Thinking about it now, he wasn’t all that unlucky after all. Song Nanxing optimistically consoled himself and looked down to open the navigation app.
But when he saw the time displayed on the screen, he froze for a moment — from the moment he’d left the house, run into Wu Mengyu, and been forced into that deadly escape, it had felt like quite a long time. Yet according to the time on his wristband, only five minutes had passed.
He double-checked his chat with Han Zhi on WeChat — the message he’d sent to Han Zhi also showed it was five minutes ago.
Song Nanxing was briefly surprised but gave up trying to figure it out. There were too many strange things in this fog; a discrepancy in perceived time didn’t seem serious enough to dwell on.
Just as he was about to put away his phone, a new message popped up from Han Zhi: “Stay away from Xu Cai and Wu Mengyu. It’s best to find the nearest safe house and take shelter. Be careful. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“There’s signal now?”
Song Nanxing looked around and realized that the thick white fog had somehow lifted. The heavy cloud layer that had been pressing down overhead was gone, and the ghostly shadows that had loomed within the clouds had vanished as well.
From the leaden gray sky, a faint ray of sunlight shone down.
Sunlight and clear skies had become a rare luxury. Ever since the rise in red rain seasons and these strange fogs, sunny days had become few and far between. Most of the time it was thick, oppressive overcast skies, the lead-gray heavens weighing down like a ceiling, leaving people with a constant sense of suffocation.
Song Nanxing tilted his head back and took a deep breath. The thin sunlight falling across the aging city buildings gave the illusion of a long-lost warmth.
Even the corpses of Xu Cai and Wu Mengyu in the distance didn’t look quite as horrifying and bloody anymore.
The warm light eased his mood. Since the fog had cleared, Song Nanxing decided not to look for a safe house. Instead, he returned to the spot where he’d first encountered Xu Cai.
Xu Cai’s corpse slumped on a bench. Just like Cheng Mu’s body, his entire torso had withered into dryness, hollowed out with all the flesh gone. His eyes were wide open, staring straight at Song Nanxing, with a trace of agony still lingering in their depths.
Recalling how Xu Cai had cried out in pain earlier, Song Nanxing sighed and took out an unused protective suit from his backpack, draping it over the body.
Then he sat down on the other side of the bench to wait for Han Zhi.
After a moment’s thought, realizing he had nothing else to do, he pulled out his phone and searched for a joke book online — and began reading aloud.
Han Zhi arrived earlier than expected.
Just before receiving Song Nanxing’s message, he had gotten a report from the psychiatric center — their transport vehicle had been attacked. Several patients suffering from severe contamination, who were supposed to be transferred to the containment facility for isolation, had been taken. Xu Cai was among them.
As soon as he got Song Nanxing’s message, Han Zhi rushed over with his team, running through all kinds of worst-case scenarios in his head along the way. But none of them had prepared him for the sight that greeted him — Song Nanxing sitting properly on a park bench, enunciating clearly as he read out a dry joke, while blood had congealed on the other end of the bench, next to a corpse he couldn’t identify.
Song Nanxing was still reading aloud: “A hunter shot and killed a fox, then the hunter died. The fox laughed and said, ‘Haha, I’m a rebound arc!’”
Han Zhi stared at this bizarre scene, his face twitching slightly. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure whether he should interrupt. The other team members, unaware of the situation, assumed they had stumbled upon another mentally contaminated patient and raised their weapons to target him.
Only then did Song Nanxing realize belatedly that someone had arrived. He quickly put away his phone and stood up—only to find himself surrounded.
He looked at Han Zhi in confusion, slowly raised his hands, and awkwardly explained, “Xu Cai is dead. I didn’t kill him.”
Han Zhi: “…”
He wearily pinched the bridge of his nose and signaled the others to lower their weapons. Then he said to Song Nanxing, “We still need to go through the protocol. Start by telling me what happened here.”
As he spoke, a young record officer approached with a scanning device and began thoroughly scanning Song Nanxing.
Now familiar with the process, Song Nanxing raised his arms to cooperate, all the while recounting the incident: “…So yeah, that’s basically it. Xu Cai was killed by Wu Mengyu. Then, when Wu Mengyu chased me, she got eaten by some monster hiding in the clouds.”
