Chapter 279 - 122: A Night of Drifting Rain

Chapter 279: Chapter 122: A Night of Drifting Rain

But to his surprise, the woman just smiled, nonchalantly dusted off her hands, and dragged the drunk straight inside.

Zhang Shutong quickly followed and saw the young nurse drag the man into the dispensary. Then, without any sense of urgency, she pulled out an iodine-tipped cotton swab and began disinfecting the very spot she had just struck.

"I was on the provincial combat team back in the day," she said.

"For real? But aren’t you a nurse?"

"I injured an opponent, got banned for life, and had to retire. Good thing I know a thing or two about treating injuries from falls and fights."

"..."

Zhang Shutong suddenly thought, ’She’s basically a heaven-sent bodyguard.’

"If I step out for a little while, could I trouble you to watch my friend? I’ll be back very soon."

"Can’t you sit still for a second?" she asked, tossing the cotton swab into the trash.

"Something’s come up with my teacher. I need to head over there."

"You really are a busy man..." The young nurse sighed. "Alright. There are actually patrols, but since you’re asking, I’ll keep an eye on things for you."

’Her combat power might not be on Lu Qinglian’s level, but she could probably be a champion in the city. Far stronger than me.’

Now with two layers of protection in place, Zhang Shutong thanked her again. He returned to the observation room and, after a moment’s thought, decided not to wake Gu Qiuyan.

He looked out the window. The dorms weren’t too far from here. He had just borrowed a bicycle key from the nurse; ten minutes would be more than enough for a round trip.

He pulled his coat tight and headed down the stairs.

He hopped on a women’s bicycle. A gust of cold wind made the handlebars wobble. Zhang Shutong exhaled a cloud of white breath. ’Am I being too impulsive?’ he wondered. ’Rushing out like this just because of a dream.’

But there was no point in second-guessing himself now. Since he was already out, he just had to ride fast and get back quickly. His energy and stamina were screaming in protest; only muscle memory kept him pedaling forward.

The time was 11:30 PM. No matter what, he could make it back before midnight. In another half an hour, it would be Sunday, December 10th.

This was a very important day. It was the day Gu Qiuyan was supposed to die. In the past, he had triggered his regression around midnight. Of course, obsessing over the exact hour was pointless now, as Gu Qiuyan was already out of danger. The bicycle’s wheels crunched over a thin layer of snow on the road. The moonlight was bleak, and he had no idea where the end of this snowy night lay.

’Perhaps there was no definite end. It all depended on whether he wanted to keep fighting this.’

’If he did, it would end when he forced himself to stay awake, dark circles and all, until sunrise.’

’If he didn’t, he could just collapse into sleep, and it would all be over when he woke up to a new morning.’

The moonlight stretched his shadow long. The streets were silent; his only companions were the plastic bags tumbling in the wind.

Six minutes later, Zhang Shutong rode up to the dormitory building.

He turned on his flashlight and headed upstairs. It was a Soviet-style dormitory block, built in the last century. There were no private balconies; apartment doors opened onto a long, shared external walkway. The restrooms were communal, too. On a night this cold, you’d have to wrap your arms around yourself and sprint outside just to use the toilet. The soundproofing was practically nonexistent... frankly, the conditions were abysmal.

’Looking back on it from the future,’ Zhang Shutong thought, ’Song’s life was actually kind of tragic. He was a tenured teacher in the city with a stable career. He might not have been a young prodigy, but he was damn good at his job. The average English scores for his two ninth-grade classes were incredibly high, even surpassing some city schools in the joint exams.’

’He wasn’t exactly a debonair heartthrob, but he was a good-looking guy when he cleaned up—he would have been a hot commodity on the blind-dating market. Instead, he had some sort of breakdown, ran off to this island, and now he was almost thirty, spending all his days with that Ford Fox. And now the Fox was gone, leaving him a total bachelor.’

Zhang Shutong remembered Song’s room was at the northernmost end of the second floor. It was only when he reached the door that he realized the man hadn’t told him where to find the key. Zhang Shutong sighed and scuffed at the doormat with his foot. ’He’s a rough-and-tumble guy,’ he thought. ’A guy like that wouldn’t carry his key around; he’d just lose it one day without even noticing. It has to be under the mat.’

Sure enough, he found a lone key.

Zhang Shutong pinched his nose and opened the door. He’d braced himself for the potential squalor of a bachelor pad, but there were no boxers strewn about, no socks stiff enough to stand on their own. On the contrary, the place was spotless.

’Wrong room?’

Zhang Shutong was about to back out and check the room number again when he noticed a stack of test papers on the desk. ’Alright,’ he thought, ’looks like this really is Song’s place.’

He closed the door and flicked on the light. It was a small room, about three hundred square feet, with no distinction between a living room and bedroom—the entire space was visible from the entrance. Everything was tidy. A bed and a writing desk were the only pieces of furniture; an induction cooktop and a small TV were the only appliances. The TV looked like something from a flea market, rigged to the foot of the bed with a piece of wire so he could lie back, drink, and watch sports in bliss.

Zhang Shutong was stunned.

Because this humble, tiny room was absolutely covered in photographs. There were single portraits, pictures of couples, photos of just a woman, and photos of a man and woman together. The man in them was, of course, a younger Song Nanshan. The woman was a young lady with short hair. She wasn’t breathtakingly beautiful, but she had big eyes and dimples that appeared when she smiled.

The sight sobered Zhang Shutong up in an instant. He looked around the room. The woman was everywhere—her picture hung by the bed, sat on the windowsill, rested on the desk, and was even taped to the walls. They weren’t professional portraits, just simple snapshots from daily life. Song had said he’d been so poor back then he had to sneak into movie theaters; he was certainly not someone who could afford photography as a hobby. These photos must have been taken on a phone. There was a picture of her silhouette against a sunset, one of them together on a trip, one of her with messy hair just after waking up, and another of her holding a stick of cotton candy at an amusement park.