Birdsong filled the crisp morning air, and the sun melted like honey onto the tips of his hair.
Yu Bai was almost at the neighborhood gate, but he still hadn’t shaken off the next-door neighbor. The man had inexplicably started chatting with him right after they’d exchanged good mornings.
The shadow trailing behind him stayed at a careful distance—not too close, not too far.
The breakfast shop and the fried chicken shop were right next to each other.
Well, they were on the same route anyway.
The gatekeeper grandpa, who had witnessed the neighbor’s suspicious behavior the night before, shot them another dubious glance.
With a resigned sigh, Yu Bai stopped and waited for the man to catch up. The gatekeeper grandpa knew all about stalking and weirdos; he couldn’t let anyone get the wrong idea.
“I’ll take you to the fried chicken shop. We’re going the same way anyway.”
It was the least he could do as a fellow human playing host.
“Thanks,” the neighbor replied politely, then asked, “Where are you headed?”
“To buy breakfast,” Yu Bai said. “Next time someone offers to drop you somewhere because it’s on their way, just say thanks. Don’t ask why.”
“Why?”
“…Never mind why.”
Humans were complicated creatures—far more so than sweet watermelon laced with peppermint oil. Half the time, claims of being “on the way” or “just so happening” were polite excuses to hide one’s real intentions, even if it wasn’t strictly true. But in this case, Yu Bai really was going that way.
“Okay.”
At 7:22 a.m., Yu Bai took a steaming bag of chicken wing-filled meat buns from the boss lady and paid with his phone.
A few meters away at the neighboring shop’s entrance, the man stared at the gray shutter rolled all the way down for a moment before turning silently back.
Next to the breakfast shop was Master Wang’s Jianbin Hardware Store, and right beside that was the fried chicken shop.
In the early morning, when most pedestrians still looked half-asleep, both those shops remained firmly shuttered. Only the hardworking breakfast shop was open for business.
Yu Bai glanced over and met the neighbor’s gaze. Casually, he said, “Not open yet?”
The man shook his head and eyed the bulging bag in Yu Bai’s hand. “Is that your breakfast?”
“Yeah, chicken wing-filled meat buns.”
Yu Bai took a quick look himself and suddenly realized something was off.
The bag held eight buns, each the size of an adult man’s fist—enough for at least two or three people.
He’d never seen this flavor before and had bought some on a whim for Yan Jing, who was still sleeping back home. Yan Jing could eat for two easily.
“It’s not all for me,” Yu Bai explained on reflex. “I have a friend staying over. I grabbed some for him too—he’s got a huge appetite.”
He didn’t want the guy getting weird ideas about human portion sizes.
…Why did he suddenly feel like such a weird host?
But the non-human neighbor’s focus was on something else entirely.
“A friend?” he asked.
Yu Bai paused, considering how to explain.
“A friend is someone you understand, who helps you out… who keeps you company.”
The man nodded thoughtfully.
The boss lady, who had overheard bits of their conversation, chimed in curiously. “What shop are you looking for? Need something fixed?”
“Fried chicken.”
“Fried chicken this early in the morning? No wonder they’re not open yet.”
She raised an eyebrow in surprise. Seeing his disappointment, she jumped in with enthusiasm. “Hey, why go to a shop for fried chicken? It’s not hard to make. Head to the market, grab some chicken, coat it in batter, and fry it up yourself!”
“The market?”
“Yeah, just a bit further that way. Here, I’ll show you—but it’ll use a lot of oil! Save the oil after, though. You can reuse it!”
“Oil?”
“Yep! If you’re running low at home, pick up a fresh bottle. Might not have enough otherwise. Let me think… what kind works best…”
Yu Bai listened to their bizarrely smooth conversation, first baffled, then hit with sudden realization.
Through one botched stakeout and this chance encounter, he’d pieced together the mysterious neighbor’s entire logic—from yesterday afternoon’s elevator glitch to the smoking kitchen that would appear by noon.
The culprit behind Room 1204’s kitchen explosion was right here.
