Chapter 21: The Truth Buried in Rain

2.05
Conducted memory cleansing on the subject. Injected corrupted frog extract in an attempt to sever pseudo-data line antennae—failed. Triggered subject’s instinctive resistance. Released a large amount of data spores, concentration exceeded 5% and continued to rise. Breached the isolation chamber’s threshold. Terminated.

2.12
All 10 low-level test subjects from the previous batch were devoured. Subject’s bodily aberration symptoms intensified. Next phase will continue increasing the number of low-level test subjects.

2.15
Conducted another memory cleansing. Compared with January’s data, the subject’s self-awareness has weakened; stereotyped behavior increased. Attempted consciousness manipulation—failed.

2.29
New batch of 15 low-level test subjects implanted with infinitely replicating tadpoles. After devouring them, the tadpoles could not survive inside the subject. Failed.

…

Song Nanxing quickly flipped through the notebook, then reached for the others on the desk. All of them were filled with similar experiment logs. Repeated experiments like memory cleansing, severing the antennae, and feeding low-level test subjects had been performed countless times—most ending in failure.

He closed the journal, his eyes resting on the surveillance monitor. His expression turned complicated.

The “subject” mentioned in all these experiment logs was clearly Cheng Jianning.

He had initially thought that the widespread contamination among Haomeng’s employees was just an accidental mass incident. After all, some pollutants were extremely contagious, and if not caught in time, could cause wide-scale psychic pollution.

But based on these records, it was obviously deliberate.

Whether the original anomaly at Haomeng was accidental or man-made was still unclear—but the current state of things was unmistakable: someone had turned this place into a massive artificial petri dish, continuously injecting new pollutants to stimulate the subject and achieve some goal.

If he hadn’t happened to get involved in the incident with Room 301’s family, and if Wu Huai hadn’t uncovered the link between Haomeng and Song Cheng leading him here, this inhumane experiment might still be ongoing.

Just then, there was a loud banging at the door.

Cheng Jianning’s cheerful voice came through, completely unaware of any darkness: “Song Nanxing, why won’t the door open? Are you okay in there?”

Song Nanxing glanced at the experiment logs scattered across the desk. After a moment of hesitation, he finally turned around to open the door.

Just as his hand touched the doorknob, he paused. His eyes drifted back to the glowing surveillance monitor, and a crucial question surfaced in his mind.

Was the image of Song Cheng he saw on the Haomeng website really just a hallucination?

The sudden appearance of Song Cheng…The strange emblem he’d once seen in Song Cheng’s childhood notebook…Cheng Jianning, being raised like a lab animal in confinement…

Everything seemed to connect into a hidden, disturbing thread that pierced through Song Nanxing’s thoughts like a needle.

Outside, Cheng Jianning received no response. The knocking grew louder.

“Song Nanxing? Are you okay in there?”

The pounding irritated his temples. Song Nanxing pressed a hand against them, then unlocked and opened the door.

Cheng Jianning was just about to throw his body against the door when it opened on its own. He stumbled forward with a lurch, nearly falling flat on his face.

Seeing that Song Nanxing was standing there safe and sound, he exhaled in relief, then started to mutter in complaint.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I thought something happened to you in there.”

Song Nanxing pushed all the chaotic thoughts to the back of his mind. He looked at Cheng Jianning, a complicated expression flashing across his face. After a moment, he decided not to hide the truth.

“I found something,” he said. “You might want to take a look.”

Cheng Jianning, clueless about his own situation, scratched his head and smiled. “What is it?”

Song Nanxing casually grabbed one of the experiment logs and handed it to him. His expression turned serious. “Read it yourself. Try to stay calm.”

Startled by his grave tone, Cheng Jianning took the notebook without understanding, flipping through it.

The usual smile on his face slowly faded.

Unconvinced, he quickly skimmed through page after page. When he was done with one, he grabbed another from the desk. Then another. And another. After reading three or four, he finally turned to look at Song Nanxing, his face pale and his eyes filled with helpless confusion.

“Is this… real?” he asked. “Why don’t I remember any of it?”

