Shi Yuanchen did not sleep all night. He didn’t quite know why.
He tried to report the phone call to Section 8, but they simply told him they had noted it and offered no follow-up.
He couldn’t blame them; they were overwhelmed. The big fish had either died or fled, and the corporate titans were all scrambling for self-preservation. With the Bai Clan sinking, no one was going to have an easy time, so everyone was trying to stick their oars in.
Consequently, Pei Cangyu was simply too insignificant.
But Shi Yuanchen couldn't bring himself to feel that way.
He went to Section 8 in the morning. Everyone was busy. An officer he was acquainted with chatted with him for a moment and asked, "So, where do you think this kid—what was it, Bei?—went?"
Shi Yuanchen corrected him, "Pei. His surname is Pei."
The officer let out a weary sigh. He was too busy to argue and corrected himself: "Pei. This Pei kid—where do you think he went?"
"I don't know," Shi Yuanchen answered honestly. "That's why I thought Section 8 should be looking for him as well."
The officer let out a frustrated, mocking laugh. "Look for him? We don't even know who he is."
Shi Yuanchen had brought a file and handed it to the officer.
The officer really didn't want to look at it, but out of respect for Shi Yuanchen, he flipped through it. "It's just info on this kid. So?" He handed it back.
"The police sent him in as an undercover. When he had the chance to leave, he went back. Now he’s missing. Shouldn't we be looking for him?"
"Wait, wait." The officer raised a hand to interrupt him. "Who sent him in as an undercover?"
Shi Yuanchen sighed. "Tu Ziyun. He might not have filed a formal report, but that's not the issue right now—"
"Then go find Tu Ziyun." The officer’s voice rose, but realizing his rudeness, he quickly lowered it. "We can't just go looking for someone we don't even know. We can't just add people to the manifest on a whim."
Shi Yuanchen didn't push the point. "Where is Tu Ziyun?"
"Hasn't woken up yet." The officer shook his head. "It’s looking grim. He had a prior head injury."
"What about Fei Zuohua?"
"Went home to handle a funeral. Fei Qisheng—you know him, right? His father."
Shi Yuanchen was speechless.
The officer stood up, downed the coffee on his desk in one gulp, and rubbed his aching temples. "I want to help you, but I truly don't have the time right now. Please, head on home."
Shi Yuanchen stood up and nodded. "Thank you for your hard work."
Holding the file of this stranger, he didn't know what to do. He eventually put it away, hoping the police would handle it once they had a moment.
With that thought, a week passed.
Shi Yuanchen didn't want to dwell on the matter, but lately, he couldn't sleep well.
One night in a dream, he suddenly heard "I'm dying..." again. It rang so clearly in his ear that he jerked awake, sitting upright and ripping off his sleep mask. The voice in the dream had been terrifyingly vivid; he could almost feel the breath against his neck, a sensation that made his skin crawl.
The "Wasteland District" was a nickname; it had a district number that was rarely used. Many poor people lived there. Shi Yuanchen had worked in an orphanage there for a time. He still remembered the day he first entered. It had been a bright, sunny day. The orphanage was tiny, just a few single-story houses. The room he entered had a desk lamp covered in black grime, emitting a faint, sickly yellow light. The room was low and cramped, with two beds pushed together. On a cabinet sat two bowls of cold rice porridge, the grains pitifully sparse. The caregiver was a Christian who chose this thankless job out of faith, but she was so busy praying that she was negligent in her duties. There were two children: one as scrawny as a mangy dog, and another who had no legs. The stumps were sealed with ugly scars, looking as if young limbs might sprout if they weren't kept shut. The moment Shi Yuanchen entered, he saw that puckered, chrysanthemum-like scar, and he had never been able to forget it. Then came the sounds. The scrawny child lay slumped on the bed, whimpering aimlessly, over and over, a sound so ancient and decayed it was as if his very soul was rotting. It sounded like a stomach ache, or perhaps a headache—an endless, ceaseless whimpering. The other child was screaming. Aimless, piercing screams that nothing could stop. His eyes revealed a shattered mind, which explained the noise, yet he screamed without pause. It was unclear if it was out of pain or discontent; he simply screamed at the top of his lungs, screaming at everyone. In that cramped room, it sounded like the slaughter of innocence, like a vengeful ghost demanding a life, a fusion of misery far beyond his years, scream after scream.
