The basement in the dead of night was as silent as a tomb.
Kanade lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. After several days of rest, his wounds no longer hurt much, but tonight he felt something was off. An indescribable sensation—as if he were being watched, as if something inside him didn't belong.
He turned over and looked at the bed opposite. Nangong Wentian's breathing was steady, seemingly deep in sleep. The faint glow of streetlights filtering through the window cast blurry patches on the wall, like watching eyes.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep. But the feeling grew stronger, like a needle pricking beneath his skin, a dull ache.
"Can't sleep?"
Nangong Wentian's voice sounded softly in the darkness, light and alert. Kanade opened his eyes and saw him sitting up, holding that strange portable terminal. The screen's light illuminated his face, his expression focused.
"You're not asleep either?" Kanade asked.
"Looking into some things." Nangong Wentian stood up and walked to Kanade's bedside. "How do you feel? Any discomfort?"
"No," Kanade said. "It's just… something feels off."
"What feels off?"
Kanade fell silent for a moment. "Hard to say. It feels like there's something… on me."
Nangong Wentian's fingers paused on the screen. He stared at Kanade for a few seconds, then set the terminal down and sat beside his bed.
"Kanade," his voice was soft, "how long were you being chased before?"
"Ever since I escaped the lab, I've been chased," Kanade said. "Almost two years."
"In those two years, no matter where you hid, they always found you?"
Kanade froze, then nodded. His expression shifted from confusion to alertness, then from alertness to fear. "Are you saying…"
"I suspect you have a tracker on you," Nangong Wentian said. "Otherwise, they couldn't possibly find you every time."
Kanade's hands began to tremble. He remembered those pursuits, those tails he could never shake off, those hiding places he thought were safe but were suddenly discovered. He thought it was just bad luck, that he wasn't careful enough. But if it really was a tracker…
"Impossible…" he murmured. "I checked. There's nothing on me."
"What kind of tracker?"
"The ordinary kind… pinned to clothes or hidden in a bag."
"What if it's implanted under the skin?"
Kanade's face instantly paled. He remembered the people in white coats in the lab, the things they had done to him. The pains he thought were just experiments, the injections he thought were routine checkups.
"Help me check," he said, turning over to expose his back. "My back. They always injected me in the back."
Nangong Wentian turned on the flashlight, covering most of the light with his jacket, leaving only a narrow slit. The beam shone on Kanade's back. The gauze had been removed, and the wound was healing, the new skin still pink. He carefully examined every inch of skin, from the shoulders to the waist, from the spine to the ribs.
Then he saw it.
Below the left shoulder blade, there was a very fine scar. Not from a knife wound or a scrape, but a straight, neat white line, as if cut open with a scalpel and then stitched back together. If he hadn't been looking for it deliberately, he would never have noticed.
"Here." Nangong Wentian gently pressed his finger against the scar. "Can you feel it?"
Kanade's body tensed. He could feel it—a tiny, hard lump beneath the skin, like a grain of rice, embedded in the muscle. He had never noticed it before, or perhaps he had mistaken it for scar tissue from the healing wound.
"What is it?" His voice trembled.
"It should be a tracker," Nangong Wentian withdrew his hand. "A subcutaneous implant, very discreet. If you don't feel carefully, you'd never find it."
Kanade turned over, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were bright, not from tears, but from anger. Two years. For two years, he thought he was running, thought he was fighting for his freedom. But those people had always known where he was, always watching him, like a mouse in a cage.
"I want it removed," he said, his voice unnervingly calm.
"I'll do it," Nangong Wentian stood up. "Lie still."
Kanade looked at him. "You know how?"
"At the orphanage, when kids got hurt by glass, I handled it." Nangong Wentian rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a box containing some medical supplies—disinfectant alcohol, gauze, tweezers, needle and thread. "There's no anesthetic, but I'll be as gentle as I can."
Kanade nodded and buried his face in the pillow.
Nangong Wentian first disinfected his hands with alcohol, then soaked the tweezers and scalpel blade in it as well. His hands were steady, his movements light, as if he had done this many times before. He located the scar on Kanade's back again and gently cut it open with the blade.
Kanade bit into the pillow, not making a sound. Sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking the sheets. His hands gripped the edge of the bed tightly, knuckles turning white.
"Found it," Nangong Wentian said softly. The tweezers clamped onto the tiny hard lump, slowly pulling it out. It was deeper than expected, embedded in the muscle fibers like a seed grown into the flesh. Kanade's body trembled, but he didn't cry out, didn't move, just kept his face buried in the pillow, breathing rapidly and heavily.
Finally, the thing was removed.
Nangong Wentian placed it on a tissue and began stitching the wound. His movements were quick, the needle and thread weaving through the skin like mending a piece of clothing. After stitching it up, he applied gauze and patted Kanade's shoulder. "Done."
Kanade turned over, gasping for air. His face was drenched, indistinguishable whether from sweat or tears. Nangong Wentian handed him a tissue. He took it, wiped his face, and then looked at the small object.
It was slightly larger than a grain of rice, with a smooth, silver-gray surface. Held up to the light, one could faintly see the intricate circuitry inside. Attached to it were several wires finer than strands of hair—sensors that pierced into blood vessels and nerves, reading data from the body.
"This is..." Kanade's voice was hoarse.
