Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The three of them left the guard post and walked along the old tracks deeper into the cold storage.

The iron gates were pushed open one by one. There were no lights inside, only the lantern Sarah was carrying casting a white glow in the darkness.

The refrigeration unit in the cold storage room had long been disused, but the air was still bitterly cold, water dripped from the walls, and the floor was wet, feeling like stepping on some kind of cold skin.

When Lund reached the innermost part, he suddenly stopped.

In the darkness ahead, there was a heavily corroded track that led straight down into the depths of a trench.

He recognized him.

Ten years ago, the inspection vehicle that took him away slid off this very line.

The wind blew in from some crack, making a whooshing sound, like someone breathing close to your ear.

The next moment, Lund seemed to hear the sound of rain from many years ago again.

It was huge and dense, hitting the roof of the car like countless tiny nails.

His vision was slightly white.

The rain that fell ten years ago has come down again.

By the time school let out that day, almost everyone had left the gate of Violet School.

The rain was pouring down, and the stone steps outside the school gate were completely soaked. Water flowed down the steps like a thin, grayish cloth.

Young Lund stood under the eaves, a tear on the cuff of his school uniform, a bruise on the corner of his mouth, and a schoolbag in his hand, looking very annoyed.

The doorman glanced at him several times, then couldn't help but ask, "Hasn't your car arrived yet?"

"Soon," Lund said.

"It's almost seven o'clock."

"I'll finish quickly."

The doorman wisely kept quiet.

More than ten minutes later, an old black steam car slowly drove out of the rain and stopped in front of the school gate.

One side of the car headlights was noticeably dimmer, and the car body was dirty, with mud splattered on one side. As soon as the car door opened, a middle-aged man got out, holding an umbrella. His shoulders were slumped, his trouser legs were completely wet, and his hair was plastered to his forehead, making him look somewhat disheveled.

He waved towards the school gate: "Lund."

Lund's face darkened even more when he saw him.

"You're late again." The boy walked over, his voice cold.

The man tilted the umbrella slightly towards him: "The road is congested, and there's a vehicle checkpoint at the bridge... Are you getting wet?"

"What's it to you?"

The man paused, didn't respond to that, but simply reached for his backpack: "Give it to me."

Lund dodged immediately: "No need."

"Okay." The man withdrew his hand. "There's a dry towel in the car, on the right side of the back seat. Wipe it down."

"You seem to remember this quite well."

The man said in a low voice, "You coughed for three days last week."

Lund sneered, "So what? Are you going to pretend to care about me again?"

The rain was very loud.

The man stood there, taken aback by the words, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he didn't get angry. He simply opened the car door for him: "Get in first, we'll talk about it when we get back."

Lund got into the back seat and slammed the door shut.

"Cough cough... This damn weather! Those bastards at the weather bureau clearly said it would only drizzle today."

In the driver's seat, a man with thinning hair and a stubble slapped the malfunctioning steam gauge, turned around, and gave the silent boy in the back seat a fawning, even obsequious, smile.

That was Lund's father, Roy, an ordinary worker who spent half his life repairing clocks and valves in a machine shop.

His back was always habitually hunched, his shoulders were perpetually sunken, he wore an old sweater with pilling at the collar, and the back of his hands was covered in black streaks of machine oil that couldn't be washed off.

He was like the most insignificant ant in this vast steam city, timid and honest, someone anyone could step on, while he would just smile and wipe the dirt off his face.

Sixteen-year-old Lund turned his head and looked out the car window at the bottomless darkness, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust and anger at Lund's incompetence.

"Besides complaining about the weather, what else can you do?"

Young Lund's voice was as cold as ice. "Where were you at school today when that bastard from a noble family shoved my head into the mud? You were bowing to them in the disciplinary office! You were apologizing for me! Why were you apologizing? They were the ones who started it!"

Roy's hand froze on the steering wheel for a moment, the glow of the cheap cigarette flickering in the dimly lit car.

He chuckled dryly and scratched his messy hair with his calloused hand.

"Son, don't get so angry. They are nobles, and we are commoners."

Just bear with it and it will pass. These days, being able to live peacefully is better than anything else.

"Wouldn't it be much better for you to get into a good school and find a decent job than to fight with them in the mud?"

"Live peacefully?" Young Lund turned his head sharply, staring intently at his father's face, weathered by time and filled with cowardice, his chest heaving violently.

