Lu Fen opened his eyes.
The sky wasn't light yet. Darkness pressed against the window. He lay on his dormitory bed, the scar on his forehead throbbing. He raised a hand and touched it. Warm. Hotter than the skin around it.
He sat up, fumbled for his phone, and glanced at the screen.
4:23 AM.
The system's "24 hours" had started counting yesterday afternoon. How much was left now? He did the math but couldn't figure it out. Less than a day, anyway.
Where would Qian Feng go today?
He lay back down and stared at the ceiling. His mind was a mess. One moment it was Qian Feng's spit on the ground, the next it was the system's voice, then it was his mother shouting "I want to go home" at the nursing home.
He couldn't sleep.
He sat up, put on his shoes, and went out.
It was still dark outside. The crematorium yard was empty. The lights were on in the cremation chamber — Old Liu on the night shift was sitting inside, smoking. Lu Fen walked over and stood in the doorway.
Old Liu glanced at him. His eyes stopped on Lu Fen's forehead for a second. He didn't ask. He just handed over a cigarette.
Lu Fen took it, squatted down, and smoked with him.
They finished one cigarette without saying a word.
Old Liu stubbed his out, stood up, and walked inside. After two steps, he turned back and said, "Some things — once you start, don't look back."
Lu Fen froze for a second.
Old Liu was already inside.
---
At 6:30 AM, Lu Fen went to the cafeteria, ate two steamed buns, and drank a bowl of rice porridge. He had eleven fifty left in his pocket — one yuan for the bun yesterday, two for breakfast. He ran the nursing home math again. Still couldn't figure it out.
At 7:00 AM, Qian Feng's funeral supply store opened.
Lu Fen squatted across the street and watched him roll up the metal shutter door. He set a few funeral wreaths outside. There was one other guy working in the store — early twenties, thin, quick with his hands.
Qian Feng sat behind the counter and played on his phone.
Lu Fen squatted there all morning. The sun got hot. He moved to the shade of a tree and kept squatting. He had two buns in his pocket from the morning. When he got hungry, he pulled one out and took a bite.
At noon, Qian Feng came out to eat. He went to a noodle shop on the corner. Lu Fen followed and sat in a corner, ordering the cheapest bowl. He ate with his head down. Qian Feng didn't see him.
After eating, Qian Feng went back to the store. He played on his phone again. The young guy kept working. A few customers came in the afternoon — people buying wreaths, people buying paper money. Qian Feng stood up to greet them, smiling, a completely different person from the one who had spat on the ground yesterday.
Lu Fen watched and memorized every person who came to the store. Some came in vans, some on electric scooters, some on foot. He didn't know why he was memorizing them, but it felt useful.
At 6:00 PM, Qian Feng closed the store, pulled down the shutter door, and drove away.
Lu Fen didn't have a car. He couldn't follow. He stood in front of the store and watched the van disappear around the corner. His mind went blank.
Twenty-four hours. How many had passed now? He couldn't figure it out again.
He started walking back. After two steps, he stopped.
The direction Qian Feng had driven — it looked like the way to his house.
He had been there once. Three years ago, when he went with the police to point out a crime scene, they had passed by Qian Feng's old neighborhood. Back then, Qian Feng lived in an older complex. Lu Fen didn't know if he still lived there.
He started walking that way.
Forty minutes later, he reached the entrance of that neighborhood. An old complex — no security gate, anyone could walk in. He went inside and walked around. He didn't see Qian Feng's van.
He came back out and stood at the entrance, not knowing what to do next.
His phone rang.
An unknown number. He answered. No one spoke on the other end. He said "Hello." Still no one spoke. He waited a few seconds, then hung up.
A scam call.
He tucked the phone back into his pocket and kept standing there.
It got dark. The streetlights came on. Fewer and fewer people came and went through the neighborhood entrance. He stood there for over an hour. His legs got sore, so he squatted down.
Nine fifty left in his pocket.
He started doing the math again. The nursing home needed fifteen hundred. He was still short — four hundred? No, four hundred and what? He was calculating when it suddenly hit him — today was already Friday. The payment was due next Wednesday.
Five days left.
He stood up and started walking back to the crematorium.
Twenty minutes later, his phone rang again.
This time it was the nursing home's number. He answered. It was Nurse Zhang's voice. "Lu Fen, your mother didn't eat well again today. She keeps talking about you. Come see her when you have time in the next couple of days."
"Okay."
"And about the money — I talked to the director. He said the absolute latest is next Wednesday. If you can't pay by then, the bed might—"
"I know."
He hung up.
He stood there for a few seconds, blank.
Then he kept walking back.
By the time he reached the crematorium's back door, it was nearly 10:00 PM. He squatted in his usual spot, pulled out the last half of his bun, and ate it. The bun was a little stale, but he didn't taste it.
When he finished, he stared at the empty field across the road.
The voice spoke in his mind again —
[Time remaining until deadline: 18 hours.]
[Current progress: 0%.]
[Hint: Host may consume a minimal amount of lifespan (1 day) to exchange for the target's daily schedule. Exchange?]
He froze for a second.
So it could do that too?
He stared at the invisible "Yes" in front of him for a few seconds.
[Exchange.]
