We agreed on the twelve zodiac animals, but you've transformed into the Monkey King?

Yungang City is a small city nestled between the Yellow Sea and the mountains and sea.

She rolled down the car window and looked out at the night market, shrouded in sea breeze and fireworks. The sounds of people were bustling and wafting out from the depths of the alleys, like waves pushing one after another.

The iron wok at the food stall crackled and popped, the charcoal fire reflecting off the greasy signboard.

A woman squatted on the side of the street, tending to a pile of sandals. Fine beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. The sweltering wind, carrying fumes of cooking oil, swept over her, but she merely raised her hand to wipe them away casually, her eyes constantly watching the flow of people passing by.

It was stuffy, suffocating, rough, and hot.

The glitz and glamour of the city is just a painted facade. Millions of ordinary people live simply to avoid being crushed by life, struggling to keep moving forward. Women have heard this before, but have never truly taken it to heart.

This was the last clue. She sighed softly.

"This is it. You can wait in the car."

The northern wind was wild, crashing against her head, outlining the woman's waistline before escaping past her hips. She reached up to adjust her collar and walked straight ahead.

This is a dilapidated clinic. A sign hangs above the entrance, but the light bulb is broken, leaving only the character "齐" (Qi) lit up, appearing pale.

Jishengtang.

She pushed open the door and went in. The mournful tune of the Huaihai Opera "Lady White Bone" drifted from the old color TV: "Even if the white bones turn to dust, I will still guard the love of my parents and never be separated from them!" It was a passionate yet eerie melody.

The clinic was about fifteen square meters. There was an old-fashioned examination table, its paint scratched all over, with an iodine bottle and gauze rolls on it. Behind the table was a folding chair, its cushion worn down and propped up with an old towel. On the wall hung a human meridian chart, its pages yellowed, the corners swaying gently in the draft, mingling with the opera singing on the television.

"Bone setting costs 80 yuan, massage costs 100 yuan, and emergency care costs double."

The voice came from behind the examination table, gentle and clear.

Her gaze fell on that person.

A slender young man around 25 years old. His white lab coat was loose and baggy, and his face was pale.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Wen Xiao?" the woman asked with a slight smile.

"Yes, that's me." Wen Xiao raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe.

The woman was wearing a trench coat, with thick, arched eyebrows and striking, sharp features. Her high ponytail was tightly tied, making her the kind of beautiful woman you could remember at first glance.

"I am a director of the East China Chamber of Commerce. I come from Shanghai. My name is Xue Ying. Xue Jianhua is my grandfather, and Wen Jianjun is my great-uncle."

The woman smiled, revealing her pearly white teeth, and reached out her hand.

"Speaking of which, I should address you as my cousin."

She grasped Wen Xiao's hand; her palm was calloused, and her grip was firm and steady.

Upon hearing the name "Wen Jianjun," Wen Xiao's fingertips, which were resting on the other person's palm, curled slightly, and his brows furrowed.

"Sit down, the place is simple." He withdrew his hand, showing no familiarity whatsoever.

Xue Ying sat down gracefully, subtly observing him. There was a photo of her grandfather and Wen Jianjun in the house; Wen Xiao, in the corner of the photo, had sharp eyes and a straight back, exuding the resilience and sharpness of a martial artist. But the man before her, even his gesture of raising his hand to offer a cup, was hesitant and slow; only his broad frame barely held up the features of his younger days.

The man picked up the thermos, his wrist slightly heavy, and poured the tea into the mug without spilling a drop.

"Is the old man still in good health?"

Xue Ying lowered her eyelashes, her fingertips gripping the rim of her cup, and her voice softened: "He... disappeared two months ago."

Wen Xiao gave her a deep look, then raised her hand to put away the teapot, her movements clean and efficient.

"On the night of the 17th of last month, he said he wanted to check the old accounts, went back to his room, and never came out again. The next afternoon, the door was still closed, and when he knocked, no one answered. He broke down the door—" She locked his eyes, her words chilling, "The 20-square-meter study, the doors and windows locked from the inside, and he just vanished into thin air."

"Did you call the police?"

"I reported it. The police checked the surveillance footage, but they didn't find anything."

She paused, as if choosing her words carefully, but finally said, "It's very similar to your father's situation—"

"That's enough." Wen Xiao interrupted her, her voice not loud, but it cut through the conversation like a knife.