Shi Yuanchen hadn't been able to stay long. Amidst the receding screams, he smoked his first cigarette.
His subsequent experiences were much smoother. It wasn't that the children miraculously healed and embraced life, but rather that Shi Yuanchen gradually came to understand the truths of life—through the suffering of others. This was normal. As Maugham explained, suffering does not make a person noble; instead, it makes them petty. It makes one selfish, mean, narrow-minded, and suspicious. It draws one's attention to the trivialities of existence. It does not allow a person to transcend themselves; it makes them less than human. In short, people learn submission through the suffering of others.
Shi Yuanchen had reached such an epiphany. He appreciated life, but there was little he could do. He saw more people like that and realized the government couldn't do much either. To stop those screams, one needed three square meals, a warm home, immense care, unconditional love, a future to work toward, and a soft nest to fall into. So many free-walking adults hadn't actually stopped screaming themselves, let alone this child. His only form of expression was to make noise.
Soon, Shi Yuanchen returned to his own life. He set up an account for long-term donations and participated in government support for related projects. He was "involved." He should have felt moved or satisfied; at least in the eyes of his colleagues and the public, he was responsible and compassionate. But only he remembered those screams. His help was like a long arm that could never quite reach their hair. He understood this because he knew how difficult those needs were to satisfy, and how little could actually be given. The chasm was unfillable. Shi Yuanchen turned his head away, no longer looking, no longer speaking of it.
Shi Yuanchen could comfort himself that those voices weren't directed at him, but that phone call had been made specifically to him. If that boy died in some godforsaken place, Shi Yuanchen would be the last person to have heard his voice.
Shi Yuanchen spent a few days in this nightmare, and things didn't get better.
That day, he decided to visit Pei Cangyu’s school.
The teacher sighed upon hearing the news. He had reported it to the police immediately, but because Pei was an adult, the police didn't take it too seriously, though they agreed to post a missing person's alert. The teacher showed Shi Yuanchen the announcement on his phone, then had to leave for class.
Shi Yuanchen bid the teacher farewell. As he walked downstairs, he passed Pei Cangyu’s classroom. The students were hunched over their studies, and the teacher was lecturing diligently. Pei Cangyu’s seat was empty. The boy in the seat in front of him rolled over in his sleep, yawned as he sat up, and turned around to place a carton of soy milk on Pei Cangyu’s desk.
Shi Yuanchen then went to Pei Cangyu’s home. It was the first time he had seen a home so violently burned.
Amidst the ashes, Shi Yuanchen found a photograph. Pei Cangyu’s face was half-burned away, but he was smiling brightly, showing white teeth, with his arm around an elderly man’s shoulder. As he stood there, someone from the neighborhood committee came by to ask if he was Pei Cangyu’s friend. There were documents for Pei Cangyu to sign regarding compensation. The insurance company had ruled it arson, and Pei Cangyu needed to pay the community a sum of money, as well as damages to other residents.
Shi Yuanchen left the site, stood on the street corner for a while, and then went to the university where his friend taught.
Qin Nanmu was his senior, and they had a good relationship. He was a senior Shi Yuanchen had always admired. Now forty-two, Qin was a bachelor like himself, with no desire for marriage, preferring a solitary life where happiness was paramount.
Shi Yuanchen didn't need to call ahead. He entered the university and went to Qin Nanmu’s office. He wasn't there, so Shi Yuanchen checked the schedule on the desk and went straight to the lecture hall.
Qin Nanmu was teaching a class that had started at 16:25. Today’s topic was the third lecture on group psychology. Qin Nanmu was a bit of a bohemian; he wore flip-flops with cropped pants, a white shirt, and had a slight slouch. He was draped in a perennial grey overcoat and wore thick glasses. He looked at people over the rims of his lenses, giving him a somewhat nonchalant air, though his voice sounded quite young. He loved and excelled at lecturing, possessing no arrogance and mingling easily with his students.
