Night’s Nomenclature - Chapter 2
[2. Countdown]
The middle-aged woman walked quickly to the door of Fulai Supermarket. She looked at the old man: “Uncle Zhang, why did Qingchen come to play chess with you again.”
The two sides of the speech also know each other.
It’s just that Uncle Zhang’s tone was not so polite: “Your own son, you ask me? He has no living expenses, so he can only earn a little money for himself by playing chess.”
The middle-aged woman Zhang Wanfang was stunned for a moment: “But I have to pay his father Qingchen’s living expenses every month.”
This made Uncle Zhang stunned for a moment: “Then I don’t know what’s going on.”
Uncle Zhang thought about it, Zhang Wanfang is not a poor person, and it seems that the living expenses for Qingchen are not too small, but why is the young man still living his life so tightly?
Qing Chen doesn’t seem like a prodigal.
“But shouldn’t he study at night at this time?” Zhang Wanfang asked.
Uncle Zhang only remembered at this time: “He seems to say that he is waiting for someone.”
“No, I have to go home and take a look,” Zhang Wanfang said.
As she said that, she was about to walk away with the cake, but she heard the man beside her suddenly say: “Wanfang, Haohao’s birthday is today, we have already reserved a place, we have to take him to the movies after eating. !”
Zhang Wanfang looked back at the man: “Qingchen may have skipped class, I don’t care if I don’t ask.”
“He’s seventeen years old and can take care of himself. Besides, there’s also his father,” the man said, and then he calmed down, “Actually, you can go to see him later on the weekend. Today we’ll accompany Haohao first. ?”
After hearing this, Zhang Wanfang frowned, but after a few seconds, she finally sighed: “Okay, let’s celebrate Haohao’s birthday today.”
…
Qingchen walked silently under the camphor tree in the tree-lined path in the West Family Courtyard of the city government.
Different from the style of high-rise buildings in modern cities, the courtyards are all four-story low-rise buildings in 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 will trip.
Qingchen walked into the dim doorway, ignoring the psoriasis-like advertisements on the wall for unlocking and selling houses, and took out the key to open the door on the first floor.
The house of 76 square meters has two bedrooms and one living room. The lighting of the house on the first floor is very poor.
He took out his mobile phone, opened the address book, and dialed out: “Hello, Dad…”
The voice over the phone had interrupted him: “Go to your mother for living expenses, I have no money, she is very rich now.”
During the conversation, there was the sound of playing mahjong on the other side of the phone.
“I don’t want money,” Qing Chen said in a low voice, “I haven’t asked you for money for a long time.”
“What’s that for?” the man said impatiently: “Going to school for a parent-teacher meeting again? Go to your mother, this kind of thing…”
Before waiting for the other party to finish speaking, Qing Chen took the initiative to hang up this time.
He leaned gently against the closed door, and then lifted the sleeves under his school uniform jacket.
He stared blankly at the white numbers and symbols on his forearm that looked like LCD screens: the countdown was 5:58:13.
The white numbers were like fluorescent tattoos embedded in his flesh and skin, no matter how much he rubbed it, there was no way to erase it.
Looking at them carefully, Qingchen also saw that there are special and fine lines in the numbers, like mechanical parts interlocking with each other, full of futuristic sense of technology.
The numbers are changing silently.
Countdown to 5:58:12.
Countdown to 5:58:11.
There are 5 hours, 58 minutes and 11 seconds left, all of which seem to remind Qingchen that something incredible will happen after 5 hours and 58 minutes.
There was obviously no sound, but Qing Chen clearly heard the beating of the second hand in his heart.
Qing Chen glanced at the phone that hung up the phone,
He glanced at the empty room again.
He doesn’t know what kind of life he will meet in 5 hours and 58 minutes, he only knows that he can only rely on himself.
…
Time is a very heavy unit of measurement, and the length of life and the breadth of civilization are accustomed to be marked by it.
The concept of time exists in everyone’s life.
So when any countdown comes up in your life, no matter what it counts down, it gives you some sense of urgency.
With 5 hours left, no one knows where this countdown will end.
Possibly dangerous?
Maybe another life?
Qingchen couldn’t be sure, he could only plan for the worst first.
So he had to prepare something before the countdown was over.
If there is a real danger coming, then he must let himself at least have some ability to resist danger within the scope of his ability.
Qing Chen put on a clean gray coat and covered his appearance with the shadow of the hood.
By night.
He went out and walked towards the farmers market. It was very dark in October in Los Angeles.
The sound of cooking vegetables came from the residential building, the crackling sound of the vegetables and the oil collided, and then a tempting smell wafted out.
The taste of eggs, pork, and mutton poured 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 tongs and a shovel at the hardware store, a bag of rice and noodles, and salt at the grain and oil store.
He also bought boxes of antibiotics at the pharmacy, batteries and a flashlight, and compressed biscuits at the supermarket.
When he didn’t know what he was going to face, he could only prepare as much as possible.
These things almost used up all of Qingchen’s savings.
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After Qingchen went home with his things, he went into the kitchen. He first put all the knives available on the chopping board in the most convenient place in the house.
The kitchen knife is under the pillow, and the boning knife is on the bedside table.
The countdown is 2 hours, 43 minutes and 11 seconds.
After confirming that the doors and windows were closed, he sat beside the bed and began to ponder: Are you looking for help?
Who to look for?
Mother has a new family and father is a gambler.
In fact, when Qingchen found a countdown on his arm a few hours ago, he was only 17 years old and subconsciously wanted to seek help from his parents.
But he rejected the idea.
Qingchen took out his mobile 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 the mobile phone at all.
The lights were not turned on in the dimly lit room, and the windows were not soundproof. Because it was on the first floor, he could often hear the footsteps of pedestrians passing by outside.
The sound of footsteps outside, the sound of breathing in the house, the faintly bright screen of the mobile phone, everything is so peaceful and strange.
This kind of weird and outrageous thing, I am afraid it is useless to ask ordinary people to help, and I don’t have any special friends at school.
Even if there is, shouldn’t ordinary people be involved in this kind of thing?
Therefore, if you want to find help, you can only think of other ways.
Wait, Qing Chen seemed to have thought of something, got up and went into the living room to rummage.
Two minutes later, he silently looked at the Guanyin Bodhisattva pendant in his hand.
Then he seriously placed it in front of him and bowed nine times.
The last preparatory work is done.
[End of this Chapter]
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