No matter how sharp-tongued and bristling He Songming could be when awake, he would always quiet down in his sleep. Perhaps only then did he truly seem like a child.

Taking advantage of the moment, Ruan Mobei phased through the wall to look around. He Songming’s room was tiny, and his activities seemed confined to a radius of just ten or so meters. Even then, he could barely venture outside.

The elderly woman who had delivered medicine earlier was still lounging in the chair outside, her eyes half-closed as if resting. The shared space wasn’t much larger; most of the furniture was old and worn. A screen embedded in the wall had a cracked corner and was turned off. A radio on the table sat silent, leaving only the sound of the old woman’s labored breathing to fill the air.

The door across the hall was half-open, likely the elderly woman’s room. This entire “home” was barely over forty square meters. Though sparsely furnished, it was still crammed to the brim.

Ruan Mobei phased through another wall to find a long corridor lined with many similar rooms. He Songming’s place was at the far end.

In the neighboring unit, a space of roughly the same forty-square-meter size was divided into two rooms and a shared area. A man in his sixties, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, sat on a half-collapsed sofa, cleaning a hunting rifle. On the mattress nearby, a woman of similar age rested, her features bearing the telltale signs of a stroke, her gaze fixed on the television.

The screen displayed a documentary about a global initiative. Humanity had built protective fields and massive underground fortifications, tested spacecraft in desolate wastelands, and assessed the stability of artificial ecosystems. Massive amounts of seeds and animal reproductive cells were frozen, while essential resources were sent to the international space station via “elevators.”

People with black, green, and blue eyes worked together, overcoming language barriers and toiling tirelessly. In the background, low-lying cities were submerged by surging seawater. Nuclear waste floated dead fish and rotting shrimp on the ocean’s surface. Volcanic ash gradually spread, obscuring the sun, and blizzards buried all traces of existence.

The narrator praised humanity’s unity in the face of extinction, their sacrifices for the survival of the species, and their resilience in clinging to hope.

Ruan Mobei stood transfixed, watching the mechanics responsible for maintaining the shielding systems lie in cryo-chambers, awaiting their first awakening a century later. He watched astronauts leave for the space station to observe and record the planet’s struggle to heal itself over the coming decades. He saw the first explorers boarding capsule ships, setting off into the vast cosmos with one-way tickets, scouting for habitable planets to guide the fleet’s future course.

The man with the rifle eventually put it down and switched off the television. The sound and images disappeared, snapping Ruan Mobei back to reality.

Was this… after the apocalypse?

Ruan Mobei took a deep breath. Even through a tiny screen, the documented scenes left him shaken to the core.

Was this the future of his own world, or just a catastrophe from some parallel one?

Ruan Mobei didn’t know. He collected himself, suppressing the urge to finish watching the documentary, and returned to He Songming’s room.

The room was underground, with no windows and only a small ventilation duct supplying cold, fresh air. When the lights went out, it was pitch black. Unsure of what else he could do, Ruan Mobei stood for a while before carefully lying down beside He Songming.

He Songming had a slight cold, his breathing was labored, and his forehead was clammy with sweat. Thanks to the fever medicine, his temperature had subsided somewhat.

Though as a ghost he felt no hunger, Ruan Mobei still experienced fatigue. Venturing briefly away from He Songming to explore had already left him feeling weak. Cautiously, he lay on the narrow edge of the bed, taking care not to wake the boy, and closed his eyes.

He Songming woke up gasping for air.

It wasn’t something he could endure through sleep. Frowning, he grumbled and, out of habit, rolled over to get out of bed—only to tumble into an embrace.

Stunned for a second, He Songming instinctively tensed up, immediately pulling away as if burned by the warmth of the other’s body. He propped himself up, momentarily thinking about shoving Ruan Mobei off the bed, but ignored the impulse and climbed over him instead.

After using the bathroom, He Songming yawned and returned to bed. He touched the scar on his leg where a large patch of flesh had been brutally gouged out. Thanks to the painkillers, it didn’t hurt anymore. The wound had begun to heal, with fresh new skin growing over it. By tomorrow, it might fully recover.

But the scar would remain forever.

He should’ve been used to it by now, right?

Pulling the blanket over himself, He Songming quietly lay still for half a minute before opening his eyes just a sliver. From beneath the blanket, he tugged a corner out and draped it over Ruan Mobei’s waist.

Just a casual move, nothing more.

After a night’s rest, like countless times before, the aftermath of his injuries had healed, and his body no longer felt weak or sore.

He Songming stayed in bed for a while, curled under the covers and staring at Ruan Mobei. The other had already gotten up and was looking at the photos taped to the wall.

Those were treasures He Songming had scavenged from a warehouse years ago. No one cared for such impractical items, but he had brought them back and stuck them where he could see them at a glance.

Oceans, forests, bustling cities, and vast skies—now all slightly yellowed with age.

He Songming suddenly felt a twinge of embarrassment, a sensation he had never experienced before. Biting his lip, he called out, “Hey.”

Ruan Mobei turned and smiled. “You’re awake.”

He Songming avoided Ruan Mobei’s gaze, got out of bed with his head down, and walked away. The bloodstain on his pants had dried into a hard, dark red crust.

He was starving. His stomach burned like it was digesting itself.

Rubbing his face, He Songming sidestepped Ruan Mobei and opened the door.

“Where are you going?” Ruan Mobei automatically followed him.

