Chapter Fifty: Sobering Up

In the dark television room, the doctor lay comfortably in a massage chair, wearing AR glasses and holding a controller. The projected screen showed the background of a study: bookshelves to the left, two desks and two computers to the right. Kong Yajie sat at one of the desks, her hand gripping a mouse as she played a game.

The camera did not zoom in, but even from this angle and distance, the contents of her computer screen were clear. The character controlled by Kong Yajie ran aimlessly in circles, like a headless fly, wandering senselessly in a corner of the map.

Only half of Kong Yajie’s profile was visible, yet even from that partial view, her tension was palpable. Her body was unnaturally stiff, her gaze fixed and unfocused on the computer screen. Damp hair clung to her forehead, soaked with sweat.

After a long pause, Kong Yajie moved her eyes.

She looked toward the camera.

Then quickly withdrew her gaze.

A while later, as if unable to bear it any longer, she suddenly turned her head, facing the camera, her eyes darting as though searching for something.

Her hand holding the mouse trembled.

The mouse struck the desk, likely making a sound, though the video itself was silent.

Startled, Kong Yajie turned her head, slowly released her grip, and set down the mouse.

She took several deep breaths, pressed her hands on the desk to rise, and walked toward the camera.

The camera rotated, tilting upward to view Kong Yajie’s chin from below.

She spent dozens of minutes searching for something unknown, ending up empty-handed.

She took another deep breath, then suddenly stretched out both hands, grabbed something, and pulled hard.

The curtains closed.

The background turned black, but reflections of other objects appeared against it.

The reflection on the glass was round, resembling a soccer ball, its surface divided into segments. It moved slightly, floating up like a balloon.

The reflection on the screen became clearer.

It was an eyeball. Within it, there wasn’t just a single pupil—countless compound eyes crowded together, occupying the entire sphere. Each compound eye varied in shade, likely tinted in different colors.

The eyeball drifted sideways, the camera tracking its movement. It circled the building, flew out of the range of the window, and vanished from the scene.

The camera continued to pan, entering the scope of another window and capturing the reflection of the eyeball once more.

The background shifted to the balcony and living room. The balcony was unlit, while the living room glowed with warm yellow light.

A man in pajamas sat on the sofa, playing with his phone.

The camera abruptly zoomed in, but the phone’s screen remained unreadable.

The eyeball pressed against the glass, and the camera adjusted to find the right angle.

Zooming in again, the phone’s screen was pitch black, obviously shielded by a privacy film.

The scene froze.

The doctor removed his AR glasses, gazing thoughtfully at the projection screen.

After a long moment, he let out an almost inaudible sigh.

…

Tong Bin slept for more than ten hours; when he awoke, it was already afternoon, his head still throbbing from a lingering hangover.

He stared blankly for a while before regaining full consciousness.

The ceiling overhead was unfamiliar, though he remembered seeing the chandelier before falling asleep.

Turning his head, he saw an even more unfamiliar bay window, wardrobe, dressing table… The dressing table was empty, but photos were stuck to the mirror. Following the photos, he spotted a bulletin board covered with more photos, arranged in the shape of a heart. Though he couldn’t make out the details, Tong Bin surmised the room belonged to a woman.

He sat up abruptly, bewildered, and surveyed the room again.

Tap, tap, tap…

Footsteps echoed from outside.

Tong Bin instinctively held his breath.

A figure appeared at the doorway.

“You’re awake?” Sheng Yao greeted him. “How are you feeling? Any discomfort?”

Tong Bin opened his mouth, “I’m… I’m okay… Um… This room…” He looked embarrassed, his cheeks flushing. Had he slept in Sheng Yao’s sister’s room?

“It’s my room. Don’t worry. I live alone for now. There’s no one else here.” Sheng Yao replied. “Do you want some water or something to eat? There are new toothbrushes and towels.”

“Oh, uh…” Tong Bin was a bit confused. He got out of bed and found slippers by the bedside.

The slippers were stiff, apparently new. As he walked toward the door, Tong Bin glanced at the photos but didn’t approach to inspect them closely, only noticing they featured a woman with long hair.

He left the bedroom and entered the living room, stunned by two wedding portraits hanging there. Both depicted the same scene, one an enlarged photograph, the other a cross-stitch reproduction.

The last time Tong Bin saw cross-stitch was back in school—his mother would work on hers while watching TV, multitasking. Ten years earlier, his grandmother would knit sweaters, chatting with neighbors, mother and daughter in nearly identical states.

The wedding photo was also traditionally styled. The woman wore a bright red Chinese formal dress, a crown on her head, sitting beside Sheng Yao, also clad in deep red traditional attire. A large double happiness character adorned the red backdrop.

The two in the photo looked remarkably alike, even their smiles, each a perfect example of the passport-photo grin.

With makeup, Sheng Yao appeared much older, his smile stiff and awkward against the sea of red.

The sight was intensely vivid.

