Chapter 9#
Interrogation#
A group of people strode into the train car, their footsteps brisk and in unison.
Their bearing was distinctly different from ordinary people, carrying the iron-and-blood edge unique to ability-users. Uniformly dressed, rigorously trained. Their silver-and-black military uniforms were straight as spears. White gloves, silver-needle epaulettes — every detail radiated cold professionalism and precision.
The moment Ning Weichen heard those footsteps, he pulled his fingers out without any lingering reluctance, his expression indifferent, and turned to leave.
What the people of the Bureau of Unnatural Affairs Investigation and Management walked in to see was this:
On the floor, a Class C aberrant clutching her belly and weeping. The cracks in the walls and corners were full of blood and organs — what remained of dissolved corpse-creatures. A slender young man in a black T-shirt was crouching down to pick up a phone.
And the person who had turned around to face them had a tight jaw, deep and cold eyes, and a beautiful face full of barely contained ferocity.
It was a young, handsome face — one no one at the upper levels of the Hua nation government would fail to recognize.
The instant they saw Ning Weichen, the Bureau personnel all froze in place, stopping short.
At the back of the group, a middle-aged man in a silver-grey suit stepped slowly forward.
The crowd parted for him automatically. The man walked to the front; under the lights, his hair was half-white, yet his manner was warm and genial. He smiled and said, “Young Master, welcome to Huai City. Welcome home.”
Ning Weichen said nothing.
The middle-aged man noticed the bloodstains on his neck and fingers, and did not betray the slightest flicker of surprise. As the most top-tier of butlers, he simply maintained his smile, and considerately offered an unopened handkerchief from his pocket. He said warmly, “Young Master, the Madam has been waiting for you at the Qin residence for some time. Shall we head over now?”
Without a word, Ning Weichen took the handkerchief, tore it open, and unhurriedly wiped the blood from his fingertips.
“Butler Li, isn’t it a bit too early to leave?”
The commanding officer who had arrived this time was a woman of striking appearance. She moved her gaze from Ye Sheng and let it rest on Ning Weichen. “This incident in Car 44 involves an unusual aberrant situation. We may need Young Master Ning to remain and tell us certain things.”
Her dress was similar to the others’, with one distinction — on her chest was an embroidered insignia floating above a flame, bearing a beautifully scripted capital A in ornate lettering.
Butler Li’s smile didn’t waver, crow’s feet gathering at the corners of his eyes, but his tone was firm. “Director Cheng is right. Cooperating with and assisting the Bureau of Unnatural Affairs Investigation and Management is the duty of every one of us. Our master arranged for the Young Master — who has been abroad since childhood — to come to Yinshan and take on an aberrant assignment upon his return precisely in order to cultivate in him the responsibility and loyalty to his country as a citizen of the Hua nation. As you can see, however, our Young Master has sustained some injuries and needs to go and have them attended to.”
He remained composed before a Class A enforcement officer, his smile steady. “I hope you can appreciate that this was our Young Master’s first exposure to an aberrant — insufficient experience led to a mission failure. The Young Master’s credentials are still limited, and it’s possible he wouldn’t be much help staying here anyway. There is, after all, another party present.”
His gaze landed on Ye Sheng with apparent kindness — an excessive gentleness that concealed absolute coldness and contempt beneath it.
Butler Li said, “I believe this young man should be able to answer every question you need to ask.”
Director Cheng had reached her position at a young age, so she was hardly a pushover. Her red lips curved in a smile that gave no ground. “Butler Li, the aberrant involved this time is connected to the Story King — the administrator of Sector Seven, an S-class aberrant. You’re a Class A ability-user yourself. Surely you understand the gravity of the situation.”
Butler Li gave a laughing sigh. “I understand what Director Cheng means. But what appeared here was merely the Story King’s aura. It has written hundreds of bizarre entities into the corners of cities all over the world. Some we’ve dealt with; some we haven’t yet. Not every strange incident it has a hand in can be called an ‘S-class event.’”
Director Cheng’s smile grew even more hollow, and just as the two were reaching a tense standoff —
Ning Weichen, who had been silent the entire time, spoke.
“It’s all right.” He finished wiping his hands and passed the handkerchief back to Butler Li.
Ning Weichen licked the blood from his lips, suppressed the cold ferocity in his peach-blossom eyes, pulled his lips into a smile, and in the blink of an eye became again an elegant, nonchalant young lord. He said with gracious politeness, “I’m willing to stay and cooperate with the investigation.”
Butler Li was momentarily startled, but he nodded, his smile settling. He said nothing more.
Ning Weichen absently ran a hand through the hair at his temple, then strode forward with his long, straight legs, leaving behind a light and indifferent voice. “Give me time to shower first.”
