“Hey, Songming, let me copy your English homework. I forgot to bring mine home yesterday.”

Ruan Mobei heard a voice coming from somewhere distant. Was that his own voice?

The boy sitting diagonally across from him lifted his head from the morning reading book. The face was familiar, but the features were indistinct. “I’ve already handed it in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me—” he wailed, despairing. “Are you really going to leave me out to dry?”

“Heartless! When have I ever refused you?” The boy couldn’t help but chuckle, extending his hand. “Hand it over. I’ll write it for you.”

From the third thoracic vertebra downward, this body bears my “shackles,” connected to the solar plexus. The pain of destroying the shackles far surpasses the agony of stabbing through my entire heart.

A hand pressed against his chest, and a voice continued:

But you can take it whenever you want. It’s the only gift I can give you.

Ruan Mobei opened his eyes, unsure of when he had fallen asleep.

It seemed he had been dreaming, dreaming of his school days. Yet the events in the dream felt surreal, making him question if they had ever truly happened.

He Songming lay nestled in his arms, still fast asleep.

The boy’s lashes cast shadows over his dusty cheeks. His messy hair and reddened nose from the cold made him look pitiable—none of the fierce demeanor from earlier was visible.

Fragments of the dream quickly faded from his mind. Ruan Mobei touched He Songming’s forehead. He still had a fever, though the temperature had dropped slightly, no longer as alarming as before.

Ruan Mobei let out a breath of relief and pulled back part of the tarp covering them to check the wound on He Songming’s leg.

To his surprise, the horrifying injury had shrunk considerably. If not for the surrounding crusted blood scabs, it would be hard to believe the wound had ever been so severe.

Ruan Mobei stared at it for several seconds, then glanced at the window. The day was still bright, confirming he had only dozed off for a short while—not for days or weeks.

Healing so quickly? He thought back to how indifferent He Songming had been when he mentioned the severity of the injury, realizing something was off. Was He Songming unconcerned because he knew he’d be fine?

Judging by He Songming’s reaction, the people who came earlier were searching for him. That explained his desperate attempts to hide.

Were the injuries on He Songming caused by those people?

Ruan Mobei wanted to inspect the wound more carefully, but as soon as he moved, the boy, still asleep, instinctively clutched his shirt, as if afraid he might leave.

Ruan Mobei paused, then chuckled softly. Really now… For someone who had been so fierce in chasing him away, he was now clinging tightly.

Satisfied that the wound was no longer life-threatening, Ruan Mobei relaxed. He had known this journey to recover He Songming’s memory fragments would be arduous, but things were manageable so far. At least, he hadn’t been thrown into an impossible mess right off the bat.

He wondered when He Songming might wake up. The boy needed water—prolonged dehydration alongside a fever could lead to serious consequences.

Once again, Ruan Mobei looked toward the coal stove in the corner. Carefully supporting the boy’s frail body, he reached toward it. Just as he moved, a low groan stopped him.

“…What are you doing?”

Ruan Mobei looked down. The boy was gripping his sleeve tightly. Half-asleep, he was so drowsy that he could barely keep his eyes open, yet he was forcing himself to appear tough.

The attempt at intimidation lacked any real power, softened by the grogginess of just waking up.

Ruan Mobei stayed silent. Following his gaze, He Songming noticed his own hand clutching the other’s sleeve. Startled, he immediately let go, as though he’d been shocked.

The atmosphere grew awkward. Normally, Ruan Mobei would have teased He Songming to lighten the mood, but now… Now wasn’t the time. The boy had just started to lower his guard. Better not ruin the progress.

Clearly flustered by his own unexplainable behavior, He Songming looked annoyed. Ruan Mobei cleared his throat and offered, “I was going to get some water for you. Are you thirsty?”

At the mention of water, He Songming instinctively licked his dry, cracked lips, swallowing with difficulty.

He didn’t reply but stood up instead. Exhaustion and pain made his first step unsteady.

