Chapter Seventy-Eight: Danger
News always travels on its own, and as it spreads, it grows into something strange, like a living creature. The story of the abandoned infant, “the Baby,” swiftly faded from the internet, as public attention was drawn elsewhere. Yet, just as the matter cooled online, the slow-moving local traditional media picked up the story, keeping its heat alive in Longcheng and spreading it to a new audience.
At the same time, another piece of news, previously whispered in secret, surfaced and fanned the flames around “the Baby” anew.
Cheng Yao was not a native of Longcheng; he had no relatives or friends there, nor did he follow local news, online or otherwise. Yet, these days, he had been anxiously shadowing Fang Simin and observing the infant, and unavoidably picked up a few things from being around her.
By the time he heard the news, it was already a bit late. Such rumors now spread first in WeChat groups, and by the time people began discussing them in person, who knew how many days had passed.
Cheng Yao felt conflicted. After watching Fang Simin, exhausted, arrive home safely, he returned to his own rented room.
Bai Xiao had already prepared dinner. Seeing him return, she greeted him with a bright smile. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, the strands lifting with her light steps, betraying her good mood.
“How was your day?” Bai Xiao asked earnestly.
Cheng Yao nodded, distracted. “The same as always. We had another batch of visitors today—from some formula company, apparently. They want to sponsor a batch of formula for the baby.”
“That’s great,” Bai Xiao replied casually, then pressed, “How much longer will he have to stay in the hospital?”
“I’m not sure…” Cheng Yao hesitated.
Bai Xiao blinked. “Did something happen?” she asked.
Cheng Yao sat on the sofa and sighed deeply. “Mm…” He stared at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused. “The police found his birth mother… and maybe his birth father as well…”
The room grew very quiet.
After a few seconds, a sudden sizzle erupted from the kitchen, and the rich aroma of frying oil drifted through the old house, stirring the appetite.
But neither Cheng Yao nor Bai Xiao moved.
Bai Xiao walked over and sat beside him. After a long moment, she asked, “Are they… going to take the child back?”
Cheng Yao shook his head.
Bai Xiao narrowed her eyes and asked, surprised, “Were they arrested? Are there no other relatives?”
Cheng Yao closed his eyes briefly. “Neither. It’s complicated… From what Head Nurse Fang and the others said, the woman is already dead. The child's father is apparently the owner of a company here in Longcheng, married, with other children.”
Bai Xiao lowered her gaze, her fingers twitching slightly. “So, he’s not claiming the child?”
“Seems so,” Cheng Yao replied, his thoughts elsewhere.
His mind echoed with the young nurse’s words, “She’s dead.” The nurse’s suppressed tone, her subtle inflection, replayed in his ears. A chill crawled up his spine. He felt fear, but not quite the same fear the nurse had shown. What appeared before him was the baby lying in Fang Simin’s arms, and the eyes the infant had opened in that moment.
Those pure, clear eyes, so innocent, betrayed no emotion. It seemed almost accidental—or perhaps prompted by the nurse’s mood—that the baby glanced her way.
“Let’s eat. It looks like the child won’t be discharged any time soon. There are too many eyes at the hospital…” Bai Xiao said, sighing as she reached out to pull Cheng Yao up.
He rose with her, pausing his internal replay, and said with resignation, “Even outside the hospital, once the child goes to the welfare home, there’ll still be too many eyes. So many people are paying attention…”
“But isn’t this good news?” Bai Xiao interjected. “I mean, you just said they found his birth father, and he’s someone important, and his mother is dead…” Her excitement suddenly paused, and she shifted her tone. “Did his father kill his mother?”
Cheng Yao didn’t answer at once. He glanced at Bai Xiao, surprised, and met her worried eyes. His lips pressed together, and his jaw tightened.
“Didn’t the police find out?” Bai Xiao’s eyes widened. “Or…”
“I don’t know. The nurses are just gossiping—rumors, really. No one knows what really happened yet.” Cheng Yao turned away, dishing up rice for them both.
