The wedding time indicated in the message was Sunday at 12:30 noon. Although Sheng Zhao officially took two days off, in order to save some travel expenses, he booked a Saturday midnight red-eye flight.
From Shangdu City to Shanghai, the flight takes two hours. Sheng Zhao booked a flight at 1:30 AM. Calculating the time, considering landing and getting to the hotel, he should have about six hours of sleep, which should be sufficient.
He didn’t plan to stay at his biological mother’s place. He didn’t spend much time with those relatives and, although it wasn’t strained, the warmth wasn’t there either. He didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness, so he simply booked a hotel near the wedding venue.
Knowing that he was going out, Xiong Xiangsong wanted to drive him to the airport. Unfortunately, Sheng Zhao’s flight was too late, crossing Xing Yingzhuo’s “curfew,” so he had to give up.
At 9:30 PM on Saturday, Sheng Zhao locked the door of Room 101, went to the office again, placed the attendance book on the desk, and stuck his phone number on the corner. Then he exited the office, locked the door behind him, inserted the key into the flowerpot near Room 102, and drew a small arrow on the door with a water-soluble carbon pencil.
Since the building was not accessible to outsiders, security was quite guaranteed. Whoever came down in the morning and unlocked the door was fine.
After doing all this, he wandered around the lobby on the first floor, looking around.
He didn’t know what he was doing. Clearly, it was a “workplace,” but it somehow gave him a sense of belonging. After thinking for a moment, he felt it might be because he lived there himself. Over the past few months, the “company dormitory” had become synonymous with “home” in his eyes. So, suddenly having to go on a long trip made him feel a bit uneasy.
He used a piece of double-sided tape to stick down a corner of the bulletin board, then peeled off an expired community notice from the other side.
Then he surveyed the area, ensuring there was nothing else to do, before returning to his room door, pulling up the small carry-on suitcase that barely reached his knees, and left.
As soon as he stepped out of the building, he heard the crackling sound of electricity behind him. Curious, he turned around and found that the useless video intercom screen at the entrance was lit.
Two seconds later, Xing Yingzhuo’s face appeared on the screen.
That day, he wore a dark-colored pajama, soft fabric clinging to his body, with the neckline slightly folded, revealing a small piece of pale skin below the neck.
“Have everything with you,” Xing Yingzhuo said. “If the door card is lost, it won’t be reissued.”
Sheng Zhao was slightly stunned.
Through the electronic microphone, Xing Yingzhuo’s voice sounded lower than usual, with a slightly distorted electric current, coupled with his expressionless face, making him appear somewhat indifferent.
But Sheng Zhao inexplicably sensed a subtle meaning from it—whose boss doesn’t sleep late at night, steps on the employees’ departure time, and makes a call just to say a word about having the key card ready?
Sheng Zhao even subconsciously looked upstairs, wondering if Xing Yingzhu had timed it from home or was watching him from upstairs.
Unfortunately, the night had deepened, with only a few windows in the building lit. In the pitch-black night, the seventh floor seemed to have inexplicably sunk into darkness, as if it had entered the midst of the Milky Way, and nothing was visible.
However, Sheng Zhao looked around emptily, while Xing Yingzhu saw his foolish expression on the video call. Annoyed, Xing Yingzhu sighed and asked, “What are you looking for?”
“Looking for you,” Sheng Zhao said instinctively.
Xing Yingzhu: “…”
Xing Yingzhu really didn’t know what to say to him. He felt that Sheng Zhao’s cleverness was like a limited-time offer, ready to run out at any moment and needing a recharge.
“Looking for me outside instead of looking at the video call?” Xing Yingzhu sarcastically remarked, “Am I in the sky?”
Surprisingly, Sheng Zhao didn’t get annoyed this time. He calmly looked at Xing Yingzhu through the video call and smoothly provided him with an explanation: “Um, boss, I’ve booked a ticket to come back tomorrow night at ten.”
Xing Yingzhu, still wearing an unfriendly expression, nonchalantly acknowledged that he understood.
After Sheng Zhao finished speaking, he stood there with his suitcase, waiting for two or three seconds. However, Xing Yingzhu hadn’t hung up the call yet.
Feeling puzzled, Sheng Zhao hadn’t even started to inquire when he noticed Xing Yingzhu’s impatient frown. He asked irritably, “Why haven’t you left yet?”
It dawned on Sheng Zhao, who dryly responded, tightened his grip on the suitcase, and said, “Well then…” hesitatingly waving at him, “Goodbye, boss?”
Xing Yingzhu made another sound of acknowledgment, prompting Sheng Zhao to pull his suitcase and walk away. After walking about ten steps, unable to resist, he turned back to look.
This time, the video call had been disconnected, and the electronic screen was pitch black. Xing Yingzhu’s face had disappeared at the other end of the image.