“Of course.”
Director Cheng allowed herself a quiet breath of relief.
If she were being honest, she had absolutely no desire to deal with the Ning family’s butler. Especially tonight, with that mysterious and inscrutable Ning heir — who had grown up abroad for as long as anyone could remember — also present on the scene.
Butler Li smiled and followed him out.
Director Cheng watched the two of them leave and pressed her lips together.
The team member beside her stepped forward. “Director Cheng, what do we do now?”
“Handle the scene first. The Class C aberrant from Car 44 hasn’t committed any crimes — detain her for now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Director Cheng’s gaze returned to Ye Sheng, taking in the young man’s slender frame and pale face. Thinking of how an ordinary child had been innocently swept up in this aberrant incident, and must be terrified beyond measure, she walked over and said gently, “Can you stand, sweetheart?”
Ye Sheng gripped his phone, nodded, and stood up, one hand pressed over his stomach.
Director Cheng noticed the gesture and softened her voice further. “Which car is your luggage in, and which seat? I’ll have someone retrieve it. For now, come downstairs with me and rest.”
Ye Sheng didn’t answer. His entire attention was fixed on his own abdomen.
He had expected a sharp, wrenching pain, a tearing sensation, or the urge to vomit — the way his body reacted when he’d eaten things he shouldn’t have before. But none of that came. The mass of dead flesh had settled into his stomach quietly, still as a pool of stagnant water. And aside from the ache in his throat from the scraping injury, he felt no discomfort at all.
Ye Sheng’s brow creased slightly. He thought of Ning Weichen’s last action.
Ning Weichen had fed him his own blood.
…Was it the effect of his blood?
“Sweetheart?” Director Cheng called quietly again.
Ye Sheng came back to himself and looked up. His eyes, still reflexively watering from the physical irritation, turned toward her. He was no actor — but the way he emerged from his thoughts in that moment, paired with his tearful, bloodless face, made him look perfectly like a survivor of a disaster.
Director Cheng’s sympathy deepened even further. She pressed her lips together, stopped asking questions, and said softly, “Let’s get you rested first.”
Ye Sheng’s throat was damaged, his voice rough and lower than usual. He asked, “What about the creature in the restroom?”
Director Cheng looked over with a questioning expression.
Ye Sheng kept it brief. “She saved my life.”
Director Cheng immediately understood who he meant. She smiled reassuringly. “We’ve had records on that entity — the one on Train 1444 out of Yinshan — for a long time. We know her true nature is benevolent and that she hasn’t harmed anyone. We’re just taking her in for some processing. She’ll be fine.”
Only then did Ye Sheng nod.
Director Cheng glanced at him with a slight, appreciative surprise — full of admiration and fondness. She hadn’t expected this young man, after experiencing something so terrifying and narrowly escaping with his life, to have as his first instinct not sobbing and collapsing, but asking after the creature who had helped him.
That kind of resilience and compassion was genuinely rare.
Escorted by the group, Ye Sheng left the train station. Even at night, Huai City North Station was blazing with light.
This place was nothing like the cramped, run-down, foul-smelling atmosphere of the Yinshan train station. Spacious, bright, and dazzling — like an enormous crystal palace, showing him one gleaming, vibrant corner of Huai City, this international metropolis.
Ye Sheng’s throat was sore, his body exhausted. He kept his head down the whole way.
He was brought to the Bureau’s reception room at Huai City North Station, and sat on a sofa to rest for a while.
Director Cheng handed him a cup of warm water. Ye Sheng took it and said a hoarse thank-you.
Director Cheng watched him with full-hearted sympathy.
Now that Ye Sheng got a proper look at her — shoulder-length hair, light makeup, features soft and alluring yet with an underlying sharpness.
Ye Sheng felt a little out of his element.
His experience dealing with ghosts was probably far greater than his experience dealing with people.
“You can sleep for a bit,” Director Cheng said.
Ye Sheng pressed his lips together and said flatly, “No need. If you have questions, I can answer them now.”
Director Cheng looked at him entirely like she was looking at a younger brother. “There’s no rush,” she said affectionately. “Rest first. Don’t be nervous.”
Ye Sheng, who was not the least bit nervous: “…”
But he wasn’t the type to make conversation unprompted either.
He settled deeper into the sofa, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
Director Cheng left while his eyes were shut, thoughtfully pulling the door closed behind her.
The warmth from the paper cup spread gently against his palm.
The air conditioning in the room was set to a perfectly comfortable temperature.
The soft light made everything feel pleasantly hazy.
All of it was telling him: he had gotten off that train.
It was over.
All of it was over.
The talismans had been used up. Whatever he’d swallowed was sitting in his stomach without incident. He had severed all ties with every element of instability.
