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The conversation suggested that both parties knew each other.

But Elder Zhang’s tone was less courteous, “Your own son, and you’re asking me? He’s run out of living expenses and has to earn some pocket money by playing chess to afford meals.”

The middle-aged woman Zhang Wanfang paused, “But I do send his father Qing Chen’s living allowance every month.”

That statement made Elder Zhang pause as well, “Then I don’t know what’s going on.”

Elder Zhang pondered, Zhang Wanfang was not impoverished by any means, and it seemed she didn’t skimp on Qing Chen’s living allowance. But why was the boy still living so tightly?

Qing Chen didn’t seem to be a wastrel, living each day thriftily and never even taking a sip of soda.

“But shouldn’t he be at evening self-study at this time?” asked Zhang Wanfang.

It was then that Elder Zhang remembered, “He said that he was waiting for someone.”

“No, I must go back home and check,” said Zhang Wanfang.

As she spoke, she was about to leave quickly with the cake in hand, but she heard the man beside her suddenly say, “Wanfang, it’s Hao Hao’s birthday today, we’ve already made reservations, and we’re going to take him to the movies afterward!”

Zhang Wanfang turned to look at the man, “Qing Chen might be skipping classes, I can’t just ignore that.”

“He’s seventeen and can take care of himself. Besides, he has his real dad, doesn’t he,” said the man, before softening his tone, “Actually, you could visit him on the weekend too. How about we focus on Hao Hao today?”

After hearing this, Zhang Wanfang frowned, but ultimately she sighed, “Alright, let’s celebrate Hao Hao’s birthday today.”

…

In the shaded path of the Xijia Residential Quarters under the city government’s jurisdiction, Qing Chen walked silently under the camphor trees.

Unlike the high-rise buildings typifying modern metropolises, this compound was filled with four-story low-rise buildings from the 1970s—no elevators, no gas, and the sewage system occasionally clogged.

You couldn’t use high-power electrical appliances at home because they would trip the circuit breaker.

Qing Chen walked into the dimly-lit entrance, ignoring the myriad of ads plastered on the wall for locksmiths and housing sales, and used his key to open the door on the first floor.

The 76-square meter home, with two bedrooms and one living room, had poor lighting because it was on the ground floor.

He took out his phone, opened the contacts list, and dialed out, “Hello, Dad…”

The voice on the other end interrupted him, “If you want living expenses, ask your mother. I don’t have money; she’s the one who’s well-off now.”

During the conversation, the sound of shuffling mahjong tiles could be heard in the background.

“I don’t want money,” Qing Chen said quietly, “I haven’t asked you for money in a long time.”

“Then what is it?” the man said impatiently, “Another Parents’ Meeting at school? Go to your mother for that kind of thing…”

Before the other party could finish, Qing Chen hung up the phone proactively this time.

He leaned gently against the closed front door, lifting the sleeve of his school uniform jacket.

He stared blankly at the white numbers and symbols on his forearm, resembling a liquid crystal display screen: countdown 5:58:13.

The white digits were like fluorescent tattoos embedded in his flesh and skin, immovable no matter how much he rubbed them.

On closer inspection, Qing Chen could see that the digits contained special and intricate patterns, like mechanical parts meshing together, radiating a sense of futuristic technology.

The numbers were silently changing.

Countdown 5:58:12.

Countdown 5:58:11.

With only 5 hours, 58 minutes, and 11 seconds left, everything seemed to be reminding Qing Chen that in 5 hours and 58 minutes, something unbelievable would happen.

Though there was no sound, Qing Chen distinctly heard the ticking of the second hand in his mind.

Qing Chen glanced at the phone he had hung up and then at the empty room.

He didn’t know what kind of life awaited him after 5 hours and 58 minutes, he only knew that the only one he could rely on was himself.

…

Time is a profound unit of measurement, marking the length of life and the breadth of civilization.

The concept of time exists in everyone’s life.

So, when any countdown appears in your life, no matter what it is counting down towards, it will instill a sense of urgency in you.

Five hours remained, and no one knew what the end of this countdown would be.

Possibly danger?

Or maybe another kind of life?

Qing Chen couldn’t be certain, and he could only prepare for the worst.

Therefore, he had to get some things ready before the countdown ended.

If real danger was to come, he wanted to ensure that he had some ability to resist within his capacity.

Qing Chen put on a clean grey jacket, using the shadow of the hood to conceal his appearance.

He took advantage of the night.

He headed out in the direction of the farmers’ market; the skies in Los Angeles City grew dark early in October.

From the residential buildings came the sounds of cooking, the explosive noise of vegetables hitting hot oil, followed by the enticing aroma wafting through the air.

Scents of eggs, pork, and lamb flowed into Qing Chen’s mind like streams of data, to be retrieved from his “archives” whenever he needed this information.

He bought pliers and a shovel at the hardware store, a bag of rice, a bag of flour, and table salt at the groceries store.

He also bought several boxes of antibiotics from a pharmacy, batteries and a flashlight, and compressed biscuits from a supermarket.

Not knowing what he was going to face, he could only prepare as much as possible.

These items almost depleted all of Qing Chen’s savings.

After Qing Chen returned home with his purchases, he went straight into the kitchen. He placed all usable knives on the cutting board in the most convenient spots in the room.

A kitchen knife under the pillow and a boning knife on the nightstand.

Countdown: 2 hours, 43 minutes, 11 seconds.

He made sure all the doors and windows were secure, then sat on the edge of the bed and pondered whether to seek help.

But whom to ask?

His mother had a new family, and his father was a gambler.

In fact, when the countdown first appeared on his arm a few hours earlier, 17-year-old Qing Chen instinctively thought about seeking help from his parents.

But he then dismissed that idea.

Qing Chen took out his phone, trying to capture a photo of the white countdown on his arm, but he discovered the white lines clearly visible to the naked eye weren’t appearing on the phone screen at all.

The room was dim, unlit, and the windows weren’t soundproof. Because it was on the first floor, he could often hear the footsteps of passersby outside.

The footsteps outside, the breathing inside, the faintly lit phone screen, everything was so tranquil yet eerie.

It seemed pointless to seek help from Ordinary People for such a bizarre and outrageous event, and besides, he didn’t have any particularly good friends at school.

Even if he did, should he really involve Ordinary People in such matters?

So, if he was to seek help, he could only think of other ways.

Wait. Qing Chen seemed to remember something, stood up, and began searching in the living room.

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

Then, with gravity, he placed it in front of him and earnestly bowed nine times.

The last of his preparations was complete.

CREATORS’ THOUGHTS

Lordbluefire

Footnote:

[1] Mahjong is a tile-based game commonly played by four players, typically with gambling/betting aspects involved. Played with a set of 144 tiles which are shuffled by the players before each game. They also make a distinctive collision sound. Each player then gets 13 tiles, and the first person to match a hand of 14 tiles ends the game.

[2] In Chinese customs, the Guanyin Bodhisattva is the Goddess of Compassion, Mercy, and Kindness, and is also regarded as a mother-goddess and patron of sailors