Song Nanxing replied, “It might be fake. But more likely—it’s all true. You don’t remember because someone has been regularly performing memory cleansing on you. Didn’t you say your memory always gets worse after being locked up by the janitor lady and going through Dr. Zhao’s treatment?”

Cheng Jianning’s eyes went blank. He muttered, “But I still remember my grandma. I remember I want to go home…”

Song Nanxing sighed. There was pity in his gaze.
Maybe that’s why the experiments kept failing.

Cheng Jianning lowered his head and pulled the entire stack of thick experiment logs toward him. He began flipping through them one by one.

Song Nanxing didn’t rush him. He waited patiently by his side.

By the time Cheng Jianning finally finished reading the entire stack, it was already after work hours. The sky outside had darkened, and the fluorescent lights on the ceiling gave off a pale, ghostly hue.

Cheng Jianning finally seemed to accept reality. He took out the stamped resignation form he had carefully folded in his pants pocket, stared at it for a while, and mumbled, “What should I do now? Do I still need this?”

He looked utterly lost.

Song Nanxing slid his hand into his pants pocket, fingers brushing over the phone inside.

Even though he hadn’t found Song Cheng this trip, discovering that strange emblem was still a clue. He could follow the trail from that emblem—maybe it would lead somewhere. As for Good Dream… perhaps it was time to notify Han Zhi and hand it over to the authorities.

Looking at Cheng Jianning’s dazed expression, he asked, “Didn’t you say you’d go home and visit your grandma after quitting?”

“Oh, right! I’m going home.”

Cheng Jianning suddenly perked up like a reactivated robot. All the confusion and blankness on his face vanished as he grabbed Song Nanxing and dragged him out excitedly. “I can finally go home!”

Song Nanxing asked, “Do you still remember where home is?”

Cheng Jianning grinned sheepishly and even looked a little proud. “Of course I do! I might forget a lot of things, but I’ll never forget where my home is.”

Pulled along by Cheng Jianning, Song Nanxing followed him out of Area B, all the way to the company’s front lobby.

By then, the building was completely empty. Not a single employee remained, and apart from the pale overhead lights, only their two shadows flickered in the corridor.

Cheng Jianning pressed the elevator button and took a deep breath nervously, muttering to himself, “I’m so nervous. I haven’t been home in so long… I wonder if the old lady is gonna be mad. Don’t be fooled by her age—when she’s chasing me with a rolling pin, she’s still crazy fast. I can’t even outrun her…”

The elevator stopped at the 29th floor and opened with a ding.

When they reached the ground floor, they realized it had started raining again outside. The dark, unlit building felt completely cut off by the curtain of rain, adding to the eerie, unsettling atmosphere.

Cheng Jianning shivered and edged closer to Song Nanxing, craning his neck to peer out into the rain. After a while, he turned around and smiled ingratiatingly.

“Did you drive here? Can you give me a lift home? I don’t think I’ll be able to get a cab in this weather.”

Cheng Jianning lived in the outer district too, around three to four kilometers from Good Dream.

Song Nanxing followed the navigation system and dropped him off at the bottom of his apartment building. Then he handed him a spare umbrella from the car.

“Go on. Get inside.” He hesitated for a second and asked, “Do you want me to walk you in?”

Cheng Jianning took the umbrella and looked at him with teary-eyed gratitude. “You’re seriously too nice. But it’s so late, and it’s raining—I’ll be fine on my own. Once the weather clears up, you gotta come to my place for dumplings, okay? My grandma makes the best pork and cabbage dumplings.”

Song Nanxing gave a soft “Mm” in response and watched as Cheng Jianning opened the car door and disappeared into the rain.

He didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he leaned back against the seat, looking exhausted. His phone screen was still on the contact page for Han Zhi.

After hesitating for a long while, he finally put the phone away, restarted the car, and drove off.

It was just one night. He could report to Han Zhi in the morning—no rush.