He turned his head and pointed toward the bench.
“That’s Xu Cai’s corpse. I just covered him up a bit. Wu Mengyu’s body should still be farther ahead. You can follow the trail of blood to find it.”
At that moment, the record officer finished scanning and raised his voice with slight surprise: “Contamination level: 0.”
Han Zhi didn’t seem surprised, but the rest of the team looked stunned.
“No way. Is the device malfunctioning? Who in their right mind would sit next to a corpse and tell cold jokes? That’s a serious mental red flag. Don’t tell me it’s another case where the subject is messing with the detection readings…”
Looking embarrassed and a little aggrieved, Song Nanxing explained, “I just thought… well, we were coworkers, and Xu Cai died so suddenly — he must’ve felt bitter. Maybe telling him some jokes would help him pass on with a little laughter.”
It… kind of sounded reasonable when you first heard it. But the more you thought about it, the creepier and more absurd it became.
So many years had passed that he could barely recall his mother’s face anymore. All that remained in his memory was a faint, delicate figure. The only thing he could remember clearly was the warmth and strength of her hands, tightly holding his as they fled together.
Song Nanxing curled his fingers slightly and said, “It’s still early. If you don’t need me here anymore, may I go to the psychiatric center now? It’s hard to get an appointment.”
Han Zhi saw the gloom in his expression and assumed he must be struggling too. He patted his shoulder comfortingly.
“Go ahead. If you find any clues, you can contact me anytime.”
Song Nanxing thanked him and slowly walked toward the bus stop.
The bus heading to Tongcheng Psychiatric Center arrived at the station twenty minutes later. Song Nanxing got on the nearly empty bus and sat by the window.
As the bus slowly drove off, its shadow stretched longer and longer under the bright light, silently shifting in another direction.
*****
On the rooftop of an abandoned residential building in the outer district, someone was already waiting.
“How is he?”
A shadow rose from the ground, taking the shape of a person completely wrapped in a black cloak.
“Everything’s normal. He’s barely affected. Looks like your plan didn’t work.”
The cloaked figure’s voice was coarse. As he spoke, his mouth became slightly visible beneath the hood, revealing a wide, gaping maw and a forked tongue.
“Don’t rush. That was just an opening gift.”
The speaker stood at the edge of the rooftop, calmly gazing at the old residential complex in the distance. His voice was slow and unhurried. “Wu Mengyu is of no further use. Didn’t you just recruit a few newcomers? Let them stretch their muscles—and while they’re at it, clean up any traces left around Wu Mengyu.”
“Understood.”
*****
Song Nanxing underwent a comprehensive psychiatric evaluation. Everything came back normal.
After confirming with the doctor multiple times that there were no abnormalities in his results and that the tests were reliable, Song Nanxing returned home feeling relieved and walking with a lighter step. By the time he reached the bottom of his building, it was already 5:30 in the afternoon. The rare noonday sunlight had long been chased away by the haze. The entire sky looked like a heavy, murky gray curtain.
As he climbed the stairs, Song Nanxing thought about the photo he saw on the Dreamwell official website.
Between the photo and himself, one of them had to be the problem.
Now that the psychiatric center had confirmed he hadn’t been affected by any mental contamination and all his indicators were completely normal, it was likely that the issue lay with Dreamwell Consulting.
But that alone probably wasn’t enough to convince Han Zhi to report it and reopen the case. For now, he could only try to gather more evidence on his own.
Just as he was pondering how to get in touch with Dreamwell Consulting, Song Nanxing was suddenly startled by a series of loud thuds.
He turned his head and realized he had reached the third floor. The sounds were coming from Room 301.
But 301 should be unoccupied…
Song Nanxing, inclined to avoid unnecessary trouble, was about to pretend he hadn’t heard anything and continue upstairs when he suddenly froze in his tracks.
Wait—he had left something on the third floor. He’d put that octopus in 301 last time, trying to use poison against poison.
Thinking of that goat skull statue, Song Nanxing turned and headed toward 301.
The banging noises were still going on inside 301, interspersed with strange chewing sounds—like something was eating.
But what kind of eating could make that much noise?
Song Nanxing hesitated. He found a spot that would allow for a quick escape, then gently pushed open the slightly ajar door…