Searching

Qin Mo listened to the subway announcement and suddenly remembered something. She hurriedly rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a small packet of snacks, pressing it into Ji Ning’s hand. “I have no way to thank you, but this is my favorite treat. I hope you like it.”

Ji Ning turned his palm over and found a small packet of charcoal-roasted cashews, coated in amber sugar. The flavor was described as charcoal-roasted. He tore open the packaging, popped one into his mouth, and chewed slowly; it felt as if he were sitting atop a volcano, gazing across a distant sea.

“Thank you.” It was the last thing Qin Mo said to Ji Ning. When the subway stopped and they walked out, not another word passed between them.

Ji Ning watched the young girl walk into the entrance hall, waved his hand, and turned away. He lacked the courage to witness what came next; some things, even if cruel, must be experienced alone.

The girl, equally surprised at how decisively Ji Ning left, had no time to stop him. She silently repeated his name like a mantra. Her heart, confused since morning, quietly calmed. She breathed a sigh of relief at Ji Ning’s clean departure. I will find you, even if only to say “goodbye.” Of course, this was by no means an excuse to see him.

Qin Mo composed herself, gathered her courage, clenched her fists, and knocked again and again on the door that merged memory and reality.

Tao Jingrou was no longer young. She always suspected she had forgotten something—the gas valve, the door lock, the keys in her pocket. Before leaving home, she would check everything repeatedly, yet the anxiety never ceased, always filling her heart.

When the knocking sounded, she rose suddenly, not even understanding her own urgency, as if waiting for an unsigned letter.

Seeing that all-too-familiar face, Qin Mo couldn’t hold back. Her nose tingled, and tears fell.

The woman who opened the door wore clothes tinged with age, but they were clean, and a dignified air emanated from within. Even her posture was poised and graceful. For the first time, Qin Mo realized that this woman had identities beyond “mother.”

“Whose child are you? What’s wrong? Is someone bullying you? Don’t be afraid, Auntie will help you.” Tao Jingrou looked at the unfamiliar girl, her heartstrings plucked. When she spoke, however, she felt a strange emptiness.

Something in her words touched the girl, whose long-held tears burst forth unrestrained. She sobbed, unable to stop, and when Tao Jingrou reached out, the girl embraced her.

In their shared silence, a connection formed. The strange girl clung to her and cried for a long time, yet never explained why, no matter how Tao Jingrou asked. With her face streaked with tears, the girl only raised her head to gaze at Tao Jingrou, as if to memorize her features.

Finally, the silent weeping ended. The girl spoke her sole sentence: “Goodbye, ...”

She turned and left. Tao Jingrou didn’t catch the last words, and the harder she tried to recall, the less she could.

Ji Ning sat on a bench, watching people toss their cans into green bins. He remained unmoved, as if knowing the bins for recyclables and non-recyclables were connected at the bottom. Ji Ning had long known he would dial this number, just as the person who left it knew this day would come.

After a three-second pause, a magnetic voice answered, “What is it?”

“Professor Fifth, I’d like your help with something.”

...

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“As you wish, then.”

Ji Ning hung up. He tactfully avoided mentioning the price, but he knew the deal was struck. Damn it—what did he have left that he couldn’t give up, or truly possess?

He shook his head and took out the packet of cashews, unwilling to finish them. He picked one and chewed, determined not to overthink. He waited an hour, guessing Qin Mo’s situation had become clear to her, then headed toward the building she’d entered.

Time had chipped the concrete stairs, dust on the railings had become black grime, and the walls were plastered with ads for unlocking doors and clearing drains. At the corner, a bicycle, rusted from disuse, leaned against the wall, while a dim bulb overhead flickered.

This was no castle, but a princess had grown up here. Ji Ning knocked on every door, but failed to find the person he sought.

Perhaps he was too late, or perhaps not.

“Sorry, haven’t seen her.”

“Maybe try over there.”

“No impression; the person you’re looking for isn’t here.”

Ji Ning circled the neighborhood, questioning every shop until exhaustion made him consider calling the police for surveillance footage. Then he suddenly realized the girl had left him over an hour ago. The presence left by SCP-CN-655 had dissipated, and she was invisible again.

Even so, why hadn’t she sought him out? Maybe she’d retraced her steps? He shouldn’t have sat on that damned bench for an hour. He should have waited at the bottom of the stairs for her to come down, so he could appear like a savior and tell her not to worry, that there was still a Plan B.

Ji Ning felt regret. Perhaps they missed each other somewhere.

Before he could decide where to search for Qin Mo, a familiar figure appeared.

Ji Ning’s heart tightened; damn it, he should not have forgotten the girl’s predicament. The ring wasn’t just something he wanted—the cultists ousted by the SCP Foundation were searching for her, too. Every shark in the sea would scent her blood.

“655.”

“I’m here.”

Ji Ning started running, his right hand covered by transparent liquid that spread across his skin, crystallizing into a diamond-like brilliance, as if light was peeling away from a gemstone’s surface.

The middle-aged man saw the boy charging at him from afar, stretched his limbs, and every joint groaned. Even the SCP Foundation had never left him so battered; blood and ritual had made his body invincible.

