Chapter 2

Boom!

A thunderclap, an unprecedented roar of thunder, as if trying to split the tent wide open. The stall owner’s heart leaped in fright. He clutched his chest, gasping for breath. “Good heavens! That thunder sounds like it wants to swallow someone whole!”

He heard someone ask again, “How much for the mask?”

The owner still had his neck craned, staring at the distant train station. He rubbed his chest without turning around. “All 5 yuan!”

The next second, amidst the howling thunder, a crisp voice rang out— “WeChat received: 10 yuan.”

Elsewhere, amidst the furious thunder, the locomotive rammed straight into the bridge’s side barrier. The solid concrete, as flimsy as foam now, easily shattered into countless pieces of rubble, falling like beans into the sea.

Inside the driver’s cabin, the engineer and assistant engineer had given up, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for death.

After what felt like an eternity, they could still hear the passengers’ cries and screams. The engineer was the first to open his eyes. Through the windshield, cracked like a spiderweb, and the torrential downpour, he saw half the locomotive jutting out past the broken bridge, hanging in midair, teetering.

It stopped!

It hadn’t fallen into the sea!

The engineer closed his eyes, then opened them again. It was still stopped! Surprised and overjoyed, he scrambled for the intercom. He grabbed it and spoke concisely, “Attention all cars! Arrange for passengers to disembark immediately and orderly! Quic—”

He didn’t finish the word before the train lurched forward again. The windshield was already submerged in the sea. The engineer tumbled with the motion, his head slamming into the glass. His face pressed close to the raging waves just inches away, the psychological chill of the seawater already seeping into him.

At that moment inside the cars, passengers were packed together. Those with quick reflexes had grabbed seat backs and steadied themselves. The slower ones fell into the aisles, piling up like a human tower.

Unsold chickens and ducks screeched in their cages. Some cage doors had burst open, and the fowl flew out, causing chaos above the heads of the frantic passengers.

“Ss—” Jiang Wu’s five fingers were tangled in the spokes of the train’s wheels. He was dragged forward several meters, his forehead slamming into the train’s tail marker light. The heavy rain washed over his torn flesh, the pain making him gasp repeatedly.

The runaway train was too fast, too heavy.

Jiang Wu had possessed the strength to lift tripods since childhood, but pulling back this behemoth of a train was proving too difficult.

Just as the train was about to plunge into the sea, he arched his back, bending nearly parallel to the tracks. His other hand and both feet jammed themselves rigidly into the rails. The hand caught in the wheel spokes, enduring the pain, pulled the train back with all his might. The diving train screeched to a halt, continuing to hang off the bridge, like an inverted “L”.

Inside, seeing the train stop again, people shoved toward the doors, crying and screaming, “Open the door! Open the door! Save us!”

Then the train shook violently again. The crying and screaming grew louder, drowning out the torrential rain.

Rain crashed through the mask’s gaps, blurring Jiang Wu’s vision. His ten fingers felt as if they were riddled with countless needles. He couldn’t help but loosen his grip for a moment. The train immediately slid forward. Jiang Wu had no choice but to quickly grab the train again, gritting his molars and pulling backward with all his might, managing to haul the locomotive up from the sea’s surface.

“Pull it—” The moment he opened his mouth, rainwater with a muddy taste rushed in. His voice, trembling and strained, shouted, “The handbrake!”

The engineer was losing consciousness. In his final moments of awareness, he heard this. His hands, following the voice, expertly found the handbrake. Subconsciously, he yanked it with all his strength.

Jiang Wu was pulling from the tail end simultaneously. Finally, with a long, drawn-out hiss of air, the train stopped completely, motionless.

The rain continued unabated, with a growing tendency to intensify. Jiang Wu pulled his hand from the wheel. It was completely numb. Lying in the flooded track bed, ignoring the rainwater continuously rushing into his mouth, he gasped for air in great, heaving breaths.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw people running out of the train in the distance. He sat up, wiped the rain from the mask, and braced himself against the track to stand. Those extremely light-colored pupils of his instantly constricted.

Gone!

The death notices atop the train, all of them… vanished.

Jiang Wu blinked the rain from his long lashes and looked again carefully.

In the pitch-black sky above, there was only heavy rain.

They really disappeared.

Death notices disappearing… this was a first.

Jiang Wu froze for a few seconds. The sound of another burst of chaotic footsteps reached him, and he then left.

His foot was injured; he couldn’t run. He opened his umbrella to shield against the downpour and limped away in the opposite direction. After walking a great distance, he took off the mask and looked back at Kongming Long Bridge.

Countless headlights pierced the rainy night. The ambulances had arrived.

…

Half an hour later, Jiang Wu returned to 271 Kongming Village.

This residential building had six floors, five units per floor, and almost all the tenants were migrant workers.