A thin stream of warmth flowed out from his forehead — very faint, like the heat you feel standing next to a cremation furnace in summer. Then a piece of information appeared in his mind —
Qian Feng's Daily Schedule:
· 09:00–12:00: At home (Sunshine Complex, Building 3, Apt 402)
· 12:00–13:00: Eating at noodle shop
· 13:00–18:00: At the store
· 18:00–20:00: Playing cards at "The Usual Place" chess card room
· 20:00–22:00: At the store (night deliveries)
· After 22:00: Home
Lu Fen read it through. Then read it again.
Sunshine Complex — that was the old neighborhood he had gone to. Qian Feng had been at home when Lu Fen was standing at the entrance.
The chess card room. He could go there to corner him.
He stood up, brushed off his pants, and started walking back.
After two steps, he stopped.
Wait — in that schedule, he was at the store in the afternoon and doing deliveries at night. Deliveries to where? Delivering what?
He stood there, his mind spinning through it a few more times.
Then he kept walking back.
---
The next morning, Lu Fen didn't go to the crematorium.
He called Old Liu and said he wasn't feeling well — taking a day off. Old Liu didn't say much, just "Got it."
At 7:30 AM, he squatted outside the entrance of Qian Feng's neighborhood.
At 8:20 AM, Qian Feng came out, got into his van, and drove off. Lu Fen didn't follow. He already knew where he was going.
He went into the neighborhood, found Building 3, went up to the 4th floor, Apt 402. He stood outside the door for a few seconds, listening. No sound from inside. Then he went back downstairs.
He came out and walked toward Qian Feng's store.
At 9:00 AM, Qian Feng arrived at the store. Lu Fen kept squatting across the street.
At 2:00 PM, Qian Feng got a phone call. He raised his voice a little — loud enough that Lu Fen could catch a few phrases from across the street: "Yeah, I'll deliver it tonight," "See you at the usual place," "Don't worry about that shipment."
Lu Fen listened and filed "that shipment" away in his memory.
At 6:00 PM, Qian Feng closed the store, got into his van, and drove off. This time, Lu Fen was ready. He flagged down a motorcycle taxi and followed.
The driver asked where to. Lu Fen said, "Just follow that van." The driver gave him a look but didn't ask questions. He followed.
The van turned into an alley and stopped in front of a chess card room. Qian Feng got out and went inside. Lu Fen had the motorcycle taxi stop at the corner, paid the fare, and walked over.
Several vehicles were parked outside the chess card room — vans, electric scooters, motorcycles. He glanced inside. Smoke filled the room. A dozen tables of people were playing cards. Qian Feng was at the table in the very back, stacking his tiles.
Lu Fen didn't go in. He squatted in a corner across the street.
He waited two hours.
At 8:00 PM, Qian Feng came out, got into his van, and drove off. Lu Fen flagged down another motorcycle taxi and kept following.
This time, the van didn't go back to the store. It drove straight to a warehouse. The warehouse was on the edge of town, where the city met the countryside. Not many people around. A few streetlights were broken. It was pitch black.
Qian Feng got out, unlocked the door with his keys, and went inside. Lu Fen had the motorcycle taxi stop at a distance. He walked over and squatted behind the wall.
The lights were on inside the warehouse. He could hear movement — the sound of things being moved, voices — Qian Feng and a man. He couldn't make out what they were saying.
After about ten minutes, Qian Feng came back out. He was carrying a bag now — black, hard to tell what was inside. He put the bag in the van, closed the door, and drove off.
Lu Fen didn't follow anymore.
He stood in front of the warehouse, looked at the number on the door, and memorized it.
Then he started walking back.
He walked for half an hour without finding a taxi. He walked over an hour to get back to the crematorium. His legs were like jelly.
He squatted in his usual spot behind the back door and ran through everything he had seen today in his mind.
Warehouse. Delivery. Black bag. "That shipment."
He didn't know what it was, but it definitely wasn't anything legitimate.
The voice spoke in his mind again —
[Time remaining until deadline: 4 hours.]
[Current progress: 30%.]
[Hint: Host has obtained key information. May consume 1 month of lifespan to activate "Flame of Truth" and force the target to publicly confess his crimes.]
Lu Fen stared at the "Yes" in front of him for a very long time.
One month.
Last time he burned one month, he forgot what the weather was like on the day his father was buried.
If he burned this time, what would he forget?
He remembered what his father looked like lying on the ground. Remembered when the ambulance came, he was already stiff. Remembered getting the letter while he was inside — "Your father is gone." He squatted in his cell and cried half the night. The other inmates cursed at him for being too loud.
He remembered all of that.
But what the weather was like on the day of the burial — he really couldn't remember anymore.
And now he didn't even know what he had forgotten.
He stared at the "Yes" and read it again.
Then he heard his own voice —
[Accept.]
A rush of heat poured out from his forehead — hotter this time, like a red-hot iron branding into his brain. He closed his eyes. He felt something leaving him.
A few seconds later, the heat stopped.
He opened his eyes. Everything seemed normal.
But he knew something was gone.
He stood up and walked toward the dormitory.
After two steps, he stopped.
What had he forgotten?
He couldn't remember.
He stood there for a very long time, trying to remember. But he couldn't.
Finally, he kept walking back.
Tomorrow — Qian Feng's father's memorial hall.
He had to be there.
---