Ji Ning wasn’t foolish enough to fight openly in front of ordinary people. He’d planned a sneak attack, but upon realizing he’d been spotted, he relaxed. Standing about twenty meters away, he pointed toward a deserted construction site with a demolition notice—spacious and idle.

Sunlight in the dilapidated building revealed swirling dust, static electricity binding the tiny particles into clusters. Perhaps this place held memories for someone, but now it was remote and ruined, the city’s misfit. No one would come to this soon-to-be-demolished house.

Ji Ning emptied his mind, focusing on the poised man before him. In that moment, he ignored all distractions; only the man remained in his vision.

Every breath, every heartbeat, blood pumped oxygen to every cell as fear faded. He recalled the thousands of punches thrown this semester and Sylvia’s words:

“Keep breathing. Unless you’re dying, never let anyone disrupt your rhythm.”

Ji Ning moved first, side-kicking at the man’s waist, his trouser leg slicing the air.

“Wait.” As Ji Ning attacked, SCP-CN-655 spoke up suddenly. Even without mimicking a tone, Ji Ning sensed its fatigue.

Only when he clutched his foot and rolled on the ground did he understand what SCP-CN-655 meant by “wait.”

“Crack.” His toe bone groaned; SCP-CN-655 covered only his hand, leaving his foot mortal. No matter how much he trained, he was far from kicking through steel.

The man’s counterattack was unnecessary; Ji Ning didn’t even grunt but surrendered instantly.

“I surrender.” Ji Ning hugged his possibly fractured leg, grimacing. He had no doubt it would haunt him for life.

“What do you mean?” The man was baffled—yesterday, Ji Ning’s combos had left quite an impression.

“Literally.” Ji Ning scooted back, inwardly cursing SCP-CN-655.

“What’s happening?”

“Not enough energy to cover your whole body.”

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

“You didn’t ask.”

Ji Ning fell silent. He’d imagined countless ways to die, but never such a ridiculous one.

The man approached cautiously, watching Ji Ning’s movements. Only when sure Ji Ning couldn’t fight back did he grab him like a chick and toss him against a wall.

Ji Ning slid down the blue-painted wall marked “Roof Leak Repairs,” nearly depleted of SCP-CN-655’s energy, though it still allowed him to maintain slime form.

He reverted to human shape, stumbling toward the exit, feeling SCP-CN-655 repairing his broken bones—the jagged fragments fused quickly, and within seconds, the pain vanished. But exhaustion left him unable even to clench his fist.

“Can you still assimilate?” Ji Ning limped and asked SCP-CN-655, not giving up on escape. Each movement made his cells scream in vain, but he stubbornly tried.

“At most once, and only for your right hand.”

“That’s enough.”

Ji Ning breathed a sigh of relief; SCP-CN-655 never disappointed.

The man tore out a chunk of reinforced concrete and hurled it at Ji Ning’s back like a human catapult. He’d once been a physics teacher; though he later fell under a cult’s call, he was glad even supernatural forces couldn’t break the universe’s laws. Power required energy; rituals needed fuel. The inexplicable always boiled down to energy transformation.

Everything demanded energy, and he believed Ji Ning’s slime ability needed it too. If he kept up the pressure, Ji Ning would eventually run out and lose his shape—he was right.

Ji Ning didn’t turn into the concrete slab; it whistled past him, and he barely evaded it with all his strength. Construction debris scraped his arm, blood seeping through his clothes and staining dust. He looked no different from a homeless man—dirty and desperate.

“Wait.” Ji Ning struggled to speak, and though begging was shameful, even the greatest must do what others cannot.

The man didn’t want to waste time; he needed to take Ji Ning back. Yesterday’s healing left him owing a flesh-and-blood offering; after interrogating the girl’s whereabouts, he’d hold a sacrificial ritual.

Even now, he remained wary. If not for the ritual’s requirement of an intact body, he’d have removed a piece of Ji Ning without hesitation. He grabbed Ji Ning’s neck, ready to snap it at any sign of resistance.

When Ji Ning lapsed into oxygen-deprived unconsciousness, the man checked his weak breathing and relaxed his grip, hoisting Ji Ning onto his shoulder like a hunter carrying a rabbit from his hunting grounds.

“Now?” SCP-CN-655 asked. Though its life was tied to Ji Ning’s, their situation was as precarious as standing at a cliff’s edge. Still, it remained rational.

“No, of course not.” Ji Ning observed coolly, as if the dog being dragged across the floor wasn’t himself. He never lost consciousness; blue liquid flowed through him, in a state of semi-slime.

He sensed the man covering him in sticky, liquid-like shadow to avoid attention. Ji Ning felt the chaos and depth within that shadow, leaving him dizzy.

Time passed. Ji Ning clearly sensed the man about to set him down. He didn’t hesitate; to stay awake, he bit his tongue hard, letting the piercing pain and blood’s metallic taste shock him into opening his eyes. Those who gamble everything have no right to hold back. “Now.”

In one swift motion, he flipped, hooked the man’s wrist with his left hand, and brought his right elbow down with his weight onto the man’s chest...