“It’ll take a while to investigate. During this time…” Bai Xiao bit her lip and lowered her head, accepting her bowl and sitting across from him.
Her ring scraped the bottom of her bowl with a barely audible sound. Beneath her long hair, hidden from Cheng Yao’s view, the skin at the nape of her neck rippled with a dark blue hue, as if something within was about to break free, only to subside the next instant.
Cheng Yao picked up the thread. “I’ll keep watching over Nurse Fang and the baby during this period. If anything happens, I’ll adapt. You should be careful at home alone. I’ll call at any time, so if…”
He forced a smile. “If the police come, make sure you leave in advance.”
Bai Xiao, officially deceased and living with a false identity, had nothing to fear from ordinary people—but if the police checked her identity, there would be real trouble.
Cheng Yao was already prepared for another encounter with the police. A strong sense of foreboding gripped his heart ever since he’d seen the baby. It had taken root deep inside him, growing rapidly after he’d noticed something amiss with Fang Simin. He now realized the source of his own hesitation—despite Bai Xiao’s hopefulness, he instinctively did not want to adopt that child. “Paperwork issues,” “identity problems”—these were real, but they were also excuses.
This feeling led to a reflexive thought of “so it is” when he heard the news of the birth mother’s death, and a stronger unease settled over him, impossible to shake.
He felt he ought to do something, yet he didn’t want to do anything at all.
Beyond the ominous premonition, there was another intuition—a sensation resonant with the roar of rain, with the blurred image of Bai Xiao watching him through a glass door, leaving him paralyzed and unable to act.
…
In the dark TV room, an old-fashioned CRT television flickered, but the sofa opposite was empty. A faint, wan light shone from another direction. In a similarly shadowy, unbounded control room, the clicks of keyboard and mouse broke the silence.
The doctor’s blue eyes glimmered in the screen’s glow. Though a mask covered most of his face, it could not hide the numb, jaded emptiness in his gaze.
He moved mechanically, deleting material from the video. His ten fingernails yawned, shushed, wept, and laughed, all imbued with a weary, listless air.
Time passed. Suddenly, the “click-clack” of keys halted, and the muttering of the nails fell silent.
“…uh…ah…ah…help…”
A hoarse plea for help echoed from the TV room—anguished, despairing, the voice of someone on the brink of death. It was devoured by the darkness, as if swallowed by death itself, making one’s skin crawl.
Yet the doctor’s blue eyes lit up. The nails erupted in excited cries.
The figure before the screen vanished, and the doctor appeared before the television.
He leaned close, eyes wide, staring at the woman collapsed on the screen.
Her figure was indistinct. The camera’s focus shifted to Cheng Yao in the corner.
An instant later, the focus returned to the woman.
Fang Simin’s twisted face was reflected clearly in the doctor’s blue pupils.
The image, as if enhanced by special effects, resembled an X-ray or an MRI: her clothes, skin, and muscle vanished, leaving only bones and blood vessels.
Blood vessels tangled chaotically within her spectral body, throbbing with her heartbeat, entwined like earphone wires bundled and unbundled.
Cheng Yao’s hand pressed onto this spectral form.
On screen, his hand became a similar, but subtly different, ghostly image.
The doctor clenched his fist; the ten nails gasped in unison, then held their breath.
…
Sweat poured down Cheng Yao’s face and jaw, beading and dripping onto his hand—a signal that made the vessels within him throb.
He sensed he was touching something—not Fang Simin’s skin, nor her blood vessels as he saw them, but something more elusive.
He sensed a kindred presence—a “fellow patient,” like Liu Yu, like Mao Mao, like Zheng Yichao, and like…
Cheng Yao stopped that thought, breathing deeply, meeting Fang Simin’s ashen, upturned face. Her breaths were shallow, her body spasmed involuntarily, as though an invisible hand were pulling her, forcing these unnatural convulsions.
“As I thought…” The thought surfaced again, calming his mind even as his body tensed further.
