Night’s Nomenclature

The middle-aged woman walked quickly to the door of Fulai Supermarket. She looked at the old man and said, "Uncle Zhang, why did Qingchen come to play chess with you again?"

Both parties also know each other during the speech.

But Uncle Zhang's tone was not so polite: "Your own son, you ask me? He has no living expenses and can only earn a little money for himself by playing chess."

The middle-aged woman Zhang Wanfang was stunned for a moment: "But I pay Qingchen's living expenses to his father every month."

These words made Uncle Zhang stunned for a moment: "Then I don't know what's going on."

Uncle Zhang thought, Zhang Wanfang was not a poor person, and it seemed that the living expenses for Qingchen were not small, but why did the young man still live a tight life?

Qingchen doesn't look like a prodigal son. He spends every day carefully and never takes a sip of drinks.

"But shouldn't he be studying in the evening at this time?" Zhang Wanfang asked.

Only then did Uncle Zhang remember: "He seemed to say he was waiting for someone."

"No, I have to go home and take a look," Zhang Wanfang said.

With that, she was about to leave quickly with the cake, but she heard the man next to her suddenly say: "Wanfang, Haohao's birthday is today, we have already booked a seat, and we have to take him to a movie after dinner. !”

Zhang Wanfang turned back to look at the man: "Qingchen may have skipped class, so I can't just ignore him and ask him."

"He is seventeen years old and can take care of himself. Besides, he still has his biological father." After the man finished speaking, he softened his tone and said, "Actually, we can wait until the weekend to see him. Let's spend time with Haohao today. ?”

Zhang Wanfang frowned after hearing this, but after a few seconds she finally sighed: "Okay, let's celebrate Haohao's birthday today."

…

In the tree-lined path of the west courtyard of the city government, Qingchen walked silently under the camphor tree.

Different from the style of high-rise buildings in modern cities, this courtyard is full of four-story short buildings from the 1970s. There are no elevators, no gas, and the sewers are blocked from time to time.

High-power electrical appliances cannot be used at home because they may trip.

Qingchen walked into the dim doorway, ignored the psoriasis-like advertisements for unlocking and selling houses on the wall, and took out the key and opened the door to the first floor.

A 76-square-meter house with two bedrooms and one living room. The lighting on the first floor is very poor.

He took out his mobile phone and opened the address book, then dialed: "Hello, Dad..."

The voice on the other end of the phone had already interrupted him: "If you want living expenses, go to your mother. I don't have money, but she is very rich now."

While talking, the sound of playing mahjong came from the other side of the phone.

"I don't want money," Qingchen whispered, "I haven't asked you for money in a long time."

"What are you doing?" the man asked impatiently: "Going to school for a parent-teacher meeting again? Go to your mother for this kind of thing..."

Before the other party could finish speaking, Qingchen took the initiative to hang up the phone.

He leaned gently against the closed door of his home, and then lifted up the sleeves under his school uniform jacket.

He stared blankly at the white numbers and symbols on his forearm that looked like an LCD screen: countdown to 5:58:13.

The white numbers were like fluorescent tattoos embedded in his flesh and skin. No matter how hard he rubbed them, there was no way to erase them.

Looking closely at them, Qingchen also saw that there were special and fine lines in the numbers, like mechanical parts interlocking with each other, full of a sense of future technology.

The numbers are changing silently.

Countdown 5:58:12.

Countdown 5:58:11.

There were still 5 hours, 58 minutes and 11 seconds left, all of which seemed to remind Qingchen that something incredible would happen in 5 hours and 58 minutes.

There was obviously no sound, but Qingchen clearly heard the sound of the second hand beating in his heart.

Qingchen glanced at the cell phone where the call was hung up, and then at the empty room.

He didn't know what kind of life he would face in 5 hours and 58 minutes. He only knew that the only one he could rely on was himself.

…

Time is a very heavy unit of measurement. The length of life and the breadth of civilization are all used to be marked by it.

The concept of time exists in everyone's life.

So when there is any countdown in your life, no matter what it is counting down, it will give you some sense of urgency.

There are still 5 hours left, and no one knows what the end point of this countdown will be.

Could it be dangerous?

Maybe it's another life?

Qingchen couldn't be sure, so he could only prepare for the worst.

So he had to prepare something before the countdown ended.

If danger really comes, then he must at least have some ability to resist the danger within his ability.

Qingchen put on a clean gray coat and covered his appearance with the shadow of the hood.

Take advantage of the night.

He went out and walked towards the farmer's market. It was getting dark very early in October in Los Angeles.

The sound of cooking came from the residential building, the sound of popping when vegetables collided with oil, and then an alluring smell wafted out.

The smell of eggs, pork, and mutton flooded into Qingchen's mind like pieces of information. When he needed this information one day, he could extract a certain "archive" from his mind.

He bought pliers and a shovel at the hardware store, and a bag of rice, a bag of noodles, and table salt at the grain and oil store.

He also bought several boxes of antibiotics at the drugstore, and batteries, flashlights, and compressed biscuits at the supermarket.

When he didn't know what he was going to face, he could only be as prepared as possible.

These things almost used up all Qingchen's savings. Find Shuyuan www.zhaoshuyuan. com

After Qingchen carried his things home, he entered the kitchen. He first placed all the available knives on the chopping board in the most convenient place in the house.

The kitchen knife was placed under the pillow and the boning knife was on the bedside table.

Countdown to 2 hours, 43 minutes and 11 seconds.

He made sure that the doors and windows were closed tightly, so he sat on the edge of the bed and began to think: Should he look for help?

Who to look for?

The mother has a new family and the father is a gambler.

In fact, when Qingchen noticed a countdown on his arm a few hours ago, the 17-year-old subconsciously wanted to seek help from his parents.

But he rejected the idea.

Qingchen took out his phone and tried to take a picture of the white countdown on his arm, but found that the white lines that were clearly visible to the naked eye did not appear on the screen of his phone at all.

There were no lights on in the dark room, and the windows were not soundproof. Because it was on the first floor, he could often hear the footsteps of people passing by outside.

The footsteps outside, the breathing inside the house, the faintly illuminated mobile phone screen, everything was so peaceful and strange.

It's probably useless to ask ordinary people for help with such a weird and outrageous thing, and I don't have any particularly close friends in school.

Even if there is, ordinary people shouldn't be involved in this kind of thing, right?

Therefore, if you want to find help, you can only think of other ways.

Wait, Qingchen seemed to have thought of something, got up and walked into the living room to search.

Two minutes later, he silently looked at the Guanyin Bodhisattva pendant in his hand.

Then he carefully placed it in front of him and bowed nine times.

The last preparation is done.