He walked up the narrow staircase, which was lined with open umbrellas, water streaming all over the floor. Jiang Wu folded his umbrella, put it in a plastic bag, and navigated past the umbrellas to go up.

Reaching the sixth floor, he turned left and stopped at the first door. He took out his key and unlocked it to enter.

The newly rented room was just one open space, not large, but it had a separate kitchen and bathroom, and a small balcony. Upstairs, there was a small attic. Jiang Wu slept in the attic. Downstairs, two large bookcases took up most of the space, densely packed with books.

The floor tiles were patterned from decades ago, very dated, but they were mopped clean.

On the coffee table were several open study guides and some scratch paper, along with a plate of Russian Purple Candy [Krokant].

Jiang Wu put down his backpack and took two steps into the bathroom. The bathroom was about two square meters; the Landlady had even partitioned off a tiny shower stall.

The ceiling was low. Jiang Wu ducked his head, turned on the light, and leaned close to the small mirror stuck on the wall to examine his injuries.

The face in the mirror was small, the size of a palm. It was the complete opposite of the Jiang Wu others saw—

His nose bridge was smooth and straight. His skin was as soft as cream ice cream. The corners of his eyes were naturally slightly downturned. His light brown pupils were moist and lively. His thin lips were as red as fierce fire. His thick, dark hair was soaked through by the rain, a few strands plastered to his forehead and trailing down to his right temple, where two deep gashes, washed open and pale by the rain, cut across the skin.

Jiang Wu raised his hands. On his left hand, not a single fingertip was intact; the skin and flesh were torn to varying degrees, the color of the flesh abnormally pale, like meat frozen for a very long time.

His right hand had fared better; only a piece of the index fingernail was missing, still oozing blood—

It was like water, transparent, but the pungent, bloody smell reminded Jiang Wu that it was his blood.

How could a person’s blood be transparent? Perhaps he truly was a Monster.

Inspection complete. They were all external injuries; nothing broken or severed. Jiang Wu let out a long sigh and flicked the tap on with the back of his hand.

The water heater was only 40 liters, barely enough for a quick shower. Jiang Wu turned on the cold water and simply rinsed his face and hands before quickly stripping off his soaking wet clothes and getting into the shower stall.

Jiang Wu showered very quickly. In the last few seconds, the water still turned suddenly cold. He scrambled out, shivering, and changed into clean loungewear.

His body’s self-healing and recovery ability was stronger than others’. He casually wrapped a few band-aids around his fingers. His forehead injury was more serious, needing at least four or five days to recover, so he taped a piece of gauze over it.

Leaving the bathroom, he went to get his backpack. He first took out the bag of Little White Shrimp, poured it all onto a plate, and placed it on the Balcony floor.

The uninvited guest was a black and gray spider. It had two layers of fur; the inner layer was black, the outer layer fluffy gray. The two large, round, central eyes had gold outer rings and black pupils inside. The two smaller eyes beside them were solid black pupils, half the size of a one-cent coin.

The little spider had appeared the day after Jiang Wu moved in and hadn’t left since. It was practically his housemate. Jiang Wu had thus named the little spider Banfen [Half-cent].

This year, when Jiang Wu got into university, he had splurged on a pound of shrimp. His attempt to boil them in salted water had failed miserably. He left the uneaten shrimp in the kitchen. Passing by later, he accidentally caught Banfen stealing food.

Banfen’s stomach was about to burst from eating, yet it still refused to stop. In the end, Jiang Wu had to forcibly remove it.

Banfen was a little spider with a passion for eating shrimp.

After delivering Banfen’s extra meal, Jiang Wu ducked into the small kitchen to address his own stomach.

Before long, the small kitchen was filled with the usual choking smell of smoke and something burnt.

Having no range hood, Jiang Wu freed a hand to push open the kitchen’s small window. A cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed into the room. He quickly carried out a bowl of pitch-black Bowl Fragrance and a bowl of bean-curd and wakame soup, which was white and green.

The coffee table was also the dining table. Jiang Wu set down the dishes and went back to the kitchen once more, returning with a small electric rice cooker and two sets of bowls and chopsticks.

Jiang Wu filled a bowl with firm rice. He placed an empty bowl and a pair of chopsticks opposite him. Sitting down, he put his hands together and said seriously, “I’m digging in, Ms. Jiang!”

Ms. Jiang was Jiang Wu’s grandmother. She had been gone for over three years, but Jiang Wu still kept the old habit.

The rice was leftover from the night before. He had added a small bowl of water when reheating it, but the grains were still very dry; some felt like glass shards when chewed.

Jiang Wu wasn’t picky about food, but his cooking was truly unpalatable. He had no choice but to turn on the small TV as a distraction.