Ruan Mobei reached out to support him, but the boy evaded him.

…This brat.

Clutching his faded jacket tightly, He Songming pushed open the wooden door. The cold wind made him shrink back slightly. Shooting a glance at Ruan Mobei, who was still sitting inside, the boy walked out into the snow without looking back.

Ruan Mobei quickly got up to follow. He was still dressed in the short sleeves he had worn to visit He Songming in the hospital. Luckily, as a ghost, he didn’t feel the chill.

The boy’s thin figure looked even more fragile against the snowy landscape. His steps were labored, the pain a constant reminder of the wound on his leg.

Trailing behind, Ruan Mobei watched as He Songming nearly stumbled again after about a dozen meters. Concerned, he asked, “Are you okay?”

No response. The boy steadied himself and shook off his dizziness, quickening his pace.

…What a stubborn kid.

Frustrated but worried, Ruan Mobei sighed deeply, then asked again, “Where are you going?”

After a long silence, just as Ruan Mobei was about to give up, he finally heard a hoarse reply:

“…Home.”

Home?

Ruan Mobei looked ahead. Low, gray-black buildings stood quietly in the snow, with no signs of activity.

In the distance, a larger complex of buildings loomed, smoke slowly rising from that direction.

He followed He Songming until they reached the smaller buildings. Up close, they resembled bunkers with only a small portion visible above ground.

A middle-aged woman sat by the entrance, sheltered from the wind, her face obscured by a scarf.

He Songming didn’t approach her. Instead, he carefully avoided her line of sight, skirting the wall until he reached the bunker’s far side, where he stopped.

Glancing back at Ruan Mobei, He Songming hesitated for a moment before squatting down to dig through the freshly fallen snow.

Bit by bit, a wooden plank was revealed. Grabbing the handle, he lifted it, uncovering a dark passageway.

He jumped down into the passage. Standing at the bottom, he pulled the plank closed from inside. It wouldn’t take long for the new snow to erase all traces.

Left outside, Ruan Mobei simply phased through the wall. After a brief moment of darkness, he found himself in a small room.

The space was cramped, with only a bed and a worn cabinet taking up nearly all the room. It felt more like a cell than a bedroom.

Old photographs adorned the wall opposite the bed, their tropical rainforest greens and ocean blues faded with time.

As Ruan Mobei moved closer to inspect them, He Songming emerged from under the bed.

The boy’s thin frame allowed him to slip easily through the narrow space. His clothes remained spotless, evidence that the area beneath the bed had been repeatedly cleaned through his comings and goings.

Ruan Mobei understood that He Songming hadn’t revealed the secret passage out of trust. There simply wasn’t a way to hide it from him.

Ignoring Ruan Mobei, He Songming grabbed a kettle from the corner and drank directly from it, taking several large gulps. Wiping his mouth, he stripped off his jacket and climbed into bed.

Standing awkwardly for a moment, Ruan Mobei finally dared to sit at the edge of the bed, barely taking up any space.

Fortunately, the boy didn’t kick him off.

Ruan Mobei still didn’t know what this version of He Songming was called. Holding back his curiosity, he decided not to press for answers. The boy needed rest.

But their peace was short-lived. A door slammed outside, followed by voices.

Half-asleep, He Songming bolted upright, listening intently for a few moments before lying back down.

The voice belonged to a woman. Judging by He Songming’s reaction, there didn’t seem to be any danger.

“Songming, are you in there?” The woman’s voice came from outside. He Songming kept his eyes shut and didn’t respond.

After a while, the door opened, and the woman stepped inside. She looked to be in her thirties, her features gentle.

Like the men from earlier, she seemed oblivious to Ruan Mobei’s presence. She spoke softly to He Songming, “They said you were missing, so I came to check on you.”

Her gaze landed on his leg beneath the blanket. Walking closer, she said, “Let me see your wound.”

He Songming lay motionless, back to her, his eyes still closed.

