Chen Ziqing returned to the hospital and reflected on Zong Huaitang’s expression at that moment—carefree, yet composed.

Between men, a hand around the waist carried no ambiguous undertones. Zong Huaitang’s gesture was purely about steadying him.

However, this body had a slim waist, and Zong Huaitang had large hands. What should have been a supportive grip ended up feeling like an embrace.

It was just him being overly sensitive as a gay man.

After giving himself this mental pep talk, Chen Ziqing noticed someone else had entered the ward. The newcomer was dressed in striped hospital pajamas, with rosy lips and pale skin—the only fair-skinned person Chen Ziqing had seen so far.

“Master Xiang, I’ve come to see you!”

The voice was soft and gentle.

Chen Ziqing leaned back against the bedhead. “Comrade Tang, how considerate of you.”

Tang Xiaoguang, fully capable of walking, running, and moving around, had been staying on the first floor of the same hospital. Yet, it was only now that he had leisurely shown up.

Hearing Chen Ziqing’s response, Tang Xiaoguang didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed.

Pouting, he placed a tin canister and a basket of apples on the bedside table. “These are for you.”

They were gifts others had brought for him, but he was tired of them and didn’t want to eat them anymore.

Chen Ziqing glanced at the tin canister. So, this was the legendary malted milk essence. He stared at it, lost in thought.

Tang Xiaoguang pulled out a stack of crisp 10-yuan bills from his pocket, counted ten of them, and handed them to Chen Ziqing. “Here’s 100 yuan for you—use it to buy some nutritious food.”

Chen Ziqing replied with a righteous tone, “Comrade Tang, I’ll accept the food, but I absolutely can’t take the money.”

Tang Xiaoguang cut him off. “Take it. I don’t want to owe you a favour.”

Chen Ziqing’s eyelids drooped slightly as he caught sight of the bills in his peripheral vision. He’d never seen this kind of currency before; the notes were covered in portraits of people.

“Well, if Comrade Tang insists, I’ll accept it,” Chen Ziqing said thoughtfully. “I’ll turn it in to the union and use it as prize money for the next collective activity.”

Tang Xiaoguang gave a thumbs-up. “Master Xiang, your noble character is truly admirable.”

“Oh, not at all,” Chen Ziqing replied with apparent ease, though his palms were sweating. While he could deviate from the original owner’s way of doing things, drastic changes might lead to suspicion—or worse, being treated with exorcism rites involving ash water.

“You’re too modest,” Tang Xiaoguang replied nonchalantly before changing the topic. “Master Xiang, have you heard about the sick leave the factory arranged for you?”

Chen Ziqing responded with a noncommittal “Mm.”

“At first, the factory only approved ten days. It was thanks to my appeal to Section Chief Li that you got such an extended leave, and it still counts as work hours! Initially, Section Chief Li wasn’t on board with my suggestion, but I didn’t give up—I insisted on fighting for you.” Tang Xiaoguang’s face bore scratches and cuts, and a small scab had formed on his left ear. His animated storytelling naturally captured attention.

Chen Ziqing pressed the tin canister over the money, turning his head slightly as if lost in thought and seemingly not paying attention to Tang Xiaoguang’s words.

Tang Xiaoguang noticed but assumed it was a pretense.

Xiang Ning had always been particularly considerate of him—asking about his feelings, how he found life at the factory, and if he faced any inconveniences. Whatever Tang Xiaoguang said, Xiang Ning would jot it down in a notebook with extraordinary attentiveness.

Tang Xiaoguang wasn’t a girl, so Xiang Ning couldn’t possibly be trying to woo him.

That meant he must have learned about Tang Xiaoguang’s background and was trying to curry favour.

Today, the long-awaited opportunity had finally come. Surely, Xiang Ning would seize the moment.

So, Tang Xiaoguang patiently waited for Xiang Ning to drop the pretense and reveal his insincere intentions.

The next step in forging a closer relationship? Discussing poetry, perhaps?

