Chapter 1

In the vast universe, among the myriad of living beings, the era in which this story takes place is unknown, and the planet is unidentifiable. It just so happened that it became such a story, and whether I am the person in the story, or why I am the one to record it from this perspective, is not important, none of it is important.

What matters is that I merely record these events, a long story that can touch the heart, and that is enough.

The ancient saying goes: 'The small hermit hides in the wilderness, the medium hermit hides in the market, and the great hermit hides in the court.' On the surface, it means that hiding oneself in the mountains and forests is the worst strategy, while truly concealing oneself in the crowd, or changing one's identity to hide in the court, is the superior strategy.

From a Daoist perspective, this is a state of mind. Hiding in the mountains and forests is merely a form, while truly being in the midst of the crowd, amidst the complex political struggles, and remaining indifferent and detached, is the true 'heart concealment.'

Once the heart is concealed, it doesn't matter where the person is.

I don't care what this sentence truly means. These Daoist theories often float through my mind, but I quickly think of something else, like what to eat for lunch today, and interrupt them.

I want to live an ordinary life, not to remember these somewhat 'transcendent' words and stand apart from the world. That's not suitable for me.

But what I can't avoid is that when I often walk down these bustling, crowded streets, I habitually think about this ancient saying about concealment, and wonder what lies behind these ordinary, indifferent faces? Perhaps there is a thrilling story, perhaps a tumultuous life, or perhaps an intriguing identity?

Great wealth and power? High rank and authority? A martial arts heir? Possessing extraordinary skills? Or even more fantastical, a reclusive cultivator?

Thinking of the last possibility, I forget how awkward my own existence is.

Another guess I don't want to mention is that perhaps some of the people I pass by are not human at all?

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On an ordinary summer noon, the sun was so bright that the asphalt road in front of my shop was almost blinding. I was dozing off behind the counter, fiddling with a lighter, and due to my drowsiness, the lighter 'clunked' to the ground.

I was a bit heartbroken. It was a collector's item, a 1933 replica Zippo. Though it wasn't as expensive as other antiques, it was a treasure to me, a die-hard lighter collector.

So, the moment it hit the ground, I was wide awake, hurriedly picking up the lighter, afraid that any bumps would deform its shell.

However, as I bent down, I saw the heavy glass door of my shop being pushed open. Through the gap, the unique hot summer breeze blew into the shop, overwhelming the cold air from the air conditioner.

I saw a pair of very clean but not shiny leather shoes, clean to the point where you could see the care in every crevice.

With such distinctive shoes, I naturally knew who the owner was. He once told me, "Clean shoes are a sign of a clean life, but making them shine so much that they blind others is showy, which doesn't fit my low-key and steady personality."

I picked up the lighter, sat up, and carefully examined every corner, checking for any damage. Without looking up, I casually greeted, "Old Zhou, on such a hot noon, instead of accompanying your beautiful and charming female students for a refreshing drink and a delightful afternoon, why are you here?"

Yes, the person who came was Zhou Zheng. In Sichuanese, 'Zhou Zheng' can be understood as someone who looks very spirited and well-featured. Although I didn't think Zhou Zheng was particularly 'Zhou Zheng' because I was always 'face-blind' to men's appearances, others did comment that he indeed looked 'Zhou Zheng.'

I called him Old Zhou, but he was actually not old, a 27-year-old man, the same age as me, in the prime of our lives. He was an internal medicine doctor at a hospital in the city and the youngest lecturer at the affiliated medical university.

In terms of his career, he was quite successful, but to me, it was all trivial. Calling him Old Zhou represented a friendship, a bond formed when we were young and knew nothing.

So, whether he was successful or I was wealthy had no impact on our friendship. This casualness was sometimes our way of interacting.

I continued to clean the lighter with fine sandpaper. In my mind, Old Zhou should have stood in front of my counter, scolded me with a flat expression, and added, "Flirtatious" is Old Zhang, don't drag me into it."

Old Zhang was also our friend, the same age as us. It had been a long time since I last saw him. My thoughts were always jumping, and as I thought, I continued to clean the lighter.

