Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Like A Bone in the Throat

The spot where the dazed man had appeared was the tennis court.

Unfamiliar with the area, Lin Jianyuan could only follow his instincts in that direction.

There were hardly any people around to begin with, and it was the middle of the night besides; on his way over he didn’t see a soul, not even the ghost of one.

Not that he had any desire to run into a ghost.

By the time he reached the tennis court, panting, it was deserted.

The towering light poles stood high and drenched the court in glare.

He stood at center court, hemmed in by silence.

All at once he felt as if the whole world had emptied out, leaving only him.

What was wrong with him?

All he’d seen on the subway was a white blur flicker past—so why had he dropped everything and come tearing after it?

He was dead on his feet from work.

“...Fuck.” Lin Jianyuan let out a bitter little laugh, shook his head, and left the court.

On impulse he’d bolted off the train—thinking about it now, what were the odds?

That a casual glance out the window would land on that dazed guy again?

Maybe he was seeing things. Had he really gotten this bad—obsessing by day and conjuring phantoms by night? Ha. Ha. Ha.

And now, great—he’d even missed the last train.

He sighed and was about to pull out his phone for directions when a voice, ragged with fury, rose from the sidewalk nearby.

“I’m on sick leave—why the hell are you still calling me in? Just because I live close I have to go? I’m not the only one in the area!”

Lin Jianyuan: “...”

All too familiar.

As the ranting voice drew nearer, he finally made out the figure under the streetlamp.

A lanky young man in a loose hoodie and jeans, dressed with deliberate cool.

A baseball cap and a mask hid most of his face.

Even so, cap and mask couldn’t hide the fury vibrating off him.

“What, the department can’t run without me? ... Fuck! Being short-staffed is your problem, not mine! If you’re short, hire people! Why keep squeezing me dry?”

“Don’t talk to me about sacrifice! You promised it was a side gig, just help out in my spare time. And now? You don’t see the huge mess you’ve landed me in at my real job?”

“Bottom line, I’m not going! Enough—if you’ve got time to bullshit with me, go find someone else!”

With that, the cool guy stabbed at his screen and hung up.

He lifted his eyes and met Lin Jianyuan’s gaze.

“Cool it, man. Dumbass bosses are universal.”

Lin Jianyuan pointed at the convenience store across the street. “I’ll grab a couple of beers. Sit and have one with me?”

The guy flicked his eyes up and looked him over.

His gaze lingered a beat on Lin Jianyuan’s nine-to-five getup, then on the hour, and he understood at once.

He said without hesitation, “Sure.”

So the two strangers each carried a bag of beer back to the tennis court.

At this hour the place was empty, rows upon rows of seats theirs for the taking.

They picked a spot at random, sat, and started venting about their lives.

At first they were stiff with each other, but the beer loosened their tongues.

“Honestly, I was just an idiot. They had me snowed from the start.”

The guy muttered, glum, “They fed me all that crap about ideals and honor and responsibility—why did I buy it? Too young, I guess.”

Lin Jianyuan: “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Oh, that is young. How long have you been at this?”

“Which one? The main job or the side gig?”

“A side gig already, at your age? You’re really hustling.”

“Life kind of forced my hand,” the cool guy said with a wry smile. “My main job is the dream I’ve had since I was a kid, what I’ve always wanted to do… Forget it, I’ll just say it.”

All at once he pulled off his baseball cap, revealing the face the shadow had been hiding. “I’ve wanted to be an actor since I was little.”

“You’re a star?” Lin Jianyuan blurted, startled.

Cool Guy: “…”

Lin Jianyuan: “…”

The air turned a little awkward. Lin Jianyuan coughed. “Sorry, I don’t really watch movies…”

The corner of the cool guy’s mouth twitched. “I haven’t done a film. I don’t have that kind of backing.”

Lin Jianyuan: “…”

Cool Guy: “…”

“I don’t really watch TV dramas either, uh, or variety shows.”

Cutting off the attempted damage control, the cool guy said, “I’m Shi Shaoning.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Cool Guy: “…”

Lin Jianyuan: “…”

Silence fell again, prickly and embarrassed.

After a beat, the cool guy jammed the cap back on, exasperated. “Knew I shouldn’t have said anything! This is mortifying!”

“Hahaha!” Somehow, Lin Jianyuan felt the distance between them collapse.

He laughed hard, then said with genuine warmth, “I knew it—the moment I saw you I thought, damn, he’s handsome. The mask and hat couldn’t hide it. Turns out you really are a star!”

With a crisp pop, the cool guy cracked open another can, tipped back two gulps, and picked up the thread. “I’ve been at it five years. Did my first role at eighteen. Well, not really a first role—I was still doing bit parts. Then I finally caught a break…”

Nursing his beer and peanuts, Lin Jianyuan listened.

It was obvious he genuinely wanted to be a good actor. Unfortunately, his acting didn’t quite measure up.

A series he headlined had just premiered, and on day one the comments rolled in: the heroine nailed it; the hero, at least, showed up.

The internet is savage. His fans defended him, laying it on thick, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

He knew exactly where he stood.

But acting isn’t something you level up overnight just because you want to.

Lin Jianyuan offered a few consoling words; the cool guy returned the courtesy, asking about his job and why he was working this late.

“Because my boss is a dumbass…”

Right then—bang!

The distant sky flared, a kaleidoscope of strange lights flickering.

Lin Jianyuan looked up on instinct. “What’s the occasion? Who’s setting off fireworks?”

“What fireworks? Where?” The cool guy squinted. “Oh, that’s just combat VFX—ignore it. You wanna see one? I’ll fire one up for you.”

