Haicheng University, School of Medicine, experimental building.
At nine in the evening, the neurobiology laboratory at the end of the corridor was still lit.
Cheng Mo clicked the "Send" button on the screen and let out a soft sigh.
Su Jing, a doctoral student who was organizing data at the adjacent workstation, heard the movement, turned her head, and adjusted her glasses: "Finished translating?"
"Yes, I've sent it to your email, Senior Sister."
Cheng Mo's voice was steady, but carried a hint of imperceptible fatigue.
He rubbed his somewhat dry eyes; several consecutive nights of working on assignments had left his eyeballs streaked with tiny blood vessels.
"Thanks! You're always so fast and the quality is excellent."
Su Jing smiled and skillfully transferred the money.
"The money's gone through, check it. This time it's a German review article that my friend urgently needs for his project. You've been a great help."
His phone vibrated, indicating a small deposit.
Cheng Mo glanced at the amount, his mind rapidly calculating how long this sum could cover his sister's treatment.
He showed no expression, only nodding: "Received, thank you, Senior Sister."
"Why are you being so polite with me?"
Su Jing watched him pack his things, hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
"But… Cheng Mo, aren't you pushing yourself too hard recently? You don't look so good. Teacher He even asked me this afternoon why the progress on your part of the cell electrophysiology data analysis is a bit delayed. He… seems a little displeased."
Cheng Mo's hand, which was zipping up his backpack, paused, then returned to normal: "Yes, I know. I'll catch up in the next couple of days."
"Is it because of home…?" Su Jing didn't finish her sentence, but her meaning was clear.
No one in the lab knew Cheng Mo's specific situation, only that his family seemed to be in great difficulty, and he was always desperately taking on various "side jobs," which sometimes inevitably affected the progress of his main experimental work.
Professor He Jingwen valued his talent and diligence, but with these frequent occurrences recently, his mentor's dissatisfaction was almost impossible to suppress.
"It's nothing, Senior Sister, I can handle it."
Cheng Mo interrupted her, his tone unruffled, but conveying a reluctance to discuss further.
He hoisted his somewhat old black backpack onto his shoulders.
"I'll process the data and submit it to Teacher He tomorrow. I'm leaving now."
Su Jing watched his slender but upright figure hurry away at the end of the corridor and sighed softly.
Haicheng City First People's Hospital, Hematology Department ward. The smell of disinfectant in the air was several times stronger than in the lab.
When Cheng Mo pushed open the ward door, he saw his mother sitting by the bed, little by little feeding Cheng Xingtong soft, well-cooked rice porridge with a small spoon.
Cheng Xingtong leaned against the pillow, her face as pale as paper, her lips devoid of color.
But upon seeing her brother enter, her eyes immediately lit up, and she weakly called out: "Brother."
"Xiao Mo is here."
Cheng's mother looked up, her face showing undeniable weariness, yet she forced a smile: "Have you eaten?"
"I have."
Cheng Mo put down his backpack, walked to the bedside, and naturally took the bowl and spoon from his mother's hand: "Mom, I'll do it. Where's Dad?"
"Your dad, he…" Before Cheng's mother could finish, Cheng Mo heard hushed, urgent, and tired voices from the corridor outside the door.
He looked out through the glass window on the door and saw his father, Cheng Jianguo, hunched over, holding his phone, hiding at the end of the corridor, his face plastered with a nearly subservient smile.
His voice was extremely low, but words like "surgery fees," "tide me over," and "will definitely repay soon" still drifted in intermittently.
Cheng Mo's heart felt as if it were clenched by an invisible hand, but he showed no expression, merely scooped a spoonful of porridge, gently blew on it, and brought it to his sister's lips.
"Brother, you should eat something too," Cheng Xingtong whispered, her voice barely a breath.
"I've eaten." Cheng Mo shook his head, watched her swallow the mouthful of porridge, then asked, "How are you feeling today?"
"I'm fine," Cheng Xingtong always said this, but the pain and weakness deep in her eyes were impossible to hide.
Cheng's mother sat on a stool nearby, watching her two children, her eyes slightly red.
"It's all because your dad and I are useless… If we were more capable, you two wouldn't have to… Xiao Mo, you're so busy with your studies, yet you always have to rush to the hospital, and Xing Tong too, she should be in her second year of high school…" Her voice choked up.
"Mom, why are you saying all this?"
Cheng Mo interrupted her, his tone still even.
"It will get better."
Cheng Xingtong also gently held her mother's hand: "Mom, Brother and I are both fine, don't worry."
After feeding her and chatting with his sister for a while, mainly about school, Cheng Xingtong's eyes were filled with longing for the outside world and dependence on her brother.
Cheng Mo tried to choose light-hearted topics to talk about.
When he left the hospital, he encountered his father in the corridor, who had just finished his phone call.