He had to stop this thing—but this time, the monster was formless and invisible. Not like Liu Yu or Zheng Yichao, whose transformations were obvious. And Fang Simin was not a patient of the Monster Clinic.
Sweat flowed down Cheng Yao’s brow. He knew some first aid, but ordinary methods would be useless now. Even rushing to the hospital to deal with the infant would likely be too late.
This was a monster of the Clinic; the Clinic’s doctor should…
Cheng Yao looked up instinctively, but saw no trace of the glass door that appeared at odd times.
No Monster Clinic. But he remembered what the doctor had said:
“…You could call this a miracle. Transcending the boundaries of the human species; limited only by… your imagination…”
Cheng Yao had already proven this in himself, and further realized that it was less “imagination” than “will.”
He felt Fang Simin’s body convulse more violently under his palm—the red blood vessels in his vision twisting almost into a braid, tugging the muscle, bone, and nerves along with them. If this continued, her body would be irreparably contorted…
Cheng Yao’s pupils contracted.
His mind cleared, focused solely on the grotesque anatomy before him. Somewhere, he heard the indistinct sound of rain, but it did not disturb his concentration.
His fingers tightened, his muscles quivering like the body beneath his hand.
He grasped something. The invisible hand he had failed to see before was now caught in his grip!
In that instant, he realized it was no hand at all.
It was a strange sensation—unfamiliar, yet instantly understood.
His blood vessels pulsed, nerves firing. Curiously, his heart and breath slowed.
He could now sense not only the “thing,” but his own open pores. The “thing” moved along Fang Simin’s body, drawn to the surface, then surged into his palm and entered him.
It merged with his body.
Cheng Yao felt no pain, no transformation. As when the doctor had once injected him, his body showed no resistance.
Fang Simin’s convulsions ceased. Her heartbeat and breathing slowly recovered; she relaxed, eyes closed as if merely asleep, her vital signs steady.
Cheng Yao withdrew his hand, flexed his fingers, and finally made a fist.
…
Before the television, the doctor’s mouth split wide, stretching his mask. The ten nails shrieked in hysteria, unable to contain their delight. Unexpected laughter drowned out their noise—a strange sound emerging from the doctor’s gaping mouth.
He slithered onto the sofa like a boneless creature, limbs and face slack, stretching the mask even wider.
His blue eyes shone with excitement, like searchlights piercing the night.
On the screen, Cheng Yao drew back his hand, glanced once more at Fang Simin, who lay on the deserted street, then turned away. He started off slowly, then picked up speed, finally breaking into a run.
The camera zoomed in, lingering on the muscles exposed beneath his clothes. One could clearly see the contours of his muscles and the bulging blood vessels and nerves beneath the skin. The swelling muscles and throbbing veins seemed forcibly joined, working together to produce a strength greater than the sum of their parts. Soon, the veins merged into the muscle, which grew even larger.
Cheng Yao arrived at the entrance of Longcheng University Hospital. The people around him seemed not to see him; he moved among them like a fish in water, touching no one, never slowing, quickly reaching the inpatient building.
The camera followed Cheng Yao in a dizzying rush, the passing pedestrians a blur. At last, the focus steadied on the inpatient building, lifting gradually to match Cheng Yao’s gaze as he looked up at the tall structure.
He crouched, gathering strength in his legs. The camera looked down on him from above.
Bang!
There was no sound, but the trembling screen and the rapid ascent seemed to convey it.
Cheng Yao leapt straight to the rooftop. Reaching out, he caught the edge of a window, gracefully landing on the sill.
The camera moved over Cheng Yao’s shoulder into the ward.
The infant lying in the cradle opened his eyes, turned toward the camera, then looked away, glancing around as if unable to see Cheng Yao, yet somehow sensing something.
The camera shifted to Cheng Yao’s face.
His expression was complicated. He glanced down at the ground where he had just leapt from, his gaze growing deep and steady, then looked up at the infant.
At that moment, the infant’s gaze shifted to him.
Separated by glass, the two regarded each other in silence.