He set down his beer and wobbled to his feet.

Lin Jianyuan suddenly bellowed, “Hey, buddy, your booze tank holds about as much as a shot glass! Two beers in and your head’s spinning like a top!”

Shi Shaoning: “???”

Lin Jianyuan doubled over laughing. When he finally caught his breath, he shook his head. “Wait, you’re a star—you have to stay in shape. You probably don’t usually drink, do you?”

The cool guy didn’t seem to hear him. He ducked his head and rummaged in his pocket for a long moment, a puzzled look creeping over his face.

He thought for a moment before it clicked. “Oh, right—I’m still on sick leave. I didn’t bring my stuff.”

Lin Jianyuan: “You can transform? What kind of warrior are you?”

The cool guy was about to answer, then tensed and went solemn. “I can’t tell you. I’m with a special classified field unit.”

Lin Jianyuan gave him a thumbs-up.

Great. Fully furnished worldview.

The “fireworks” kept blooming, washing the night like some lavish festival.

They sat in the stands, drinking and venting about bosses and bullshit and all the petty griefs of work, fast friends for a night.

The guy couldn’t hold his liquor; Lin Jianyuan saw his eyes glazing over and patted his shoulder. “That’s enough for today. You good to get home?”

He nodded.

Lin Jianyuan was about to suggest another time when the guy pulled out his phone. “Let’s add WeChat.”

Lin Jianyuan smiled. “Sure.”

Two people had asked for his WeChat tonight. The one person who should have still wouldn’t.

He suddenly thought of his roommate and felt blocked up inside.

The guy was so strange. Good temper, easy to talk to, yet refused to add him.

So all that easy camaraderie—just politeness?

Even going with him to the hospital?

Damn. If that’s just manners, that’s peak Gen Z.

The thought annoyed him. He shut it down.

They swapped contacts, said their goodbyes.

As Lin Jianyuan turned to go, the guy called, wait.

“What?”

He muttered something—Lin only caught “too close.”

He fished around and came up with a small bottle. Spritzed Lin Jianyuan a few times. “Safer this way.”

The air filled with a strong insect repellent reek. Lin Jianyuan half-laughed. “What are you doing? Scared me—I thought you were about to drug me and abduct me.”

He blinked at the insect repellent in his hand, as if waking. “Holy shit. I’m working overtime again.”

“?”

Forget it. No point talking sense to a drunk.

Lin Jianyuan stifled a laugh and said goodbye again.

The guy took a rideshare and left. Lin Jianyuan looked around, debating bike share or a hail, when his pocket made a familiar sound.

“The hell! Who are you!”

“??”

His pocket squirmed.

He pulled them out—the squish toy snail was fighting the little stone.

Squish toy: “Who are you! This is my turf! You barging in—looking to die?”

Little stone: “Really? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was just passing by. If I offended you, I truly apologize. This is a misunderstanding—I mean no harm.”

Squish toy: “??? You calling me wrong?”

Little stone: “No, no, I didn’t say you’re wrong. But if you’re angry, you can bite me! If it makes you feel better…”

Squish toy: “I @#...! %%@!!!”

The snail lunged and bit down.

Crack—its teeth shattered.

The untouched stone launched into frantic apologies. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot I’m hard, I shouldn’t have let you bite me, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, sorry…”

As they squared up again, Lin Jianyuan frowned, grabbed the squish toy and slammed it to the ground under his heel, then stuffed the stone into a mortar and pounded away.

“Eek—no—”

“Aaahhhh—”

Both toys shrieked in piercing pops.

Two minutes later.

The flattened snail and the shattered little stone slowly re-formed.

“Behaving now?”

Squish toy & little stone: “Mm-hmm!”

Vigorous nodding.

“Still want to fight?”

“Mm-hmm!”

“Mm?”

They realized and shook their heads like mad.

It was August; even at night, the scuffle had him sweating.

He pocketed one on the left, one on the right, and ambled home.

After a bit, the squish toy piped up from his left pocket. “Lin Jianyuan.”

“Talk.”

Squish toy: “I think I lost some memory. I remember going to the hospital with you, then blink, I’m here. Why is it dark? So scary! What’s going on? In a world with Aberrants, there shouldn’t be ghosts, right?”

“I know. I took too much medication.”

“Ah???”

He couldn’t be bothered to explain.

What was there to say to your own hallucination?

Late night. Lin Jianyuan’s bedroom.

The meaty red shadow arrived on schedule.

“Eek! Isn’t that—!!”

The little stone on the desk let out a piercing squeal—cut off as the squish toy clamped its mouth.

“Shut it! Don’t be provincial,” the squish toy sneered. “It’s just an S-class. Never seen one?”

“Mmmph!” The stone trembled.

“Learn something. Play dead like me!”

The squish toy whispered, “Don’t interrupt an S-class feeding.”

“Mmph!” Frenzied nodding.

Click.

The feeding stopped.

Squish toy & little stone: “!!!”

They peered toward the bed. The S-class Aberrant that had swallowed a whole human head was slowly spitting it back out.

The intact head gleamed with digestive slime, lashes and cheeks slick and shiny.

The toys were already picturing their ends—when the digestive system ignored them, opened wide, and threaded an intestine down its own throat.

Rooted around.

Fished out a black crystal.

Digestive system: “.”

Squish toy & little stone: “.”

Silence.

It stared at the crystal.

Baffled—and with something stuck in its craw.

So it coiled the crystal up with an intestine, shoved it back in its mouth, and chomped, crackle-crunch.

It chewed until the crystal was ground to paste, savoring it.

Only then did it turn its “head,” puzzled, to the person snoring on the bed.

“WeChat?”