Chapter 1: Red Warning

[“The red rain season is approaching. Our city will activate a Level 1 Emergency Response for Extreme Weather starting April 8. All residents are advised to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary. If you must go out, please take appropriate protective measures… If you encounter extreme weather while outside, immediately seek the nearest shelter and dial the emergency hotline 9999 for rescue…”]

The emergency broadcast blared abruptly in the office, its repetitive mechanical voice dropping like a bomb on the already restless atmosphere as the end of the workday approached—setting off a wave of groans.

“This year’s rainy season came early, didn’t it? It’s only the 8th.”

“I had plans to see a movie with my girlfriend this weekend. Guess that’s off now.”

“Dating? Forget that. A friend from the Disease Control Center told me the infection rate’s climbing again—psychiatric wards are at full capacity… Better stock up on food and drinks while it’s still dry and hunker down at home…”

Grumbling and chatter spread like a heavy net, suffocating the office’s end-of-day lightness. Everyone’s expressions turned grim, and HR quickly issued an early dismissal notice in the group chat.

People packed up their things in a rush and left in a hurry.

Just as the last one, Xu Cai, was about to lock the door, he caught a glimpse of something swaying in the corner out of the corner of his eye. Startled, he looked again and let out a sigh of relief before calling out in confusion, “Song Nanxing, you’re still here?”

The person he called raised their head slowly.

In the dimly lit office, Song Nanxing’s face looked unnaturally pale—so much so that the pair of pitch-black eyes embedded in it seemed even darker, like ink. When those eyes met Xu Cai’s, he couldn’t help but shiver.

He rubbed his arms like he was warding off the cold and, without waiting for a reply, tossed out, “Lock the door when you leave,” then hurried off.

Song Nanxing withdrew his gaze and looked out the window.

It was 4:35 PM, but the sky was already dark. The street below bustled with people and cars, though all seemed to be in a rush. A thin mist floated in the air, swirling and dispersing as pedestrians brushed past it.

It’s going to fog over.

He stood up and swept his phone and other items into his backpack, ready to head home. But when his gaze swept over the small glass tank on the corner of his desk, he hesitated, unsure whether to bring it along.

*****

It was a spherical fishbowl, about the size of a rugby ball, filled halfway with clean water. A pale blue, jelly-like baby octopus swayed its soft tentacles as it floated happily inside.

Song Nanxing had no idea what species the little octopus was. In fact, he’d bought it on a whim that very morning on his way to work—from an old woman’s street stall.

Afterward, he did regret it.

He hadn’t been remotely prepared to raise a pet. He didn’t even know the basics of how to care for an octopus.

But with the rainy season arriving early, he’d probably be working from home for a long while. If he left the tank at the office, the little octopus would almost certainly die.

After a moment of hesitation, Song Nanxing reached out and picked up the tank.

The blue, jelly-like octopus floating quietly in the water stretched its tentacles with the ripples, then slowly drifted to the side of the tank. It pressed against the thick glass, its body sticking to Song Nanxing’s palm like a tiny suction cup.

Instead of taking the elevator, Song Nanxing walked down the stairs step by step. By the time he stepped out of the Exchange Center building, the streets were completely deserted—only an occasional car whizzed past. The previously thin mist had thickened significantly, rolling like a living creature and swallowing him whole.

Suddenly, the silent streets filled with sound.

Whispers came from all directions. Shadows flickered in the distance. Above his head, in the heavy clouds, an enormous shape drifted slowly by.

At the same time, a familiar, slick and clammy tentacle began to slither up from his ankle—not fast, but slow enough that Song Nanxing could feel every bit of that cold, sticky, slimy pressure spreading across his skin.

It coiled upward like a snake, winding around his leg as if trying to drag him toward some unknown, murky abyss.

But Song Nanxing knew—it wasn’t a snake.

This wasn’t the first time he had experienced this. Every time he accidentally stepped into the mist, he would encounter it.

He didn’t know what it was, and he had no intention of finding out.

Since he was little, his mother had drilled it into him: This world is dangerous. If you want to survive the thorns and shadows tangled across it, the best thing you can do is keep your imagination in check—don’t look, don’t listen, don’t think.

The more you explore, the easier it is to lose your way.

And from his own experience, Song Nanxing had come to a simple conclusion: as long as he stayed calm and pretended he hadn’t noticed its presence, it wouldn’t hurt him.