Shi Yuanchen entered through the back door. It was a large lecture, so he chose a seat in the very back.
Qin Nanmu was asking, "Have you finished the reading list from the last class?"
A chorus of groans rose from below. A bold student shouted that it was too much.
Qin Nanmu laughed. "I read this much during my undergrad, and I didn't think it was too much. Then again, I wasn't dating anyone."
The students hissed in mock disapproval.
Qin Nanmu gestured for silence. "Three more days. Hand the reports to the class representative. Today, we move on to the next lecture." He leaned over to open the PPT. After the first slide appeared, he paused.
"Before we begin, a question." Qin Nanmu took the remote and walked out from behind the lectern to a spot where everyone could see him. "Be serious now."
The room went quiet.
"How many of you feel that you could completely disappear without it being a problem?"
Someone shouted, "Define 'disappear,' Professor."
"Disappear here means being erased. No one remembers you. A total departure." Qin Nanmu smiled as he scanned the room. "You wouldn't want to trace the cause, as if you never existed. Who could accept such a thing happening to themselves? Raise your hands so I can see."
After a moment, about a dozen hands went up.
Qin Nanmu counted them. "A few more than I expected."
He paused, and the classroom fell into a silence so deep one could hear the breathing of others.
Qin Nanmu spoke: "Alright, let's begin the lecture."
The students immediately began whispering. Qin Nanmu laughed. "What's wrong? Didn't you say disappearing was fine? Did you want me to ask why you feel that way? I thought you didn't care."
The students fell silent again.
One student raised a hand. Qin Nanmu nodded to him.
"Professor, do you think our raising our hands was also a manifestation of craving attention?"
Qin Nanmu shrugged. "I didn't ask, so I don't know. But I don't want to discuss it further. After all, when you choose to disappear, there is no need for explanation. Attempting to leave a trace is the opposite of choosing to 'disappear'; they are contradictory."
Some students looked dissatisfied.
Qin Nanmu gave a placating smile. "However, disappearing is merely a theoretical question. Think for yourselves: after you disappear, how many people would you have to filter through before not a single trace remains?" He raised his own hand. "I’ve calculated it. For me, it might be fifteen people. Those fifteen would quickly realize my disappearance. Beyond them, I could vanish without a trace. Then I calculated again: if I only count those who would take prolonged, substantive action regarding my disappearance, there might be three. Do you think that number is high?"
No one answered.
Qin Nanmu changed the subject. "I heard a student from the neighboring department started an account online, some kind of 'bot,' posting snippets of professional knowledge. None of my students want to try? What if you get famous?"
There were a few laughs. One student raised a hand. "If I start one, will you post the first entry?"
Qin Nanmu pointed at him. "Of course. Don't forget me when you're famous."
Another student raised a hand. "But the environment for debate online isn't very good."
Qin Nanmu nodded. "That's possible. Especially in your field; posting things makes it seem like you're judging or accusing. Imagine a single line of poetry—it can make both the left and the right feel it was written for them, and they'll have a grand time interpreting the subtext. A coded classification of mental illnesses will only make people even 'happier.'"
The students chuckled. The student from before raised his hand again. "Professor, I’ve created the account. What do you want the first post to be?"
"That fast?!"
Not just Qin Nanmu, but the other students turned to look at him. The boy shrugged.
"In that case," Qin Nanmu thought for a moment, "let's combine it with today's lesson. John Donne: 'No man is an island.'"
The boy frowned. "Isn't it supposed to be professional content, Professor? That's a poem."
Qin Nanmu nodded. "Yes. I believe that for us, poetry is more important than a coding manual. It is vital that we keep our hearts soft."
The boy didn't look convinced, but he typed it in according to the professor's words. The professor called his name: "While you are very efficient, class is about to start. You need to put your phone away."
The boy laughed, tossed his phone into his desk cubby, and crossed his arms to listen.
***
Shi Yuanchen didn't move until the end of class. After seeing off the last student, Qin Nanmu came over to him. "Looking for a dinner companion?"
