This stuffed rabbit was very old.
Its white fur had yellowed slightly despite frequent washing. The red eyes were two round, red crystal buttons sewn on by hand—a bit rough, but Song Nanxing still remembered the joy he felt when his mother first handed it to him.
Song Nanxing had searched the entire house but couldn’t find the rabbit.
It wasn’t until many years later that, one day, he found it at the entrance of his residential complex.
The old stuffed rabbit was filthy all over. Its once-white fur looked like it had been wandering for a long time, and one of its eyes had come loose. But even so, Song Nanxing still—
He didn’t want to dwell too much on why a toy that had been missing for so many years suddenly reappeared at his doorstep. He only knew that this was something his mother had made with her own hands, a toy he had once loved dearly.
Song Nanxing walked up to it and gently touched the rabbit’s soft, long ears.
“I’ll go buy some thread later and sew you back up,” he said.
He grabbed some bread from the fridge for a quick lunch and headed out with his umbrella. He remembered there was a handmade toy shop just outside the complex—he might be able to buy some thread and needles there.
As soon as he opened the door, he saw a limp blue octopus hanging off the railing in the corridor.
He had no idea what it had gone through. The mushroom-shaped head had a gaping wound torn right through it, and two of its arms were broken. It looked like a squashed jelly candy that someone had viciously mangled. If not for the faint twitching at its head, Song Nanxing would’ve thought it was dead.
His gaze paused for a moment, but then Song Nanxing simply walked past it and headed downstairs.
When he reached the building entrance, he saw the wooden puppet he had thrown in the trash yesterday. The good news was, it looked far worse than before—as if someone had violently torn it apart. Its limbs and head were scattered in pieces, and it didn’t seem capable of bothering him again anytime soon.
Song Nanxing raised an eyebrow, pleased, and opened his umbrella to step out into the rain.
Behind him, the puppet’s head rolled slightly on the ground. Its two hollow eyes stared in the direction Song Nanxing had gone—full of grievance.
*****
It was Song Nanxing’s first time stepping into the handmade toy shop at the entrance of the complex.
The store wasn’t very large—you could take in the entire interior at a glance from the doorway. What surprised him was how different it was from the stereotypical image he had of a toy store. Instead of warm and cute decor, the place had a cold, metallic vibe.
Exquisitely crafted dolls in various shapes and styles were neatly arranged on shelves that shimmered with a steel-like sheen. The contrast between the dolls’ soft, adorable appearance and the harsh, industrial style of the store was striking.
No wonder, Song Nanxing thought, that every time he walked by, there never seemed to be any customers.
“What are you looking for?”
A raspy female voice called out from the entrance, snapping him from his thoughts.
Song Nanxing turned around and saw an exceptionally tall woman walking in from outside. She wore a high-slit qipao made of fragrant cloud brocade. Her waist-length, wavy hair swayed with each step she took, and her snow-pale face was delicately featured—prettier than any of the dolls displayed in the shop.
Song Nanxing stared for a moment, feeling like he’d seen her before.
“Are you…?”
“401?” the woman looked him over from head to toe. “I live on the sixth floor—Jing Rao.”
That jogged his memory. He vaguely remembered someone mentioning that the entire sixth floor—three units in total—had been combined into one, and only a beautiful young woman lived there. A woman living alone was always the subject of gossip: some said there were often different men’s voices coming from upstairs, suspecting her of engaging in improper business. Someone had even tried to report her to the police, but it came to nothing in the end.
Song Nanxing had never paid much attention to the rumors. It was probably just because Jing Rao’s appearance was too striking. They had taken the elevator together once or twice, and it left an impression.
“Song Nanxing,” he introduced himself politely, then explained why he’d come: “One of my stuffed animals has a torn ear. I wanted to buy a sewing kit to patch it up. Do you sell them here?”
Jing Rao glanced at him, interest flickering in her eyes. “You know how to sew?”
“It’s just basic stitching. I don’t think it should be too hard,” Song Nanxing replied.
“Wait a moment, I’ll see if I can find one,” she said, nodding. She bent down and started rummaging through the bottom shelf.
As she searched, Song Nanxing let his eyes wander along the shelves until they landed on a teddy dog toy on the counter. He casually made conversation, “Did you make all these dolls yourself? They look very realistic—and really beautiful.”
Jing Rao straightened up with a sewing kit in hand and followed his gaze. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “You mean the one on the counter?”
She swayed over in her heels, touched the teddy dog’s fluffy, curly fur with a flirtatious air, then turned to smile sweetly at Song Nanxing.
“That one’s real.”
She tapped the teddy on the head with a finger and said, “Come on, Song Yunqiao, say hi.”
The teddy dog, sitting motionless like a toy on the counter, rolled its eyes first toward Jing Rao, then toward Song Nanxing, opened its mouth and barked, “Woof.”
Song Nanxing’s eye twitched.
Naming a dog “Song Yunqiao” was already odd enough, but what was even weirder—the bark sounded like a person imitating a dog.
“Your dog is… very well-behaved,” he said.
Jing Rao twirled a strand of hair around her finger and smiled sweetly. “I trained him myself. Of course he’s obedient.” She patted the teddy’s head and asked, “Isn’t that right, Song Yunqiao?”
“Woof woof!” the teddy barked.
Clearly amused by the obedient teddy, Jing Rao handed Song Nanxing a sewing kit and picked out two outfits made for plush toys. “Since you’re raising a doll, you’d better raise it properly. Can’t have it going without clothes. These are unsold stock—take them.”
