I pressed the lock button, but the phone screen remained unresponsive. The backlight stayed on, with the words "Beware of Zhang Kun" lingering across the display.
I pressed the button several more times to no avail. Eventually, I realized the power button was no longer working either. Only after removing the battery did the screen finally go dark. It was then that I remembered Manager Hong's parting words—his solemn expression still vivid in my memory. No matter what happens, the pharmacy must open at midnight.
Why was Zhang Kun so determined to stop me from staying at Yaoxiang Pharmacy? Was it out of concern, or was there another motive? And who sent me that strange message?
I hastily reinserted the battery and called the anonymous number that had texted me. The only response was: This number is not in service. I tried again every half hour, but the same message kept repeating.
The more I thought about it, the more perplexed I became. Zhang Kun was a close friend from university—why would he wish me harm? But then, who sent that cryptic message warning me about him?
I felt it necessary to visit Zhang Kun's hometown and uncover the truth. I bought some fruit in the city, hailed a cab, and headed directly to his village.
Before the car even entered the village, I heard wailing and cries in the distance. Having visited his home before, I could tell the sorrowful sounds came from the Zhang family ancestral hall.
I asked the driver to continue into the village, but he refused, clearly avoiding something. Left with no choice, I got out at the entrance and carried the fruit toward Zhang Kun's house.
The main gate was tightly shut. Two white candles burned outside, and a mourning couplet hung on either side of the door.
A funeral? My heart sank instantly, a wave of foreboding pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I knocked on the door a few times but got no response. I turned to a neighbor. When I said I was looking for Zhang Kun, the neighbor gave me a strange look and replied, "You're looking for Zhang Kun? Go to the ancestral hall."
I thanked him and continued on, fruit in hand. Along the way, I noticed several homes had pasted green mourning couplets on their doors. Those that hadn't were shut tight, with scissors or talismans hung outside to ward off evil. Some even had yellow charms affixed to the doorframe.
The village felt eerily deserted. Those I did see wore white mourning clothes, their faces solemn and grim.
When I arrived at the Zhang ancestral hall, I was stunned. Lined up on benches outside were thirteen bright red coffins, each with a black-and-white photograph placed at the head. One of them was Zhang Kun's.
The fruit slipped from my hand and fell to the ground, drawing countless eyes.
"Brother Cheng, what are you doing here?" a surprised voice said beside me. A teenage boy approached—it was Zhang Xin, Zhang Kun's younger brother. He recognized me from my previous visit.
I stared at Zhang Kun's photo, struggling to form words. "This… your brother…"
Zhang Xin's face darkened with sorrow. "Last night, my brother and some villagers were driving into the city when the car plunged into Black Mountain Lake. He… didn't make it…" His voice broke, and he began to sob.
Only then did I notice the black armband on his arm. If Zhang Kun had died last night, then who had I been drinking with this morning? Had I truly encountered a ghost in broad daylight?
I said nothing. Zhang Xin sighed softly and murmured, "Brother Cheng, if you don't have any pressing matters, you'd best head back. The village isn't right these days—better not invite trouble."
When I asked what he meant, Zhang Xin explained that ever since the twelve villagers were brought back, a strange fragrance had filled the air, permeating every home—yet no one could trace its source.
I had a gut feeling that the strange scent he mentioned might be the platycodon incense I sold from the pharmacy yesterday. But it was only a hunch—I had no way to be sure.
Following village customs, I handed Zhang Xin 200 yuan as a funeral offering and took my leave.
As I made my way back, an oppressive sense of mystery clouded my mind. I had just shared drinks with Zhang Kun that morning—how could he now be dead? And who had sent that anonymous message warning me about him?
I chose not to mention seeing Zhang Kun to his brother. Telling anyone would do me no good.
Once back in the city, I didn't return to the pharmacy. Instead, I found a nearby hotel to rest and replay the day's events in my mind. The barbershop gossip accusing me of laziness and recklessness; Zhang Kun's urgent plea for me to leave the pharmacy; the mysterious text; and now, Zhang Xin's revelation of his brother's death.
Night slowly fell, and midnight approached. A difficult question loomed: should I still report for work at Yaoxiang Pharmacy?
Zhang Kun had strongly urged me to stay away, but the anonymous message had warned me about him. That meant I couldn't heed his advice—I had to show up. Still, the bitter words from the barbers lingered in my mind. They wouldn't have called me suicidal without reason. Something was wrong with the pharmacy.
I made a bold decision: tonight would be my final shift at Yaoxiang Pharmacy. After tonight, I would resign—return home to farm if I had to, but I'd leave this line of work behind.
Back at the pharmacy, I rested for a while, then stood up when the clock neared midnight. At that exact moment, the wall clock outside chimed.
Hearing the twelve chimes made my heart skip. Instinctively, I glanced at my phone—it still showed five minutes to midnight. But the clock outside had already struck twelve.
I assumed the wall clock was off and looked at my wristwatch. What I saw made my heart race—my watch also showed it was past midnight.
Manager Hong had warned me: No matter what happens, the pharmacy must open on time. But it was already past twelve, and I was still in the room.
I rushed out and threw open the shop's front door. A gust of cold wind swept in, raising goosebumps all over my body. The outside world was shrouded in darkness, no lights anywhere, pressing down with a suffocating heaviness.
As I turned back toward the counter, I noticed a figure standing behind me.
"Aah!" I cried out, nearly bolting from the store. The figure said nothing but slowly turned around—it was the little boy who came every night to buy honeysuckle.
Though a familiar face, something about him felt off. He always came exactly at 3 a.m., never earlier or later. Why had he come so early tonight?
"Uncle, I want five qian of honeysuckle," he said quietly, his face as expressionless as ever.
I walked to the cabinet and retrieved the herb from the third row, third drawer, handing it to him. He paid, turned, and walked out without hesitation. This surprised me—normally, he would squat in the corner, counting his coins until closing time. But not tonight. No lingering. No counting. Just… gone.
It was a small thing, but it felt unnervingly out of place.
Suspicious, I opened the third drawer and picked up the herb he had bought. I examined it carefully. One look, and I froze—what I held in my hand wasn't honeysuckle…
It was Heartbreak Herb.
I quickly inspected the rest—every bundle in that drawer, without exception, was also Heartbreak Herb.
The plant closely resembles honeysuckle in appearance, nearly indistinguishable to the untrained eye. But their medicinal properties are worlds apart—one is a healing herb, the other a deadly poison. Legend has it the divine farmer Shennong died after mistakenly ingesting it. Heartbreak Herb is strictly forbidden for internal use.
This was bad. I had sold poison to that little boy.
Without a moment's hesitation, I bolted out of the pharmacy, hoping to catch him before it was too late.