Chu Yan glanced at Song Nanxing before answering Cheng Jianning’s earlier question: “Once we’re at the Containment Center, you’ll learn everything you need to know.”
Cheng Jianning nodded blankly. “Oh.” He looked at Song Nanxing, a bit like a fledgling seeking its nest, and asked Chu Yan, “What about Song Nanxing? Is he coming with us?”
Chu Yan frowned, looking at Song Nanxing. “We’ll need your cooperation for a statement about tonight’s incident. If possible, I’d like you to come to the Containment Center as well.”
Song Nanxing thought the way she asked was odd, as if he could refuse if he wanted. But giving a statement was standard procedure. Considering himself a law-abiding citizen, he nodded. “No problem.”
Seeing his agreement, Chu Yan had Qiu Han bring the car around. Cheng Jianning and Song Nanxing sat in the back, Chu Yan in the passenger seat, heading to the Containment Center first. The others stayed behind to wrap up.
Han Zhi watched as she drove off without so much as a goodbye, placing his hand on the passenger window. “Captain Chu, you sure know how to burn bridges.”
Chu Yan rummaged through the glove compartment and tossed him a pack of quit-smoking candy. “New flavor. Try not to smoke so much.”
Han Zhi caught it, tore open the package, and popped one in his mouth, frowning so hard it could kill a fly. “What do you want me to do now?”
Chu Yan, seeing through him, smiled. Her strong features made her look like the noonday sun—radiant and bold. “Send me the full Good Dream dossier. Otherwise, I’ll have to send someone to dig it up myself.”
“Got it, I’ll email it to you,” Han Zhi replied, stepping aside to clear the way.
Qiu Han started the car, about to hit the gas, when a blinding light suddenly flashed in the rearview mirror. A dull, violent explosion sounded at the same time, startling everyone. Song Nanxing stuck his head out the window to look.
— In the rain, a tall office building was erupting with explosions from the top down, blazing with fire.
The bright flames turned night into day, the rain vaporizing in midair from the heat, billowing thick white mist.
Cheng Jianning gaped for a long moment before saying, “That looks like it’s in the direction of my company…”
Chu Yan pushed open the door and got out, staring at the fire lighting up half the sky. She said to Han Zhi, “Looks like you won’t need that information after all.”
Someone had beaten them to it.
Han Zhi’s expression was grim. He ground his back teeth and said, “Stay in touch. I’ll take my team to help with the fire.”
*****
At the Containment Center, it wasn’t until Song Nanxing followed Chu Yan through security that he suddenly remembered the Puppet was still in his backpack.
Cheng Jianning had already cleared security. The guard came toward Song Nanxing with a scanner.
Song Nanxing tensed, mind racing for an excuse if the Puppet was discovered, but the guard just said, “All set.”
Song Nanxing blinked, quickly thanked him, and hurried to catch up with Cheng Jianning.
It was both of their first times at the Containment Center. Surrounded by grand architecture and all kinds of unfamiliar, futuristic equipment, they looked around in awe.
Cheng Jianning whispered to Song Nanxing, “From the name, I thought this place would be like a mental hospital.”
But now, it looked more like a high-tech exhibition hall—just a bit deserted.
Chu Yan heard them whispering behind her, curled her lips in a smile, and led them to the reception room. “Wait here. I’ll get a colleague to start the statement.”
Cheng Jianning clutched his water cup nervously on the sofa, the cables under his jacket squirming with anxiety.
Song Nanxing was much calmer and reminded him, “Relax.”
Cheng Jianning obediently replied, “Oh,” and sat still.
Barely three minutes later, he started fidgeting again.
The Puppet in Song Nanxing’s backpack, perhaps affected by Cheng Jianning, also tried to stick its head out.
Song Nanxing couldn’t be bothered anymore. He pressed the Puppet’s head back in, warning in a low voice, “Don’t move.”
“…….”
The Puppet, attracted by Song Nanxing’s scent, obediently curled up and stayed put.
Just as Song Nanxing zipped up his backpack, Chu Yan entered with a man. “This is Zhou Xuan from the operations team. He and I will take your statements. Please describe what happened as completely as you can.”
Song Nanxing looked at the man in surprise.
Zhou Xuan appeared to be in his early thirties, with a gentle demeanor, neatly dressed in a white shirt and black trousers—clearly a disciplined, orderly person. But that wasn’t why Song Nanxing was surprised. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you also live in Happiness Garden?”
Zhou Xuan had seemed familiar from the moment he entered. Thinking back, Song Nanxing recalled seeing him a few times when taking the stairs.
“I live in 101. We’ve run into each other a couple of times,” Zhou Xuan said with a smile, taking a seat across from him. “That’s why Captain Chu asked me to help with the statement. Neighbors are always less intimidating than strangers. Hope you won’t be too nervous.”