Song Nanxing initially wanted to decline, but then thought about how the bunny had never had clothes its whole life, and he ended up accepting the kind gesture.
After paying, he walked back home under his umbrella.
The rain hadn’t let up, and the world outside the umbrella was shrouded in a hazy, pale red mist.
There wasn’t a single soul on the road—only the endless sound of rain.
Back at home, he placed his umbrella in the stand at the entrance and was about to go in when he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the little octopus still hanging on the railing.
The jelly-like body that had once been plump and round was now drying out, shriveled from dehydration, barely even twitching.
He glanced at it, then went back inside to grab a bowl. Filling it with water, he placed it by the wall in the hallway, then gently picked up the withered octopus and placed it into the bowl before returning to his apartment.
Outside the door, the jelly-like head of the octopus slowly pulsed and released a string of bubbles. Its six arms stretched out joyfully, and it muttered words Song Nanxing couldn’t hear:
“Love me love me love me…”
*****
On the second day of working from home, Song Nanxing, as usual, clocked in and uploaded his report to the work group—only to find the chat was blowing up with messages.
Song Nanxing: [What’s going on?]
Coworker A: [Xu Cai seems to be in trouble. He hasn’t checked in the past two days, and the director can’t reach him by phone.]
Song Nanxing: [He looked totally fine when we got off work the day before yesterday.]
Coworker B: [Who knows? Anything can happen these days. A friend of mine at the Disease Control Center messaged me—said unless there’s an earthquake or the building collapses, I shouldn’t go outside until the rainy season ends.]
Coworker C: [Is it really that bad? I mean, in past years we could still go out now and then with proper precautions when the rain let up.]
Coworker B: [That’s what my friend said. Apparently the number of contamination cases has exploded. The center is basically paralyzed now. They won’t say much more…]
While everyone was in a panic, the director @mentioned him:
Director Fang: [Let’s not spread fear. @Song Nanxing, your place is in the same district as Xu Cai’s, right? If the rain stops this afternoon, go check on him.]
Song Nanxing: [Alright. I’ll go if the rain lets up.]
Though April and May were the rainy season, it didn’t mean it rained nonstop. There were breaks now and then.
Even though schools and businesses were shut down in large numbers, cities still needed their cogs to keep turning. Many people still braved the rain and contamination risk to keep things running.
Like someone had said in the group chat—even if the chance of infection rose during the rainy season, the risk dropped significantly with good protective gear or by only going out when the rain stopped. But something felt different this year.
Whenever he was out, Song Nanxing felt an unexplainable sense of danger.
If the rainy season could be likened to a slumbering beast—then now, that beast had awakened.
At 5 p.m., the rain finally stopped.
Song Nanxing packed his umbrella and protective gear into a backpack and went out.
Director Fang had already sent him the address via private message. Xu Cai did live nearby—just a kilometer away, in another residential compound under the same Happy Garden Street administration.
As he walked through puddles, he saw a few scattered pedestrians hurrying past, tightly wrapped in protective gear.
Xu Cai lived on the second floor.
Song Nanxing found the address by checking the unit number and rang the doorbell.
It chimed three times, then the door opened from the inside.
Xu Cai peeked out. He looked exhausted and groggy, like he’d just woken up. Upon seeing Song Nanxing, he blinked in surprise.
“Song Nanxing? What are you doing here?”
“You haven’t checked in for two days and nobody could reach you. The group chat’s in a frenzy. The director asked me to see if you were alright.”
Song Nanxing sized him up. Xu Cai was dressed in clothes he rarely wore—a white shirt, black slacks, even his leather shoes were spotless, like he was ready to go out at any moment.
Xu Cai pulled out his phone from his pocket and glanced at it, looking embarrassed.
“I got too into a game and lost track of time. I’ll message the director now. Sorry to trouble you for coming all the way here.”
Song Nanxing’s gaze drifted behind him. It was already getting dark at five in the afternoon. Xu Cai’s apartment hadn’t turned on any lights, and the entryway was dim. On the floor, there were faint, reddish wet stains.
“You didn’t go out?” he asked.
Xu Cai was typing in the work group chat, not even lifting his head.
“Nope. I’ve been at home the whole time.”
Song Nanxing let out a small “Oh.”
“The floor’s wet. You should wipe it up. If it gets contaminated, it could be dangerous.”
Xu Cai glanced at the floor and gave a nonchalant nod. Seeing Song Nanxing still standing at the door, he added, “You want to come in and sit for a bit? I was just about to have dinner. Want to eat with me?”
As he spoke, he stepped aside and gestured for Song Nanxing to come in.
“I made roujiamo. They turned out pretty good.”
Song Nanxing politely declined.
“It’s getting late, and I don’t want to get caught in the rain again. I should head home.”
Hearing that, Xu Cai looked a little disappointed.
“Wait a sec, I’ll pack some for you to take home.”
Without waiting for a reply, he quickly went inside and came back out with a takeaway container holding three roujiamo.
The lid was transparent, and the three sandwiches were neatly arranged inside. The snow-white, fluffy flatbreads had been sliced down the middle and stuffed with bright red meat.
Except—the meat looked almost too fresh. Song Nanxing wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but the exposed red flesh seemed to twitch slightly, and pale pink juice had already soaked into the snowy white bread.
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