A soft, lingering rain fell over Su City, the sky pressed low and gray while a faint chill spread through the air.
Shen Shouqiu walked along the slick street, his shoes stepping through wet patches as he headed toward the home he remembered, the place that had once been his.
In his memory, he lived in an old residential complex out in the suburbs and every morning he needed to take a bus all the way into the city for school.
He had chosen not to live on campus but to commute instead, even though students who lived as far away as he did usually chose the dorms, which were far more convenient and saved a lot of time.
Even so, Shen Shouqiu still chose to commute, because he was an orphan and he preferred to return every day to that small home which belonged only to him, a quiet space that was his alone. His foster parents had taken him home from the welfare orphanage and raised him until he grew up.
People experience fortune and disaster from one day to the next, and the sky never bothers to warn anyone before a storm.
In his second year of high school, his foster parents died in an accident during a Demonic Beast riot, leaving behind only a modest apartment and a single sum of savings for Shen Shouqiu.
From that time on, he gradually became quiet and withdrawn, changing from a boarding student into a day student, going back and forth every day. Every time he went home, he acted as if his family were still there waiting for him.
Without realizing it, Shen Shouqiu arrived at the entrance of the complex. Above the gate, three large, paint-peeling characters read: Jinbiyuan.
"Xiao Shen, you are back already."
From the little security booth, an old security guard stuck his head out and greeted him with a smile and a nod.
Shen Shouqiu searched through the sea of memories for a name, then let a small smile show on his face as he answered, "I am back, Uncle Zhang."
Most of the residents inside Jinbi Residence were elderly people spending their later years there. The neighbors were all very familiar with one another, so whatever happened to any household was known clearly by everyone else.
After his foster parents had their accident, these neighbors tried their best within their means to help Shen Shouqiu in daily life, whether it was a dish of food or a passing word of concern.
"You silly boy, it is raining and you did not even bring an umbrella. Come in here and warm up a little, there is air conditioning inside," Uncle Zhang called, lifting his hand and waving him over with a look of concern.
"It is alright, it is only a light drizzle, so I will not bother you, Uncle Zhang. I should head home first," Shen Shouqiu said, turning down the kindness with a gentle tone.
"You child, even a light drizzle can still give you a cold. Fine, fine, hurry on home then, but do not forget to take care of yourself," the old guard muttered, half helpless and half fond as he waved him away.
After saying goodbye to Uncle Zhang at the gate, Shen Shouqiu walked deeper into the complex.
He lived in Building Three, Unit Two, Apartment 601. He stepped into the elevator, watched the numbers climb, and very soon stood before his own front door.
He drew in a long breath, reached into his pocket, pulled out the key, slid it into the lock and turned it with a soft click.
When he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the apartment matched the image in his memory almost perfectly. The layout was a simple three rooms with a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom, and right now every room was completely dark, the silence in the air making the place feel even more deserted.
He flipped on the switch on the wall. Yellowish light poured down into the living room, pushing back the darkness and bringing a trace of warmth into the empty home.
Shen Shouqiu opened the refrigerator, reached in for a carton of milk, twisted it open and took two long gulps. The cold taste slid over his tongue and down his throat, as if that chill could calm the boil in his heart and wash away some of the heat in his chest.
After that, he walked over to one of the bedrooms and stopped outside the door. This was the room that had belonged to his foster parents.
He paused for a moment, then turned the handle and went in, flicking the light on as he entered. The first thing his gaze landed on was a framed photograph hanging on the wall.
The picture showed his foster father and foster mother on their wedding day. The corners of their mouths were lifted in matching smiles, their faces full of warmth and happiness.
His foster mother was named Fu Yan, and his foster father was named Wei Wenming. Both of them worked in ordinary jobs and lived ordinary lives.
Shen Shouqiu sat down on the edge of the bed.
On the nightstand there was a small photo album.
His fingers trembled as he picked up the album and slowly opened it, turning the pages one by one. On the very first page were Fu Yan and Wei Wenming again, but this time there was also a little boy between them, about four or five years old. The boy wore an uneasy, restrained expression, yet the three of them still stood hand in hand.
Under the photograph there was a line of small characters: July 7, 2013. I, Fu Yan, and I, Wei Wenming, on this day adopt a foster son, Shen Shouqiu.
The name Shen Shouqiu was given to him by the deputy director of the welfare orphanage, and after his foster parents adopted him, they never changed his surname.
The later pages were almost entirely photos of the three of them as a family. There was one of Shen Shouqiu wearing a thick winter coat, standing in the snow next to a crooked snowman.
There was one of the three of them on a mountain trail during a hike. There were photos from family dinners and photos from his birthdays, moments of simple life frozen in color.
Under every single picture, without exception, there was a line of writing, recording the date and a few words about that beautiful day.
The album lay in his hands as he turned page after page, and at some unknown moment his eyes had already filled with tears.
Clear, bitter drops fell from his lashes and landed on the glossy surface of the photographs.
He wiped the tears away with his hand, yet his voice still carried a choked sob as he whispered, "Dad, Mom, Shen Shouqiu has come home."
Nine cycles of reincarnation, more than a thousand years of drifting and fighting, and at last he returned to this tiny home he had longed for day and night.
Seeing his parents' faces again, even if only in a photograph, brought up a storm of emotion that no one else in the world could truly understand.
Sadness, joy, longing, guilt, relief, all of it rose together in his chest, and none of those simple words were enough to describe what he felt now.
The album held one hundred and twenty photographs, and Shen Shouqiu sat there looking through them for a full hour.
When he finally closed the album, he stood up and walked out of the bedroom, gently pulling the door shut behind him as if he were afraid to disturb the people who had once slept inside.
Outside the window, the dim sky grew even darker as the drizzle thickened into pouring rain.
A distant rumble sounded.
Somewhere inside the heavy clouds, lightning flickered and rolled, bright veins of light hidden in the depths of the storm.
Shen Shouqiu walked slowly through the apartment, moving from corner to corner. He would stop to look at this item, then pause to touch that one, and right now every piece of furniture and every small object in the house carried a deep nostalgia for him.
Only after quite some time did he push open the door to his own bedroom.
The moment the door swung open, his brows drew together. The room looked almost like a dog nest. Clothes were thrown everywhere across the floor, and the whole place was a complete mess.