“Why are you living at Happiness Garden…” Song Nanxing asked, a little concerned.
He’d always thought some of his neighbors were odd, but having someone from the Containment Center living there was different.
“Don’t get the wrong idea.” Zhou Xuan smiled and explained, “I work at Tongcheng Art Academy. Living in Happiness Garden makes commuting easier, no worries about traffic.”
Tongcheng Art Academy was on the edge of the Nei Cheng District, not exactly close to Happiness Garden. But the Outer District had less traffic and fewer lights, so it only took fifteen or twenty minutes.
Cheng Jianning exclaimed, “You guys still work part-time outside?”
Zhou Xuan replied, “Actually, teaching is my main job.” He shrugged. “Just like you, I had some unexpected circumstances and ended up at the Containment Center.”
Seeing the atmosphere warm up, Chu Yan tapped her pen on the table. “Let’s get to business. Once the statements are done, you can chat as much as you want. Who wants to go first?”
Cheng Jianning instinctively looked at Song Nanxing.
Song Nanxing had no choice but to recall everything from the beginning, with Cheng Jianning adding details as needed.
Chu Yan took notes quickly, circling “Good Dream” in red at the end. “You said you went to Good Dream to look for clues about your father?”
Song Nanxing nodded. “That’s right. Even though Captain Han said it was a hallucination, I don’t think it was.”
With his confirmation, Chu Yan’s expression grew grave.
The Containment Center and Special Operations Bureau often worked together, but their responsibilities were clearly divided.
Ordinary mental contamination cases were usually handled by the Special Operations Bureau and police, but if the danger level rose—especially in group contamination cases—they were immediately handed over to the Containment Center.
The Black Goat Case back then had been transferred in this way.
Many of the follow-up details Han Zhi didn’t know, but Chu Yan did.
It was impossible for Song Nanxing to hallucinate. If he said he saw a photo of Song Cheng, then he really did. But back then, Chu Yan had personally overseen the disposal of Song Cheng’s body—there was nothing left.
Chu Yan tapped her pen. “Let me see that insignia.”
Song Nanxing pulled up the photo in his album and showed her.
Chu Yan stared at the insignia, her face turning almost ashen.
Song Nanxing watched her reaction. “You recognize it?”
Chu Yan handed the phone back, pondering for a while before slowly saying, “I’ve seen it a few times. Some of the people wandering the Wilderness have this mark burned into them.”
Cheng Jianning was completely lost. “What Wilderness?”
Chu Yan didn’t answer right away, looking deeply troubled. She fiddled with her fingers, took out a tin of mints, popped two in her mouth, and crunched them noisily.
“You must have seen the news. Ever since mental pollution appeared and started spreading, the rates of disappearance, death, and crime have all skyrocketed, while birth rates have fallen. The population has been shrinking rapidly. The government never releases exact numbers, but the real decrease is far greater than you could imagine. To preserve as much of the population as possible and concentrate resources to fight the pollution, they’ve been relocating people and shrinking the city clusters, which is how we ended up with the Nine Major Cities and the surrounding Satellite Cities. Many small towns were abandoned as people moved out.”
“Internally, we call those abandoned towns the Wildlands.”
Cheng Jianning finally understood. “But didn’t the news say those places are dangerous? Even the transport routes avoid them. Why would anyone still live there?”
Song Nanxing glanced at Chu Yan, knowing a bit more than Cheng Jianning.
After reaching adulthood, he’d considered searching other cities for his mother and had done a lot of research.
There were rumors online that many of the missing people actually hid in those abandoned towns. Some claimed to have found long-lost relatives by returning to their deserted hometowns. But such posts were always quickly deleted, and the authorities never clarified or denied them. So people kept quietly leaving the cities to search for missing loved ones in the Wildlands.
Song Nanxing had even joined a group for people looking for relatives. But the group got weirder and weirder, and since his family was native to Tongcheng, he worried that if his mother came back and he was gone, they’d miss each other. So he stayed.
“Those wanderers—are they the missing people reported in the news?” Song Nanxing asked quietly.
“No.” Chu Yan threw two more mints in her mouth, crunching them. “The definition of a person is complex—biological, psychological, cultural. But to put it simply, from a spiritual and religious perspective, people have souls.”
She looked Song Nanxing in the eye and said, word by word, “But those things in the Wilderness do not. They’re just human-like creatures—what’s left after the soul collapses and humanity falls.”
“Monsters.”
Chu Yan seemed to loathe them. “But these monsters always claim they’re God’s messengers and call themselves God’s Favored. If you run into them, report it immediately and avoid contact as much as possible.”
She looked at Song Nanxing meaningfully. “The photo you saw on the Good Dream website was likely their doing. Your father’s death certificate went through multiple levels of approval, and his body was completely destroyed afterward, so it couldn’t have been him. But his death was suspicious, and we suspect he had accomplices. After the Black Goat Case, he was made a scapegoat.”