A sequence of moves rehearsed hundreds of times in Ji Ning’s mind, every muscle recruited for this decisive outburst. The man felt a peculiar sense of danger again, but couldn’t react in time. Ji Ning was too close, and the brutal elbow strike came too fast.

“No matter how busy life gets, always remember to finish the job.”

This was the last thing the man heard before losing consciousness.

All of Ji Ning’s energy was poured into that attack. After succeeding, he slumped to the ground, utterly exhausted. His body had been deprived of oxygen for so long; if SCP-CN-655 hadn’t kept his cells alive, he would be dead.

He panted, coughing up blood with every breath. Now he regretted biting too hard. After a while, he recovered enough to look around, only to realize he wasn’t alone—glowing eyes like candle flames watched him from the darkness. Ragged skeletons sat on chairs, hollow sockets lit with the ghostly fire of phosphorus.

Ji Ning found himself underground, with no light above, only dust below, in what felt like a cave or tomb.

He lay on the ground, gulping earthy, murky air. Once the dizziness faded after several minutes, he stood and looked at the unconscious man, pondering what to do.

“Is there any way to control him?” Ji Ning asked, then quickly added, “If not, forget it.”

“There is.” SCP-CN-655's reply left Ji Ning a bit helpless. He’d just steeled himself for murder and felt a sense of wasted effort.

“How?” Ji Ning asked, inspecting the crude underground fortress.

“Drip a drop of your blood into his mouth.”

Thanks to SCP-CN-655’s brutal healing, the taste of blood in his mouth had faded. He didn’t dare touch the wound, so after hesitating, he bit his finger, and a scarlet bead formed on his torn skin. Ji Ning let it drop into the man’s mouth.

While waiting for the man to wake, Ji Ning asked, “Why do this?”

“I will follow his bloodstream and eventually cover his heart, able to cause cardiac rupture at any time.” SCP-CN-655’s words carried a hint of horror, and Ji Ning realized that SCP-CN-655 constantly flowed within him. In theory, if it wished, he could die instantly.

“I would not.” SCP-CN-655 spoke up.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Ji Ning was surprised; he hadn’t silently repeated his thoughts as usual.

“Yes.”

“All my thoughts?” Ji Ning was incredulous, feeling exposed like a naked man in the street.

“Yes.”

Ji Ning fell silent, feeling as if he stood naked before SCP-CN-655, his mind laid bare. Privacy no longer existed.

“You seem annoyed, and a bit afraid?” SCP-CN-655 made no effort to hide it, bluntly naming the reason for Ji Ning’s silence.

“Yes. You probably don’t know this, but humans are individual creatures. We have our own thoughts and respect personal will. Not prying into others’ minds is a courtesy.” Ji Ning sighed, realizing that except for conversing with SCP-CN-655, he had no real equality—he couldn’t control the guest inside him.

“Not a guest.” SCP-CN-655 paused.

“What?”

“You are me; I am you. We are symbiotic.” SCP-CN-655 spoke haltingly, as if it had just pieced the words together from a dictionary.

“Individuality depends on will, not flesh.” Ji Ning shrugged, curious how SCP-CN-655 learned human culture. Sometimes it conversed like a normal person, sometimes it was incomprehensible.

“We are one.” SCP-CN-655 repeated its view.

Ji Ning didn’t argue further; the man on the ground twitched his fingers, his eyes moving beneath his lids.

When Ji Ning struck him, time slowed in the man’s eyes. Memories submerged him, as if sinking into the deep sea, bubbles dispersing his dreams.

He was no longer young. Dust dancing in sunlight made him cough endlessly. He glanced at the silent classroom; the children seemed like adults in small bodies, quietly obeying rules with none of the liveliness expected at their age. Even their glances at each other were tinged with avoidance. He walked to the hallway, clapped the chalk eraser, coughing but gazing at the newly built playground, where a group of children played, laughing and kicking balls—a stark contrast to the classroom.

He watched his own class; those children looked out the window with heartbreaking eyes. He knew his students had never set foot on the new playground. Each child, after gathering courage, merely lingered outside to watch others play.

His class was special—every student was an orphan, from various welfare homes, grouped together because of their backgrounds. Sensitive and fragile, they grew up knowing they were different, under sympathetic gazes. They both craved and feared the unknown.

From early on, they understood their difference. No parents to spoil them, no family to complain to. When they fell, they got up alone. Their clothes patched again and again, their uncertain gaze dropped to their feet to avoid others’ eyes. They were always on the edge, watching others play.

Adults said these children lacked manners, but how could those abandoned by the world know what manners are? For them, love was too distant; silence was the best emotion.

So when that voice sounded, only one path remained—to accept its guidance, for it was a presence that inspired confidence, bridged their gap with others, revealed a different world, and was worth giving everything for.

Both pride and base survival instincts meant nothing before it. When Ji Ning struck him down, one thought remained: survive.

Because he was the only one left carrying those memories. Everything they strove for had failed, and he was the only one left alive. He no longer lived just for himself; he bore the responsibility of remembrance.