiting together.

The distant sounds of battle echoed as he tilted his head up, catching only a narrow glimpse of the sky—smoke and dust swirling, the blue now stained black and red.

Time passed, and with it, his blood slowly drained away.

Pain dulled into numbness, leaving only cold—the chill of blood loss and hunger.

The artillery fire from Sihang Warehouse waned from relentless to sporadic. The sky above turned completely black-red, thick smoke choking the air, yet the flames offered no warmth.

Time crawled. More than once, Sheng Qingrang felt he couldn’t hold on any longer.

His body temperature plummeted. Shivering uncontrollably, his lips pale, his consciousness teetered on the edge—when pushed to the brink, the mind inevitably whispers that death is near. Closing one’s eyes is easier than clinging to life.

But if he didn’t hold on, Zong Ying might never return.

He turned to look at her, groping for her wrist, feeling the faint pulse beneath his fingers.

To send her back to her time, he had to—had no choice but—to endure.

Just in case, he dragged his briefcase closer, fingers fumbling inside for his pen and the empty cigarette box he kept there.

He unfolded the flattened box—its front printed with "peaceinfinity" and a dove, its back blank.

In the dim light, he unscrewed the pen cap, mustering the last of his strength to scrawl Zong Ying’s hospital address and Xue Xuanqing’s phone number, trembling as he added: Please take us to this hospital or contact this number. Eternal gratitude.

——

Shanghai, 2015. The full moon of the ninth lunar month hung high in the sky, indifferent to the city’s neon glow, its light spilling extravagantly into the narrow alleyways.

At 10:04 p.m., a little girl, Xiao Nan, dashed out of an old residential stairwell clutching a pomegranate, an adult chasing after her: "Slow down! There’s no light!"

Xiao Nan stopped abruptly after a few steps. The pomegranate slipped from her hand and hit the ground. She turned and burst into wails: "Mama! There’s dead people at our door!"

Deep into the night, ambulances, onlookers, and hastily arriving media turned the quiet old neighborhood into a sudden spectacle.

Sirens wailing, an ambulance raced to the hospital. The emergency green channel activated. A call from the nurse’s station reached the neurosurgery department—Sheng Qiushi picked up.

Director Xu, who had been waiting at the hospital, set down the medical records upon hearing the news and immediately ordered preparations for surgery.

In the emergency operating room, another life-saving procedure was about to begin.The surgical lights flickered on in unison, but when one went out, another remained lit.

Sheng Qingrang was wheeled out of the operating room, still unconscious. When he finally awoke, his vision was filled only with the stark white ceiling light of the hospital room, its details indistinct and blurred.

The corridor outside was already bustling with activity, the sound of hurried footsteps filling the air. Someone approached him quickly, adjusted his IV drip, and pressed the call button for him.

Sheng Qingrang wanted to speak, but his throat was parched and hoarse.

The nurse leaned down and said, "The surgery for the person who came with you just finished. It went smoothly. You can rest easy and sleep a little longer."

He glanced at the monitor, where the time flickered—from 05:59:59 to 06:00:00—

Then from 06:00:00 to 06:00:01, 06:00:02, 06:00:03... By the time he snapped out of his daze, it was already 06:01:00.

He lay in the hospital bed.

All that remained in Zhabei, 1937, was a single briefcase.