Tang Xiaoguang, an electromechanical engineer, knew nothing about poetry. If Xiang Ning started reciting, he planned to clap politely afterward.

That’s all Xiang Ning wanted, wasn’t it?

“Comrade Tang, do you have anything else? If not, I’ll rest now.”

Tang Xiaoguang was stunned. His confidence shattered as he stared in disbelief. Was he being sent away?

It must be a tactic to feign disinterest. He had read The Art of War—he wouldn’t be fooled.

Humph. Let’s see how you play this.

Feigning resignation, Tang Xiaoguang walked to the door. “Alright, I’ll go then. Rest well.”

But as he reached the doorway, the patient’s voice called out, “Comrade Tang.”

Tang Xiaoguang turned back with a triumphant smirk that said, I knew it. But just as he began to gloat, he heard:

“Please close the door on your way out.”

“…” Tang Xiaoguang stormed out, his steps heavy on the concrete floor. That evening, while taking a stroll, he passed Room 103 and noticed a family member of a patient had moved in. Xiang Ning’s bed was neatly made.

Where had he gone? Could he have… passed away? Alarmed, Tang Xiaoguang rushed to find a doctor.

The doctor explained that all of Xiang Ning’s vitals met the discharge criteria and that he was eager to return to the factory. They had allowed him to go home to recover and instructed him to return for a follow-up in two days.

Tang Xiaoguang staggered away in a daze. Was Xiang Ning some kind of monster?

Bleeding profusely during the day and discharged by night—what else could he be?

Meanwhile, Chen Ziqing stood in the dormitory corridor, sneezing. He bit into one of the apples Tang Xiaoguang had brought, taking a big, juicy chunk. The flavour was surprisingly sweet and vibrant, far better than any apple he’d ever tasted.

Before finishing the first piece, he bit into another. Sweet, clear juice flowed from the soft, grainy flesh, and a drop threatened to escape from his mouth. He quickly caught it, leaning over the railing to survey the sunset-lit scenery below.

Workers, having finished dinner, chatted and laughed in the courtyard—a scene of camaraderie. Beyond the people was the factory’s residential area.

Located on the southern edge of the factory, the dormitories surrounded the courtyard. Dozens of two-story buildings, all constructed from red brick, stood in tight formation. Even the window frames and door thresholds were painted red.

In the centre of the courtyard was a large water tower. Nearby, female workers sat on a long wooden bench, sewing garments with design patterns spread across their laps.

Stretching his neck to look around, Chen Ziqing took in the surroundings. The Qiming Manufacturing Factory was situated on the outskirts of Ling County, bordered by a canal at the back and sprawling farmland on either side. Spring was in full bloom, and the scenery was lush and vibrant.

The production and office areas lay in the mountains ahead, separated from the residential area by a wide main road.

From his position, Chen Ziqing could see the rooftops of workshops nestled within the dense forest. Satisfied, he flicked at the leaves of a tall tree that reached above the dormitories. Its branches stretched to the rooftop.

A commotion from a distance reached his ears. Following the sound, he saw Zong Huaitang riding tandem on a female worker’s bicycle, leaning close to her as they talked intimately. A crowd had gathered around, watching with curiosity.

Despite being near-sighted with astigmatism, this body’s vision was exceptional. Even from the corridor, Chen Ziqing could see the teasing smile on Zong Huaitang’s face.

Zong Huaitang had swapped his light grey shirt for a white one, exuding a completely different air now that his office persona had been shed. This was the real him—carefree and unrestrained.

The handsome man with a limp and the beautiful woman—would they start a romantic story? Chen Ziqing wasn’t interested. He finished the apple, leaving only the core and a few seeds, and turned back to his dormitory.

Factory workers who lived nearby didn’t stay in the dormitories, so housing wasn’t overcrowded. There were shared rooms, single rooms, and double rooms. Married couples and mid-level leaders were assigned double rooms.

After becoming a team leader, the original Xiang Ning had upgraded from a shared room to a double room. Instead of bunk beds or side-by-side setups, the room was divided by a brick wall with a curtain over an opening. One person lived in the inner half, and the other in the outer half.