Wait.
Ye Sheng’s eyes snapped open. He immediately opened his phone, his dark, icy gaze falling on the app with the demon-eye icon in his shortcuts.
There was still that.
Staring at the app, Ye Sheng paused, and began to analyze the person who kept adding postscripts and continuations to the stories.
Did that person know he had this app? Did they know he could see every post scriptum? Were those malice-filled words written deliberately for him to read?
Then again, Ye Sheng didn’t think so. Because the earliest PS targeted at the womb-girl had been dated June 24th. And judging by that person’s bizarre, absurd, pretentiously sentimental writing style — with the occasional burst of melodrama — if they’d known they had an audience, the phrasing would definitely have been even more unhinged.
Ye Sheng’s fingertip traced the eye icon on the phone. When the old man had installed this app for him, he hadn’t shown the same pained reluctance as when he’d given away the red talismans. That meant it wasn’t especially precious. Its function was also simple: photograph and search, return a summary, but tell you nothing about how to deal with what you’d found.
Like an encyclopedia.
Search.
Ye Sheng’s fingertip moved softly over the blood-red eye, as if stroking a living creature.
He suddenly stood up, walked forward, and rummaged through the table beside the water dispenser until he found a small mirror.
Ye Sheng turned the lights off. In complete darkness, he opened the front-facing camera — mirror in one hand, phone in the other — and aimed the phone at the mirror. Relying on memory alone, he opened the app without looking, and quickly took a photo.
The app had no flash function, so what could be captured was only darkness.
If search photographed search — would it return a result?
He turned the lights back on, set down the mirror, and returned to the sofa.
He tapped to upload the photo.
Before this, Ye Sheng had tried photographing ordinary, everyday objects with the app. Anything non-aberrant only ever returned a 404 not found.
This time — probably because the photo was too blurry and strange — the search took a little longer.
Ye Sheng gripped his phone, held his breath.
One minute later, his eyes went wide.
The search results had come up!
Not an error page — a clear, definitive paragraph of text.
[Category: ENIAC]
[Entity Name: search]
[Entity Level: Class E]
[Summary: Search]
The summary was two simple characters. Nothing like the theatrical, storytelling tone of the corpse-sewer’s or the womb-girl’s entries.
Ye Sheng: “…”
Well then. So you, with your thick brows and your innocent-looking eye, aren’t simple either.
He pressed and held the app again in another doomed attempt to delete it.
The app bit him again — annoyed and indignant.
Son of a —
Ye Sheng felt a wave of exhausted irritation, and a profanity slipped through his mind before he could stop it.
Just then: knock knock knock. Someone rapped on the door. Ye Sheng stood and opened it to find not Director Cheng, but a young man with a terrible expression.
The young man’s tone was blunt, radiating impatience: “Come with me.”
Ye Sheng gripped his phone, said nothing, and followed.
The young man led him to a conference room.
A six-person table. Seated across from him already were two people in silver-and-black uniforms. The one in the middle was a young man who looked rather like Director Cheng. To his right was a young man with a baby face. The person who had brought him in settled naturally into the seat on the left.
He pointed to the seat directly across from himself and ordered Ye Sheng, “Sit here.”
The baby-faced one kept typing at his computer without looking up. The man in the middle glanced at Ye Sheng once and returned to the documents in his hands.
It seemed the entire interrogation would be conducted by the one who’d brought him in.
Ye Sheng sat down, fingers turning the phone over and over, head slightly bowed.
“I just pulled up your file. Your name is Ye Sheng. You’re from Yinshan Village in Yinshan County. Seventeen years old. Father died when you were two; mother remarried. Grew up with your grandmother. This trip to Huai City is for university enrollment. First question: when you boarded, you originally had a hard-seat ticket in Car 17. Why did you later switch to a soft sleeper in Car 44? Second question: after the incident on the night of the 26th, you returned to Car 17. Why did you appear there again tonight?!”
The young man’s voice turned abruptly cold, his gaze cutting to Ye Sheng like a blade.
Ye Sheng’s mood had already been thoroughly soured by the app. He wasn’t a meek person by nature. He turned the screen off with a snap, raised his head, met the young man’s eyes without expression, and said flatly, “I originally had a ticket in Car 17. I later switched to a soft sleeper because the seats were too uncomfortable to sleep in. After the incident in Car 44’s restroom, I went back to Car 17, but in the rest—”
He hadn’t finished speaking before the young man cut him off impatiently.
He didn’t like Ye Sheng’s sharp attitude.
“Just answer my question. Car 44 was cordoned off on the 27th. How did you get in?!”
Ye Sheng stopped short.
How did he get in? Ning Weichen brought him in.
Ye Sheng told the truth. “Ning Weichen brought me in.”