Cheng Jianguo quickly wiped his face and forced a tired smile: "Xiao Mo, going back? Be careful on the way."
"Yes, Dad, don't overwork yourself either."
Cheng Mo looked at the new white hairs at his father's temples and the deep wrinkles on his forehead, his throat felt blocked by something, and in the end, he only nodded.
To care for Cheng Xingtong, the Cheng family rented a single room in an old neighborhood next to the hospital, narrow and stuffy.
Cheng Mo opened the door, dropped his backpack, and didn't even bother to turn on the light, collapsing directly onto the creaking old sofa.
Physical exhaustion surged like a tide, but his mind was exceptionally clear.
His sister's astronomical medical bills, collection notices, his father's humble calls for loans, his mother's suppressed tears, his sister's pale face, the accumulated data in the lab, Teacher He's displeased gaze… countless fragments spun in his mind, almost suffocating him.
He needed money, a lot of money, fast money.
Legitimate freelance translation was too slow, and those "side jobs" in the gray areas were too risky, and… nowhere near enough.
A nearly desperate anxiety spread in his heart, but his face remained expressionless, only his eyes appeared exceptionally sharp in the darkness.
He was like a wolf trapped in a desperate situation, calmly calculating every possibility, even if the cost was… Just then, his phone rang shrilly, breaking the room's dead silence.
The name "Mentor He Jingwen" flickered on the screen.
Cheng Mo paused slightly, sitting upright.
He adjusted his breathing before answering the call, his voice instantly returning to its usual calm and composed tone: "Teacher He."
From the other end of the line came He Jingwen's stern and displeased voice: "Cheng Mo, what exactly is going on with your data? Where's the preliminary analysis report that was supposed to be given to me this afternoon? Do you know how many people's work is stalled because your part is held up?"
"I'm sorry, Teacher He, I…"
"I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry'!" He Jingwen's tone intensified.
"Cheng Mo, I've always thought highly of you, believing you have talent and are willing to work hard… But your recent state is becoming a real problem!"
"If it's because of financial difficulties and taking on too many odd jobs, affecting your main work, then that's putting the cart before the horse! If this continues, I'll have to consider replacing you for this core analysis section you're responsible for!"
Cheng Mo's fingernails instantly dug into his palm, but his tone remained calm: "Teacher He, please give me one more day. I will send you the report and data before tomorrow night. I absolutely will not delay the project progress again."
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end, and He Jingwen's tone softened slightly: "Cheng Mo, are you encountering some difficulties? If you have problems, you must say so. Teacher He and your senior brothers and sisters can all help you find a solution."
"No, Teacher He, I was just less efficient for a while. I'll adjust. Please trust me one more time."
Cheng Mo's voice showed no trace of emotion.
"…Alright, tomorrow night, I'll wait for your news." He Jingwen sighed and hung up the phone.
The dial tone after the call ended sounded particularly harsh in the silent room.
Cheng Mo held his phone, his arm slowly dropping, and he slumped back into the sofa.
His mentor's last words, filled with concern, were like a tiny needle, gently piercing his constantly taut, hard shell, revealing the deep-seated powerlessness and fatigue within.
It wasn't that he was unwilling to accept others' kindness.
It was just that he came from a poor background and had witnessed too much malice since childhood.
Those faces in his memories, whether indifferent, mocking, or feigning kindness… as soon as he showed a hint of fatigue, they would viciously pounce and tear at everything he had… He had long and deeply experienced the cruelty of society!
Cheng Mo closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the sofa, and his Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.
What to do?
What else could he do?
In the darkness, his gaze unconsciously swept over the coffee table.
Amidst the cluttered books and printouts, there was an object.
A strange compass he had picked up a few nights ago by a small path behind the school.
That night, the wind was strong, and he had just finished a translation, rushing to the hospital, and almost tripped over this thing.
It seemed to be made of metal, but it was surprisingly cold to the touch, covered with complex, unfamiliar patterns, ancient and exquisite, definitely valuable.
He waited in the cold wind for over half an hour, but no one came looking for it. Eventually, on a whim, he picked it up and casually tossed it onto the coffee table.
Now, under the faint moonlight filtering through the window, the compass's edges seemed to glow with an extremely subtle, eerie luminescence.
Cheng Mo stared at it, his mind blank, almost out of a pure, subconscious action born of extreme exhaustion, he reached out and touched the compass.
A sharp sting shot through his fingertip!
He abruptly pulled back his hand, and in the dim light, he saw a tiny cut on the pad of his index finger, sliced open by an extremely sharp notch on the compass's edge. A bead of blood instantly seeped out.
And at that very moment, the previously silent, cold compass seemed to suddenly come alive.
The strange patterns on its surface lit up one by one, emitting a faint, chilling blue light that instantly consumed his vision.