Without another moment's hesitation, Jiang Cheng found the stairs and hurried upstairs. The hallway was just as he remembered it. The lights overhead cast a soft glow, and everything seemed perfectly calm and ordinary.
But the more ordinary everything seemed, the stronger his unease grew. He found the room he shared with the Fatty, took a deep breath, and pressed down the handle. With a faint click, the door swung open—to his surprise, it hadn't been locked.
The door slowly opened, revealing the room inside. Two single beds lay in disarray, with the blankets and such heaped to one side. A faint smell of alcohol lingered in the air, and a few lonely beer cans had been left scattered across the floor.
The scene matched his memory of the room perfectly. Even from this distance, he could remember which beer cans were empty and which still had some left in them.
Of course, just as he had seen, there was no one in the room—least of all the version of himself he had imagined, fast asleep.
Suddenly, panic seized Jiang Cheng. He hurried out of the room and stopped at the door next door. This was No. 13's room, the one assigned to No. 2, but this time the door didn't open right away. It was locked.
His dimming eyes lit up. As if he had grasped the last lifeline, Jiang Cheng raised his leg without hesitation and kicked the door hard. The old wooden door couldn't withstand the blow and burst open. He charged inside, but the scene in the room left him with a tangled feeling in his heart.
This room was even messier than theirs. Empty bottles stood in a row beside the bed. It seemed whoever had stayed here had been in an even worse state