Xue Ying didn't back down. Instead, she leaned forward, her neckline alluringly exposed: "Cousin, I know you don't want to talk about this. But I've been investigating in Shanghai for two months and haven't found a single clue. The Chamber of Commerce people are outwardly cooperating, but behind the scenes, they each have their own agendas."

She paused, her voice softening slightly: "I came to ask you two things. First, before your father disappeared, did he leave any messages, leave any objects, or have anyone come looking for him? Any clues will do."

Wen Xiao lowered her eyes and didn't speak. The opera singing on the TV was still going on, sounding like someone was crying.

"Second..." Xue Ying pursed her lips, "Even if you don't know anything, can you come back to Shencheng with me? Stay by my side and protect me for a while."

"It has nothing to do with me," Wen Xiao interrupted decisively.

"I'm not familiar with the Wen Jianjun you mentioned."

He turned his head and suddenly began to cough violently. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, his shoulders shaking and he coughed for a good ten seconds before stopping.

He lowered his hand. The dark red mark on the back of his hand had seeped into the cuff of his white coat.

"Are you sick?" she asked in a tense voice.

Wen Xiao put his hands in his pockets and twitched the corner of his mouth.

"Small cell lung cancer," he said calmly. "It had already metastasized to the brain when it was discovered."

Xue Ying paused slightly, her breath suddenly freezing.

"The doctor said—" He paused, "three months. Maybe even shorter. Those things in the brain, you never know when they might hit a nerve. Vision, balance, memory, they could all be gone in an instant."

He forced a smile, which floated on his pale face like a fallen leaf on the water.

"So, I'm afraid I can't help you."

The woman pursed her lips.

"The medical conditions in Shanghai are much better, and I'm familiar with top medical experts both domestically and internationally. Brain metastases are not without precedent; it's possible if you're willing—"

"I don't want to go through any more trouble," Wen Xiao said. "In my final moments, I just want to spend time with my mother."

He paused, his gaze falling on the murky night outside the window.

"She's been guarding that night market for over a decade; it's time someone waited for her to come home for dinner."

There's no point in saying more now.

Xue Ying remained silent for a long time. The opera singing on the television had stopped sometime ago, and the buzzing of the electrical current sounded like a fly trapped in a glass bottle.

Then she lowered her head, took a business card out of her bag, placed it on the table, and pressed it with her finger to make sure it wouldn't slip.

Do you know what my grandfather thought of you?

She mimicked her grandfather's tone, enunciating each word clearly:

"There is nothing in this world that can make him bow his head—even if the sky is pressing down on him, he will still jump over it."

After saying that, she turned and left. The door closed with a muffled thud.

Wen Xiao tilted her head back and leaned against the chair. The light bulb hummed, the light was very white, as white as a hospital corridor.

He dialed a number.

It was very noisy over there—a cacophony of voices, the clanging of shovels against metal plates, and the distant roar of fishing boat motors. A woman's voice cut through the noise: "Feed? Xiaoxiao?"

"Mom," Wen Xiao said softly, "Dinner's ready. I made wontons today, with shepherd's purse and pork filling."

"You eat first, don't wait for me. The night market is just starting to get busy, I'll keep watch for a while longer."

"Wontons don't taste good when they're cold."

"Then save it for me, I'll fry it when I get back."

Wen Xiao rubbed the edge of the phone with his thumb.

"……OK."

"Oh, right," the woman suddenly remembered something, "did someone come to the clinic to see you today? I saw a car parked at the alley entrance, wow, the logo on it, I've never seen this car in Yungang before."

Wen Xiao glanced at the business card on the table; the two characters "Xue Ying" were printed neatly.

"Nobody," he said, "just went to the wrong door."

"Okay, I'll get back to work now."

"Um."

The phone hangs up.

The door opened again, hesitantly like a drunkard stumbling on the threshold.

Wen Xiao opened her eyes.

"Is there anything else?"

He sat up, glanced up, and suddenly felt a tightness in his back and his pupils contracted.

There was no wind outside. No sounds of the night market. No sea. Only himself.

That was another "smile." His facial features were disintegrating; large pieces of skin and flesh on his face were peeling off from his brow bone and cheeks, as if the skin and flesh couldn't withstand the heat. The bits of flesh fell to the ground with a dull, sticky sound.

The opera singing on the old color TV abruptly stopped, replaced by a burst of excited and intense percussion. Accompanied by that frenzied rhythm, the monster on the other side suddenly charged forward with all its might.

"Hold!"