“To eat.”

Crossing the long corridor, Ruan Mobei noted the floor markings by the stairwell. The bunker had two floors above ground and four underground. He Songming’s home was on level -1. They climbed upstairs. Since it wasn’t mealtime, the dining hall had only a handful of elderly people chatting, all dressed in cafeteria uniforms.

No—there was also a younger man, missing a leg. His crude metal prosthetic peeked out from beneath his pants.

Ruan Mobei hadn’t seen anyone here other than the elderly, infirm, or disabled. Recalling the distant building clusters he had glimpsed earlier, he began to form an idea.

Were those unable to work segregated here?

They had arrived at the wrong time, and there wasn’t much food left.

As the chatting group noticed He Songming, their conversation paused. Their eyes drifted to the bloodstain on the boy’s pants, and their voices lowered.

He Songming collected three pieces of bread, two bowls of thin wheat soup, and a couple of small pickled radishes. Noticing Ruan Mobei’s surprised expression, he muttered, “Not for you.”

Ruan Mobei hesitated. “…Okay.”

“Ghosts don’t need food, right?” He Songming added, grabbing two portions of some unidentifiable greens—wilted, fried plants in oily broth.

Ruan Mobei wandered around the other counters but saw no meat. “You’re eating just this?”

“Yeah.” He Songming considered and added a boiled potato to the tray.

Ruan Mobei clicked his tongue. No wonder the boy was so thin—he was still growing, yet eating like this.

He Songming heated the soup and vegetables in the microwave, then carried the tray back. As he passed the chatting group, one of the elders called out to him.

“This came in this morning.” The elder pulled a small carton of milk from their pocket. Instead of placing it on the tray, they tucked it into He Songming’s coat, hiding the corners, and patted him. “Try to grow taller.”

He Songming opened his mouth as if to respond but ended up lowering his head under their warm gazes. “…Thank you,” he murmured softly.

Back in his room, the old woman was still lounging in her chair. He Songming set aside a portion of soup and vegetables on the coffee table.

“Granny, your meal.”

The woman nodded, gesturing faintly with trembling hands.

“It’s fine. It’s all good now,” He Songming reassured her.

Taking his own portion, He Songming closed the door and sat cross-legged on the floor. The yellowish light from above cast a faint warmth.

Ruan Mobei sat on the bed, watching as He Songming devoured the bread. The boy hadn’t eaten anything since Ruan Mobei arrived in this world nearly half a day ago.

“They seem to treat you well.”

He Songming hummed in acknowledgment, his mouth full of bread. “Maybe.”

“Is the granny outside your family?”

“No.” He Songming quickly finished a piece of bread, carefully licking the crumbs off his hand before tearing open the still-warm milk carton with his teeth.

Unwilling to talk much about himself, He Songming’s resistance was clear. Ruan Mobei didn’t press further.

Despite their brief time together, He Songming’s attitude had softened. Ruan Mobei felt optimistic about the future of their relationship.

It only took He Songming three minutes to finish his meal. He rummaged under the bed for a vacuum bag and stored the extra bread he had taken.

The way he hoarded food was like a hamster—afraid this meal might be the last. To Ruan Mobei, it echoed the He Songming he once knew.

The boy who grew up with him had always been meticulous—always carrying two umbrellas, a packet of tissues, and a water bottle wherever he went. Ruan Mobei often teased him for being a “model mom friend,” yet every time a sudden downpour trapped them outside class, or his allergies acted up on a dusty street, or he needed water after gym and was too lazy to fetch it, He Songming always had what he needed.

It took Ruan Mobei a while—no, a long while—to adjust after He Songming went abroad and wasn’t there anymore.

Bang, bang, bang!

The abrupt knocking startled Ruan Mobei out of his thoughts.

“Ming! Are you home?”

A man’s urgent voice accompanied heavy pounding on the door. He Songming froze, hurriedly pushing aside the dishes and scrambling to hide under the bed.

But before he could escape, the door burst open.

The sound of multiple people rushing in filled the air, their footsteps heading straight for the small room. He Songming had barely managed to squeeze his head under the bed when the door swung open violently.

With no time to escape, he had to crawl out clumsily to protect the secrets hidden under the bed.

Two men stormed in. Seeing He Songming sprawled on the floor, they paused for a moment before the leader grabbed his arm.

“Kolov fell while repairing the filtration tower! Ming, we need your help to save him!”

“I won’t!” He Songming struggled frantically. Ruan Mobei’s heart sank. He recognized this man as someone who had recently visited to look for He Songming.

Ruan Mobei immediately tried to shield the boy, but his ghostly hands passed through the man’s shoulders.

Desperately, He Songming clawed at the man’s grip, but his resistance barely budged the other. As he was dragged toward the door, the man continued, “Kolov is badly hurt! If you don’t help, he’ll die!”

“Let me go!”

He Songming was pulled into the living room, where the old woman on the chair struggled upright, reaching out with trembling hands but unable to make a sound.

“Get off me! Don’t touch me!”

He Songming screamed, biting down hard on the man’s hand. The man hissed in pain but didn’t loosen his grip.

As He Songming was dragged out, he looked back—his mouth stained with blood, eyes wide with terror and despair.

To the ghostly figure who had been trying in vain to intervene, he cried out with all his might:

“Save me!!!”

Author’s note: 

Happy New Year, everyone!