Night Wanderer

Chapter 43 The affairs of the world change in the blink of an eye

There was a hint of fatigue in her low and hoarse voice after she woke up, and even the sound of breathing was slow and heavy.

In the pitch-black room, Sheng Qingrang noticed that her hand was cool to the touch, seeming softer than usual. Only when the callused pad of her finger pressed against his palm did he feel the familiar strength she always conveyed.

There was only the sound of the clock in the living room. Sheng Qingrang sat down with his briefcase on his lap, shoulders that had been tense finally relaxing a little, quietly keeping her company like this.

They stayed that way until the clock struck ten. At the very instant the chimes rang out, everything changed.

The sound of the clock at ten o'clock in the evening of 2015 rang in her ears. Even with her eyes closed, Zong Ying knew clearly—she had returned.

As the final chime ended, Zong Ying suddenly sat up, releasing her hand and pressing her palms to her forehead. "Mr. Sheng, could you turn on the light?"

She suddenly pulled her hands away. Sheng Qingrang had not yet come to his senses. Hearing her order, he immediately stood up and turned on the lights in the living room, and then returned to the sofa to ask, "Miss Zong, how do you feel now?"

The room lit up instantly. Zong Ying moved her hands away from her forehead and looked up. "Nothing serious," she said in a low voice. "A bit of a fever, mild upper respiratory inflammation. Probably caught a chill last night. It's nothing."

As she spoke, she instinctively reached for the cigarette pack on the coffee table. Her finger hooked one out, only for the filter tip to appear. Then she suddenly stuffed it back in and walked toward the storage room.

Sheng Qingrang watched as she wheeled out an IV stand, then fetched a medication bag and a tray from the cabinet. She tore open the IV set packaging, deftly pierced the bag with the needle, and hung it up on the stand.

Standing by the cabinet, she tightened a tourniquet, disinfected and primed the line, then under the ceiling light, inserted the IV needle into the vein on the back of her hand with practiced precision.

She kept her head down the whole time. Only after securing the needle did she finally look up at the Murphy's drip chamber.

The clear liquid dripped steadily. She wheeled the IV stand into the kitchen to boil some water.

The windows had been open all day, and dozens of small insects flew around the warm lightbulb. A mosquito brazenly landed on Zong Ying's bare forearm, sucking blood. By the time she noticed, it had already drunk its fill and swiftly fled the scene.

With a fever, her reflexes were duller. She didn't mind the red bump quickly forming on her skin and instead turned to look out the window.

The cool breeze of late summer rushed in, and the night was not too bright - it carried a hint of solitude.

Along with the sound of the kettle, there was also the long-lost chirping of insects outside the house. In Zong Ying's memory, those sounds belonged to her childhood—maybe they still existed later, but she had stopped noticing them.

Lost in thought, she didn't see Sheng Qingrang coming over to close the paneled window.

The temperature dropped at night, and the wind was damp and cold. Certainly not ideal for recovery. After shutting the window, he poured the boiled water into a glass cup and set it aside to cool.

Zong Ying glanced at the cup, wheeled the IV stand to the sofa, sat down, picked up the remote, turned on the TV, and randomly switched to a channel. A male newscaster was seated upright, broadcasting the evening news.