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Emerging from the hospital in broad daylight, Song Bunan found himself back in a familiar place after just one restless night. By his bedside stood Aunt Jiang, clutching the medical records, her face devoid of any expression except for anger. It seemed that if not for her professional demeanor keeping her emotions in check, she would have slammed the plastic folder down on his brother's head in the next moment.
Unable to sleep due to the stinging pain from the medication, Song Bunan cautiously reached out to grasp the edge of Aunt Jiang's white coat, trying to distract her so that his brother could come home. However, his brother, oblivious to the atmosphere, recounted the entire incident in detail. Faced with Aunt Jiang's rising fury, Song Bunan quietly withdrew his hand and lay still on the hospital bed, deciding to remain silent.
The hospital room was perpetually quiet at night. Apart from the wind outside, only the distant sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor. Lying on his bed, Song Bunan could barely make out what his brother and Aunt Jiang were discussing in the office; he felt hazy as pain and drowsiness intertwined. Tilting his head toward the window, he saw trees illuminated by moonlight swaying in the wind, occasionally shedding a leaf that twirled gracefully before falling.
Perhaps it was due to some components of the medication or simply because it was late at night, but Song Bunan felt his drowsiness gradually overpowering the pain, making him long to pull up the covers and sleep. However, having only bandages on and no clothes or blankets on him—those lay on the adjacent bed—he struggled to reach for them but fell short even after several attempts.
The hospital was warm. He reassured himself as he curled up in bed, finding a comfortable position and tucking his hands under his pillow for support before drifting into a deep sleep. In this darkness, his consciousness quickly transported him to another world. He found himself once again in Long's Old House, but this time he stood at the staircase leading to the third floor instead of outside the front door. An elderly figure slowly ascended the stairs ahead of him, their back resembling that of someone who had once helped him through a dark time.
He wanted to chase after them and ask questions but soon realized something was holding him back. Turning around, he saw an iron chain as thick as an arm tightly wrapped around his waist.
Faced with an angry yet restrained Aunt Jiang, Song Buxian chose not to speak much and simply sat quietly on a chair in the office. The doctor at the desk flipped through his brother's medical records with a stern expression, their gaze fixed on the thin booklet of papers. The deep breaths they took indicated that this auntie he had known for over a decade was trying hard to manage her emotions.
"Bu Xian," she finally spoke after more than ten minutes of silence. Her tone was neutral and her voice soft: "Auntie has known your family for twenty years now; I've watched your brother grow up. Your mother has always had progressive views on parenting. She believes that it's better for your brother to manage you than for them to interfere in your relationship with each other. So since Bunan was little, they would only make decisions about major issues while leaving small matters to you. And you’ve been a good kid; you've educated Bunan well in many aspects and both of you are exceptional compared to your peers. But why do you always come off as so domineering when communicating with him?"
Song Buxian had heard this accusation many times since he was fifteen; it always came up when something went wrong with Bunan. Though accustomed to such accusations, he sensed a different tone in Aunt Jiang's words this time. Unlike others who questioned him, she stated it as a matter-of-fact conclusion tinged with helplessness.
He wanted to defend himself as usual but found himself unable to articulate what he had said countless times before. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand it was wrong; rather, it was the first time he felt that defending himself would mean admitting he had been overly controlling towards Bunan.
He never intended to be domineering; he simply believed there were significant issues that needed correction in that child.
"Aunt Jiang, why do you say I'm domineering?" he asked softly.
The doctor closed the medical records and sat beside him with a frown: "Because you’ve always viewed Bunan as still being young and needing your decisions for many things, forgetting that your brother is now twenty-three years old—a grown man who doesn’t have intellectual issues requiring your strict control anymore. You’ve kept your perception of him stuck at that rebellious teenage phase when he was difficult to manage; thus when he showed resistance this time, your reaction was anger."
Her words struck home; Song Buxian nodded in agreement because he had indeed contemplated this issue during his nighttime reflections. He genuinely wanted to change but often found himself thinking "even if he's an adult, he's still not very mature"—a thought that pulled him back from letting go.
Aunt Jiang had always been gentle with both of them; though she would get angry sometimes, it usually stemmed from seeing Song Bunan writhing in pain on his hospital bed. Song Buxian promised to pay attention to these issues before casually asking about Bunan's condition this time. This question made Aunt Jiang serious:
"Bunan's healed scars on his back seem to show signs of recurring ulceration. When I applied medicine to that torn wound earlier, I noticed that the surrounding skin has thinned significantly; thus even a slight scrape has resulted in a large open wound."
Song Buxian vividly recalled how badly injured his brother had been initially—his small body lying lifelessly on an ambulance stretcher with exposed vertebrae amidst blood and flesh. The doctors had appeared flustered and unsure how to stop the bleeding while he comforted their sobbing mother nearby as they prepared for the worst.
He bit down on dry skin from his lips and gently held Aunt Jiang’s hand earnestly saying: "Aunt Jiang, please don’t tell our parents yet."
In his dream state, wearing a hospital gown and limited by the length of the iron chain around his waist, Song Bunan watched as the elderly figure vanished into the third floor above him. The chain felt as if it had just come out of a freezer—frosty and painfully cold—its chill penetrating through his thin hospital gown against his skin as if attempting to freeze him solid. He cautiously walked toward where the chain ended; instead of hitting a wall as expected, he easily passed through it and began descending into an endless darkness.
Turning back revealed no path behind him—the staircase entrance had disappeared too—surrounded by darkness yet illuminated by a faint glow emanating from his body and from the chain wrapped around him which emitted a weak blue light. This flickering blue glow extended further into the blackness until it too faded away into obscurity.
This was something new! Having only experienced Long's Old House in dreams before, Song Bunan felt no fear; instead excitement and tension surged within him like an adventurer exploring uncharted territory. Forcing himself to forget about being cold and disregarding what might happen next, he gathered all his strength and rushed toward that blue light.
The only sound around him was the clinking of iron chains due to his movements, but as he chased the blue light, a rustling noise began to emerge. It sounded like countless people whispering from a great distance, yet it also resembled someone crumpling a plastic bag in a room. The more he ran, the louder the sound became, shifting from far away to close at hand. Moreover, the noise intensified his perception of the cold; although he had almost forgotten that sensation, it surged back as the sounds grew louder.
He slowed his pace, trying to analyze the main content of these sounds while still running. However, as his speed decreased, the sounds seemed to recede, and the rustling diminished significantly. Song Bunan came to a complete stop, attempting to find something useful in his surroundings to help him assess the situation, but apart from the darkness, there was nothing around him. At the same time, he realized that when he stopped moving, the sounds vanished entirely.
It seemed that only by running could he uncover what was happening. A mix of excitement and anxiety surged within him, causing his hands and feet to tremble. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted again toward the blue light's end, and sure enough, he heard the sounds approaching once more.
As the volume changed, the iron chains around his waist transformed as well. The white frost covering them thickened significantly, and even Ice Crystal appeared; blue specks of light turned into stars that seemed to fall onto Ice Crystal, as if they would extinguish in the next moment.
Finally, when the specks disappeared as the chains were completely encased in ice, he found himself standing in darkness, unable to determine whether he was still at the end of the chain. Simultaneously, the voices returned clearly to his ears. It was as if countless people were speaking—men and women mingling together—articulating words distinctly but leaving him unable to grasp their meaning. Song Bunan felt as if he were completely frozen; even his breath came out in white puffs.
Just as he began to feel an inexplicable annoyance and a hint of fear from the incomprehensible voices, another sound approached from afar. This time, however, he could understand what was being said.
It was a man calling out his name—Song Bunan.
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