He tapped on his smart wristband, opened the navigation app, and searched for the nearest shelter.

The slimy tentacle had already slipped beneath his hoodie, coiling around his waist again and again.

It was strong—so strong that Song Nanxing could hardly breathe. The suction cups on the inner side of the tentacle latched onto the delicate skin of his stomach, spreading a strange sensation: a mix of itching, burning, and numbness.

He had no idea what kind of creature it was, but despite its skin already being unpleasantly cold and clammy, it still secreted more of that thick, sticky fluid as it slithered around him. Even though Song Nanxing kept telling himself not to react, it was hard to ignore the sheer discomfort.

Expression blank, he glanced sideways at it, his eyes indifferent. Years of accumulated frustration boiled just beneath the surface, egging him on—whispering that maybe it was time to retaliate against this constant harassment.

Song Nanxing reached into his backpack and fumbled around until he found half a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He wasn’t a regular smoker. But lately, the pressure from everything he’d been going through had piled up. He’d bummed half a pack from a coworker, lighting one only when things got too overwhelming—just for a brief escape from reality.

Balancing the fishbowl in one hand, he tilted his head and pulled a cigarette from the pack with his lips, lighting it with a flick.

The glowing red tip flickered in the thick fog.

Two fingers holding the slender cigarette, Song Nanxing squinted and glanced briefly at the tentacle coiled around him. Then, as if by accident, he pressed the burning cigarette firmly against the thing’s dark, patterned skin.

His fingers inevitably touched its surface—cold and bizarre—and the sudden chill made his wrist tremble. The burning cigarette slipped from his grip and fell.

He instinctively bent down to pick it up—but caught sight of another tentacle, swiftly curling around from behind. Its tip coiled deftly, catching the falling cigarette in midair.

Then, with an almost comically eager, offering-a-gift sort of energy, it lifted the cigarette up and presented it to Song Nanxing.

Song Nanxing: …?

Shocked at the absurdity of his own thoughts, he froze in mid-bend, his blank expression locked in place as he made eye contact with the tentacle holding out the cigarette.

This time, he got a good look at it.

It really did look like the tentacle of some deep-sea monster he’d only seen in videos or books. The outer side was pure black, thick and powerful, with irregular dark blue markings coiling along its length. The underside was lined with two rows of suction cups, neatly arranged by size.

The longer he stared, the more the world around him seemed to sway—his vision blurring with a wave of nausea.

His heart pounded uncontrollably, thump, thump, thump, loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

The tentacle, persistent as ever, lifted the cigarette closer to him again.

Song Nanxing’s gaze instinctively followed it, eyes crawling upward along the rows of suction cups, almost against his will—curious about what monstrous body might lie at the other end of that thick limb.

But just as he was about to turn fully around—his chest seized, as if something heavy had slammed down on it.

A jolt of clarity snapped him back.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

The light dimmed. All that remained were strange, garbled whispers swirling around his ears.

Forcing himself to erase the image from his mind, Song Nanxing repeated the mantra he’d learned over the years: Don’t be curious.

When he opened his eyes again, his expression returned to its usual calm.

He pretended nothing had happened, ignoring the tentacles and the cigarette they held out, holding the fishbowl close to his chest, and quietly followed the navigation toward the nearest shelter.

It was just two hundred meters to his left.

The tentacle offering the cigarette stayed where it was. The others that had been coiled around him slowly unwrapped, forced to let go as he walked away.

In the end, they slumped to the ground—reluctant and unwilling.

From within the thick fog came a whispering voice, repeating again and again with a questioning tone:

“Why do you love him, and not me?”
“Why do you love him, and not me?”
……

*****

Following the navigation, Song Nanxing successfully located the nearest shelter.

There were three other residents already trapped by the fog inside. The four of them waited for around two hours before a rescue vehicle finally arrived to take them away.

Only when he returned to his residential complex did Song Nanxing finally let out a breath of relief.

He glanced down at the sticky residue smeared on his hoodie. First thing I’m doing is taking a hot shower, he thought, feeling absolutely done with the day.

He lived in a complex called Happiness Garden, located on the outer edges of Tong City. It was an old development, built even before he was born.

The buildings were older than he was, and most of the infrastructure was well past its prime—like the creaky elevator that had been broken for three days and still hadn’t been repaired.

