Half an hour later, Ji Xun arrived at Shen Kui’s home.
They sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Shen Kui looked pale and exhausted, silent, while even Ji Xun, who was usually carefree, now wore an expression of unprecedented gravity.
After listening to Shen Kui’s account, the room fell into a long silence. Ji Xun glanced at her face and cautiously asked, “So, she… after she finished talking to you on the phone…”
Shen Kui didn’t answer. Ji Xun sighed. “Did she leave any last words?”
With difficulty, Shen Kui repeated Tian Ke’s final words. As she spoke, she felt as if a huge piece of flint was lodged in her throat, neither rising nor falling, burning her with discomfort.
“Life cycles endlessly…” Ji Xun murmured thoughtfully. “Why would she specifically say that?”
“I don’t know,” Shen Kui said, her gaze vacant as she stared blankly at the floor.
Seeing Shen Kui so despondent, Ji Xun didn’t know what to say.
“I… I’ll get you a cup of hot water,” he said after scratching his head for a while, finally managing to squeeze out those words.
“No need,” Shen Kui said wearily. “Just talk to me about something.”
In Shen Kui’s eyes, Ji Xun possessed a natural vitality. He was both timid and reckless, like a delicate rose in a greenhouse, yet also like a stubborn weed growing through cracks in a rainstorm. Over the time they had spent together, his unpredictability occasionally left her exasperated, but more often than not, his influence had helped her become more positive.
After her brief outburst earlier, Shen Kui was gradually coming to terms with Tian Ke’s death. She knew very well that many things still awaited her, and she needed to pull herself together quickly. But in practice, it was hard to muster the energy to do anything. She needed Ji Xun to give her a push.
“Talk… talk about something?” Ji Xun was flattered. “What do you want me to talk about?”
“Anything. Your life, your family, people you’ve met, interesting things… anything,” Shen Kui said faintly.
Ji Xun fidgeted nervously for a long time before finally steeling himself and saying, “Let me tell you about my dad.”
Shen Kui nodded. She lay back on the sofa, found a comfortable position, and tried to relax as much as possible.
“Where should I start? Let me think…”
Ji Xun recalled his childhood. He spoke of his father’s transformation after his mother’s early death, of the first stepmother his father brought home when he was eight, of their first father-son conflict, and of the stormy night he ran away from home…
Ji Xun gazed out the window and talked for a long time, but Shen Kui never responded. It wasn’t until he stopped, his throat dry, that he realized Shen Kui had unknowingly fallen asleep.
“So unreliable,” he muttered, tiptoeing to the bed to fetch a blanket and gently draping it over Shen Kui.
*** ***
Shen Kui felt her eyelids burning. The world before her seemed to be gradually brightening.
She opened her eyes. The sun had already risen, its rays streaming through the window and falling on her face. The summer temperature rose quickly. In just a short while, she could feel the heat on her skin.
She sat up on the sofa. Ji Xun was nowhere to be seen. Recalling the events of the previous night, she wondered when he had left.
After a good night’s sleep, Shen Kui felt much more emotionally stable, her mind clearer. Many clues she hadn’t noticed yesterday gradually fell into place in her thoughts.
She planned to freshen up briefly before meeting Ji Xun to sort things out properly.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
It was an odd knock. First three taps, then two.
Shen Kui walked to the door in confusion, pulled it open, and saw Ji Xun standing there with a wary expression, holding breakfast in one hand and the other raised mid-air.
“What are you doing?” Shen Kui stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You—you just opened it?”
“Someone knocked. Why wouldn’t I open it?” Shen Kui said blankly.
“Didn’t you notice I was knocking with a rhythm? That was our secret code!” Ji Xun looked utterly exasperated. “I hadn’t even finished the code, how could you open the door?”
Shen Kui was baffled. “How was I supposed to know your code?”
“I left you a note! On the coffee table. Didn’t you see it?” Ji Xun insisted.
“I just woke up when you knocked. I haven’t had time to look yet.” Shen Kui yawned as she turned back inside, gesturing to him. “Remember to close the door.”
Ji Xun kept grumbling. “You’re just too careless! These are critical times. How can you be so sloppy? If there had been some burly guy outside today, I’m telling you, you’d be…”
Shen Kui reached for the breakfast in his hand. Ji Xun handed her a steamed bun, muttering without much conviction, “…you’d be done for, I’m telling you.”
“Oh.” Shen Kui took a bite of the bun. Cabbage filling. Not bad.
She had slept dreamlessly through the night. The strange incident at three in the morning seemed to have faded away with her restful sleep. The grief from Tian Ke’s passing had been suppressed deep in her heart after a night of processing.
After a quick breakfast and freshening up, the two headed out together.
It was the weekend, and Shen Kui had work the next day. She planned to sort through everything that needed to be done, most importantly, meeting with 412L.
Ji Xun and 412L had arranged to meet at the library, a location suggested by the latter. Given 412L’s rigid, by-the-book style, such a request wasn’t surprising.
With some time before the meeting, they found a spot to sit and discuss their approach in advance.
From the private messages between Ji Xun and 412L, this person’s manner of speaking and acting aligned with Shen Kui’s earlier assessment. He was straightforward and principled, clearly someone who responded better to persuasion than pressure. Shen Kui would likely communicate with him more effectively than Ji Xun.
After briefly discussing how to handle the conversation, they soon saw a middle-aged man in a black suit, carrying a briefcase, walk in with a grim expression.
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Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152