With mixed feelings, Yu Bai watched the oblivious, helpful boss lady amid the wafting aromas. He took a silent bite of a hot chicken wing-filled meat bun.
It was pretty good.
But don’t go telling people cooking is easy!
And the guy might not even be human!
Soon, the neighbor thanked the boss lady for her detailed fried chicken tutorial and turned to Yu Bai. “I’m heading to the market.”
“…” Yu Bai, who already knew how this would end, hesitated.
But seeing the earnest look in the man’s eyes, he didn’t stop him. With a wave, he said, “See ya. I’m heading home.”
No point discouraging this eager learner of a non-human.
He could fix a wrecked kitchen like magic anyway.
“Okay. Goodbye,” the neighbor said.
The tall figure gradually vanished around the street corner.
Yu Bai stared off in that direction for a moment until the boss lady’s teasing voice broke in.
“Why not go with him?”
Yu Bai blinked in confusion. “Huh?”
“You two just meet? You’re so shy.”
As she efficiently fetched a fresh steamer of buns, she grinned and gossiped. “Come on, young man—be bold! Shop for ingredients together, cook a meal, and boom, you’ve got something going!”
…
What the hell?
No surprise she was the type to teach a non-human who didn’t know markets or oil from Adam how to fry chicken.
Yu Bai mumbled something vague and hurried off toward home.
The boss lady was way too nosy; he doubted he’d buy breakfast here again.
Still…
These chicken wing-filled meat buns were really damn good.
Walking the path where sunlight dappled through the trees, the aroma tempting him, Yu Bai couldn’t resist and ate another bun.
At 7:45 a.m., the house was quiet.
The clock ticked on. Six meat buns lay on the dining table. The big dumb dog plushie brooded on the sofa. Yan Jing dreamed in his room. Yu Bai washed his face in the bathroom.
Exhausted from a sleepless night, he felt sleepy right after breakfast.
But he couldn’t crash yet. He had to hold out until he truly couldn’t anymore—or until the time loop reset.
He needed to figure out if it was sleep that triggered the restart, or a fixed time.
At 8:13 a.m., the sound of a door opening and closing came from outside.
The clock ticked on. Five meat buns lay on the dining table. The big dumb dog plushie brooded on the sofa. Yan Jing dreamed in his room. Yu Bai eavesdropped from behind the door.
…No more eating. Too sleepy.
Why did these buns smell so good?
The neighbor from next door was back, no doubt hauling cooking oil, an iron wok, spices, and chicken.
Hard to imagine how this guy even cooked.
But spying was creepy. Yu Bai had no intention of stepping foot in his own kitchen again.
At 8:36 a.m., a humid early-summer breeze carried through.
The clock ticked relentlessly. The five meat buns went into the fridge. The big dumb dog plushie still failed to impress that mysterious small round ball. Yan Jing snored through a new dream. Yu Bai sunned himself.
He’d slid open the kitchen glass door, dragged over a small stool to sit on the threshold, and propped his chin, gazing at the brilliant blue sky outside. Every so often, he forced his drooping eyes open.
Too much time cooped up inside—he needed sun for vitamin D.
His kitchen got better light than the balcony anyway.
…Still no sounds from next door?
Maybe researching fried chicken tutorials on his phone?
At 9:18 a.m., the wind finally brought news from the neighbor.
Water rushed in a steady stream, sometimes splashing straight into the stainless-steel sink, other times hitting something with a spray.
Looked like he was washing pots, pans, and the chicken doomed for the frying oil.
Then came the thud of a cutting board on the counter.
The knife sliced rhythmically through soft ingredients, clacking crisply against the board.
He picked up chopping fast.
Probably practice from the watermelon last night.
As Yu Bai thought that, the image from the rooftop surfaced: dark green vines linking the old flower pot to the giant watermelon.
What seeds had Yan Jing said he’d bought last time?
Yu Bai suddenly craved other fruits too.
Like the pricey, tiny strawberries and cherries at the shop.
At 9:40 a.m., the breeze went still.
After a series of faint, indistinct noises, the footsteps that had been busy in the kitchen moved away—and didn’t return for a while.