Song Nanxing climbed the four flights of stairs via the emergency stairwell. As he struggled to retrieve his keys one-handed from his backpack, something at the edge of his vision caught his attention.

There, in front of his apartment door, lay a twisted, vaguely human-shaped figure.

His hand froze mid-search.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, forcing calm back into his expression, then strode quickly to the door and looked down, his eyes narrowing.

It was that ugly puppet again.

The puppet was about knee-high. Its limbs were twisted and out of proportion, and its facial features were so crudely carved that—even though the scene was clearly eerie—the puppet’s face was so clumsy and ugly it somehow came off as a little comical.

Song Nanxing stared blankly at the puppet lying in front of his door.

This puppet had shown up at his doorstep for half a month in a row.

At first, he thought it was some sort of prank. But after reviewing the hallway security footage, he had no choice but to admit: he had probably gotten himself tangled up in some kind of supernatural trouble again.

Face dark and tight, Song Nanxing roughly grabbed the puppet, stomped down the stairs with heavy steps, and mercilessly hurled it into the garbage bin in front of the building.

When he finally climbed back upstairs and stepped into his home without obstruction, the stiff expression on his face—numb from dealing with too much—finally began to relax. He set the fish tank down on the coffee table, then flopped onto the soft sofa. Grabbing the plush bunny lying next to him, he propped his chin on it and took several deep breaths before his foul mood finally began to subside.

He turned to look at the little blue octopus in the tank, which now seemed much more lively than before. It was waving its eight tentacles and swimming about cheerfully. Song Nanxing muttered to himself, “How should I settle you in?”

The little octopus released a string of bubbles, paddling hard with its tentacles as it swam to the glass wall nearest to Song Nanxing. Its tiny blue limbs suctioned onto the tank wall, working hard to shift forward, as if trying to climb out.

Unfortunately, its body was far too small. After a long struggle, it had barely moved an inch.

Song Nanxing found it amusing and deliberately poked it with his fingertip.

The little octopus let out a trail of bubbles as it paddled its arms, struggling to swim closer to the glass wall on Song Nanxing’s side. Its tiny blue tentacles suctioned to the wall as it clumsily tried to climb out.

Unfortunately, its body was far too small. After a long effort, it barely managed to move an inch.

Song Nanxing found it funny and deliberately poked it with his fingertip.

The little octopus clearly hadn’t expected a sneak attack. Caught off guard, it slid down the glass, splashing into the water below.

It flailed a few times underwater before regaining its posture and stubbornly began climbing again. This time, its thrashing limbs seemed to betray a hint of frantic frustration.

Song Nanxing couldn’t understand how an octopus could look so exasperated, but that didn’t stop him from poking it again and again, each time pressing it back into the water with his finger.

After repeating the prank several times, the frustrated little octopus finally seemed to give up. It sprawled its limbs and floated listlessly, looking as if it had lost the will to live. Only then did Song Nanxing show mercy and end the game.

He stripped off his coat and walked toward the bathroom, muttering to himself, “No wonder people keep pets. It really is therapeutic.”

*****

After a hot shower, Song Nanxing planned to catch up on some sleep to relax his frayed nerves.

But just as he lay down on the bed, the entire building started shaking like it was being hit by an earthquake. Loud crashing sounds and a little girl’s piercing screams echoed endlessly, blending into a chaotic, off-key symphony that made his head throb and his sanity teeter on the edge.

Lying in bed, Song Nanxing’s expression looked like a knocked-over paint palette—colorful and ever-changing.

After five minutes of trying to endure it, he finally walked to the living room and called the police.

A warm, polite male voice answered, “This is Happy Garden Police Station. How can we help you?”

Another sharp explosion rang in his ears.

Song Nanxing closed his eyes briefly and tried to speak as calmly as he could: “I suspect someone in unit 301 downstairs is abusing a child. This has been going on for… about a month. I’ve already called the police three times, but nothing seems to have been done.”

The man’s voice remained gentle as he explained, “We’ve already responded to your reports. The residents of unit 301 are just a married couple, no children. The wife did suffer from some psychological contamination, but she’s undergone proper treatment. She’s considered low-risk and has a low infection rate. Also, after interviewing other neighbors, no one else reported hearing a child being abused, nor have they seen any children enter or leave that unit.”

He paused briefly, then added with a subtle shift in tone, “It’s the rainy season—peak period for contamination. May I ask if you’ve had a psychological contamination screening recently?”