The person in the inner half had to pass through the outer half to enter or exit.

Zhong Ming had lived in the inner half, while the original Xiang Ning had occupied the outer half.

Chen Ziqing only found out after returning from the hospital that Zhong Ming had moved out earlier that day.

Factory workers could apply for different types of dormitories, though approvals took about two weeks.

It seemed Zhong Ming had long been eager to leave.

Chen Ziqing lifted the curtain to inspect Zhong Ming’s side of the room. It was bare, with only a bed, cabinet, table, and chair remaining. Letting the curtain fall back into place.

Chen Ziqing glanced around the original owner’s room.

The furniture was all solid wood, the space was spacious, and the style was warm and homey. It felt far more comfortable than many college dormitories he’d seen online.

What it lacked were modern conveniences like a water heater or a private bathroom—there was only one shared toilet per floor.

“Bro.” Ma Qiangqiang ran in from outside, wrapped in the cool evening breeze. “Zhong Gu is chatting with Accountant Zhang. She’ll be here later.”

Chen Ziqing picked up a few work uniforms draped at the end of the bed. After confirming they’d been washed, he placed them back down and started folding them. “She hasn’t gone home yet?”

“Nope.” Ma Qiangqiang wiped his forehead. “She said she’d come check on you before leaving.”

Chen Ziqing noticed Ma Qiangqiang was still catching his breath and asked casually, “Where did you come from? Why are you sweating so much?”

“I-I didn’t go anywhere,” Ma Qiangqiang stammered, his response riddled with flaws. “I was just… running around the factory.”

Unable to lie convincingly, his words were full of holes.

Chen Ziqing didn’t press further. It likely had nothing to do with his mission. Ma Qiangqiang didn’t seem like someone who would secretly sabotage electrical wires.

“Let me do it. I’ll fold them for you,” Ma Qiangqiang offered, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants before taking over the folding.

Chen Ziqing shifted the conversation. “Little Ma, have you heard anyone speculating about who’s been messing with the wires?”

“What wires?” Ma Qiangqiang asked, confused.

Chen Ziqing clarified, “Someone’s been pulling down the corridor wires.”

Ma Qiangqiang blinked. “I haven’t heard about that.”

Chen Ziqing fell silent.

Then, as if realizing something, Ma Qiangqiang grew anxious and clumsily fumbled with the clothes. “Bro, maybe you should go back to the hospital. Heads are fragile, you know. I heard that when you lose that much blood, you might look fine now, but in a couple of days, you could end up not recognizing anyone. Maybe your memory’s already messed up—I’ll carry you back right now!”

Chen Ziqing’s expression darkened. “Stop talking.”

Ma Qiangqiang obediently shut his mouth.

Chewing on a fingernail, Chen Ziqing mulled things over. Ma Qiangqiang was clueless and unreliable. He’d wait for Zhong Gu—she interacted with many departments and would likely know more.

To his dismay, Zhong Gu’s response was the same.

She’d never heard of it.

Chen Ziqing realized the situation was more complicated than expected.

There was no information about broken wires in the original owner’s memories. He had assumed this was due to some kind of system block on his host.

But now it seemed there wasn’t any relevant information at all.

Chen Ziqing glanced at his unevenly bitten nails. Could the matter of the broken wires really be known only to the individuals mentioned on the mission release board? Why would they keep it hidden?

Besides, if the corridor wires were damaged, wouldn’t the lights go out? It was unlikely no one else noticed.

The only explanation that made sense was that whoever damaged the wires also reconnected them each time.

An oddly contradictory situation.

A sharp pain shot through the back of Chen Ziqing’s head. With no specifics about which building or floor, he couldn’t even pinpoint the location. He had underestimated the task. Life wasn’t going to hand him any easy wins.

He glanced into the void, wondering if the system was watching him.

“I mean no complaints whatsoever,” he thought earnestly. “I’m very grateful for this opportunity. I’ll face the challenges with a heart full of gratitude.”