Consulting the fried chicken recipe on his phone screen, Yu Bai guessed he’d just marinated the meat and needed to wait before the next step.
Some recipes said an hour, others two, some overnight.
Not just marinating time—every step varied across online tutorials. And the boss lady’s advice hadn’t covered details like that.
Wonder if the guy was puzzled by it.
Whose human instructions to trust?
They all sounded reasonable.
That might be one reason the kitchen was about to turn into a smoke-filled warzone.
Yu Bai fought down the smirk tugging at his lips, earplugs clutched in his palm.
He was prepared.
He’d even instinctively reached for a face mask out of habit, but held off—didn’t want Yan Jing waking up and mocking him whenever he stirred.
When he was little, his father—whose cooking skills were nothing special—would wrap him up tight every time he tried a new dish. His dad never let him anywhere near the kitchen without a hat, mask, and gloves, terrified that something might go wrong and hurt him.
The young Yu Bai, bundled up like a chubby little snowman, refused to sit still on the stool his father had set out for him. Instead, he always stood on tiptoe, clinging to the counter as he stared in wide-eyed wonder at the food bubbling and churning in the pot.
Amid the hazy clamor of the kitchen came a sigh laced with laughter, followed by the gentle click of a factory-grade transparent face shield lowering over his face. It protected the only part of him left exposed: his bright, shining eyes.
Now, Yu Bai sat on a stool by the kitchen door, his unusually pale irises still gleaming just as brightly. But everything around him was quiet.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there when a rare memory from his childhood surfaced, chasing away his drowsiness.
Yu Bai stood up, grabbed a cushion from the sofa to pad the stool, and checked on the fluffy white dopey dog at the same time.
His butt had gone numb again.
The gray-white small ball showed no signs of hatching.
Fine, this thing probably wasn’t an egg after all.
No more incubating. What a dumb idea.
Yu Bai turned to leave, but out of the corner of his eye, the small ball gave a faint tremble. A fleeting black shadow rippled across its gray-white surface.
He froze, whipping his head back to stare in surprise.
The small ball sat perfectly still, its color unchanged.
Now fully alert, Yu Bai picked it up and studied it for a good long while, but nothing else happened. It was as if that momentary flicker had been a trick of the light.
…A hallucination from lack of sleep? Or maybe eye floaters?
He was still puzzling over it when a raucous roar drifted in from the window—the unmistakable whine of an exhaust fan.
Eleven forty. Yu Bai’s time loop hadn’t ended yet, and his neighbor next door had begun frying chicken right on schedule.
Two full hours of marinating, not a minute off.
Yu Bai remembered that time he and Yan Jing had been jolted awake by an explosion. He’d checked the clock, and it had been just past noon.
The neighbor’s kitchen—still fairly clean at the moment—had less than an hour left before it met its doom.
Yu Bai fought the urge to go watch the chaos unfold firsthand and forced himself to stay put on the stool.
The deafening roar of the exhaust fan drowned out nearly every other sound.
But it was clear the kitchen next door was descending into pandemonium.
Gray smoke billowed from the windows, the stench of burning food spread everywhere, and a cacophony of metallic clangs rang out like some secret alchemy lab in full swing.
Luckily, the building was sparsely occupied, and it was a weekday when most people were at work. Otherwise, someone would have called the cops by now.
Yu Bai pinned himself to the stool and endured for as long as he could, but eventually, he gave in.
He yanked out his earplugs and hurried into his own kitchen, peering intently across the way.
He couldn’t make out much through the window; everything was shrouded in thick gray haze, and the acrid, charred smell made his head spin.
Through the roiling smoke, Yu Bai spotted the man in the white shirt standing by the gas stove, staring blankly at the orange flames leaping high from the wok.
No apron in sight, and his white shirt was well on its way to becoming a panda shirt—probably because neither the Boss Lady nor her recipe had mentioned tying one on before cooking.
No attempt to put out the fire either—likely because most human recipes didn’t bother spelling out the basic rule: “If it catches fire, put it out.”