"Live like you? Being yelled at and cursed by the factory supervisor without daring to talk back? Having your yard taken by your neighbors and only daring to sigh at home in the middle of the night? Besides hiding and bending over, what else can you do?!"

The man got into the car and started it. The steam engine emitted an old hum, and the car slowly moved forward.

The wipers swung left and right, desperately scraping away the water on the windshield, only to have it quickly covered by new rain streaks.

Sure enough, there was a dry towel and a thermos on the right side of the back seat.

Lund stared for two seconds, then didn't move.

The man driving in front whispered, "There's hot milk in the thermos; it's not cold yet."

"Who told you to prepare this?"

"Your mom said this morning that you didn't eat dinner again yesterday."

"I'm asking who told you to prepare it, not who told you."

The man was silent for a few seconds: "I prepared it myself."

"That's really strange." Lund leaned back in his chair, glancing out the window. "You actually have a time when you take initiative."

The man's hands gripped the steering wheel firmly; without turning around, he asked, "Got into another fight at school today?"

"Did your teacher call you?"

"No," the man said, "your cuff is torn."

Lund glanced down and scoffed, "You've got sharp eyes."

The man asked again, "Why did you hit me?"

"They have a foul mouth."

"What did I say to you?"

"What's it to you?"

The man fell silent.

The car drove out of the school street and turned onto the riverside avenue. It was almost dark, and the streetlights along the roadside were on one by one, their yellow glow blurred by the heavy rain. Inside the car, only the muffled sounds of the windshield wipers and the steam engine could be heard.

After a long while, the man finally spoke: "Your mother wants to take you to the upper district to meet people next week."

Lund frowned: "To whom?"

"One runs an education fund, and the other is a marksmanship instructor." The man paused. "She wants to transfer you to another school."

"Good."

"Schools in the Upper East Side may not be the right fit for you."

"You understand now?"

"I don't know much about schools," the man said in a low voice, "but the people there... are different from the ones you're dealing with now."

Lund laughed, a laugh full of barbs: "So you're going to advise me to hide again, is that it?"

The man didn't speak.

"All you've ever said since you were a kid is this." Lund stared at the back of the seat in front of him, his voice growing colder.

"Don't argue, don't resist, don't rush forward, don't offend anyone, don't cause trouble—do you think that everyone in the world is like you, that as long as you lower your head, you can live a peaceful life?"

The man's knuckles were turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

"Isn't it good to be alive?" he asked.

"Living like this?"

"There's nothing wrong with being like me."

"What's wrong with that?" Lund sat up abruptly. "My mom makes all the decisions at home. You're treated like a driver, a lackey, a pushover—everything outside—but you never say a harsh word to anyone at home! What are you so afraid of?"

The man stared at the increasingly dense raindrops ahead, his voice a little hoarse: "I'm afraid of a lot."

"for example?"

"For example, if something happens to you."

Lund paused for a moment, then turned his head away in even more irritation: "Don't try to fool me with this."

"It's not just a perfunctory response."

"What's that? Just putting on an act?" Lund said coldly. "If you really care, don't always act like everyone can step on you! I hate this about you the most—"

He was speaking when the car suddenly jolted violently.

The man slammed on the brakes.

The wheels slid half a meter through the water before finally coming to a stop.

Lund lurched forward, his shoulder slamming into the front seat, and yelled, "Can't you drive?"

The man didn't reply; he just stared intently ahead.

Lund followed his gaze, and his expression gradually changed.

The riverside avenue ahead is gone.

To be precise, the road is still there, but the lights, pedestrians, shops, and police posts on both sides of the road have all disappeared.

As far as the eye could see, there was only a wet, shiny black approach bridge, with surging seawater below. In the distance, cranes and shelves looked like rows of skeletons standing in the rain.

Lund's breath hitched.

"Where is this?"

The man said in a low voice, "The approach bridge to the Seventh Wharf."

"We were just on the riverside avenue!"

"I know."

The sound of rain grew louder.

It wasn't normal rain; it was as if the entire sky had been overturned. The raindrops weren't falling down, but rather rushing in from all directions at an angle, hitting the car body with a dense, gun-like sound.

The radio crackled and popped, then suddenly a short, fragmented nursery rhyme drifted out, so faint it was almost ethereal, and it sent chills down one's spine.