However, I didn't get the expected response. Instead, I heard Old Zhou walk to my counter and 'slam' something down heavily, then fell silent.

"This is glass, if you break it, you'll have to pay for it." I said casually, but when I looked up, my brows furrowed slightly.

Old Zhou had slammed a bottle of 52-degree liquor on my counter, a brand we both loved, a strong-flavored liquor that tasted like DDT but became a favorite after getting used to it.

"Get a glass, drink with me." Old Zhou wasn't in the mood for jokes. On such a hot summer day, his face looked pale, which was unusual for someone usually as dark as charcoal.

He was straightforward. From my understanding, if he spoke to me in such a tone, it meant something serious was happening.

I didn't have any glasses, and the ones I had were antique cups I was reluctant to use for drinking with Old Zhou. So, I unscrewed the bottle cap and said, "Let's drink straight from the bottle."

"Fine." Old Zhou seemed eager to get drunk. He grabbed the bottle and took a big gulp, the 52-degree liquor choking him, but he didn't care, passing the bottle to me, gesturing for me to drink.

"Any snacks?" Drinking liquor in the summer heat is a form of self-torture. Without snacks, I was reluctant to drink straight.

Old Zhou looked at me, pulled out a crumpled bag of peanuts from his pocket, and threw it on the counter, asking, "Does this count?"

I laughed, tore open the bag, peeled a peanut, and threw it in my mouth, then took a swig of liquor, saying, "It counts."

I have a habit of not asking if I know my friend has something on his mind but he doesn't want to talk about it. So, the bottle passed back and forth between Old Zhou and me for half an hour, and we drank most of it without discussing anything.

Not only did we not discuss anything, but we didn't say a word. I didn't find it odd, and neither did Old Zhou. We were used to interacting this way.

"Listen," finally, when there were only a few sips left in the bottle, Old Zhou put down the bottle and spoke. His face was slightly flushed, and the alcohol had taken effect, making it easier to speak his mind.

"Sure, go ahead." I casually peeled a peanut, my mouth full of the taste of DDT and a strong, discernible liquor aroma, waiting for Old Zhou's answer.

"Old Three, you know I'm a doctor. I've been taught to believe in science since I was young. I think everything has a reason, and it's just that before people find the reason, they tend to be superstitious." Old Zhou's expression was serious, but the content was something I had heard many times. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, thinking he was here to普及科学就是生产力 (popularize the idea that science is productive)?

So, I didn't respond, just grabbed the bottle and took another swig, breaking out in a fine sweat, even the air conditioner was useless. I took off my shirt, put on a tank top, and wiped the sweat from my face.

During this process, Old Zhou kept talking. His expression turned from serious to troubled. He said, "But, Old Three, the things that have happened in the past few days have made me superstitious. You know, I'm a lecturer, and I have to give lectures to students, which inevitably involves human anatomy. Due to some minor reasons, I have the key to the morgue, and I wanted to say..."

When he finished, I was wiping the sweat from my face, but when I heard the last part, I stopped, my gaze fixed on Old Zhou, and I narrowed my eyes slightly.

Old Zhou noticed my expression and quickly negated himself, saying, "Old Three, wait, don't say anything else. You're usually normal, and the occasional crazy things you say, I don't understand and don't want to. I just want to talk to someone, I'm frustrated and depressed."

"Also, are you a bit scared?" I took my gaze off Old Zhou's face, put the shirt aside, and casually picked up a lighter, playing with it in my hand. I don't like to meddle in other people's affairs, but from that one glance, I knew Old Zhou should be fine.

But what is friendship? It's about letting them vent, giving them someone to listen and let them release their negative emotions.

So, I continued to ask.

Also, I can't guarantee that he will be fine later, so I need to hear what happened.

It seemed the word 'scared' had a strong impact on Old Zhou. He suddenly grabbed the bottle from the counter and gulped down the remaining half-ounce of liquor, then looked up at me, somewhat helplessly saying, "Yes, I am scared."