Shi Yuanchen stood up. "Not entirely. Let's talk while we walk."
They went to a small restaurant they had frequented during their student days and ordered the beer they used to drink when they were young.
"So, what do you plan to do?" Qin Nanmu asked after hearing the whole story.
Shi Yuanchen shook his head. "I don't know. There isn't much I can do."
Qin Nanmu thought for a bit. "What about White Dust?"
"All activities are suspended, pending the police investigation."
Qin Nanmu was serious. "I'm willing to help you if you want to find him, but I still think help from the police would be better. They have the resources."
"It's not that easy. The police are all busy. Whether it's Pei Cangyu's situation or my own wish, neither is a priority."
Both fell silent.
Shi Yuanchen suddenly froze. Qin Nanmu looked at him. "What is it?"
"There is one policeman... who might be an option."
***
When Shi Yuanchen found Fei Zuohua, the young man was at Tu Ziyun’s bedside, hunched over in a small chair, staring despondently at the person in the bed.
"Has he not woken up yet?" Shi Yuanchen asked, knowing the answer, just to open the conversation.
Fei Zuohua didn't notice him until he spoke. He jerked in surprise and turned to look at Shi Yuanchen, frowning as if he couldn't quite place him.
"My name is Shi Yuanchen." He extended a hand.
Fei Zuohua didn't stand up, giving a casual, weak handshake. "Is something wrong?"
Shi Yuanchen looked at him. This young man, who had seen two heroes and mentors fall overnight, had a sallow, bruised complexion. Stubble had sprouted, his eyes were swollen like blisters, and his voice was hoarse. He looked like he hadn't changed his clothes in days. He wore a black mourning band on his arm; word was his father hadn't been buried yet.
"Regarding the pursuit of Bai Shi," Shi Yuanchen attempted to broach the subject, watching as Fei Zuohua’s expression turned even more grim.
"I believe it is highly likely that Pei Cangyu is still with Bai Shi. I hope to bring Pei Cangyu back. If he has unfortunately met his end, then I hope to bring back his body."
Fei Zuohua’s face froze for a moment. He stood up with such force that he knocked over his stool. He swayed slightly, and Shi Yuanchen reached out to steady him. Fei Zuohua suddenly seemed to remember: "Right... right... Pei Cangyu... what happened to him?..."
Shi Yuanchen licked his lips but said nothing.
Fei Zuohua was silent for a while. He turned to look at Tu Ziyun, then back to Shi Yuanchen. "Why are you getting involved?"
Shi Yuanchen had many things he could say, but at this moment, he couldn't voice a single one. His various epiphanies and nightmares were limited to himself; there was no way to transmit that empathy. His emotions and experiences were deeply private. For a man of his age, speaking them aloud felt somewhat affected and sentimental. He couldn't say it.
So, he told him about that final phone call and then explained, "I believe this is what I ought to do."
Fei Zuohua fell silent. The seriousness and melancholy of his predecessors had accumulated on his young brow. He was vastly different from before; he was much heavier.
He looked up at Shi Yuanchen. "I understand. I’ll apply to lead a team. You come with me."
Shi Yuanchen nodded.
"We will catch Bai Shi."
Shi Yuanchen reminded him, "And find Pei Cangyu."
"...We will catch Bai Shi, and find Pei Cangyu."
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 废城区 | Wasteland District | A nickname for a derelict, impoverished area. |
| 八部 | Section 8 | A specific department within the police/security forces. |
| 屠资云 | Tu Ziyun | A police officer, Pei Cangyu's handler. |
| 费左华 | Fei Zuohua | A young police officer. |
| 费启昇 | Fei Qisheng | Fei Zuohua's father, a high-ranking official. |
| 秦南木 | Qin Nanmu | Shi Yuanchen's senior and a university professor. |
| 白灰尘 | White Dust | Likely a project or organization Shi Yuanchen is involved with. |
| 苟富贵 | Don't forget me when you're famous | Short for "If you become rich/powerful, don't forget me." |
| 祭 | Mourning | The character for mourning/funeral, often seen on armbands. |