*****

Cheng Jianning walked toward the old residential building with an umbrella. When he reached the bottom of his apartment building, a strange, inexplicable fear welled up in his chest. He stopped in his tracks, standing in the pouring rain with his umbrella.

All he needed to do was push open the iron gate in front of him, then walk up to the fifth floor—and he’d be home.

But when his hand pressed against the gate, it went limp. He couldn’t summon the strength to push it open.

The rain splattered endlessly against the umbrella, kicking up faint red droplets that quickly blended into the rest of the downpour and flowed away into the unknown.

On top of the tall building behind Cheng Jianning, two shadowy figures stood silently in the rain, watching him.

“His condition is already extremely unstable.”

“A shame. His abilities could’ve been much more useful,” said a man in a black cloak. His tone held a tinge of regret, as though mourning a failed work of art.

“It’s not a total loss. Once he breaks down completely, the data spores will spread. The pollution could cover half the city.”

*****

A white car sped through the rainy night.

Just as Song Nanxing was about to turn the steering wheel to the left, his phone suddenly rang urgently.

He slowed the car down and glanced at the screen. It was an unfamiliar number. Unknown caller.

He answered and turned on the speakerphone, his tone casual. “Hello, who is this?”

Cheng Jianning’s trembling voice came through the speaker. “Song Nanxing, I’m really scared.”

His voice sounded like he was holding back tears. “I don’t dare go in. Can you… can you come with me… come home with me…”

Song Nanxing hit the brakes, frowning as he stared at the screen.

Unknown number. Unknown region.

And he had never given Cheng Jianning his number.

He remained silent. On the other end of the speaker, Cheng Jianning’s breathing was shallow, punctuated by faint, suppressed sobs.

Song Nanxing let out a sigh, started the car, and made a U-turn. “Alright, wait there. I’m coming back.”

When he arrived with his umbrella, he found Cheng Jianning sitting at the base of the stairs, hugging his knees.

“What happened?” Song Nanxing walked over and asked.

Cheng Jianning lifted his face from his arms. It was pale—paler than paper. He trembled as he spoke. “I don’t know. I don’t know why… I’m just really scared… really, really scared.”

Song Nanxing frowned, a vague sense of unease welling up in his chest.

He closed the umbrella and helped Cheng Jianning to his feet. “Let’s go upstairs first.”

Cheng Jianning sniffled and led him up.

His apartment was on the fifth floor. The motion-sensor light in the stairwell seemed broken—Song Nanxing clapped his hands twice, but the light didn’t turn on. Only a faint glow from the far end of the hall spilled over enough to barely make out the steps.

Cheng Jianning fumbled in his pocket for the keys and tried to unlock the door in the dark, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He missed the keyhole several times.

After quite a while, he finally managed to unlock the door and push it open.

Song Nanxing followed behind him, reaching into his backpack to feel the wooden puppet. Once he felt it was still there, he relaxed a little. He reached up to find the light switch.

“Where’s the switch? Let me turn the light on.”

“Don’t!”

Cheng Jianning suddenly shouted. His breathing grew heavy. In the dim light, Song Nanxing could barely make out his silhouette.

Cheng Jianning stood frozen in the doorway, not stepping any further inside.

His voice floated lightly through the darkness.

“My parents left for another city after I was born. I was raised by my grandma. About three or four years ago, they came back and tried to take me away by force, but Grandma kicked them out.”

A faint trace of laughter crept into his voice.

“The old lady may have been up there in years, but she was fierce. She cursed them while waving a rolling pin, yelling about how she raised me herself and how they had no right to just take me away. She beat my dad so bad he was bawling for his own mother…”

His voice trembled, on the verge of breaking.

“She had a bad temper, but she was a kind, patient old lady. We didn’t have much money, but she always found ways to make me things like tofu pudding, double-skin milk, milk tea… She loved feeding the stray cats and dogs too…”

Cheng Jianning choked up, his words becoming fragmented.

Song Nanxing’s eyes were gradually adjusting to the dark. That’s when he noticed large, dark, dried patches covering the living room floor.

A sentence surfaced in his memory—he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it:

Blood under moonlight… looks black.