Naming Technique of the Night Chapter 2

Translator: Lordbluefire

The middle-aged woman hastened toward Fortune Supermarket and turned her attention toward the old man. “Uncle Zhang, why was Qing Chen playing chess with you again?”

It was clear from the conversation that they knew each other.

However, Uncle Zhang's response was less courteous. “You're asking me about your own son? He's out of money for his living expenses. Playing chess is all he could do to earn some cash for food.”

The middle-aged woman, Zhang Wanfang, was caught off-guard by this reply. “But I transfer money for Qing Chen's daily expenses to his father every month.”

Hearing this, Uncle Zhang was also stunned by her reply. “Then I'm not sure what's going on anymore.”

Uncle Zhang pondered. Zhang Wanfang wasn't poor and from the looks of it, it didn't seem like the allowance given to Qing Chen was a meager amount either. So why did the youngster live his life as though he was hard up then?

It wasn't like Qing Chen was a spendthrift either. He calculated his daily expenses meticulously and had never taken a sip of an expensive beverage.

“But shouldn't he be at night-time self-revision right now?” Zhang Wanfang asked.

That was when Uncle Zhang recalled Qing Chen's words. “I think he said he was waiting for someone.”

“This won't do. I should return home and take a look,” Zhang Wanfang replied.

As she said this, she carried the cake and hurried off before she heard the man beside her speak up abruptly, “Wanfang, it's Hao Hao's birthday today. We already reserved a table and we still have to take him to the movies after the meal.”

Zhang Wanfang turned toward the man. “Qing Chen might have skipped school. I can't just leave him be.”

“He's already 17. He can take care of himself. Besides, he has his biological father.” The man softened his tone after the reply. “Actually, we can always check in on him over the weekend later. Why don't we accompany Hao Hao for today?”

Zhang Wanfang furrowed her brows at the response but eventually sighed after a bit. “Fine, we'll celebrate Hao Hao's birthday today.”

Along the shaded trail of City Hall West's residential courtyard, Qing Chen walked in silence underneath the camphor trees.

The style of the buildings differed from modernized high-rise apartments in the city. These buildings in the courtyard were short four-story buildings from the 70s that came without electricity or gas, and even their sewers would clog from time to time.

These homes could not use appliances with high electrical output as it would cause the circuit breaker to trip.

At this moment, Qing Chen walked into the dim passageway. Disregarding the psoriasis-looking walls that were littered with locksmiths and real estate advertisements, he fished out his keys and opened the door to an apartment on the first floor.

It was a 76 square meters apartment with two bedrooms and a living room. However, the lighting in this first-floor apartment was awful.

Taking out his phone and navigating to his call logs, he made a call. “Hello, Dad…”

Before he could finish his sentence, the voice on the other side of the line cut him off. “Look for your mother if you want an allowance. I don't have any money, but she's loaded.”

The sound of mahjong* tiles colliding could be heard between his words.

“I don't want money,” Qing Chen replied softly. “I haven't asked either of you for money for a long time now.”

“What, then?” The man snapped impatiently. “Parent-Teacher conferences again at the school? Go look for your mother for such stuff…”

Without listening to the rest of the words, Qing Chen was the first to hang up this time around.

After that, he rested gently against the shut door and lifted the sleeve of his jacket.

He stared at his forearm in a daze, at the white numbers and symbols that lit up like an LCD screen.

Countdown 5:58:13

Like a fluorescent tattoo, the white digits seemed to have embedded themselves into his flesh and skin. No matter how much he rubbed against it, he couldn't seem to wipe it off.

On closer inspection, Qing Chen could even make out a unique yet intricate vein-like pattern in the numbers. It fitted together like a component to a piece of machinery, brimming with a sense of advanced technology.

The numbers changed silently.

Countdown 5:58:12

Countdown 5:58:11

5 hours, 58 minutes, and 11 seconds remaining. Everything seemed to remind Qing Chen that something inconceivable would happen in 5 hours and 58 minutes.

It was silent, yet Qing Chen could distinctly hear the seconds ticking in his chest.

After that, Qing Chen took a glance at the phone he had just hung up and then at the empty room.

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He didn't know what kind of life awaited him in 5 hours and 58 minutes. All he knew was that he could only rely on himself.

Time was a critical unit of measurement; a life span, the breadth of civilization. Everything used it as an indicator by default.

The concept of time existed in everybody's lives.

Therefore, when a countdown suddenly appeared in your arm, no matter what it was counting down to, it would give you a sense of anxiety.

There were still 5 hours left, and nobody knew what the end of this countdown would bring.

Could it be dangerous?

Or perhaps another type of life?

Qing Chen couldn't say for sure, so he could only prepare for the worst.

That was why he had to make some preparations before the countdown ended.

If there truly was impending danger, then he had to make it so he could at least withstand the danger to the best of his abilities.

At this moment, Qing Chen had changed into a clean gray jacket and hid his appearance with the hood.

Leveraging the dim light of night, he left home and headed toward the farmer's market. Nights in Luo City started early in October.

From the residential building, there were sounds of cooking, the burst caused by the contact of vegetables and oil, followed by a tempting aroma wafting through the air.

The smell of eggs, pork, and mutton were like a line of information spilling into Qing Chen's brain. He could retrieve an “archive” from his brain if he ever needed the information in the future.

From the hardware store, he bought a pair of pliers and a spade. From the provisional shop, he got a sack of rice, a bag of noodles, as well as salt.

He even bought a few boxes of antibiotics from the pharmacy, as well as batteries, torches, and compressed biscuits from the supermarket.

During such a time when he didn't know what he would face, he could only try his best to be better prepared.

These supplies had practically wiped out all of Qing Chen's savings.

Qing Chen then carried the items home and entered the kitchen. He placed all the usable knives from the chopping board in the most convenient spots within the house.

The kitchen knife was underneath his pillow, and the boning knife was on his bedside cabinet.

The countdown was now at 2 hours, 43 minutes, and 11 seconds.

At this moment, he made sure that he had firmly shut the doors and windows and then sat by his bedside, pondering. Would he be able to find someone to help?

Who should he look for?

His mother had a new family, and his father was a gambling addict.

When Qing Chen discovered the countdown on his arm a few hours ago, the 17-year-old had unconsciously thought to seek his parents' help.

But he denied this idea.

Qing Chen had taken out his phone to try snapping a photo of the countdown on his arm, but he had realized that while he could see the white lines with his eyes, it was absent on the phone screen.

The room was dark with the light switched off and the windows provided no soundproofing. Since he was on the first floor, he could still hear the footsteps of passersby.

The footsteps outside, the sound of breathing within the apartment, the dim light from his phone screen. Everything seemed so quiet, yet strange.

It was probably useless to ask ordinary people for help with such a strange and outrageous event. Besides, he didn't have any friends he was especially close with at school.

Even if he did, he shouldn't bring ordinary people into this, right?

That's why. If he had to get help, then he would have to think of alternatives.

Wait. Qing Chen seemed to recall something. He headed toward the living room and started searching.

After two minutes, he stared silently at the Guanyin Bodhisattva* pendant.

He then placed it in front of him solemnly and bowed nine times in prayer.

The last task in his preparation was complete.

Chapter end