No matter what the stuffing is, it’s still a dumpling.

Feeling frustrated, Chen Ziqing sent Zhong Gu and Ma Qiangqiang away before heading out for a walk.

The original owner’s death was tied to the mission. He lived in Building 9, so logically, the “our corridor” mentioned on the mission board should refer to this building and this floor.

As for less logical possibilities—those were too numerous to consider for now.

Looking around, Chen Ziqing saw that, just like in the dorm room, loose electrical wires draped along the corridor walls, hanging like vines. He followed the wires step by step, inspecting them closely.

Most of the wires were old, patched together with red, blue, and yellow segments. In some places, the outer layer had worn away, exposing the copper inside. Since it didn’t affect functionality, no one had bothered to fix them.

At the junctions, black electrical tape wrapped around the connections.

According to the original owner’s memories, the master switches for all the dormitory corridor lights were in the power room. They were turned on at dusk and off at dawn. Chen Ziqing brushed away cobwebs hanging from one of the overhead wires, sending a puff of dust into the air.

This was the main wire.

The smaller, dangling segments were branch wires, each corresponding to a light bulb.

The relationship between the main wire and the branches was like a tree and its branches.

If someone damaged a branch wire connection, the corresponding bulb wouldn’t light.

Chen Ziqing lingered at the doorway of every room on the second floor but found no signs of tampering. The connections were all intact.

No leads.

As he checked the time and turned to leave, shouting erupted from a nearby dorm room. He wasn’t interested, but the door opened just as he passed, and a worker stepped out, looking panicked at the sight of him. Reluctantly, Chen Ziqing entered.

“What are you all up to?”

One of the workers hastily hid something. “Nothing much. We’re just discussing the upcoming ping-pong match between the technical department and the workshop. It’s serious this time. We’re debating who will win.”

Feigning ignorance, Chen Ziqing asked, “Just discussing? Not betting your wages on it?”

“No, no!” they replied quickly.

“The technical department’s star player is Technician Zong, and the workshop’s is Master Zhong. We think the technical department has a slight edge.”

“What’s your opinion, Team Leader?” one asked.

“Workshop will win,” Chen Ziqing said. “Master Zhong looks impressive.”

“And the technical department?”

“They’re no good.”

As he left the room, Chen Ziqing muttered under his breath, “Technician Zong has no skill.”

That was the original owner’s conclusion. Zong Huaitang won every recreational game at the cultural center, not because of his talent, but because people gave him face due to his brother, the factory director.

Chen Ziqing’s remarks reached the ping-pong court, including his muttered jab.

Zong Huaitang chuckled quietly, tossing his paddle onto the stone table. “Bring him here.”

Everyone tried to defuse the situation, including Zhong Ming, who was still reeling from Xiang Ning’s unexpected praise.

“Master Xiang has a head injury. He can’t walk that far—Little Ma had to carry him back earlier.”

“It’s late. Let him rest.”

“Yeah, yeah. This can wait until tomorrow.”

“No.” Zong Huaitang put on an exaggerated look of grievance. “He’s crushed my spirit and willpower. Tonight, tomorrow, even the next month—I won’t sleep well. It’ll affect my work efficiency. My mistakes could cause losses for the workshop and the factory. Such a serious issue demands an apology.”

Perching on the edge of the table, he pointed at someone. “You, deliver the message.”

The worker sprinted to the dorm and returned with the reply: “Master Xiang said three words: ‘I’m sorry.’”

Zong Huaitang froze, disappointed. That was too easy—like bait he’d taken only to find it wasn’t hooked.

“Ask him if he’ll make a bet,” Zong Huaitang said, tapping his paddle on the table. “If I win, he has to bark like a dog.”

The worker relayed the message and returned with the answer: “Master Xiang said he doesn’t know how to bark like a dog.”

“What’s there to not know how to—” Zong Huaitang abruptly clamped his hand over his mouth, bending over as his temples throbbed. I almost fell for it.

Playing games, are we?