"A tracker," Nangong Wentian picked up the object, examining it under the light. "Not just for location, but for monitoring. Heart rate, body temperature, muscle activity... They could know what you were doing, how your body was faring."
Kanade stared at the tiny device, his eyes cold. Two years. For two years, his every move, every heartbeat, every moment of fear, every instance of despair had been recorded. He thought he was fleeing, fighting for freedom, but those people had been watching him all along, like an experimental animal.
Kanade's hands began to tremble. He recalled the hiding places he thought were safe, the people he had briefly trusted, the innocents who had been implicated because of him. It wasn't that he was unlucky or careless. They had always known.
"They might have found you," he said, looking at Nangong Wentian, fear flashing in his eyes. "I've been here for so many days. They might have seen your face."
"I know," Nangong Wentian's voice was calm. "That's why we need to move."
He placed the tracker into a metal box, sealing the lid to block the signal. Then he stood up and began packing.
"They'll notice the signal is gone soon," he said. "We need to leave before dawn."
Kanade struggled to sit up. His wound throbbed with pain, but he gritted his teeth without a sound. Nangong Wentian handed him a clean set of clothes, which he took, his hands still shaking.
"Nangong," he called out, "aren't you afraid?"
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid they'll find you. Afraid that because of me, you'll become a hunted man too."
Nangong Wentian turned to look at him. The basement was dark, illuminated only by a small lamp on the table. The light cast upward, blurring his expression.
"I am," he said. "But some things, once you've resolved to do them, their meaning transcends everything else."
He slung a bag over his shoulder and walked to the door. "Can you walk?"
Kanade stood up, swayed slightly, then steadied himself. "Yes."
The two of them left the basement and stepped into the night. Dawn was approaching, a faint white glow on the eastern horizon. The streets were empty, only streetlights still shining, lonely in the darkness before daybreak.
Nangong Wentian walked ahead, his pace swift. Kanade followed behind, the intense movement aggravating his wound, each step feeling like a knife cut. But he didn't stop, just gritted his teeth and followed that figure.
After turning three corners, Nangong Wentian suddenly halted. He crouched at the entrance of an alley, pulled out a small detector from his bag, and swept it across the ground.
"Nothing," he said. "No tracking signals nearby."
"How do you know what frequency they'd use?" Kanade asked.
"A guess," Nangong Wentian stood up. "Blue Cosmos likes to use military frequency bands. I've already stored the signal signatures for those bands in the device."
Kanade looked at him, a strange feeling welling up in his heart. This person was a year younger than him, yet he had everything prepared. It was as if he had known this day would come long ago, as if he had been ready for this moment all along.
"You knew I would come?" he asked.
Nangong Wentian paused for a moment, then smiled. "I'm no prophet. I'm just used to being prepared. After all, someone once said that when you're prepared, death won't come."
He turned and continued walking. Kanade followed behind, watching his back. That back wasn't particularly tall, even a bit slender, but in the darkness before dawn, it felt strangely reassuring.
They walked for about an hour, arriving at an abandoned warehouse on the other side of the city. Nangong Wentian unlocked the door with a key. Inside was dark, the air filled with the smell of dust and rust.
"This is a backup safe house," he said. "I rented it before, but never used it."
Kanade walked in and looked around. The warehouse wasn't large, but a small room had been partitioned off, with a bed, a table, and simple kitchen and bathroom facilities. The windows were all boarded up with planks, preventing anyone from seeing inside from outside.
"Rest first," Nangong Wentian said, setting down his bag. "I'll get some food."
Kanade sat on the bed, watching him busy himself in the small kitchen. The sky had already brightened, sunlight squeezing through the gaps in the wooden planks, painting slender strips of light on the floor. Dust danced in the light, like countless tiny stars.
"Nangong," he called out.
"Hmm?"
"Who exactly are you?"
Nangong Wentian turned around, holding two cups in his hands. "An ordinary person."
"Ordinary people don't rescue strangers on stormy nights, don't carry surgical knives and detectors with them, don't prepare safe houses in advance."
Nangong Wentian smiled and handed him a cup. "You're right. I'm not ordinary."
Kanade took the cup, watching him.
"I'm someone who wants to change the world," Nangong Wentian said. "Someone who wants to fill the canvas of this world with colors I like, to make it into the ideal world I envision."
Kanade stared at him for a long time. Those eyes were bright in the morning light, holding something he had never seen before. Not ambition, not madness, but a very pure, very firm belief.
"Do you think you can do it?" he asked.
"I don't know," Nangong Wentian said. "But someone has to try."
Kanade lowered his head, looking at the water in his cup. The water was clear, reflecting his face. That face was young, yet already etched with exhaustion and weariness.
"If..." he looked up, "if you really can do it, I want to help you."
Nangong Wentian looked at him, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "Alright."
Outside the window, the sun rose. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the wooden planks, shining into this small room, illuminating the two figures. A silver-haired youth sitting, a black-haired youth standing, separated by a table, smiling at each other.
From that day on, Kanade was no longer a fugitive. He had a place to return to, a person he could trust. He didn't know what the future held, whether those pursuers would find him, or whether this person who claimed he would change the world could succeed.
But at this moment, in the small room of this abandoned warehouse, in the morning light, he felt for the first time that living might not just be about fleeing and fear. Perhaps there was something else.