For some reason, Sheng Zhao inexplicably stopped in his tracks and looked up again. He knew he couldn’t see anything, but he still did it.
A subtle emotion emerged in his heart. This emotion had started to take root when he received Xing Yingzhu’s call earlier, and now it was intensifying, becoming clearly perceptible.
It was strange, he thought belatedly. Just standing at the entrance of the building, facing the somewhat silly video call with Xing Yingzhu, he inexplicably felt a sense of “someone waiting for him to come back.”
This feeling, attached to the “boss,” was quite absurd in reality, but he pondered for a moment and stuck to his judgment.
Xing Yingzhu was undoubtedly a person who seemed difficult to get along with—cold-faced, sarcastic, unpredictable in his actions. The tenants in the entire building both respected and feared him. People spoke cautiously when in his presence.
However, it seemed that once someone discovered that he wasn’t entirely as he seemed, it was easy to gain favor. Perhaps people had low social expectations for him.
Maybe I should bring him some local specialties when I come back, Sheng Zhao thought. How about buying a whole ham from Sanyang South Goods, since Xing Yingzhu doesn’t go out, and his diet seems to consist only of meat? That would be perfect.
… But it might be a bit troublesome to check in. I’ll have to ask the store clerk to vacuum-pack it.
With a decision made, Sheng Zhao resumed his steps, pulling his suitcase outside. At the same time, he subconsciously reached into his pocket and touched the access card.
The hard card outlined a square shape in his outer pocket. Sheng Zhao, feeling satisfied, patted it through the fabric along the edges of the card.
It’s well-hidden, he thought.
In the dark night, Xing Yingzhu emerged from the cold bath, barefoot on the tiled floor. He seemed oblivious to the concept of “cold,” and he didn’t bother changing out of the damp pajamas. As he walked into the living room, he left behind a wet trail.
The cool breeze of late summer entered through the half-open window, gently brushing against his profile. He casually swept his semi-long wet hair back when he reached the living room, making the window even wider.
The slightly cool evening breeze lifted a few strands of his hair. Xing Yingzhu squinted comfortably, tilting his chin slightly.
He held a thin “access card” in his hand, similar in material and shape to the one Sheng Zhao had. However, it looked darker and shinier, and under the moonlight, a peculiar gleam could be seen.
Xing Yingzhu raised his hand, scrutinizing the “access card” in the moon’s direction for a while. Then, he withdrew his hand, flipping the card back and forth in his palm, as if contemplating something.
But he didn’t hesitate for too long. Soon, he made up his mind. Holding the two ends of the “card” with both hands, he applied a slight force, splitting the card in half from the center.
The material was light, thin, and fragile, emitting a subtle, crisp sound as it broke into two halves.
A strange transformation occurred in the card. A barely perceptible strand of shimmering green light flowed out from the fracture at the moment of the card’s breakage. It seemed to possess a lifelike quality, “flying” out of the window and disappearing into the night.
Xing Yingzhu’s beautiful and deep black pupils momentarily changed their appearance. The pupils contracted, and a faint trace of dark red crept onto the whites of his eyes. However, this change was extremely rapid, almost reverting to its original state in an instant.
Following that, the remaining two sections of the card inexplicably changed their appearance. The beautiful flowing light disappeared, and the color turned dull. In the blink of an eye, they transformed into fine, fragmented sand, flowing down from between his fingers.
Xing Yingzhu clapped his hands, shaking off the remaining bit of gray stains between his fingers. Just as he was about to close the window and return to his room, his eyes happened to catch sight of a glass bottle in the corner of the balcony.
Inside it, there was still the worm that he had brought back during the last rain. The worm floated in the water, rigid and motionless, swelling the entire circumference of the bottle.
Initially, when this creature was placed here, it was quite restless. Even with its body split into two sections, it would try to move around whenever Xing Yingzhu rested, attempting to escape. However, it eventually resigned itself when it realized it couldn’t get out of the bottle.
Xing Yingzhu picked up the bottle and weighed it in his hand. The worm inside seemed to sense some unusual aura from him. Suddenly, it shivered without any apparent reason, as if having a fit on the spot.
Xing Yingzhu stared at it for a while with a smirk, then swiftly, in the moment the worm convulsed, he used his right index finger to tap on the outer layer of the glass.
The worm let out a sudden, pitiful scream. Following that, its body abnormally arched backward, and disgusting black sores bulged from its long, stiff body. It seemed to be undergoing some form of torture, and these sores squirmed and grew rapidly, distorting and clustering together.
However, in just a few seconds, the worm couldn’t withstand the rapid growth of the sores. Its skin was stretched into a thin membrane, and the sores gradually expanded before merging together in the worm’s hoarse scream.
After a moment, it formed a small, eerie face.