…
Yu Bai couldn’t help rubbing his forehead.
Why was he getting the hang of this non-human’s thought process so easily?
After the first explosion rocked the air, a groggy “Holy shit!” echoed from the bedroom.
Yan Jing stumbled out in a panic, searching frantically for Yu Bai. “What happened, Little Bai? What blew up?”
Without turning, Yu Bai reassured him. “It’s fine. The neighbor’s kitchen exploded.”
“Oh, okay, good to know it’s just next door… Wait, the kitchen exploded?!”
The non-human neighbor, trapped in his exploding kitchen, heard the commotion and glanced over.
In the bright summer sunlight, through the foggy glass window, Yu Bai’s gaze met his across the haze-filled air.
Last time they’d locked eyes like this across the gap, it had been those two vibrant sunflower pots.
In the awkward standoff, Yu Bai spoke first. “Put a lid on the pot if it’s on fire. Don’t let it keep burning, or it’ll be a real problem.”
He rarely cooked himself, but he’d watched others do it plenty of times.
The man in the neighboring kitchen did as told without hesitation, murmuring, “Sorry.”
The flames died down for the moment, and no second explosion followed.
Yu Bai caught the flicker of apology in those gray-blue eyes—like a lone firefly drifting through a dark forest.
And just like that, he heard himself blurt out something else, overriding the turmoil in his chest.
“…Forget it, I’ll come over and help.”
Living in this complicated world was tough enough for one person.
Oh, right—not a person.
At twelve thirty-seven that afternoon, the neighbor glanced over, waiting for him to come. Those lake-like eyes held Yu Bai’s reflection.
Feeling a bit awkward, Yu Bai looked away, checked the time on his phone, and turned to head out the door to the next apartment.
The next instant, the familiar darkness and vertigo swept over him again.
One thirty-nine in the afternoon yesterday. Yu Bai blinked on the plush guest sofa.
Time had reset once more.
The end of a loop had nothing to do with whether he’d fallen asleep.
There must be a fixed endpoint. He’d hit it exactly at twelve thirty-seven noon—and based on everything he knew so far, Yu Bai figured that was the moment on the original day when the non-human neighbor had desperately restored his kitchen to its former state. That act, so contrary to the laws of Earth, must have caused some kind of disruption in time and space, turning it into the loop’s anchor point.
It seemed like a solid theory.
He’d found the answer to the question he’d wanted to test last time when he’d set out from here.
A successful loop.
But…
As the dizziness faded, Yu Bai still felt like something was missing.
In the counseling office, Doctor Chen—her hair streaked with white—stared in surprise at the lost, wistful expression on his face.
The chicken-wing-stuffed buns were still in the fridge. He hadn’t gotten a chance to share them with Yan Jing.
He hadn’t found a moment to ask what that small ball the guy had given him was for.
He wasn’t sure if he’d properly explained what he meant by “friend.”
He’d even forgotten something that should have come first.
Doctor Chen watched as the young man on the sofa suddenly stood.
Then he pulled her into a tight hug. She heard the much taller youth bid her farewell. “See you tomorrow, Doctor Chen.”
“Tomorrow—hey? I’m retiring tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t.” His soft reply drifted away with his footsteps. “Not in my world.”
Yu Bai boarded the bus and rode through street after sunlit street, tuning out the arguments around him. His mood floated like the clouds chasing the vehicle across the sky.
He returned to the complex and waited in the empty lobby until two familiar figures entered one after the other.
The moment he spotted the man, Yu Bai walked straight up to him.
He met the other’s gaze without flinching. “What’s your name?”
Master Wang, who had been hustling in behind with bags of groceries, slammed on the brakes and instinctively stepped back.
In his mind, he marveled: …Whoa.
Talk about a direct pickup line.
The man with the slightly wavy black hair and gray-blue eyes halted.
He looked down, his eyes reflecting the other’s figure. The diffused sunlight turned the light brown hair to gleaming gold, making him look warm and inviting.
After a brief daze, the man answered earnestly, “Xie Wufang.”