“…”
The air went quiet.
The baby-faced one’s hands froze over the keyboard. The man in the middle stopped turning pages. Even the short-tempered interrogator paused, staring.
After quite a long moment, he spoke again — his tone somewhat unsteady: “What did you say?”
Ye Sheng repeated, expression blank: “Ning Weichen brought me in.”
“…What’s your relationship with him?”
Ye Sheng: “…” No relationship at all — but if he said that, no one here would believe it.
Ye Sheng had no desire to be investigated, no desire to have his routine disrupted, no desire to appear on the Bureau’s radar.
He said stiffly, “Friends.”
At that moment, the door behind him swung open.
A clear, unhurried voice rang out. “My apologies. I’m late.”
Ning Weichen’s legs were long — a few strides covered what would take others many — and he was at Ye Sheng’s side in moments, pulling out a chair and sitting down with casual ease.
As the chair scraped the floor, Ye Sheng caught a drift of cool, crisp fragrance.
He turned his head and found that Ning Weichen had showered and changed clothes.
A fine-tailored, pure black dress shirt accentuated his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and tall frame — entirely unlike the young man who had boarded the train with a bright, approachable smile. The vine-red bracelet from earlier had been replaced by an expensive watch. At the collar of his well-cut shirt, pale silver Latin script curved like the personal signature of a niche designer — mysterious and singular.
The way he settled into the seat was poised, carrying the ease of someone long accustomed to the top. Beneath his dark hair, his peach-blossom eyes were cool and deep, his thin reddish lips pressed together. Every movement matched the cold fragrance that drifted from him — a scent Ye Sheng couldn’t quite name but found pleasant.
Noble. Remote. A sense of distance that spread like pine resin and thin snow.
Ning Weichen’s tone was offhand. “Where were you?”
The young man to the left was visibly startled. He avoided Ning Weichen’s gaze, looking slightly uncomfortable. He said awkwardly, “We’d gotten to yesterday — you bringing your friend here to Car 44.”
Ning Weichen echoed the word. “Friend?”
“Yes.”
Ye Sheng: “…”
Unsurprisingly, a soft, thinly sardonic laugh came from beside him.
Ning Weichen curved his lips and turned to look at Ye Sheng. Unlike that first day on the train — when his gaze had been eager and quietly well-behaved, waiting for a chance to strike up conversation — this time Ning Weichen’s eyes were deep and languorous, his smile carrying what seemed like a dusting of snow: beautiful, and sharp with aggression.
One arm rested on the table; the other propped against his jaw. His gaze moved slowly up and down, appraising Ye Sheng with evident amusement.
“Officer Xu,” he said, his tone not without malice, “are you joking?”
“This…” His tongue swept lightly over his teeth as he searched for the right word, then smiled brilliantly: “Oh — this gentleman. This gentleman and I, from any angle you care to look, don’t seem like the kind of people who’d be in the same company, do we?”
Every word was laced with condescension, mockery, and the easy disdain of someone looking down from above.
“…”
Thud.
Ye Sheng turned off his phone with pointed force.
Whatever small warmth Ning Weichen’s gesture of feeding him his blood had stirred in him earlier — it was now completely gone.
He looked up, met Ning Weichen’s eyes without a trace of a smile, and said, cold and blank: “That’s right. We’re not the same kind of people.”
Then he turned to the side. “Officer Xu — does the Bureau of Unnatural Affairs handle disputes other than aberrant management?”
Baby-face: “???”
The one called Cheng Fa: “???”
Officer Xu: “???”
None of them could make sense of this young man anymore.
Ning Weichen was seated right beside Ye Sheng. They were very close.
Ye Sheng leaned over toward him.
This was the first time he’d been the one to close the distance between them.
Ning Weichen didn’t move back or away. His peach-blossom eyes, still as a cold pool, watched him.
Ye Sheng’s gaze traveled to Ning Weichen’s neck. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a sliver of cold pale skin. Ye Sheng reached out, and with a simple, easy motion, hooked his fingers into Ning Weichen’s collar —
— and drew out a necklace: crude and simple, a fish-scale pendant threaded on nothing more than a thin piece of string.
“Officer Xu,” Ye Sheng said, “does the Bureau handle theft?”
“This Mister Ning, who is apparently unfamiliar with me, stole my necklace on the train. It’s been consecrated — wards off evil. This necklace is extremely precious to me. I want to file a report.”
Ye Sheng’s expression didn’t change. His voice was ice-cold. “I misspoke earlier.”
He said flatly: “How could we be friends? We’re plaintiff and defendant.”
Ning Weichen: “…”
Baby-face: “…………”
Cheng Fa: “…………”
Officer Xu: “…………”