Lund cursed and reached for the door.

"Don't move!" the man suddenly shouted.

The sound was so loud that Lund was completely stunned.

In his memory, this man had almost never spoken so loudly.

"Lock the doors and fasten your seatbelts." The man stared ahead, sweat beading on his forehead, his voice strained. "No matter what you see or hear later, don't get out of the car."

"What exactly are you—"

"Do as instructed!"

Lund stared at him, and after a few seconds, gritted his teeth and buckled his seatbelt: "You'd better explain yourself."

The man didn't speak immediately, but slowly reached out and pulled open a hidden compartment under the driver's seat.

There was a knife lying inside.

It was very long, and the scabbard was wrapped in old cowhide with worn-white edges, as if it had been used for many, many years.

Lund's pupils suddenly contracted.

The man took out the knife and placed it beside his leg, but his hand was trembling violently.

He looked at the increasingly dark rain outside the windshield and let out a soft sigh.

"Haven't you always wanted to know what I'm afraid of?" he said.

Lund stared at the knife, his throat tightening: "What's going on?"

"Listen to me first." The man turned to look at him, his eyes filled with complex emotions: weariness, helplessness, and a hint of resignation that he could no longer put it off.

"There's a maintenance line under the bridge later. I'll take you to the inspection vehicle. Once you're in, just keep going forward. No matter what sounds you hear behind you, don't stop or look back."

Once you're out of the tunnel, go find Sarah; she knows where to take you.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Lund's face paled. "And you?"

"I have to stay here."

"On what grounds?"

"Because it's coming for me."

The wind was blowing in from outside the bridge, and the car windows were making them tremble slightly.

Lund stared intently at him: "What is 'it'?"

The man was silent for a few seconds, then smirked, "I can't really say. Like a ghost, like a monster, like..."

His Adam's apple bobbed.

"...like a god."

Lund found it absurd: "Are you crazy?"

"Maybe," the man said in a low voice. "For years I've thought I was crazy. I hid, pretended not to see it, pretended to be an ordinary person, pretended to only know how to drive, fix watches, and keep accounts... but it still found me."

"So you knew all those years ago? You've been keeping it from me and my mom?"

The man looked ahead without turning around: "I know a little, but not much."

"You're really something," Lund laughed angrily. "You didn't say or do anything, and now you're telling me there's a god on the bridge?"

The man suddenly smiled as well.

The smile was short, ugly, and seemed forced.

"You're right," he said. "I've always been pretty useless."

Outside the car, a distant bell tolled from the sea.

when--

The sound wasn't loud, but it felt like it was hitting right into someone's bones.

The man's expression changed, and he abruptly pushed open the door and got out of the car: "Come with me!"

Lund hesitated for only a moment before rushing into the rain as well.

The raindrops stung my face like ice beads. Sure enough, there was an iron ladder leading down from the side railing of the bridge to the maintenance platform at the bottom of the approach bridge.

The man walked quickly ahead, gripping the knife, muttering curses under his breath.

Lund followed him down to the end of the platform and saw a small inspection vehicle parked on the old tracks, with a lantern hanging on the front, like an iron fish hiding in the rain.

"Get in." The man opened the car door.

"I'm not going." Lund stared intently at him. "Explain yourself!"

The man looked at him, and finally a hint of extreme exhaustion appeared in his eyes.

"Have you always thought I was useless?" he asked.

Lund gritted his teeth: "Yes."

"Do you think I'm weak, spineless, and afraid to mess with anyone?"

"right."

"That works too." The man nodded. "That's a good idea."

"What's so good about it?"

"Luckily you won't follow my example."

Lund felt a sudden tightness in his chest: "You—"

The man wiped the rain off his face, his voice so low it was almost swallowed by the rain.

"Lund, I've hidden myself countless times in my life, hiding at home, hiding from enemies, hiding from things I shouldn't have seen. Eventually, I even felt like a dog."

He paused, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But even a cornered dog will bite, right?"

"Stop talking nonsense!" Lund's eyes were a little red. "Come with me!"

The man shook his head: "I can't leave."

"Why can't we leave!"

"Because you're here." The man looked at him. "If I left today, you really wouldn't survive."

Lund was stunned.

The next second, something suddenly moved in the Black Sea outside the bridge.