“You’re the only survivor from that case. It’s no surprise Song Cheng’s accomplices might come after you.”
This was the first time Song Nanxing had heard a different version of the Black Goat Case.
Learning that Song Cheng was truly dead, Song Nanxing felt a wave of disappointment. “So it wasn’t him…”
Chu Yan said, “I’ll keep an eye out for clues about the insignia. Are you still living in the Outer District? If you can, it’s safer to move to the Nei Cheng District.”
Song Nanxing shook his head, looking very down.
Seeing this, Chu Yan didn’t press further about Song Cheng and turned to Cheng Jianning. “You’ll be staying at the Containment Center for now. I’ll have someone arrange a place for you.”
Cheng Jianning tensed up. “What do you mean? Are you locking me up?”
Chu Yan was amused and looked at Zhou Xuan. “Classes are suspended lately. Can you show him around and explain the basics? Otherwise, he’ll keep getting startled.”
Zhou Xuan smiled and nodded, stretching out his hand. His forearm and palm transformed into a long, furry insect leg.
Cheng Jianning sucked in a cold breath, face white with terror, eyes wide.
Zhou Xuan retracted his hand. “Let me introduce myself again: I’m Zhou Xuan from the operations team, a Class B ability user. My power is bodily transformation.” He studied Cheng Jianning with interest. “Your ability seems to be of the same type, but Li Hao said your mutated parts release data spores that can affect people’s behavior and emotions. That sounds like it might also touch on Class S powers. The team is curious about your spores—maybe you’ll show us sometime.”
Cheng Jianning squeezed closer to Song Nanxing, stammering, “I-I-I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Zhou Xuan smiled gently. “All rookies are like this at first. You’ll get it after a while.”
Song Nanxing listened, then glanced at the time.
It was already six in the morning.
He turned to Chu Yan. “It’s getting late. Can I go home now?”
Chu Yan noticed his lack of curiosity and sighed quietly, then stood up. “You’ll need a card to get out. I’ll take you.”
Cheng Jianning looked pitiful as Song Nanxing got up, clearly wanting to follow.
Song Nanxing patted his shoulder. “Captain Chu and the others are good people. Learn from them.”
Cheng Jianning asked forlornly, “Will you come visit me?”
The Containment Center didn’t look like a place you could come and go freely, and honestly, Song Nanxing didn’t want to get too involved with it. But he didn’t say that out loud. “I’ll visit if I get the chance.”
Cheng Jianning watched him and Chu Yan leave, reluctant.
Chu Yan walked him to the door and happened to run into Han Zhi.
Han Zhi looked like he’d been up all night, his face and clothes streaked with soot. Chu Yan asked, “Did you put out the fire?”
Han Zhi grunted, glancing at Song Nanxing. “Heading home?”
Song Nanxing said, “Statement’s done. I haven’t slept all night—going home to catch up.”
Han Zhi didn’t say much, standing with Chu Yan to see him off.
Once Song Nanxing was gone, Han Zhi said, “You withheld a lot when you told me about him, didn’t you? He’s a Class S ability user? Immune to mental contamination?”
Chu Yan was vague. “Something like that. We didn’t have time for a full evaluation back then.”
“His ability is powerful and practical. If we’re always short-handed, why didn’t you keep him and train him?”
Chu Yan replied, “He resists all this. Deep down, he insists he’s just an ordinary person. Forcing him to break that belief…” She shrugged. “You know how that would end.”
Han Zhi thought of the psychologist who’d ended up as a pile of remains and frowned.
“Is he still looking for his mother?” Chu Yan asked.
“Yeah,” Han Zhi said quietly. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”
******
When Song Nanxing got back to his complex, dawn had broken.
The rain that had lasted all night finally stopped at sunrise. Song Nanxing parked, went upstairs, glanced at the murky sky, and felt a deep exhaustion.
He trudged slowly up the stairs.
Near the fourth floor, he suddenly heard a strange noise, like something squirming and making a sticky, wet sound.
Song Nanxing’s foggy mind cleared instantly. He hurried up to the landing and saw Shen Du squatting at his door with his back turned, doing something he couldn’t see.
Song Nanxing shifted his backpack to his chest and crept forward quietly. From a different angle, he noticed something lying in front of Shen Du, blocked by Shen Du’s large frame. All he could see was a short, round, brown tail wagging back and forth.
That tail was familiar. Song Nanxing recalled—it was Song Yunqiao.
His briefly relaxed heart immediately tensed up again.
Why was Song Yunqiao at his door, and why had Shen Du run into him?
Just then, the hallway light flicked on, casting faint shadows in the dim morning light.
Song Nanxing saw Shen Du’s shadow at his feet stretch and twist, surging like a living thing.
Like a monster in the dark, opening its bloody maw.