Midnight
The yellowed walls bore witness to the flickering incandescent bulb that buzzed like a dying insect. Its pallid light flooded the cramped space, casting an eerie glow over everything.
This was not a room, strictly speaking—just a rented apartment of a few dozen square meters. Years of neglect had turned the walls into a patchwork of yellow and black. Flakes of brittle plaster clung to the damp wooden floor, merging with the rot beneath.
Decay. Desolation. The room, barely large enough to hold a bed and a desk, wore its ruin like a badge.
But its tenant didn't care.
Mu Yiming rose from the bed, slipped on his shoes, walked to the stool, sat down, and lit a cigarette—all in one fluid motion. White smoke curled upward, punctuated by dry coughs.
Another day began.
If not for his empty wallet, Mu Yiming would never have chosen this place. Filth, chaos, and the constant company of rats and roaches—this wasn't the life he'd envisioned.
But he had no choice. He had to adapt.
Unlike others who embraced the nocturnal grind, Mu Yiming's nights were born of necessity. Two years ago, an incident had stripped him of every opportunity to prove himself. At thirty, he'd fled in anger.
What followed was simple: Wuxin City, a place steeped in stories, welcomed a new character.
Whether he was the protagonist?
Unclear.
Now, Mu Yiming sat before his laptop, fingers dancing across the keyboard. Two years of nocturnal living had turned him into a creature of the night, sustained only by coffee, cigarettes, and the ghost of an unfinished ambition.
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He hit Enter and took a drag.
He craved approval.
Since graduating, Mu Yiming had tried—and failed—countless times. All he wanted was validation.
People said "third time's the charm," but no one bothered with a fourth attempt if failure seemed certain.
Not him.
He was just a young man yearning to prove his worth—once the star pupil of Chen Chen, Lanhai University's renowned biology professor. He wanted to show he was every bit his mentor's equal.
Pathetic.
He lifted a chipped mug to his lips.
Ding. The email alert chimed. He set the mug down, dragged the cursor to Open, and clicked.
The room fell silent save for the laptop's faint whir. His heart hammered in his throat.
The email loaded.
One second later, a document filled the screen. Mu Yiming scrolled slowly, agonizingly, to the bottom.
Thump. Thump.
He held his breath, bracing for the word rejected.
At the end of the page, his eyes widened.
Approved.
He slumped into his chair, took a long pull from his cigarette, and exhaled—a sigh masked by smoke.
The harsh light washed over his face, but it no longer felt oppressive.
He smiled, though not with joy.
After a moment, he shut the laptop, grabbed his keys, and stepped outside—his first time in months.
The wind howled. Even in late September, as summer grudgingly yielded to autumn, typhoon-season gales were routine in Wuxin.
The suburban streets lay silent at 3 a.m., save for croaking toads in flower beds. Moonlight pierced the tempest, silvering Mu Yiming's gaunt face.
He wandered aimlessly down the sidewalk, lit another cigarette, and pulled out his phone. A few taps, a message sent.
He waited.
The ringtone broke the stillness.
Mu Yiming sighed.
"Are you sure?" rasped the voice on the line. "We still have time. Is this really our only path?"
"Listen," Mu Yiming snapped. "We've endured years of ridicule. If anyone should doubt, it's not you, Zuo Lun."
He paused, then pressed on:
"Remember what we saw two years ago. Those people—their faces. Mufario was right. They were just the beginning. You saw how it ended. Do you want your family, your friends, to become like them? We have to do this."
"But…" Zuo Lun hesitated. "It's too radical. No one's succeeded in this field—not the PhDs, not Mufario's foreign teams. It's just a hypothesis. Admit it, Mu. We can't afford to gamble. If we lose…"
"You think I haven't considered that?" Mu Yiming laughed bitterly.
He knew exactly how audacious his plan was—enough to upend the entire scientific community. That's why he'd pushed so hard. Yet experts, foreign collaborators, even his revered mentor Chen Chen had denounced him. Cast him out. Severed all ties.
The memory stoked his rage.
All he wanted was to prove himself, to do something good. Yet the world saw only madness.
"Last chance, Zuo Lun." Mu Yiming wrestled down his anger. "Think of those people. The children. Your family. Picture the future. Will you hide in the shadows forever? Or finish what we started?"
Silence.
Mu Yiming waited. For his most trusted friend's answer.
Years ago, at Lanhai University, Zuo Lun had been his brother-in-arms—Chen Chen's second disciple. Together, they'd conceived this absurd, daring plan.
He could proceed alone, but it'd be far harder.
He needed Zuo Lun.
Finally, the voice returned:
"I'm in."
"Good. Pick me up at the park near my place in half an hour.