As if expecting this, the woman didn’t insist. She touched his still-warm forehead and sighed, taking a small cloth pouch from her pocket and placing it by his bed.

“Antibiotics and fever reducers. Apude caught a deer in the mountains this morning and saved a hind leg for you to strengthen your body—”

“I don’t want it.” He Songming cut her off abruptly. Sitting up, he glared at her coldly. “Food bought by selling yourself? I’d rather starve.”

The anger and hatred burning in his eyes stunned Ruan Mobei for a moment. The tension in his body and the fists clenched tightly in his lap made Ruan Mobei think he might explode at any second.

But He Songming didn’t. Nor did the woman retreat. Her expression held only sadness and helplessness, with no trace of fear.

This conversation had clearly happened before.

“Alright,” she sighed again. “I’ll leave now. The boiled water is outside—don’t forget to take the medicine. Your clothes from yesterday haven’t dried yet. I’ll bring them tonight. Ah Lin misses you—spend some time with her if you can, okay?”

The woman left, closing the door behind her. Silence returned to the room. He Songming sat on the bed, staring blankly at a spot on the blanket.

Ruan Mobei watched him. The boy’s earlier anger and hatred slowly dissipated, like ashes blown away by the wind, leaving behind a deep, unshakable desolation.

The emotion was so palpable that even Ruan Mobei, still clueless about this world, felt it. Despite the stark differences between this boy and the He Songming he knew, the familiar features sparked a natural fondness in him.

“Had enough staring?”

The boy’s cold voice jolted Ruan Mobei back to reality. Startled, he let out a soft “Ah,” before saying, “I still don’t know your name. Is it Songming?”

No answer. The boy ignored him again, like a radio with poor reception that only emitted sound intermittently.

Ruan Mobei was almost used to it by now. He continued talking to himself, “Then I’ll just call you Xiaoming. Take some medicine, though—it’s not good to keep burning up like this.”

Predicting that the stubborn boy would likely oppose him out of spite, Ruan Mobei took the medicine from the cloth pouch himself. There were three pills in total, neatly wrapped in paper.

As long as his intent was tied to helping He Songming, it seemed he could interact with the physical world.

Holding the medicine, he feigned concern. “The water’s outside. It’s hard for me to get it. Can you help me?”

The phrasing was deliberate. A polite “Can you help me?” sounded less like a command and gave the illusion of control, making it an effective tactic for dealing with rebellious teens.

He Songming glanced at him, pursed his lips, then threw off the blanket, got out of bed, grabbed the kettle, and limped out of the room.

Ruan Mobei sighed in relief. This version of He Songming might be difficult to deal with, but at least he wasn’t entirely unmanageable.

Half a minute later, the boy returned. He grabbed the pills from Ruan Mobei’s hand, tossed them into his mouth, and washed them down with a large gulp of water. Wiping the water from his lips, he climbed back into bed, turning his back to Ruan Mobei and presenting only the back of his head.

It seemed like a good opportunity to finally communicate.

“I don’t remember anything—not even how I died. I think I must be dead.”

Keeping his voice soft, Ruan Mobei paused before continuing, “A voice in my head keeps telling me that I need to recover my lost memories to be free.”

“I want to know what happened to me and why I ended up like this. Xiaoming, will you help me?”

Ruan Mobei thought his words were quite compelling. After all, he had read plenty of supernatural fiction and was adept at crafting a mysterious backstory to gain sympathy.

Now was the time to seize the opportunity, bit by bit—

“No.”

The cold, merciless response instantly killed all of Ruan Mobei’s thoughts and words. Staring at the back of He Songming’s head, he choked on his own frustration. Finally, he mouthed silently:

I’ll… kill… you.

Damn you, He Songming.

The boy made no sound, probably relishing the sight of Ruan Mobei’s exasperation.

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. Before anyone could notice, he suppressed it, tucking himself back into his protective shell.