Though the aesthetic and taste of the photo’s owners were nothing to boast about, hanging such portraits suggested a deeply happy couple.

“You’re married?” Tong Bin asked in shock, his gaze filled with surprise and envy.

Sheng Yao emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl, glanced at the wedding photo, and laughed, “Yes.”

After Bai Xiao passed away, a year later, every time his parents visited, they looked at the photos with worried expressions they didn’t voice. Sheng Yao put the photos away to reassure them.

The pictures in the bedroom and living room had only recently been restored. He’d replaced all the sheets, covers, cups, and slippers to match the way things had been before Bai Xiao died.

Tong Bin’s gaze dropped to Sheng Yao’s left hand.

“It’s just millet porridge, ordered for breakfast.” Sheng Yao set the bowl on the dining table.

“Oh, thank you.” Tong Bin hurried to the bathroom.

Sheng Yao withdrew his gaze from the bathroom and looked at his own left hand.

His left ring finger was bare, no wedding ring.

Few young couples went without wedding rings. Tong Bin found it odd, but not surprising.

Sheng Yao’s expression grew distant.

He recalled events from thirty-five years ago.

He was devastated then, yet had to handle Bai Xiao’s affairs. Throughout the funeral, he was dazed, only remembering several clashes with the funeral staff.

Those employees, seasoned by years of grief, presumptuously chose a single plot and erected a solitary headstone. Naturally, Sheng Yao lost his temper, insisted on a double plot, and demanded a space for his own name on the headstone, so that after his death, he would be buried beside Bai Xiao, his name darkened to match hers.

He still remembered the look in their eyes—an expression that seemed to say he’d eventually remarry and forget Bai Xiao, that his efforts were futile.

Not just the funeral workers thought so. His in-laws disapproved as well. His own parents said nothing, but once the in-laws spoke, they clearly felt relieved.

Everyone believed his grief made him stubborn. He was still young, with a long life ahead. He’d meet new people, fall in love again, marry someone else, and eventually be buried with his future wife.

All those cautious attempts to persuade, the stern rebukes, were defeated by his silent, uncooperative actions.

Everyone waited for him to “wake up” and face “reality.”

And he did “wake up”—he had parents and in-laws to care for. Bai Xiao’s last words were to entrust him with their care. He couldn’t let them worry after losing Bai Xiao, nor betray her wishes.

He quietly gathered Bai Xiao’s ashes, placed her wedding ring atop them, then removed his own ring and set it in the adjacent empty plot, requesting the cemetery staff to seal it.

At that moment, both sets of parents wept, but the relief on their faces was unmistakable.

Sheng Yao stared at his empty left hand in a daze.

Water splashed!

Noise came from the bathroom.

The door opened.

Sheng Yao snapped back to reality, seeing Tong Bin’s apologetic face.

“Sorry for all the trouble last night,” Tong Bin said. “I didn’t throw up, did I? I didn’t mess up your place?”

Tong Bin seemed more composed, recalling basic manners.

“No. Try eating something. Are you feeling unwell?”

“Much better, really,” Tong Bin replied immediately, sitting upright at the table like a well-behaved schoolchild.

“Don’t worry. You were pretty quiet after getting drunk,” Sheng Yao smiled, watching Tong Bin. “You also said you hoped Kong Yajie would be okay.”

Tong Bin paused mid-bite. “I… Did I?” His expression grew complicated.

“Mm. You were drunk, asked if Kong Yajie would get divorced, but in the end, said you still hoped she’d be happy,” Sheng Yao reported truthfully.

Tong Bin gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Ah… I… I always thought we—I and Kong Yajie—we… were dating… It’s been so many years, always together… We did homework together, worked together. When overtime was crazy, or flights got canceled on trips, we’d share a bed… On birthdays, we exchanged gifts, celebrated together. Even on Valentine’s, we’d wish each other happiness. Ha! And on Dragon Boat Festival and Spring Festival, we’d do the same…”

Sheng Yao listened quietly.

Last night, Tong Bin had been emotional, recounting his shock at discovering Kong Yajie was married. Today, he was calm, sharing memories of their years together.

Yet, when stripped of the rose-tinted lens Tong Bin had imposed, the feelings revealed were no longer the sweetness of love, but the tacit understanding of long-time companions.

“…We only saw a movie together once, and that was because she won tickets in a lottery and had nobody else to go with… In truth, neither of us liked movies. We both preferred games, often playing co-op. Other times… the few trips we took were all company team-building events. Meals were lunch at work or dinner together after overtime.”

Tong Bin’s gaze grew blank, as if awakening from a long dream, lost and uncertain.

He looked at the wedding portraits in the living room. “How did you meet your wife?”

Sheng Yao replied, “We attended the same university, though not the same major.”

“Oh… Did you start dating in college?”

“Yes.”

“You… Did you confess first?”

“I did.”

Tong Bin lowered his head, poking at the cooling porridge. “If I’d confessed, would things be different now?”