The small TV was a keepsake from Granny Jiang, very old, small, and thick. But after decades of use, it had never broken down once.

Jiang Wu turned on the TV and then focused his head down, picking the meat out of the Bowl Fragrance.

In the background, the latest news was playing—

“A News Update: Around 8:02 PM tonight, an Agricultural Relief Train in our city derailed, crashing through the guardrail of Kongming Bridge. Fortunately, the train engineer managed to pull the handbrake at the last critical moment, saving everyone on the train! We are now at the accident scene. Currently, all 62 injured individuals have been transported to the hospital for treatment. There are no casualties—”

Jiang Wu’s chopsticks held the only piece of Pork Belly that wasn’t completely burnt. He paused for one second before stuffing it into his mouth to chew.

He really succeeded in saving them?

“It was Lazy Goat!” A crisp, childish voice suddenly interjected.

The reporter crouched down to interview the little girl. “Little friend, were you on this train today too?”

“It was Lazy Goat who saved me and Grandma, saved the train!” The little girl gestured excitedly, her eyes shiny and black. “I saw him! Lazy Goat was so, so tall!”

The reporter was amused by the children’s innocent words.

Jiang Wu chewed his rice and looked up, glancing at the mask hanging behind the door.

The two little goat horns on the top of the head, and the distinctive hairstyle.

It really was Lazy Goat (Paddi).

Jiang Wu looked back down and continued eating his rice.

At that moment, at Kongming Long Bridge, the rainstorm had turned into a blizzard. Dazzlingly white snowflakes fell densely from the night sky, in large sheets. The Agricultural Relief Train had been completely hauled up and was stopped beside the destroyed guardrail.

A tall, slender man stood at the end of the train.

He was dressed entirely in black, holding a vivid Red Umbrella with a bamboo-jointed handle in one hand.

Beside him, the little girl was becoming anxious. She raised her hand earnestly. “Believe me, I’m not lying! I really saw Lazy Goat save us! He even had a white hat!”

The cameraman shouldering the camera was opposite them. In the frame, there was only the reporter and the little girl. No one else was there.

No one at the scene noticed the man either.

In the man’s left hand was an open notebook. The pristine white paper was neatly filled with red handwriting.

Snowflakes drifted down onto the notebook. The paper’s surface suddenly shimmered with faint, elusive red light.

A continuous stream of red light drifted up from the notebook, like smoke or mist, dissipating into the air. Moments later, only one name remained on the paper—

【Xue Chunnuan, Sudden Cardiac Death】

The man silently curled his palm shut. The notebook transformed into a mass of black-red mist and vanished.

A distant searchlight flashed across the man’s right hand. His long fingers were elegantly boned and jointed. The veins standing out on the back of his hand were an icy blue. On the right side of his index finger, a Red Mole, the size of a grain of white sugar, was faintly visible.

The man’s index fingernail was completely intact, yet a dense, stinging pain emanated from it intermittently, as if the nail had been flipped off, leaving a gap, and was bleeding profusely.

At that instant, another spike of pain. A drop of blood oozed from the tip of the man’s index finger.

The man’s eyes lowered, gazing at that drop of blood.

His fingertip tilted slightly—

The drop of blood slid from his fingertip. Reflecting the interplay of snow and night, refracting red light, it fell onto his spotlessly clean, gleaming black shoe tip.

With a soft drip, the blood disappeared.

“Ss!” Jiang Wu’s right hand knocked against the edge of the pot. The band-aid wrapped around his index finger gradually turned a deep, dark color.

The wound was bleeding again.

Jiang Wu brought his index finger to his mouth, blowing on it a few times. He then stared at the pot, scrubbed several times but still burnt at the bottom, and decided that the moment he got paid next month, he would immediately go buy a good non-stick pan!

The living room TV was still broadcasting the train accident news. Amid the sound of rushing water, Jiang Wu heard someone asking: “Engineer, you are the most extraordinary hero in an ordinary position! At the last moment when the train lost control and rushed into the sea, you must have thought of your duty, struggling awake to pull the handbrake and save everyone on board!”

On the small TV screen, the footage cut to the Central Hospital. Another reporter was interviewing the bandaged train engineer.

The engineer, gauze wrapped around his forehead, shook his head. “No, it was someone who reminded me to pull the handbrake.”

Recalling the voice he heard in his final moments of awareness, he nodded affirmatively. “It was a man, a very old man!”

At the same time, Jiang Wu sneezed. An unfamiliar burning sensation rose in his throat. He turned off the water but couldn’t stop coughing several times. His voice sounded as if a large number of stones were mixed into it, rough, deep, and unusually hoarse.

It truly did sound like a very old man.

Jiang Wu raised a wet hand to touch his forehead. The skin was hotter than boiling water.

His two rows of thick, long lashes fluttered.

He… had a fever?