“I don’t know,” Sheng Yao answered honestly. “Maybe Kong Yajie would have accepted, broken up with her boyfriend, or maybe she’d have refused and distanced herself.”

Tong Bin forced a smile. “She wouldn’t have agreed. Her boyfriend’s amazing—good grades, great job, famous in the field… Yaya and I are just second-tier, support roles. We couldn’t handle frontline R&D—the intelligence required is too much.” He sighed, feeling both envious and resigned. “Only someone like Zheng Yichao could outdo her boyfriend. Several girls in our class chased Zheng Yichao. Not at first—it was the academic star effect. Initially, it was another classmate, tall and slim, very popular. Zheng Yichao rose later, his grades improved, and more pursued him. By student number, he should have been paired with Yaya, but he was admitted to a top professor’s lab. The classmate who was supposed to work with me joined the military. That’s how Yaya and I ended up together…”

Tong Bin rambled about the past. He rubbed his head. “I used to think it was fate between us… Zheng Yichao was the popular one, Yaya missed her chance. Some classmates made snide comments—not on purpose, everyone thought so. Zheng Yichao and Yaya, talented man and beautiful woman. People expected another couple from our class. But I got in the way…”

“But Kong Yajie didn’t mind, did she? She never wanted anything with Zheng Yichao, right?” Sheng Yao asked.

Tong Bin nodded, “Of course. Yaya asked for my number, discussed homework plans, contacted the advisor, studied in the library, applied for lab access… We didn’t get first place, but our scores were good. Afterwards, she suggested we work together again… Actually, we bumped into Zheng Yichao in the library… He said he could manage both lab and classwork. Yaya refused.”

“It sounds like you care about your classmate Zheng Yichao quite a bit,” Sheng Yao suddenly remarked.

Tong Bin paused, “Ah… Well, naturally. We were classmates, now colleagues… Besides… Zheng Yichao wasn’t remarkable when he started college, then suddenly blossomed…”

He lowered his head, tone sour. “He was always top of his class in school. Probably just struggled to adapt at first, didn’t do well in the first exams… Smart people are always smart.”

“Being friends with Kong Yajie isn’t a bad thing, is it?” Sheng Yao steered the topic back. “You’ve been friends for over a decade. If you count time spent together, it’s more than she spent with her husband. You two are comfortable together, neither ever thought of taking it further, right?”

Tong Bin stared vacantly at the now cold porridge, his hand slack. His soft hair fell messily, looking tousled.

“Are you jealous of Kong Yajie’s boyfriend, angry that Kong Yajie dated and married someone else, or upset that she kept her relationship and marriage from you, while Zheng Yichao—someone who’s become irrelevant—knew all along?” Sheng Yao’s question was slow and unusually long.

Silence settled over the room.

Time slipped by unnoticed. Sheng Yao didn’t press for an answer, letting Tong Bin sink into thought.

Suddenly, Tong Bin sat up as if startled.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out his vibrating phone.

“Ah… The class reunion is about to start.” Tong Bin lowered his eyes, avoiding Sheng Yao’s gaze. He gulped down the cold porridge, wiped his mouth, and stood.

“I need to go home. Um… Thank you. I…” Tong Bin hung his head, fumbling for words, unable to form a complete sentence.

Sheng Yao also stood. “If you need anything, call me. We can drink together again.”

Tong Bin nodded quickly, exhaling in relief and eager to leave.

“When you see Kong Yajie and her husband, you—” Sheng Yao followed him to the door.

Tong Bin interrupted, “I know. I… I won’t get confused again. Thank you.” He finally met Sheng Yao’s eyes, forcing a bitter smile, as if shrouded in gloom.

Sheng Yao frowned but said nothing more. After seeing Tong Bin out, he returned inside.

He glanced at the wedding portraits in the living room, meeting Bai Xiao’s gaze in the photo, his eyes slowly dropping to the wedding ring on her left hand.

He stood there for a long time before returning to the bedroom to change into more formal attire.

Though Tong Bin’s behavior last night was normal and he seemed rational upon waking, Sheng Yao was not fully reassured.

It wasn’t so much suspicion of Tong Bin as of the Monster Clinic. The Monster Clinic never changed locations without reason.

The doctor wasn’t a bad person, but that didn’t mean all patients were normal. Whether it was the tumor growing on Liu Yu or the monster Maomao became, both were dangerous. If patients failed to control the side effects of their mutations, the harm those monsters might bring was unpredictable.

Tong Bin’s behavior only deepened Sheng Yao’s doubts.

Tong Bin seemed unclear about his feelings for Kong Yajie. He was confusedly angry, endlessly complaining, with no clear goal or plan.

Unlike Liu Yu, who knew exactly whom he disliked—Yu Guangchun—or Maomao, who was certain about whom he wanted to protect—Lu Meimei.

Tong Bin existed in a state of confusion.

What sort of monster would grow from such emotions?

Sheng Yao’s heart felt heavy, his expression growing grave.